“Help me understand. Does it have a name? It all sounds so cryptic.”
“It has. I am a dominant, a domme, a mistress, some may call me, and the lifestyle I live is called BDSM—bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, sadism and masochism.”
I swallow. Hard.
“So…you do what? Get off on hitting people who don’t do what you want them to do?”
“No. I offer liberation, trust and experience of the self through different elements of play and rules, which might include consequences like spanking or require elements on the more masochistic side.”
“Still sounds like hitting people to me.”
She chuckles. “It is not about the hitting. It is about the liberation that comes from trust. What other questions do you have?”
“Is that what your events are about?”
“They are, to some degree.”
“So, you live that lifestyle with other people?”
“Yes,” she says.
I stare from her to the picture on the wall and back. I don’t know what to say to it. I can’t imagine what any of it would look like, how it would work, or why people feel they need it.
“How do I fit in there?” I ask.
“I cannot tell,” she says.
“Why? You surely must have something in mind.”
“I do,” she says. “But it is neither my decision nor my place to say; it is yours.”
I am slightly taken aback.
“But isn’t this a two-way street?” I ask.
“Yes, and yet, I cannot—will not—persuade you of something you are not. If this is something you wish to explore, I would be delighted to guide you. If not, you say no, and our paths part.”
A heavy feeling appears in my chest. One that makes me catch my breath and makes swallowing difficult. It is now that I finally understand what she meant in that interview I read about her. She does not believe in love because she lives in a world where love has no place. Who would hit someone they love?
“Remember what you felt in the vault today,” she says and gets up. Her hand cups my cheek. “That feeling. The peace of mind. That is what I offer.”
I close my eyes the moment I feel her touch on mine, and the sensation spreads through my body. Peace.
Whenever I imagined my future, this was definitely not it. But it wasn’t a career ladder or being a mom, either. It was always me, books, my cats and peace.
“How would our life look like?” I ask and open my eyes to look at her. “If I were to say yes to this.”
“Whatever we make it look like,” she says, and her mouth curves up as she brushes through my hair. “Tell me your terms.”
“M-my terms,” I repeat, stunned.
“What do you need to be content?”
I can’t think with her touching me. I have never thought about it, and now, I feel overwhelmed by the question.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I never gave the future much thought. It’s not a husband and a house of kids, though,” I say, and Victoria laughs. She lets go of me, and I can finally think.
There is a moment of pause. I watch Victoria, and while I am bewildered we’re even having this conversation, her radiance draws me in.
