Decadent Master. Tawny Taylor
met Susan’s brown-eyed gaze. “I honestly thought we were happy. How could I not know things were so wrong? Am I that oblivious? That blind?”
The counselor gave Wynne an encouraging smile. “Of course not. You wanted to believe the best. I think that’s human nature. Your fiancé never gave you any reason to think anything was seriously wrong.”
“Yes, you’re right. He misled me.” As Wynne bent over and picked up her purse, she felt a new emotion drift to the surface. Her face warmed. Her heart started thumping heavily in her chest. “He lied. For months and months. We had sex. Lots of sex. He acted like he enjoyed it. Pretended it was good.”
“And that makes you feel…?”
“Maybe a little mad.”
“A little?” Susan leaned forward. “Wynne, you don’t need permission to feel any emotion. It’s okay.”
Wynne nodded, jerking on her purse’s zipper. “Okay, maybe I’m more than a little mad. Maybe I’m very mad, pissed…furious. Absolutely livid. It wasn’t fair for him to let things drag on so long if he wasn’t happy.” Finding a pack of gum, she snatched a piece, unwrapped it, wadded the wrapper up, and stuffed the stick into her mouth. She chewed so hard her jaw snapped. “We were together for three years. We were engaged for one. And none of this came up until a few weeks before our wedding.” She swiped at the hot tears streaming from her eyes, tugging a tissue from the box Susan handed her. “It wasn’t fair to keep such important secrets from me. I mean, maybe John knew I wouldn’t understand that whole whips and chains thing. That could be part of the reason why he kept it quiet. And the gay part…oh God. But still. It’s just wrong, what he did.” She closed her purse and set it on the floor. “Then again, I keep telling myself he probably couldn’t help it. He was probably ashamed. Suffering.”
“What do you mean, ‘couldn’t help it’?”
“I’ve been doing some reading about sex addiction. How people get sucked into depravity, needing harder and harder stimulation. It wasn’t John’s fault, I don’t think. He was…sick. Right? That’s what I have to keep telling myself.” Noticing Susan was staring at her hands, she glanced down. She’d torn the tissue to shreds without realizing it. She raked the ripped bits into a pile and balled them up, stuffing them into her pocket. “It’s the only way I can deal with this without going absolutely crazy. I mean, what else could it be? It has to be a sickness, right? An addiction. Normal sex with a woman simply wasn’t enough anymore.”
Susan didn’t respond for a long time, which drove Wynne absolutely nuts. Finally, she said, “First, from a purely professional standpoint, to say all people who participate in bondage or are gay are ‘sick’ is not a fair—”
Something hot and furious exploded inside her. “Fair? Who the hell cares about fair?” Wynne pulled another tissue from the box and dabbed at her watery eyes. “John didn’t think about what was fair. And his gay fuck partner didn’t either. If they did, we would be married right now, buying our first house together, planning to start a family. Because he told me that was what was going to happen. He’d promised me. Like you said, any emotion I’m feeling is good. Right? So you can’t fault me for hating the culture or lifestyle or whatever you call it that took my John away. My life. My dreams.”
Susan seemed to be trying to hide a frown. “I hear a lot of anger in those words.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you do. I just don’t get it. Why would any man leave a woman who loves him with all her heart for someone who beats him? Why? Why would he suddenly decide sex with me was so bad that he needed to quit having sex with women forever? If he didn’t go homosexual because of an addiction then I turned the man gay. How’d I manage that? Please, please tell me.” She held her breath, waiting, hoping for the words that would make this whole thing make sense. That’s all she wanted, for someone to say the right thing, so that the lightbulb would come on, she would understand, and she’d finally be out of this dark hell.
“I think we’ve got our work cut out for us. For one thing, you need to understand that you did nothing wrong. John didn’t ‘turn’ gay. He was gay all along. And second, you don’t know what bondage is about. Until you do, you’re not going to put this behind you. Do you agree?” At Wynne’s shrug, the therapist added, “I don’t want you to continue to doubt yourself, your sexuality, your ability to trust, to love. Which is why I want to make a suggestion.”
Damn, there’d been no lightbulb moment. “What kind of suggestion?”
“I wonder.” Susan paused for a moment, visibly contemplating something. “Would you consider a little exercise? I think it might help you find the answers you’re looking for.”
“I guess that depends upon the ‘exercise’ you’re suggesting. If it means I’ll finally get over this crap, so I can find a man who can love me and not scare him away with my paranoia, then maybe I’m desperate enough to try just about anything.”
“I want you to go to a bondage club.”
Wynne barked out a laugh. Her stomach almost came out with it. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then maybe you’re the one who needs a shrink. Not me. Because that’s just…wrong.”
Susan pursed her lips, shaking her head. “There’s that sarcasm again. Remember, use feeling words.”
Argh! “Okay, I feel like you’re the one who needs a shrink. That’s the most insane idea I have ever heard.”
“And why do you think it’s crazy?”
“Because you’re sending me into that world. With people I don’t understand…What could I possibly gain by going to a bondage club?”
“Honestly, there’s a very good reason why I think paying a visit to a bondage club is a good idea. But I won’t force you. It’s your choice.”
“Then I choose not to.”
“Very well, then. If you aren’t willing to do this for yourself, you wouldn’t have gained any useful insight by going anyway, only ammunition for prejudice and hatred.” Susan looked weary as she glanced at the clock. “Our time is up. We’ll talk again in two weeks. But before you go, I want to give you the phone number of someone I trust very much. In case you change your mind. She can get you into the local bondage club, Twilight. It’s very safe and exclusive.” She scrawled a name on the back of one of her cards and offered it to Wynne.
“All right.” Wynne reluctantly accepted the proffered card and stuffed it into her pocket with the torn-up tissue. She stood, gave Susan-the-crazy-shrink a friendly wave, and headed out of the office. She found her friend Kristy sitting in the waiting room, her head buried in a romance novel. Wynne gave her a tap on the shoulder and headed for the exit.
“I’m guessing you don’t like your new therapist very much?” her intuitive friend asked as they walked to the car.
“You guessed right.”
“What is it this time?” Kristy ducked into the passenger seat before adding, “This is the third counselor you’ve ditched in six months. You know, maybe it’s not them—”
“That woman suggested I go to a bondage club.” Wynne tossed the business card onto the dash, crammed the key into the ignition, and gave it a jerk.
“Why would she do that?” her friend asked, plucking up the card to read it.
“Because she’s cuckoo, that’s why.” Wynne rammed the gear shift into drive and stomped on the gas, sending the car lurching out of the parking space.
Wow, she could see herself overreacting, but she couldn’t stop. Her heart wasn’t just pounding in her chest, it was jack-hammering. Her skin wasn’t just hot, it was blistering. And this awful, overwhelming twitchy rage was rushing through her body, relentless and overpowering.
Kristy