Standing in front of the washing machine, Sofia looked at the unusual business card she'd retrieved, along with some loose change, from her husband's pants pocket. On the card were the words "Hard Candy" with a telephone number and the cryptic phrase, "Call If You Dare." The card itself appeared to be a photocopy of some sort of tan background with the two large capital letters "HC" in some kind of thin, dark, sans-serif font. These two letters were unusual in themselves for being somewhat less than precise around the edges and at an angle to the rest of the card.
Well, she thought, now that I've saved this card from death by drowning in laundry detergent, I guess I ought to see what needs to be done with it. She set it aside and finished getting the washer started. Then she picked up the card and walked out of the laundry room to ask her husband about it.
She found him in the living room disinterestedly watching some mindless program on the television. "Howard, I found this in a pair of your pants while I was doing laundry," she said, casually handing the card to him. "What is it? Is it something you need to keep?" Her interest in the matter sharpened a little when she noticed his eyes widening a bit and him taking in a breath at the recognition of the object in question. Sofia was a shrewd observer.
"Oh, I was given that card when I was at the big-box home center store yesterday," he explained. "There was this woman in front of me in the checkout line. She was buying a long piece of some kind of chain. She handed me the card."
"So, it was somebody you met, then," Said Sofia, matter-of-factly.
"Well, I didn't exactly meet her..." Howard began hesitantly, and then went on to say, "I never saw her before, but I noticed she had an interesting tattoo on her arm. It was a tattoo of a woman in what looked like a swimsuit, and she was wearing boots and holding what must have been riding crop. We were in line there for several minutes, and I got a real good look at it and realized that it was a tattoo of Bettie Page. You know, that famous model from the 1950s. It was kind of eerie. It was like Bettie Page was looking right at me."
"And then she just gave you this card."
"Well, I was intrigued, so I said to her, 'Isn't that a tattoo of Bettie Page,' which I guess wasn't a particularly brilliant conversation starter. And about the same time, it was her turn to pay the cashier. She just looked at me for a second, and then she reached out and put the card in my hand. She never said anything to me. Then she turned around, bought her chain and left."
"Interesting," said Sofia. "So, is this card a keeper, or should I throw it away?"
"Oh, uh, throw it away. No need to keep it. No need at all." And with that, Howard returned to his television program, in which he now had a new found interest, and Sofia went back to the laundry room.
Now, isn't this a little odd, thought Sofia. Howard's telling me to throw this card away, and yet he took the trouble to keep it in the first place. If he didn't want it, he could have thrown it away himself rather than keeping it in his pants pocket and bringing it home. Sofia's well developed sense of intuition kicked itself up a notch. I wonder if there's something about this that Howard's not telling me?
Both Sofia and Howard knew who Bettie Page was. She'd been a beautiful and famous--infamous--pin-up who'd been been the poster girl for the mid-twentieth century BDSM crowd and was still iconic even today. So, concluded Sofia, my husband had a chance meeting with a dominatrix yesterday. And he was going to keep her business card. How VERY interesting!
What Howard neglected to mention to Sofia was the more accurate description of the encounter. As soon as the identity of the tattoo registered itself in Howard's mind, and as soon as he'd made the mental connection between it and the likely occupation of its owner, Howard developed an immediate erection. And when the lady turned to regard Howard after he spoke to her, she looked him over and noticed it. She looked back up at him, looked directly and provocatively into his eyes and held his gaze for a good five seconds or so. Then she gave him her card and turned away without so much as a word.
The little demon that sat on Howard's left shoulder whispered into his ear, "SHE'S HOT!"
The little angel that sat on his right whispered, "Better not."
On occasion, Howard wrestled with his demon for control, but today they both chose to just cuddle each other closely. The little angel was shut out.
Howard watched her walk off. Her tight fitting clothing accentuated her well toned body. She works out, Howard thought to himself. She's strong and supple and walks like the cat that owns the jungle. Howard was so preoccupied with this woman that the salesgirl had to say, "Sir, you're next" three times before it registered with him. "Oh, sorry," he stammered, and paid for his purchases. Once in his car, he looked at the card she'd handed him. He didn't have any idea what he would or could do with it, but he stuffed it into his pocket.
And then sort of forgot about it when other matters displaced it from his consciousness. Until now. Now he found himself wondering what it would be like to be under the sexual control of a woman like that, a woman with enough authority to make him do whatever she wanted. He got another erection thinking about the possibilities. Well, it'll never happen, he concluded and went into the kitchen to fetch himself a beer and some corn chips.
Sofia had no intention of throwing the card away, not just yet, anyway. In fact, over the next week, she made a point of leaving it in plain sight several times, knowing Howard would see it, because she wanted to see what he'd do about it when he did. Howard certainly did notice the card, but he neither threw it away himself or commented on it, which was something else that Sofia found very interesting.
Sofia was an attractive, beautifully proportioned woman, but her sense of self was reflected in a conservative taste in attire and deportment. It wasn't that Sofia was without passion--she had plenty--but rather that she believed that the display of passion was better left to the privacy of their own bedroom. She'd graduated college with a bachelor's degree in psychology, and her goal, which she had achieved, was to fall in love with and marry a good, honest man, and stay home and be a good housewife.
They were both in their mid twenties and had been married for five years.
Howard was a mechanical engineer who had a well paying job at a large corporation. He understood machinery and mathematics. Females, on the other hand, were baffling, especially to engineers, and were frequently the subject of conversation at departmental lunch breaks. "You know," one of his colleagues said during lunch one day, "If it wasn't for the fact that women had pussies, there'd be a bounty on them." This observation was met with gales of laughter and high fives all around. "Well, I'm of the mind that the 'Rawhide' approach is best," observed one of the older men.
"The 'rawhide' approach? asked Howard. "What's that?"
"Sorry," said the old man, "It was before your time. 'Rawhide' was on TV years ago. It was about some cowboys and their adventures on the cattle drives. It had a theme song about life on the trail herding cattle, and the song had a line in it that's just my take on how to deal with women: Don't try to understand 'em. Just rope, throw and brand 'em." More raucous laughter followed.
Howard didn't exactly agree with all of this, but he went along for the ride. He did admit to himself that he didn't understand Sofia at times. For example, he could see the sense of getting an engineering degree. You could make good money with that. On the other hand, what good did a degree in psychology do for anybody? All it was good for was to get a job at Starbucks serving coffee. And Sofia said she wanted to find employment somewhere after they got married. She said she wanted to contribute 'her share' to the relationship, which suggested that he wasn't able to provide. He patiently explained to her that he made more than enough money for the both of them, so why shouldn't she stay home? It took some doing, but he convinced her of the logic of this, and after a while, she agreed that he'd been right. She was sensible sometimes, especially when she'd see things his way. And, of course, he was proud of himself for being able to have a stay-at-home wife when so many others had to work to make ends meet. And not to mention that she was usually up for sex as soon as he got home.
