Chapter 2
“I like the way you think.”
Do you truly, my love? Do you know that I want to feel your hand fisted in my hair and forcing me to my knees? Or that I’ve dreamed of standing you in my bedroom door, your fingertips straining to hold the frame and your breath hissing between your teeth as I mark that beautiful skin of yours with a crop? Do you like the way I think about submitting to you and forcing you to submit to me by turns, trading in the normal for something far more zesty and complex? Do I dare risk asking?
“Only because we think so much alike.”
Oh, I hope that’s true. You’re so amazing and I haven’t allowed myself hope in so long, but I hope you do think of the things I think of. I hope we think alike about the excitement of taking risks, about the submission inherent in dominance, and about the ultimate power of submissiveness. I want to put you in a blindfold and force you down into your own skin; and I want you to put a cockring on me and pull me out of mine. I hope we both share this desire to experiment, to experience. Could it be true, that we think so much alike? I could ask. I could throw off this veneer, this wrapper of “normality” and just ask…It would be a risk, but if we do think so much alike, it would be worth it, so very worth it. I should ask. I should. But do I dare?
“…”
Do I dare?
“On second thought…What if we just stayed in tonight?”Two Tents, Part 1 by Lynn Townsend
The swearing was only barely louder than the storm, but that was saying quite a bit, as the storm was raging down the mountainside like Alecto with a bad case of PMS. Guil tilted his head to one side, trying to pick out the colorful language between the cymbal crashes of thunder.
“…son of an AIDS-infested weasel…” It was a woman’s voice, not shrill, but fierce. Whoever the weasel’s bastard was, Guil felt sorry for him when this woman caught up with him. “…nothave trusted him…crush him with his own fancy car!” Crash, thud. Rustle. She was close to Guil’s tent now. He sighed. The weather was terrible, and it was well past sundown. This was no time for someone to be wandering around blind in the woods. He didn’t get much vacation and he didn’t really want to spend any of it sealed in his tent with an angry woman. An angry, wet woman. And yet, he’d feel terribly guilty if he heard later that a camper was lost, or eaten by a bear in the Appalachians. Amateurs. They should make people get a license to camp out in the wilderness.
“Ma’am?” Guil unzipped the inner lining of his tent and stepped into the tent’s foyer, the enclosed area used to shake off snow—or in this case, not track muddy boots all over the sleeping bags. He pulled an emergency pack with him; it contained a towel, spare clothing, and a few other necessities, sealed in a waterproof bag. It had only taken one bad flood where he’d ended up in the river, tent and all, to start preparing for all the worst outcomes in camping. Once inside, he closed off the main tent; it was pleasantly warm and toasty in his sleeping space. “Are you lost, ma’am?”
The crashing, cursing whirlwind stopped, flashlight flicking along the ground, nearly blotted out by the driving rain. “I know exactly where I am,” she spat. She clawed a hand across her face, clearing the tangle of hair from her eyes. “My tent, on the other hand, seems to have had an appointment it neglected to tell me about and has run off…that way.” She waved the flashlight in a southern direction.
“Why don’t you come in, dry off?” Guil gestured. “You won’t find it tonight. I’ll help you look in the morning?”
“Why?”
“Why what?” Guil twitched an eyebrow up. Why, in the name of all that was holy, was she arguing with him?
“Why would you help me?”
“What, are you from New York?”
She snorted. “Right. Southern hospitality extends to tents?” She hesitated, apparently trying to judge his character through the pouring rain. She took a few steps and ducked under the tent flap. The woman was soaked to the skin. Her hair clung to her face in colorless tangles, snarled with leaves and bits of tree branches. Clothing too sodden to provide protection dragged her down, tugging at her shoulders and hips. The only feature he could see clearly was her eyes, wide and a deep, mossy green, fringed with long lashes beaded with rain.