Acquiring the Taste Ch. 01

Chapter the First, in which a ten-year friendship is jeopardized by discussing past unpleasantness, and a newly-acquired submissive gets to know her Mistress a little better.

*

Steve sat at Miriam's dining room table. Miriam had gotten up from the table to tend to the kettle on the stove, which had just started boiling. The interruption of their game had given Steve the chance to survey the wreckage. His red pegs stood well behind Miriam's blue ones on the Cribbage board. Even with mediocre cards, Miriam was likely to peg out on the next hand.

Steve had plenty of time to contemplate the board while Miriam brewed the tea. In an effort to break the soda habit, Steve had been trying to acquire a taste for tea, and Miriam had been serving him different varieties every game night. Steve returned the favor by bringing a CD from his large and wide-ranging collection. Tonight, they were listening to Van Morrison's Inarticulate Speech of the Heart. She was familiar with his earlier work, but this record was new to her. Her CD player had already cycled through the disc twice, and she wasn't getting tired of it yet. Now, the third time through, she found herself humming along with the third track, "River of Time," as she brought two steaming mugs back to the table.

"Ready to concede?" she asked, even though she knew the answer. She sat down, her hand brushing her long, ash-blonde hair back, first over her left shoulder, one lonely strand remaining tangled in the silver chain that hung from her left earlobe to her left nostril, then over her right shoulder, jangling the pendant, a circular disk with a black and blue bull's-eye pattern, that hung from her right ear.

"No, I'll see this one through to the end," Steve said, adding with a smile, "I like fighting for lost causes." He caught a whiff of the unfamiliar smoky aroma from the mugs. She had started the evening by serving him a spiced chai, which he enjoyed. By contrast, the Darjeeling that she served next tasted like plain hot water – he tried to think of it as "subtle" rather than "weak" – and now she was offering up another strong brew. "What kind of tea is that?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Lapsang Souchong," she replied. "You'll want to add milk."

"No, I'll try it straight." He always refused to add anything to his tea. No sugar, no lemon, no milk. He wanted to taste the tea itself and nothing else, and if he couldn't drink it straight, he didn't want it.

"Suit yourself," she said, adding milk to her own mug. Steve brought his mug to his lips, grimacing slightly at the first taste. "How is it?" she asked.

"Like drinking charcoal," he replied with a chuckle. She offered him the little pitcher of milk, and he shook his head, taking another, longer sip before shuffling the cards and dealing the next hand.

She laughed as her six cards were dealt to her. "I'll be sure to cross this one off your list," she said, as she started to examine her hand. Eight of hearts. Queen of spades. A pair of nines, the diamond and the spade. Jack of hearts. Two of diamonds. Not much to work with, she mused. It hardly mattered. From her position on the board, she could coast to victory, and turning up a seven or a ten would all but seal the deal. She tossed the Queen and the two into Steve's crib.

Steve, on the other hand, had put aside any thoughts about merely salvaging his dignity. A pair of sevens, the heart and the diamond. A pair of fives, the club and the spade. A four of clubs. A six of diamonds. This was an easy decision. He put the pair of sevens into his crib. If a six or a four were turned up, he could well win, and wins against Miriam were becoming scarce.

Miriam cut the deck and turned up the four of hearts. Now he really had to curb his enthusiasm. He put on the best glum expression he could muster, trying not to exaggerate, and shook his head, pretending to be upset about the disparity in the score. "It's times like this I wonder why I ever taught you how to play Cribbage," he said.

Miriam chuckled. Cribbage was their game of choice, when it was just the two of them. If Chris and Yukiko showed up, they could all play Hearts. "Funny you should mention that. I've often regretted teaching you how to play Hearts. Ten," she said, laying down the Jack of hearts.

Steve countered quickly with the five of clubs. "Fifteen for two," he said, advancing his peg two spaces. He knew the outcome would be more favorable to him if they were playing Hearts. "What's the matter? Did I shoot the moon too many times?" he taunted gently, continuing, "I've suspected for a long time now that you've gone out of your way to make sure that we never have enough players for Hearts."

"My friends have been keeping themselves busy. They don't like to lose any more than I do." She laid down the nine of diamonds. "Twenty four," she said.

"Are you suggesting that I like to lose? Thirty," he said, playing his six of diamonds.

"Go," she said, giving Steve one more point. "Liking to lose is not quite the way I'd put it. I think that what you really like is for me to take the upper hand," she said, aware that among other company, those words could be construed differently.

Steve had no retort. "Four," he announced, playing the four of clubs.

Miriam continued. "Then again, maybe you do like losing. After all, you keep coming back for more," she said in a gentle voice, but clearly trying to maintain her edge. She laid down the nine of spades. "Thirteen."

He played his last card, the five of spades. "Eighteen." Miriam was reflexively laying down her last card as he continued. "I have very few people to play with. And besides, what else are you and I going to do together? Go on a date?"

The last question rattled Miriam. She had wanted a serious relationship with him throughout their college years, and in the absence of any initiative on his part, she had had to learn to settle for the strong friendship the two had developed since then. Neither had ever spoken with the other about what might have been. She blinked, trying to concentrate on the math as she played her eight of hearts. "Twenty six." She sat there momentarily, then suddenly remembered to advance her peg one point for playing the last card. She couldn't believe what he had just said – not only that, but that he had said it seemingly in jest, not rudely, not with regret, nor with any sense of irony. She wondered now whether he really believed that he had never had a chance with her. She steeled herself. She didn't want to show her distress, but couldn't let his remark go. "You know that ship has sailed, right?" she said, trying to match the tone he had used.

"Yes, I know. It left the harbor years ago. And far be it from me to spoil this friendship with dinner and a movie."

She was growing more flustered moment by moment. She quickly looked over her cards. "One pair for two," she said, advancing her pegs. Steve noted that she missed the fact that her Jack matched the suit of the four that was turned up. He started looking over his own hand while she searched for words. Finally she asked him, "Do you remember the last movie that you and I saw together?"

He laughed. "Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes. How could I forget? You and I never went on a 'date' movie. We were always doing something studious, or trying to impress each other with our esoteric knowledge. Quadruple run of three for twelve, four sets of fifteen make twenty, and two pair make twenty four." He advanced his pegs twenty four slots, overtaking Miriam's and leaving him three points short of a win, and he had yet to count the crib.

"So, then, just because we were watching a German art film, you couldn't have held my hand?" she wondered out loud.

He took another sip of tea, not wincing so much this time. "One pair for two," he said, quickly scoring his crib. One point short. "I guess I was too captivated by Klaus Kinski's performance," he answered her.

"Be serious," she said, raising her tone to get his full attention. "We spent our college years as the best of friends. We've been the best of friends ever since. Was that all you ever wanted from me?" She was trying to put him on the spot, but as she spoke these last words, she knew that she was revealing that she had wanted more than friendship, and was angry at herself for appearing weak and desperate. She had forgotten all about the game now. She wanted to put Steve back on the defensive. If he was going to dredge up the past like this, there was no way she was going to be the only one to suffer for it. She softened her voice as he took his attention away from the cards and gave it to her. "I remember watching Aguirre with you in the lecture hall. I had told myself ahead of time that it was your last chance to show me you wanted to be more than a friend. And you blew it." Now she was cursing herself. This wasn't going to put Steve on the defensive. It was only going to make him pity her.

Steve rested his chin on his fist, thoughtfully. "Are you saying that all these years it's been exclusively up to me to come out and say what I wanted? You and I dated a lot of other people while we were in college, and we had a lot of good times together too. If we never connected on a romantic level, why is that any more my fault than yours? It takes two people to communicate."

Miriam countered quickly. "Yes, but not all communication is done in words. And sometimes – the words only scratch the surface of what we really want to say. The reason I was always dragging you to this art film or that lecture or museum exhibit wasn't all about sharing an intellectual experience with someone. There were a lot of people I could have done those things with, and I kept choosing you. What did that tell you?" She threw in the question almost as an afterthought, hoping it would keep her on offense.

Steve answered simply. "It told me that you were intelligent, and that you respected my intelligence. And I didn't feel like you were dragging me along, by the way."

She grinned humorlessly. "Oh, no. Certainly not. Because in order for me to drag you, there would have had to be some physical contact. How many times did we walk across campus and you never once held my hand? How many movies did we sit through while I leaned toward you, hoping you'd put your arm around me? And how could I forget the time I went to your dorm room the afternoon before my big term paper was due, and I spent four hours pounding out the final draft on your computer? Did you ever wonder why I'd go upstairs to use your Commodore 64 when my roommate had a brand new Macintosh? And do you remember that I took a break about halfway through and collapsed on your bed?"

He laughed at that memory. "I remember you drooled on my pillow."

"No. I told you it was drool, because I didn't want to admit that I had cried, waiting for you to join me. But apparently the only way I could have gotten my message across was to throw you in the bed first, and then climb on top of you. Did you think I got into your bed just because I was tired?"

It was just now dawning on Steve that the "date" remark had touched a very raw nerve. He started to reminisce, trying now to recall all of the signals that he may have missed, or deliberately ignored. "You were studying hard. Of course you were tired."

"A person who's tired doesn't always want sleep. Do you remember what I said when I got up from your bed?"

He took another, deeper draught of the tea, searching his memory. "No."

"I remember like it was yesterday." She smiled as she recollected, and she recreated the scene for him, straightening up in her chair and stretching as if just waking up. "Wow, Steve, how long have I been out? I can't believe I fell asleep. Was I snoring? I'm sorry, I think I drooled on your pillow. I don't usually fall asleep in other people's beds. I guess I really trust you, really feel safe around you." She paused, losing her smile. "Does that ring a bell?"

Steve nodded, smiling wistfully, the scene gradually coming back to him.

Miriam continued. "There's a question I've wanted to know the answer to for a long time." She leaned forward. "How come you never took advantage of how much I trusted you?"

His answer came quickly and naturally. "You've just answered your own question. Because I would have been taking advantage of you, and I would have lost your trust."

Her counter was just as swift. "Even though that's so obviously what I wanted? Taking advantage of someone doesn't always violate trust. Not if that someone is voluntarily giving up the advantage." And I haven't given it up since then, she thought to herself. The gaze from her half-closed eyes pierced him, and her voice softened. "I was lying in your bed, waiting to be taken. I trusted you to take me. I trusted you to do what any other man with a woman in his bed would have done. That's the trust you lost by not taking advantage of me when you had the chance."

Steve shifted in his chair, leaning back and settling his fingers on the edge of the table. He wanted to tell her to lighten up and learn how to take a joke, but couldn't think of anything more wrong to say under the circumstances. Choosing a romance with Miriam over a friendship was a line he long ago decided not to cross, and as time wore on, that line had transformed into a wall. Miriam seemed to be putting a ladder against that wall and daring him to climb. He took a few seconds to think, and chose his next words with extreme care. "I doubt we would be friends now if we had been lovers then. I do have regrets about the past. But that doesn't mean I would change anything."

Miriam forced the corners of her mouth to turn upward. "Liar," she said in barely more than a whisper. "You and I went on friendly outings with each other, and went on serious dates with other people. All the while, I found myself wishing the serious dates had been with you. And now, I know you were feeling the same way."

Steve couldn't deny it. But he sure wasn't going to confirm it by talking about how, so many times, he had gone home after ending one of those serious dates early and masturbated while thinking of Miriam, whom he had regarded as too perfect a combination of brains and beauty to show a reciprocal interest in him. Instead, he mused, "It's funny. Some of my most successful dates were with you, and they weren't even real dates."

Miriam shifted her rhetorical steamroller into a higher gear. "Successful by what criteria? It's not as if you were trying to get into my panties."

"I connected with you intellectually."

"God forbid you would have connected with me in other ways."

They both fell silent – she, thinking that she had just delivered the argument-winning line, and he, thinking that she was overplaying her advantage. Now it was his turn to become angry and distressed. He leaned forward in his chair again, straightening up as his lungs filled with air, before exhaling the reply that his gut instinct was putting in his mouth. "Aren't you the one who told me just a few minutes ago that that ship had sailed? You talk like you've been waiting for that ship to return to harbor."

She didn't know what to make of that reply. She had been all but daring him to ask her out, and not only had he called that bluff, but she imagined that he might also turn her down one more time. Maybe she should have laughed off his remark about going on a date. Now, it seemed, either they were going on a date, or this friendship was blowing up in their faces. She swallowed hard, then spoke again. "I don't care anymore what stopped us from dating back then. I only want to know, what's stopping us now?"

"This decision would have been a no-brainer ten years ago. But I don't think there's any going back. You and I have changed a lot since then."

I've changed a whole lot more than you know, she silently mused before making her spoken reply. "First of all, if this decision was a no-brainer ten years ago, you certainly no-brained it. And second of all, there are some things that haven't changed. Like your haircut."

Steve leaned back as Miriam landed her two rhetorical low-blows, and he reflexively reached up to run his hand through the flowing black mane that he had grown his freshman year, much to the consternation of his parents, and sported ever since then. "What's wrong with my hair?"

"Steve, over the last ten years, I've watched that part slowly creep further down the left side of your head. You're coming dangerously close to combining a mullet with a comb-over."

He smiled, and his posture relaxed. At least now, he could joke back. "Do you mean to suggest that my carefully laid plan to make Patrick Swayze jealous is doomed to failure?"

The phone rang. Miriam looked up at the clock and saw that it was nine. She knew who would be calling, and would have been prepared if Steve's visit hadn't been prolonged by this discussion. She rose and rushed to the living room to turn down the volume on the answering machine. Her nightly talk with her sub was going to have to wait. She took the newspaper from the coffee table on her way back to the dining room.

"I'm going to have to return that call," she announced, as she pulled out the entertainment section. "This is the deal, Steve. I'm not available for dinner tomorrow night. But I would like to see a movie. And the art house is off limits. People don't go on dates in order to read subtitles. Choose one that's showing at the multiplex. And for the love of all that's good, when you come to pick me up, show up with a new do."

Steve took the paper and rose from the table, feeling himself being urged out the door. But there was unfinished business. He took one last sip of the tea, the odd flavor starting to grow on him, and said, "Muggins."

"What?" she replied, having completely forgotten the game.

"Muggins," he repeated, and he reached down toward her cards, picking up the Jack. "Nobs for one." He tossed the card aside, reached toward his peg, and claimed his victory. He left her standing at the dining table, dumbstruck with her mouth agape, as he went to her CD player, sitting on the top shelf of her baker's rack, ejected his CD and returned it to its jewel case. "I'll see myself out. Be ready at nine tomorrow night. Good night, Miriam," he said, on his way to the front door.

The sound of the front door opening and closing brought her out of her reverie. She walked to the front window. She parted the curtain and watched him, his hair being whipped by the wind on the blustery early October evening, as he passed under the street lamp to his car, parked in the street. She watched him drive off, then retreated to her bedroom, taking the phone with her. She was still stewing over the weakness she had shown Steve, a quality that she thought was inconsistent with the persona that she was coming to think of as her true self. She tossed the phone on the bed and shed her clothes, draping her jeans and black sleeveless blouse over the back of the chair in front of her vanity. She unfastened her black satin bra and shrugged it off her shoulders, slinging it over the doorknob of her closet, and her black panties went into the laundry hamper next to the closet. Picking up the phone again, she slipped between the sheets of her bed, reclining on a stack of pillows, and she dialed her sub's number.

Veronica was one of several people who had answered the personal ad that Miriam had placed in the local alternative tabloid two months ago. The others – men and women – had proven unsuitable and gradually been eliminated from consideration, until only Veronica remained in regular phone contact. Then, just the previous Friday, Miriam had taken the next step and met her in person, and was very satisfied. Veronica had dropped her gaze the very moment she saw Miriam approach the table at the coffee shop, the loose auburn ringlets of her hair falling forward a bit, partially obscuring the alabaster skin of her face as she made a charming show of deference. It was a brief encounter that started with simple, ordinary conversation, and ended with Miriam giving her a list of rules of conduct for her to sign, and a token for her to wear – a tight-fitting necklace of heavy, square, interlocking gold-plated links, with a pendant hanging from it, a black and blue bull's-eye pattern to match the one Miriam wore from her right ear.