Bonds of Love. Sarah K
was an odd thing to say; not creepy or stalker-like, just unsettling. And there was a moment then when we were so close that I thought Alex might kiss me – which was also odd because in BDSM, despite the intimate relationship between a Dom and their sub, often they don’t kiss. Max had told me that kissing was for lovers, not Masters and their sex slaves. But I realised as Alex and I moved apart and the moment passed that I had wanted him to kiss me.
‘It’s a real shame we don’t know each other better,’ Alex said, taking my arm as he helped me down over the harbour wall. ‘I’m going to a wedding in Whitby at the end of next week. Old family friends. I was going to make it a three-day trip. You could have come with me. I’ve booked into a really nice hotel.’
I looked at him and laughed. Outrageous! ‘You think I’m going to be swayed by the promise of a couple of nights in a half-decent hotel?’
‘You never know your luck,’ Alex said with a shrug.
‘You’re really not backwards in coming forwards, are you?’
Alex smiled, eyes bright with mischief. ‘It’s not something I’ve ever been accused of, no. How about you? How forward are you?’ he teased.
‘I’m not,’ I said primly, realising that I sounded more like a schoolmistress than a submissive.
‘Okay, not a problem,’ he said. ‘Maybe next time. The friend whose daughter is getting married has got six kids. I’m sure this won’t be the last time I get an invite to see one of them get married. And it’s a lovely part of the world. Have you ever been?’
I shook my head.
‘Amazing countryside, and Whitby is a real little gem.’
By now we had wandered way down past the boats and onto the beach where only the hardiest were walking in the cutting wind. I glanced across at Alex, wrapped up in a Barbour jacket, scarf tucked in, his head down, and smiled. He was lovely and, mad as this may sound, that set every alarm bell in my head ringing. What exactly was I thinking? Lovely? Hadn’t I said I’d take my time, not get involved, treat this as a trial run? Lovely? It was total madness.
What were the chances of walking out of one relationship straight into another one that was right? Next to zero, I’d have said. If I had drawn up a wish list of what I wanted in a man I suspect Alex would have ticked practically every box, and that was my dilemma. I didn’t believe what I was feeling and I didn’t trust myself or my instincts. Maybe it was because I hadn’t been out with anyone for so long.
The problem I was having was that the chemistry thing, which is usually so elusive and so very hard to find with someone, was there, so tangible that you’d have to have been dead not to feel it. I fancied Alex, and I knew damn well that he fancied me, and the fact was it terrified me.
What if this was a rebound thing or just lust? Was it that Max had created a need in me – like a drug habit – that longed to be fed? There was a good chance that this man could fulfil that need; was that what made me think I fancied him? I didn’t trust my instincts. Alex was lovely and there was a part of me – the mad, reckless part – that thought actually a few days in Whitby with him sounded like huge fun. But that wasn’t what I said. Instead I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jacket and tucked my head down to avoid the cutting wind and said nothing.
‘I’ll book you into a separate room,’ Alex said. ‘No strings. Or ropes, or anything even vaguely bondage. How does that sound?’
I laughed. ‘Boring.’
He threw back his head and laughed along with me. While I believed Alex when he said that he would book separate rooms, I think both of us knew that if I went to Whitby with him that wasn’t what was going to happen.
‘For God’s sake,’ said Gabbie, pouring me another glass of wine. ‘You’re hardly a blushing virgin. Go. It’ll do you good.’
‘You make it sound like some sort of universal cure-all.’
‘Nothing wrong with a little therapeutic sex, Sarah. Come on, you said yourself that he is cute, and let’s face it, you could do with a diversion. You’ve been moping about for months since you split up with Max. Time to start over, honey. Time to be getting on with life.’
‘I have been getting on with life,’ I protested.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘As far as I can see you’ve been getting on with avoiding life,’ she said.
Gabbie is one of my best and oldest friends. Along with Joan and Helen, we make up a quartet of friends who go back the best part of twenty-five years, and we are still going strong. The four of us first met up at antenatal classes in a draughty scout hut on the outskirts of Cambridge, but we’ve all come an awfully long way since then. When our children were small we used to meet up once a month at each other’s houses. Now that we’ve all moved away and moved on and our children have grown up, we still try to get together regularly for supper, it just doesn’t happen as often as any of us would like.
Tonight, however, was an extraordinary mid-week general meeting with just Gabbie and me present, because I thought Joan would disapprove of me going away with Alex on principle and Helen had started seeing a man called Geoff and was so excited and loved up that – pleased as I was – I knew that he would be the main topic of conversation. Even if we did talk about Alex and the pros and cons of going away with a complete stranger for a dirty weekend, she wouldn’t really be listening and, while I didn’t want to steal her thunder, I needed some support and advice. Helen deserved a good man. We all did.
‘I don’t know why you’re making such a big thing of this. What harm can it do?’ Gabbie was saying. We had ordered a takeaway. She was waving an onion bhaji around for added emphasis. ‘You’re a big girl now, Sarah. You don’t need anyone’s approval, least of all mine. Look at the mess I make of relationships. Go to Whitby, have a good time, have a weekend in a nice hotel with someone you fancy and have some good meaningless sex. Or not. Let him book you a separate room and have a bit of a cuddle. Your choice. You’re old enough to make up your own mind now, and you can have a relationship any shape you want it to be these days. I mean, he might be the one.’
I laughed. ‘Yes, and he could also be an axe murderer.’
‘True. But then again so could anyone else you go out with and –’
‘He offered to drive,’ I said.
‘And what? Your mother was very strict about you getting into cars with strangers?’
‘And rightly so.’
‘Okay, so you offer to drive up there then.’
‘I don’t want to drive to Whitby. It’s bloody miles away.’
‘Go by train and meet him there.’
‘It’ll take all day.’
‘Okay, well, don’t go at all then,’ said Gabbie, throwing up her hands in frustration.
‘But I want to go,’ I said, realising that with every passing minute I was sounding more and more like a petulant teenager than a fortysomething adult with a job, a mortgage and grown-up kids.
‘You probably know a lot more about Alex than you would about some guy you’d met in a bar, and I think you’d know if he was weird.’
‘You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you? But I’m not sure I trust my instincts.’
‘Oh well, that’s it then. Ring him up and tell him you’re not going. Or do you want me to do it?’ Gabbie paused and waited for me to reply, and when I didn’t she said, ‘What you really want is for me to give you my approval and to encourage you to go, don’t you?’
She was right, of course. I just needed someone