She was working the bar like a real pro. It was her bar, in her beautiful home, nestled in the pine forest, adjacent to a golf course carved through spectacular red rock formations. She and her husband had invited about a dozen of us over to watch some football, eat, imbibe, chat, laugh and have fun.
Quite the hostess she was. Always was. When it was her party she made sure that everything was as perfect as it could be, from the plentiful hors d'oeuvres to the custom-made cocktails and libations that she created and served to guests from behind the bar.
She and I had a most unique relationship. We'd known each other for some twenty-five years. The initial connection was between her husband and my wife. They met professionally, working at the same IT job at one time. They'd gone their separate work ways but our "couples friendship" endured. She and I had always been friendly, admired each other and genuinely enjoyed each other's company.
In recent times, say the past couple years, she and I have appreciated each other even more. It began with a little harmless flirting and was fairly innocuous. Oh, we engage in some light touching, some ribald humor, some suggestive banter. But it became apparent in recent times that there was something special about each other's company and we developed a unique kind of bond. When she discretely planted on me a delicious kiss about a year ago it opened up in me a recognition of just how fond I was of her. And, I assumed, she of me. Still, our relationship remained relatively chaste, by mutual agreement. Touching, flirting and a little kissing were in-bounds. Beyond that was not. So far as I could tell, she and her husband were committed to each other as were my wife and I.
The only times when those boundaries blurred a little were when she became bartender and I became her patron. The persona she transformed into as bartender became a little more daring with each subsequent drink...as did mine. I suppose we were some kind of rendition of drinking buddies. And as we imbibed with each other the flirting became a bit more impulsive and bold.
It was under these conditions that I made a confession to her. One time we were sitting together sipping martinis. For the moment, no one else was around. I gazed at her in admiration and perceived more than a casual friend. Beyond being smitten with her, I saw her as my confidante. I trusted her. I'm not sure how she inspired such confidence in me. But she did. Especially in this tipsy state. And I'd been obsessing over a desperate need to share with her a secret of mine - a secret that no one in the world but my wife was aware of...that I was a sub, a guy who yearned to be controlled and dominated by a female. It's what got me off, pushed my buttons and aroused my passions. So, I told her. I was nervous as hell. But a martini, my comfort with her and my infatuation with her won me over.
She was far too worldly to be taken aback. She'd definitely been up past midnight on many a Saturday night. It's one of the things I loved about her. I did detect, however, a smidgen of disappointment. I think most heterosexual females have a natural attraction to a virile, take charge, aggressive, sweep-me-off-my-feet kind of guy. But she was accepting and non-judgmental, as I'd guessed she'd be.
From that moment on, she'd occasionally make passing remarks that acknowledged by subbiness. Harmless, playful buddy kind of remarks, like, "Watch out or I'll make you go deadhead all the flowers," or "Go fetch me some ice from upstairs...and that's not a request." She knew that when she said things like that I melted like a puppy, spellbound by his treat-packing owner. And she was able to conjure up the most stern visage with me. It reminded me of a grade school teacher admonishing an unruly student. Not messing around! I just melted with that stare of hers. And she knew it.
And that's how it went pretty much until this fine autumn day when a dozen or so of us descended on their beautiful home. We were enjoying the football game and camaraderie. I was sitting at the bar, in my usual spot. Everyone else was coming and going, to watch football, step out on the deck, play some pinball, gorge at the snack table, tell stories and jokes, etc.
Occasionally, we'd be left alone, in between drink orders from others. She and I were sipping a potent concoction of hers, a St. Germaine gin martini, and were just starting to feel a little giddy from the alcohol. That's when she leaned over the bar and whispered, "You've been dying to be my sub for a long time, haven't you?" I recall it so well. It was more of a statement than a question.
I was taken aback. We really hadn't spoken explicitly about this since my confession. But I was electrified by the remark. I chose the honest, forthright path.
"Yes. I've dreamed about being your sub for a long, long time. But you kind of knew that, didn't you."
"Yeah, I suppose I have." She wandered to the far end of the bar to put a couple glasses in the sink before returning and resuming the conversation.
"You wouldn't wimp out on me would you? I mean, if I subbed you, really subbed you, you'd do everything and I mean everything I tell you to, right?"
"Yes Ma'am," I responded eagerly.
"Well," she remarked as a "customer" approached the bar and came into hearing range, "I don't believe you. You'd never make it," she chided me.
"Never make what?" the somewhat inebriated and slightly sloppy gentleman asked as he plopped his glass down on the bar. "Rum and coke, please," he continued, without waiting for a response to his question. Nonetheless, she continued the train of thought, half addressed at her new customer and speaking of me in the third person.
