I called an Uber and we waited, both of us a bit nervous. The way we were dressed, small talk was out of the question.
When the car got there, a full-size Tahoe I was happy to see, we climbed into the back seat and I gave the address, nothing more.
She held my hand as we rode.
She giggled a little and whispered, “not even a hint.”
I patted her knee and said, “hush wench.”
I paid the tab, added a generous tip since I was feeling jazzed up, and we went in.
As I had been, she was obviously overwhelmed by the sheer redness of the place.
She looked around, her lips parted.
“Ummmmmmmmm,” she said, “what is this place.”
I held out my hand and we went to the hostess station. This time it was manned, well, womanned, by an immensely fat woman, her breasts, heavily tattooed with nipple rings, exposed.
“Reservation for Morgan,” I said.
She checked her list and did something on her desk.
“One second,” she said in a delightfully musical voice.
The redhead who came to lead us was dressed in nothing but a leather harness. I tried to picture how long it took her to get that all on, about a dozen straps were all it was, with a small leather patch barely covering her obviously shaved pussy and two straps lifting her small breasts.
“Right this way,” she said.
Ridiculously high stiletto heels enhanced her walk and I couldn’t help enjoying her ass as she walked.
Arlene grabbed my arm and leaned close and whispered, “eyes back in your head honey.”
I chuckled and said, “your ass is much better.”
She giggled at that.
The redhead led us through the short hallway and parted the curtains into the main room.
I couldn’t help but stop and just look, taking it all in.
I looked at Arlene and her eyes were shiny as she slowly looked around the room.
It was pure sex on display.
At that table a man who had to be in his 70s was casually popping bites of food into the mouth of a hugely fat girl, I say girl advisedly. I assumed she was legal, who knelt at his side dressed in nothing but a collar.
At that table, a woman, perfectly normal-looking, matronly, in her 40s or maybe 50s, talked casually across the table to another woman, this one about 20 and striking, while a man whose face said he was in his 30s but whose small cock and undescended scrotum suggested he had never achieved puberty, rubbed her back. The 20-year-old had a man, possibly in his 50s, with his head buried between her legs. I wondered if they hadn’t traded.
It was like that all across the room. In virtually every case one half of the couple was in some stage of undress.
“Happy to see you, Mr. Morgan,” she said and I jumped a little.
When I turned Madame Victoria was standing there, smiling up at me. She was really a small woman although her, well, her “presence” suggested someone much bigger.
I smiled.
“All I can say right now is ‘wow,” I said.
She smiled and said, “aren’t you going to introduce me?”
I chuckled and said, “sorry, I forgot my manners.”
I turned and took Arlene’s hand, pulling her forward a little.
“Arlene,” I said, “this is Madame Victoria, the proprietor of this establishment. Madame Victoria, may I present Arlene, my wife.”
Victoria looked her up and down and turned to me.
“David,” she said, “we do have some standards here and she is really terribly overdressed.”
I grinned and said, “It’s our first time here, please forgive our ignorance.”
“Oh,” she said, “no forgiveness necessary, just please correct your error.”
Arlene had been watching this exchange and her eyes got big when I crooked my finger, beckoning her.
She came.
I reached down and unbuttoned the skirt and pulled it off of her.
“I’ll take that,” Victoria said, holding out her hand.
I handed her the skirt.
“You’ll find it at the coatroom dear, just mention your name,” she said.
She looked Arlene up and down.
“And might I say, dear,” she said, speaking to Arlene for the first time, “that you look stunning. I hope you enjoy yourself.”
And with that, she turned and was gone.
Arlene was standing kind of slump-shouldered.
“Stop it,” I said, “head up and look proud. I don’t want to be seen with some shrinking violet.”
She took a deep breath, straightened her back, and head high said, “as you wish.”
I grinned.
The redhead said, “come with me please.”
I won’t deny that I enjoyed the looks Arlene drew as we made our way to our table.
I was the gentleman, holding her chair to seat her and then sitting across the table from her.
Her eyes were shiny and her lips were parted a little, a thin thread of saliva connecting them.
She was flushed.
I watched her watching the room. It was interesting to see where she would focus.
About three tables away an old man, I guessed easily in his 70s, was being tended to a skinny girl. She was so thin her breasts were just small buds, but, again, I remembered the things I had read. The Club’s write-up blurb had said, in all caps and boldface – ID IS CHECKED IF YOU ARE UNDER 50! Regardless, she had the tiniest buds on display since all she wore was a tiny thong barely covering her pussy.
She was constantly feeding him and wiping his mouth gently with a napkin.
On the other side of the table, a young man, I guessed him in his 20s, was being similarly tended by a woman who had to be 80, one of those women who had obviously lost every fat cell after menopause, dressed as the young girl in only a thong. Her breasts, barely flaps of skin with long dark nipples that actually sagged from their own weight, were on display as were her ribs. The biggest thing on her legs were her knees and on her arms were her elbows.
All in all, the tableau made me wonder about a family relationship.
“Close your mouth,” I said to Arlene.
She giggled and blushed.
“So,” I said, leaning across the table and touching her hand, “how do you like my new favorite restaurant.”
She smiled and said, “well, I’m kind of overwhelmed.”
And it was overwhelming.
The music, playing softly, wasn’t elevator muzak but, rather, a pleasant blend of what I think of as “torch songs,” played at a level to allow conversation.
Peggy Lee did her incomparable version of “Fever” followed by Julie London’s “Cry Me A River.”
A waitress came in due course, introducing herself as “Bambi.” She was a vision in red, red hair, a tightly trimmed red bush, and red leather lifting heavy breasts and an ass that almost rivaled Arlene’s.
I ordered drinks, beer for me, and a screwdriver for Arlene and said we would order dinner later.
There were a few couples on the dance floor and I couldn’t resist.
I stood and offered my hand.
She looked up at me with a bit of that deer-in-the-headlights look but then stood, threw her shoulders back, lifted her head high and said, “Okay Man of the House, show me off.”
As we walked to the dance floor I thought I detected a bit of extra sway in her hips.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I asked, taking her into my arms and stepping off into a nice box step to Elvis Presley doing “I Can’t Help Falling In Love.”
She leaned in, cheek to cheek, and whispered, “it’s exciting, yes.”
I nuzzled her neck and patted her ass and said, simply, “good.”
We finished the dance and headed back to our table.
Bambi was back and we ordered, a petit filet for her and the sirloin and crab legs surf-n-turf for me.
We continued people watching as we ate our salads and then dinner which was excellent.
I was surprised by the number of clearly dominant women who had their men in collars. This went against what I had been learning about a woman’s naturally submissive nature.
So I asked Arlene what she thought.
It was interesting watching that serious little thought line form between her eyebrows, making a wonderful contrast to her breasts which were trying to escape.
“Welllllllllllll,” she said, drawing out the consonant, and I could see that for a moment at least she had forgotten her state of dress (or undress), “we might just ask someone.”
“Hmmmmmmmm,” I replied, “and who did you have in mind.”
She grinned and nodded at another table.
The woman at the table was striking with her white hair done in a short cut, almost a simple boy’s cut. She was dressed in a form-fitting classic little black dress, long and tight, showing that she was a small-breasted woman who probably did pilates or some sort of martial arts several times a week. All that was on display were her hands and her face. She had the look of fitness to her.
Across from her sat a man, I assumed he was her husband, naked except for the collar, what I later learned was a posture collar, a wide black thing with a small, very sharp spike the fit under his chin forcing him to retain a head-back posture or stab himself. He was a big man run to fat.
I watched, fascinated, as she would take a bite from her salad and then offer him a forkful of pie from the full cream pie that sat before him.
His hands, I realized as I looked closer, were shackled in bright chrome handcuffs to the cage that held his cock to a small bump.
I guess I was being obvious because she looked over, caught my eye, and made a brief toast motion with her glass and I returned it.
Our eyes met and she smiled. It was a very nice smile.
She gestured with her glass to one of the empty chairs at her four top and I held up my finger in a “one minute gesture.”
She smiled again and nodded and forked another bite of the pie into the man’s mouth.
I turned my attention back to Arlene and said, “I think we’re about to find out.”
“God, David,” she said, “he looks so happy. Is that my future?”
I chuckled and said, “well, women ARE supposed to be soft and round.”
She giggled at that and said, “no more dieting for me then?”
I grinned and said, “I hadn’t thought about it, but that is a benefit of this lifestyle.”
She smiled wanly and said, “God, you know if I don’t watch it I can become a blimp in no time.”
“Then you and he,” I said, nodding my head at the table we had been talking about, “will make an interesting couple while the ice queen there and I watch.”
Her eyes got big at that.
“Oh my,” I said, “got to you with that one, did I?”
“Would you really do that?” she asked.
“Wellllllllllll,” I said, deliberately drawing out the consonant, “I did catch you with Brian’s tongue down your throat so you’re not exactly innocent now, are you?”
She blushed and looked down.
“Come on,” I said, standing and offering her my hand.
We went to the table and the woman looked up.
I held out my hand and said, “David Morgan.”
She smiled and took my hand in a firm, almost masculine, handshake.
“Vivian Fredericks, David, pleased to meet you,” she said.
“And you too,” I said.
She glanced at Arlene and then back up at me.
“I was just thinking that a magnificent ass like you have there deserves a little decoration,” she said.
“Ummmmmmm, I’m right here,” Arlene said.
Vivian’s eyes narrowed and she looked at me and said, “do you always allow her to speak like that.”
It was obvious what was expected so I reached up and grabbed a fistful of Arlene’s hair and twisted hard enough to draw a cry from her and forcing her to reach up to try to ease the pressure.
“On your knees Arlene,” I said, putting as much command as I could in my voice, using all of the tricks they had taught me in NCO school in the Air Force.
She moaned and got to her knees as I twisted harder, forcing her to look up.
“Now apologize to the nice lady,” I said giving another sharp twist drawing another cry.
“I’m sorry I spoke out of turn,” she said, a tear running down her cheek.
“Oh, that’s okay little one,” Vivian said, patting her on the head like she was a wayward child or perhaps a pet, “lessons must be learned and I imagine you are new to this. Now just hold your tongue while David and I talk.
“Yes ma’am,” she said so meekly that I realized she meant it.
“May I?” I asked, motioning to the vacant chair.
“Be my guest,” she said.
I sat, keeping my fingers entwined in Arlene’s hair and keeping her on her knees.
“May my bride sit too?” I asked.
She giggled a little and said, “bride, I like that. Of course, dear,” and she motioned to Arlene, “join us but watch your tongue.”
I released Arlene’s hair and she silently took the fourth seat at the table.
“Anyway dear,” she said, pausing to take a sip of her drink, “what I was trying to say,” and here she shot a glance at Arlene, “was that your ‘bride,'” and the way she said it you could hear those quotation marks, “has a truly magnificent ass and you might want to try some decorations to show it off.”
“I’ll show my ignorance,” I said, “decorations?”
She smiled then.
“Tommy,” she said to the fat man sitting opposite her, “stand up dear and show them what I mean.”
He was big enough that he had to rock forward and grunted loudly when he stood. His pendulous belly hung like an apron, his shackled hands making it bulge around the chains. He turned and a bright polished turquoise stone showed between his cellulite-dimpled cheeks.
“I had that buttplug made by the turquoise artists on the reservation,” she said casually, “don’t you think it would look nice on her?”
I was fascinated by the look.
“It is interesting,” I said.
“Would you like to try it?” she asked, smiling at me, looking for all the world like a pretty grandmother offering her grandson a new toy.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, sort of overwhelmed myself.
She grinned this time, what can only be described as a predatory grin, and said, “Oh please David, my treat.”
She snapped her fingers and said, “Tommy, come here.”
The way his hands were shackled to the cock cage made him move sort of hunched over and I realized he had on ankle shackles as well limiting him to steps of about a foot each.
When he got to her she said, “bend over my love.”
He bent and she reached up and pulled on the turquoise stone.
He grimaced as she pulled and then suddenly the plug came loose.
It was shiny, I assumed stainless steel, a pear-shaped bulb about the size of a tennis ball at its biggest end, and then a wide plate to prevent the whole thing from winding up in the rectum. A four-inch rod held the turquoise stone far enough out that it would show even from Tommy’s, or Arlene’s for that matter, ass.
“Now take this to the bathroom and clean it up for me please my love,” she said.
He took the plug and started off, drawing some looks as he made his slow, awkward progress.
Arlene’s eyes were big.
“David, I….” she started and Vivian snapped, “There’s that mouth again.”
Arlene’s eyes went to the table.
“Arlene,” I said, reaching across the table and doing the two fingers under the chin thing my father had taught me, “if you speak out of turn again I am going to ask Vivian to handle your punishment and something tells me you won’t like that at all.”
She said nothing.
“Do you understand?” I asked.
“Yes David,” she said.
I turned back to Vivian.
“You seem genuinely fond of Tommy and yet you are clearly dominant,” I said. “As you have figured out, we’re new to this life but I thought it was natural for the woman to be the submissive one.”
She smiled and said, “you are not wrong dear. For most of our marriage Thomas, he was Thomas then, was the dominant one. When he retired he said he had always wondered what it felt like to be, as he put it, ‘on the other side.'”
She paused and took a drink from her glass.
“So one night, while he slept, I tied him to the bed. I had him face down, his ankles and wrists bound with pantyhose to the four posters of the bed. At that time I was the one who weighed about 250 pounds and he was a 165-pound gym rat,” she went on before taking another drink.
She took a deep breath and went on.
“And something in me changed,” she said.
“There was something about holding that kind of power that got to me on levels I don’t understand,” she went on.
“David,” she said, looking across the table and holding my eyes with hers, “I came just looking at him, before I even touched him, hell, before he was even awake. My natural slickness was running down my thighs as I rummaged through his drawers, looking for the belts he had used on me in the past.”
She was flushed, her eyes were shining, and I could see this was getting to her.
It was getting to Arlene too. She was flushed and I could smell her unique womanscent.
When the pause drug on I said, softly, “go on.”
“David, I think a psychiatrist would say, simply, I went crazy,” she said.
She took another drink before going on.
“I kept him there all day David,” she said, and I was starting to sense that this was a confession and a catharsis for her, “literally all day. He wet the bed. He shit the bed. I would strap him with that belt until I came and about the fourth time I did that HE came. I went downstairs and got a bunch of the sweet things I had gotten used to eating, half a chocolate cake was part of it that I remember,” she was talking faster now, “and I forced him to eat it all. Then the whole milk I kept, using a straw because I was afraid of what would happen if I let him up.”
She stopped and took a drink and went on, her face very flushed now.
“I made him beg and I made him promise that this was our new life and then I strapped him with another belt until my arm was too tired to go on. He was screaming and sobbing and shitting and pissing and puking and I came again, for about the sixth time that day and, well, that’s how we started anyway,” she sort of ran down at that.
“Wow,” was all I could manage.
She sort of chuckled deep in her throat, “yeah,” she said, “wow.”
“The thing is, you’re not wrong. It seemed perfectly natural for me to be submissive for most of my life. I really can’t explain what happened but it certainly changed me,” she giggled, “and it changed Tommy too, as you can see.”
I repeated, “wow.”
“So be careful dear,” she said, smiling, “or your beautiful Arlene may someday turn the tables on you too.”
I looked at Arlene who smiled at me.
And then Tommy was lumbering back in those tiny steps his shackles allowed.
His eyes were downcast as he offered the plug to Vivian.
“Thank you, my love,” she said, “now sit please.”
She offered me the plug.
“Here dear, it will look so much better on your bride,” she said.
“David, I…” Arlene started and I slapped her across the cheek, not hard but enough to sting.
“I warned you,” I said, and turned to Vivian.
“You are free to punish her,” I said.
Arlene’s eyes were big and she opened her mouth again but when I pointed at her she shut it.
Vivian’s smile can only be called predatory.
She raised a finger and a young man, this one clad in a leather thong, came to the table.
“I think,” she said, and looked at Arlene speculatively, “I think,” she started again, “I’d like the horse brought onto the stage.”
Arlene looked at me, her eyes big and pleading.
“Please, David,” she said in a soft voice.
“You know what to say,” I said.
She moaned deep in her throat and said, “please.”
I said nothing.
Vivian said to me, “has she ever been punished publicly before?”
“No,” I said simply.
“Well then,” she said, “you are about to cross an interesting line. Are you sure you’re ready for it?”
I smiled, well, I tried to smile, and said, “it’s all new to us but I think so.”
We both took sips from our drinks, well, she took a sip and I took a deep swallow from my beer and sat in silence, her waiting I suppose, me wondering what would come next.
Suddenly the lights went out and the music died.
A bright spotlight turned on, shining on the stage with a second tracking around the room.
“Well, well, well,” a woman’s voice spoke over the public address system, “it seems we have a naughty girl who needs correction tonight. Well, we all know that lessons must be taught.”
Vivian stood and held her hand out to Arlene.
“Come along dear,” she said in a voice so sweet you could picture her offering a favored grandchild a treat.
Arlene looked at me again, a look that I can only call “beseeching.”
I shrugged and her shoulders slumped and she stood.
The wandering spotlight caught them.
“You too David,” Vivian said, “I’ll need your help.”
So I stood and joined them.
On stage was a large padded beam, one of the vault horses I remembered from watching girl’s gymnastics while our son was competing on the boy’s side.
“David,” Arlene said with a catch in her voice as we mounted the steps onto the stage.
“You know how you can stop this,” I said and her head dropped.
“Feet here dear,” Vivian said, pointing to the board that was part of the base.
Arlene stepped where she was directed.
“And you here,” she said to me, pointing to the other side of the horse.
I stood where I was directed.
“It’s up to you to hold her hands now David,” she said, “because she will try to protect herself.”
She went to Arlene, standing on the side away from her, and said, “give me your hands little one,” a turn of phrase I found interesting since Arlene was a lot bigger than Vivian.
Arlene looked at me again, a tear overflowing her right lid, and took Vivian’s hands.
“Take her hands dear,” she said, and I did.
“Now pull David,” she said, “bring her across the horse.”
I pulled and Arlene had no choice but to bend across what I now thought of as the “horse.”
Vivian stepped on a pedal and I realized there was some sort of hydraulic arrangement because the horse started lifting until Arlene’s legs were straight and her ass was sticking straight out, the roundness supported by the buttless girdle.
Vivian reached down and pulled a thick rod that looked like braided leather of some kind, I thought of the handle of a bullwhip for some reason.
She turned to Arlene and said, “open your mouth.”
Arlene did and Vivian said, “bite down on it honey, it helps,” in an oddly gentle voice.
She hesitated and giggled a little and patted Arlene’s head and said, “I know.”
She reached down again and this time brought out a truly vicious-looking paddle. It looked to be about six layers of leather stitched together, with dozens of holes of different sizes in the business end. The business end was about three feet long attached to a wooden handle that looked like it started out as a baseball bat.
“Now dear,” she said, very softly, bending close to talk to Arlene, “it will be five strokes with the Lesson Teacher and it will be over, but lessons really must be taught.”
She stepped to the side then and measured her distances like a major league slugger checking that the heart of the bat would be over home plate.
There were probably two hundred people in the place and the silence was so perfect that when something dropped in the kitchen it seemed to echo through the room.
“Now make sure you hold her hands, David,” she said, “because if you turn her loose and she tries to protect herself I’ll have to start the count over.”
I nodded and gripped Arlene around her wrists, her hand grasping mine too, squeezing tight.
There was no warmup.
The paddle, the “Lesson Teacher” as Vivian called it, whistled evilly and the sudden clap of leather on flesh was like a shot going off.
Arlene jerked and I almost lost my grip.
She screamed into the bit she was biting on and her eyes got huge.
Her entire body writhed and shuddered.
“One,” Vivian said, almost casually.
The pause seemed to last a measurable fraction of eternity as Arlene’s body stopped shuddering, then trembling, and then finally stilled.
She drew a deep shuddering breath.
And relaxed.
When she relaxed the paddle whistled again with that loud crack of leather on flesh.
She screamed again, the sound muted by the bit she was biting down on but loud enough to carry through the room easily.
She jerked and again I almost lost my grip.
Her back arched, her legs kicked, she writhed.
When she blew out the deep breath she had drawn thick streamers of snot hung from her nose.
Tears spattered on the floor under her.
She shuddered and then shivered and then finally went still.
Her head was hanging now, her breath in shallow little pants, the strings of snot getting longer.
Her body was rigid.
When she relaxed the paddle whistled again and that loud SMACK echoed in the room.
Her back arched but she was weakening, I could hold her wrists easily.
Her hips writhed and her legs kicked.
She was sobbing now, her entire body wracked with her crying.
I was starting to worry about her.
I leaned forward and said, “you know how to stop this.”
She didn’t look up but shook her head.
Her legs stopped kicking.
Her trembling stopped.
She relaxed.
WHISTLE! CRACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
She opened her mouth and threw up as she screamed.
And she came, spraying across the stage.
“Well now,” Vivian said, chuckling a little, “that’s not something you see every day.”
I hung on to Arlene’s hands, ignoring the puke on my shoes.
She shuddered and cried and then relaxed finally.
WHISTLE! SMACK!
And she shrieked, bawling and cumming again, kicking and squirming.
I could see her hand making claws in the air as she shuddered.
Her nose and mouth were streaming snot and thick mucus-laden drool.
I held onto her hands, watching as they clenched into fists and relaxed and clenched again.
Vivian patted her ass lightly, drawing another shriek.
“Well,” she said in a soft voice, “at least we won’t have to worry about lubricant.”
Vivian took the butt plug and worked it into Arlene’s pussy, drawing a little moan from Arlene.
She leaned forward and said, so softly I could barely hear, “try to relax baby, or it will really hurt going in.”
I watched in fascination as she used her left hand to part Arlene’s cheeks and then place the plug, looking huge against her anus, so it just touched the tight little opening.
“Deep breath darling,” she said, almost gently, “and do try to relax.”
Arlene, the last shreds of her dignity and modesty gone now, started hissing in a low voice, “Jessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssus.”
I was fascinated as the pear-shaped plug penetrated deeper, opening her wider than she had ever been before.
“CHRISSSSSSSSsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssst,” Arlene was screaming by then.
And suddenly the plug was in and her asshole tightened around the bright silver stem leaving the turquoise stone just peeking out from her bruised cheeks.
“There now dear,” Vivian said, patting Arlene’s ass gently drawing a little whimper with each pat, “that wasn’t so bad now, was it?”
When Arlene didn’t answer at first she slapped her ass and snapped, “WAS IT?!”
“N-n-n-no,” Arlene managed between sobs.
Vivian looked at me.
“Help her get to her knees dear,” she said.
So I did.
Arlene was an absolute wreck, strings of drool and snot hung from her nose and mouth. Her makeup was a mass of streaks from the tears. Her blouse was puke spattered.
“Now dear,” Vivian said, moving to stand in front of Arlene, “the proper way to complete the punishment is to apologize for your indiscretion.”
Arlene started to look up and Vivian slapped her on the top of her head.
“Eyes on the floor,” she said.
Arlene hung her head and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“And now finish by kissing my shoe dear,” Vivian said.
Arlene looked up drawing another slap, this one across her cheek.
She whimpered and bent down, her hands on the floor, and kissed Vivian’s shoe.
“No silly,” Vivian said, “the sole.”
She turned her foot slightly to the side, exposing the sole of her shoe.
Arlene did not argue this time. She just laid her cheek on the floor, slick with the lubricant she had squirted, and kissed the sole of Vivian’s shoe.
“Good girl,” Vivian said in a bright voice, “now help her stand David.”
I did, watching as she adjusted her posture to accommodate the big plug up her ass.
“Head up dear,” Vivian said, lifting Arlene’s chin with her hand.
She crooked her finger and the waiter at the side of the stage come forward and handed her something.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said and her voice came through the public address system from the microphone she now held, “let me introduce you to David and Arlene. Arlene was a naughty girl but she has paid her price and now is forgiven. Now join me in welcoming them to our Community.”
The way she said the last word made the capitalization obvious.
Everyone in the room stood and applauded.
“Come dear,” Vivian said, taking my hand.
She led us back to the table.
“You should probably just stay on your knees dear,” she said to Arlene, “I guess your ass is a bit tender.”
Arlene, who had remained quiet, got to her knees beside me, sitting on her feet in that way only women can.
“And so you see, David,” Vivian said, pausing to take a sip from her drink, “in our little Community,” and again the capitalization was clear, “many things are public and all is accepted.”
I nodded, still a little overwhelmed.
She stood suddenly, regal with her white hair and floor-length dress.
“Would you do me the honor of this dance?” she asked, extending her hand.
I stood, patted Arlene on the head, and said, “be a good girl now,” and accepted Vivian’s hand.
She led me to the dance floor.
Bill Medley’s incomparable version of Unchained Melody was just starting and so we found the classic slow dance position, my right hand on her waist and her right hand in my left, her left hand on my shoulder.
I was actually surprised that she had to look up into my eyes. Her air of authority made her just seem taller I guess.
“David,” she said softly, “take this and think about it. I rarely meet a man who might be my equal and I would like you to call me if you’re interested.”
I looked and saw that she had slipped a business card into my hand. Well, more properly a calling card I guess since all that was on it, in a very nice raised embossed script was “Vivian,” and a phone number.
I smiled and slipped the card into my pocket and didn’t say anything.
I was surprised at the softness under my hand though. I had expected angles and hardness and instead found softness and curves.
She giggled, an oddly girlish sound, at my touch.
We finished the dance in what I can only describe as “companionable silence.”
Back at the table, Vivian said, “if I might make a suggestion, I rather suspect this has been a lot for your bride to handle. You should probably take her home now.”
I grinned and said, “dismissing us?”
She laughed, that throaty laugh, and said, “no dear, but we must take care of our charges.”
I stood and offered Arlene my hand.
I patted Tommy on the shoulder and shook Vivian’s hand.
“Thank you,” I said, “for an interesting introduction to the Community.”
She smiled and said, “you’re quite welcome dear.”
Arlene was silent as we walked to the entrance and I retrieved her skirt.
The hostess called us an Uber and we stood outside the door, waiting.
“Are you okay,” I asked, holding her hand.
“David,” she said, looking at me seriously, “I don’t know.”
“Shall we stop all of this then?” I asked.
She smiled wanly and said, “no dear. That’s why I don’ know how I am. I’m frightened but I’m also,” and she stopped, thinking.
“David,” she resumed, “I’m frightened but I’m also, God, what word is appropriate….” and she wound down again.