He snorts in amusement, not seeming particularly bothered by my assumption. Then he adopts a more earnest expression.“For what it’s worth I’d never consider doing this with someone who had a negative sense of self.”
I can’t help being intrigued by that. “Can I ask why?”
“Because it’s fucking dangerous,” he says grimly. “If someone’s already dealing with issues like depression and negative self-thoughts I could end up feeding into that. Best case scenario, they get professional help before it’s too late.”
I let out a slow breath, rubbing at my forehead. “Shit. I didn’t even think of that.” I feel like an asshole for not considering that aspect. And I’m surprised to find I have a new respect for Jazz, knowing he takes this so seriously. “I mean,I’m not going to pretend this whole thing isn’t crazy as fuck but the insults and shit are the least of it. All that pretty much just rolls off me…”
He lets out a soft huff. “Yeah, it rolls off you because you’re a self-assured, mentally healthy, well-adjusted guy so your brain can easily distinguish between your everyday reality and the simulated emotions you experience while doing kinky stuff. Kind of like how it knows you’re not really in danger when you’re watching a horror movie,” he clarifies. “But there are plenty of people who shouldn’t watch horror movies because of past trauma triggers.”
I consider this for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I can’t say I feel all that well-adjusted right now, though. I feel completely unhinged.”
“Which is why I wantedyou to take some time to wrap your head around everything,” Jazz reminds me. “But I’ll admit I didn’t realize how misinformed you were. It wasn’t my intention to leave you flailing around.”
After my skepticism today I’m surprised to find I actually believe him. But I’m still not entirely sure what he wants from me. “Okay. So, if I admit I’m a…masochist…”—I avert my gaze as I mumble the word—“will youfinish…that?” My cheeks heat asI gesture vaguely at myself and the wall I’m still backed against, making sure he knows exactly what I’m referring to.
“Damon, this isn’t Gitmo. I’m not trying to torture a confession out of you,” Jazz says with an eye roll. “Look, if you’re that uncomfortable with the word ‘masochist’ you don’t have to use it. But you do need to acknowledge and accept that you’ll be practicing kink—queer kink at that—and that your kink is erotic humiliation. It’s important for you to beable to establish and reinforce mental boundaries, and the more in touch you are with your own needs the more agency you’ll have.”
My brows creep up at that. “Agency? Don’t you have all the control here?”
His mouth curves up in a wry smirk. “Hold onto that wall, dirty boy, ‘cause I’m about to blow your mind—the idea that Doms are all-powerful control freaks and subs are slavish doormats is a complete myth. Doms can only exert whatever power their sub allows them to have,” he explains. “It’s up to the sub to set the boundaries—they can be as broad or as narrow as they like, but the Dom only has control within those limits. Also, subs have tochooseto relinquish their power, which is why it’s so important for you to take ownership here.”
My head is spinning a little right now, but I’ll admitI’m feeling marginally more comfortable about the situation after having some of my misconceptions corrected. “How do I do that?”
He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t think you need to do anything special. It’s not really in your nature to be a passive participant so it’ll just happen naturally as you get your head around everything.”
I groan, tipping my head back against the wall. “You know, I’m really more of the learn-by-doing type.”
He smirks at me. “And I’ll be happy to give you plenty of tutorials once I’m confident that your interest in being a sexualsubmissive for a gay sadist is based on an informed choice rather than extreme horniness.”
I narrow my eyes at him, grating out, “It might help if you avoided deliberately making me horny.”
“Dad!”
I grin and hold my arms out wide as Ava comes rushing toward me, her tiny pink suitcase racing along beside her. I know she hasn’tactuallygrown in the past two and a half months, but I swear it seems like it. Probably because it’s the longest I’ve ever spent apart from her.
“Hey, baby girl.” I wrap her in my arms and hug tight, taking a moment to breathe in her familiar scent. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Urgh, Dad, you’re going to crush me,” she groans, half-laughing.
I ease up my hold of her and offer a wry smile. “Sorry, I’ve just missed you.” I run my hand over her hair—a much brighter blonde now than it ever was naturally—and give her temple a kiss. “Come on, let’s get to Blake’s.” I grab her little suitcase and we head off in the direction of the subway.
“I can’t wait to meet their new puppy!” she gushes. “She’s like, super adorable, right?”
My brows shoot up. “MJ? Honestly, I hardly ever see her because of the weird hours I work. But, yeah, I guess she’s adorable when she’s not peeing and pooping in the house.”
“Ooh, yeah, Jamie told me all about the bar you work at. He said it’s really cool, and that the guitarist is super-hot.”
My step falters a little but I manage to right myself before I end up tripping over and bringing both of us crashing to theground. Fuck, I really need to get a better grip than this. “Jamie thinks everyone’s hot,” I say dryly.
Ava chuckles. “True.”
We chat about random stuff while making our way to the subway; and just as we step on the train, Ava grins up at me and says, “So when are we going to the bar? I want to see this hot guitar guy.”
The car lurches and I have to quickly snatch a hand out to grab onto a metal bar and steady myself. It wasdefinitelythe movement of the train that caused that reaction; not the thought of my daughter mooning over the guy I was begging to come on me less than twelve hours ago…
“I’m not working this weekend,” I tell her. “And you’re underage.”
She rolls her eyes, giving a casual flip of her hair. “Well, it’s not like I was expecting you to make me Old Fashioneds all night…”
