This is a fictional story with fictional characters that utilizes many real world locations. While some of the stories shared here are based on encounters I have had or stories that I have heard about most are utter fabrications and the story should be taken as such.
*
It was apparent at once that the group was founded by fellow nerd such as him. The flier Jason held in his hands was printed on parchment paper in a fantasy script font. But this wasn't what gave it away. Nor was it the abundant puns, the tongue-in-cheek references to both
50 Shades of Grey
and
Eyes Wide Shut
, or the fact that somebody had described Hard Limits as "Limit Breaks". It was the name of the group that immediately caught his attention.
Association of Fishersville Kinks.
An innocuous if somewhat officious sounding name, but whose true purpose was given away by the bold initials that stood at the top of the parchment:
AFK
.
"So I hope you don't mind," came Sara's voice from behind him.
She was carrying a mug of something in the coffee family as she strolled around in front of him to gauge his reaction. Her apartment wasn't exactly going to win any awards for interior design -- there was a certain controlled chaos to it all. It perfectly conveyed her life story in a single room: the sink full of dishes said she was a college student, the empty ramen packets said she was a broke college student, and the collection of fastidiously scribbled notes documenting every social interaction she'd had in the past months said she was a psych major. In reality she hated every aspect of the field except for the eventual career opportunity. Being a therapist meant helping people. Studying to be a therapist meant learning to hate people.
"No, I mean, it seems like an interesting bunch," Jason said.
"I might be embarrassed bringing that up after only a second date, but given the events of last night-"
"Yeah, I might be inclined to question your motives about that," Jason remarked, half-teasingly. After all it
was
only their second date. Last weekend they'd gone on a simple and sweet dinner date. That was more or less how the second date was going as well until an off-hand comment from Sara led to the simultaneous revelation of a shared perversion. Fueled by just the right amount of alcohol to spurn creativity without overly inhibiting judgment the two found themselves experimenting. Jason noticed that Sara wasn't sitting down and took a moment here and there to rub her wrists. No marks -- he'd been careful but perhaps it had been a bit more snug than he intended.
"Well this was to show you that I
was
genuinely interested in...
that.
And to show you that despite this being a very small town there's still quite a few of us who are interested in the lifestyle," Sara explained.
"So is this a support group?" Jason asked sarcastically. He then stood up, parroting a common sight. "Hi, my name is Jason, I'm a Sadistic Dominant."
Sara rolled her eyes in a permissive sort of way. "No. It's more like a club. I mean it's nice to know that there are some people here who won't call you a sociopath or an abuse victim because of your personal interests."
Jason nodded knowingly.
Even with Fishersville being in a relatively liberal-minded area of Virginia, the Bible Belt had cinched tight around the smaller communities. It was the kind of community that still had some people turning their heads at interracial couples, to say nothing of any sort of fetishism. Any naturally anything within the LGBT spectrum was right out. To be fair things had gotten better in the larger cities -- Staunton, Harrisonburg, Charlottesville. All the college towns with students from all across the nation sharing their beliefs like a microcosmic melting pot -- the image of America reflecting in its highest institutions of learning. It was one of the things Sara found so fascinating about attending UVA.
"To be honest I'm a little surprised you didn't," Jason retorted. "Gotta flex that psych degree somehow."
"Yeah, no I don't do that armchair crap. If you wanna be one of my test subjects during my thesis, fine. Of course we'd have to stop dating for that," Sara smirked.
"Really? I couldn't be your
control
subject?" Jason tossed back, taking a chance and swatting her ass lightly.
"I'll give you an F on understanding what 'control' means in a scientific context, but a solid A+ on the pun," Sara replied. "But seriously I mean you don't have to show up if you don't want to, but I figured you might get along with these people."
"It's not like I have anything else to do this Wednesday. Why such a weird day for a fetish meeting?" Jason asked. "I mean you'd think you'd meet on the weekends when you can actually do stuff."
Sara rolled her eyes again, this time with a hint more impatience and whacked Jason on the head with her folder. "It's not like this is an orgy, you dork. We just talk, share stories, network," Sara glanced at her cell phone. "And I gotta get going. Which means you gotta get going."
"Aw damn I was planning to raid your panty drawer," Jason shrugged, sliding on his shoes and grabbing his wallet a keys off the counter.
"Maybe next time," Sara said, albeit her tone was a bit less teasing and a bit more impatient mother. "Just let me know on Messenger if you're showing up."
"I'll tell you right now I'll be attending," Jason explained.
"Don't feel like our potential future relationship depends on your joining or anything," Sara offered as she shut the door behind them both.
"No, if nothing else it's a nice place to meet a potential backup plan," Jason chuckled.
"There's six of us and I'm the only straight submissive female," Sara replied with a hint of jealousy in her tone.
"Was just a joke, babe," Jason's nervous chuckling grew -- attempting to mask his growing anxiety over the awkward task to which he was now committed.
Fishersville has three major roads. The spinal cord of the pit stop of a town is VA-250, better known by its local name of Jefferson Highway. It is this road you would travel if were bouncing between the respectably-sized city of Staunton and the charming whistle-stop of Waynesboro. Along this road, if you were to blink, you could miss Fishersville altogether. There is also Tinkling Springs Road which leads to August Medical Center, an impressive hospital whose top 100 ranking amounts US Hospitals is at least partly attributed to their practice of shipping difficult cases to UVA. And lastly there Long Meadow Rd. which leads to nowhere of particular note. It's a handy country road if you are looking for a back way to get northbound. Or if you're a fresh-faced kink attending his first meeting of AFK.
The small gravel access road just on the edge of town led to a small renovated farmhouse at the outskirts of what was probably once a sprawling plantation until eminent domain parceled it out. It was near enough to society to ease Jason's worries about being taken unawares, but also far enough away to ease his worries about being noticed. He parked alongside the other vehicles, which had taken up a makeshit flank along the edge of the gravel -- a shiny white Prius, a beat up looking Ford F-150, an old clunker of a minivan whose origin was impossible to tell, and an olive drab Bruin ATV. Jason's forest green Nissan Altima was snug at the end of the line but he didn't see any hint of Sara's red Sunfire.
He shrugged and made his way to the door -- she was probably just late.
The door leading into the small two story building was propped open with an old wooden doorstopper, and a helpful sign printed on cardstock pointed towards the left. Jason stepped just a few paces into an immaculate living room, tastefully decorated with the loving touch of southern hospitality. A large L-shaped couch was the center piece of the seating, but there was a beanbag chair directly in front of Jason and a recliner on the opposite side of the L. There was a large glass coffee table in the middle of this semi-square arrangement and an armchair facing the group on the opposite end of it, though it had clearly been dragged from its usual resting place against the far wall. Two bookshelves framed the large bay window on the west side of the room and on the south side there was an archway leading into to the dining room.
In the crowd of people the first person he noticed was the woman sitting in the armchair, a middle-aged woman of color who had a commanding presence to her. She sat with a dignified, regal air, legs crossed but the rest of her body open in an inviting gesture. Even though her clothes were relatively casual -- a white sweater and matching yoga pants, she still carried herself with such poise.
"Well hello there!" She said, turning to face Jason with a smile, her deep brown eyes piercing through him. "You must be Sara's friend."
She clasped his hand firmly, and Jason noticed as she bent over slightly to reach him that her long flowing black hair had slight white streaks in it. While she was clearly older her face and aura was that of a much younger woman, and she seemed to warm up the air around her as she spoke.
"Uh, hi. I'm Jason," he said giving her a brief shake before glancing around for a free spot.
"And I'm Andrea," she said. "You can go ahead at take a seat next to Quenton at the end there."
An energetic bolt of orange track suit stood up and pulled Jason into a bro hug. All Jason saw was a tiny bit of hair on an otherwise bald head as he embraced the man then pulled back to see decidedly feminine features.
"Quenton," he said with a nod. He then pointed to his face. "Female to Male."
"Ahh," Jason replied. "He/him?"
"Yep yep. And you're like the first person in this county to ever actually ask me that outside of these guys," Quenton chuckled. "Andrea runs the show here, but everybody knows I'm the top dog here, so allow me to give you the run down. I'm Quenton, Korean, Female to Male and married to this ebony goddess over here."
The younger black girl sitting next to him gave Quenton a sort of giggly look as she covered her face in her hands. "Oh my god, Quenton."
She stood up out of the couch and took Jason's hand. "Brianna. Nice to meet you."
A well-groomed and sharply dressed white boy sat at the far end of the couch, square-rimmed glasses and a blonde-haired side-shave creating a stylish asymmetry to his face. His sweater vest and khakis were a bit on the nose.
"Oh damn, another straight boy," he smirked. "Straight, white, and I'm guessing Dominant if you're into Sara. Well aren't we pushing boundaries."
