Cherry Ch. 02: Losing my Freedom

This is a continuation of the Cherry saga. This story may contain some trauma cues, so reader-beware. As always, I welcome reader feedback and suggestions.

----------------------

I stepped into the largest entrance hall I've seen in a home. In contrast to the modern minimalist exterior, Jay's décor style was a tasteful blend of turn-of-the-century fixtures with updated technology. Crimson carpet swept in from the front door over a rich mahogany floor. The Victorian-style wallpaper trimmed decadent New England walnut. A simple, modern (expensive looking) chandelier tied the expansive room together. Jay was well-to-do.

"I-I hate to read the script notes here," I stuttered, "but why are you looking for a tenant?"

Jay smirked as he looked down at me. "My house has several bedrooms, and I don't believe that any asset should be wasted."

I tried to build up my courage but had trouble maintaining eye contact. "B-but you're renting them out so cheap! Is there a catch?"

"It's important to me that I find a tenant who is a good fit for the role." He placed special emphasis on "fit." "I represent biomedical and pharmaceutical companies in seeking financing from investors. I'm known in that field for being the best at securing favorable terms and establishing mutually beneficial relationships. I've learned that a business relationship is more than a dollar sign at the intersection of supply and demand--economics professors be damned. The most important thing that a businessperson should do is make sure that the person they're about to go into business with is compatible with their needs. And on that note, I've told you a bit about myself. Let's get to know you, Caleb."

Jay raised his left hand toward an ornate, oak door at the rear of the entrance hall. With my attention drawn to the door, Jay's left hand gently pressed against my lower back, leading me to the door. There was something about Jay's velvety voice--it felt like I was listening to an audiobook or a professional orator. I wandered, wide-eyed to that oak door.

Jay confidential reached out and opened the door with his left hand, guiding me in with his right hand still on my lower back. A long, dark-wood table lined with expensive-looking chairs greeted us. I could see that Jay had a thing for dark woods and red tones. The table and chairs looked to be a deep, red cherry; a crimson table liner spanned the table end-to-end. Silver candlesticks were spaced at every other chair. Jay pointed to the nearest end of the table, at which I saw two wine glasses and a bottle of red wine.

"T-this early in the day?" My voice probably sounded more alarmed than incredulous. Jay ignored my question, pulled out a chair, and guided me in front of it. I have never experienced a man pulling out a chair for me then gently pushing it forward as I sat down. The guidance was comforting somehow. Jay brandished a wine key, opened the bottle in a fluid motion, and poured two glasses.

Jay sat down across the short dimension of the table from me and looked me squarely in the eye. "Let's get to know the real Caleb. What are your interests? And where are you from originally?"

I was taken aback by the question. Was this an interview? He had already told me that he had selected me. But I couldn't protest as I sat there, melting under the warmth of his gaze and velvet voice. "I-I'm originally from British Columbia, my parents moved me here when I was little. I don't have a lot of hobbies, some reading and video games here and there. I am really into yoga. I've tried to pick up weightlifting once or twice but can't seem to make a lot of progress there."

Jay chuckled as he eyed me up and down and scrutinized my lean frame. "You seem more like a yoga type than a strength training type. Are you dating anyone?"

My discomfort at this question stemmed more from a feeling of inadequacy than the question's intrusiveness. I took a long sip from my glass to collect myself. "Not at the moment. I've dated off and on, but I rarely get a second date." Why was I so willing to open up about this?

Jay's smirk widened into a devious grin. "So, the slender, video-game-playing, yoga hobbyist with a Community Planning degree can't find a lady? Though I shouldn't be presumptive; have these first dates been with women?"

"Oh, I'm straight," I tried to shrug my shoulders and turn down my lips dismissively. I probably looked more like a pouty child.

"Really? What about your porn habits? You only spend your time looking at the girl?" Jay tilted his head toward me, bemused.

I should have been more bothered by the question. But something about his rich, velvety speech drew me in and held me captive. He could have asked me anything and I would have answered truthfully. I wanted to open myself up to him. "Not always. I've lately found myself watching more porn involving trans women."

"Are they alone in these scenes? With women? With men?"

"Sometimes there are women or other trans women, but there's always a man fucking them."

"Something tells me that you don't fantasize about being the man. Do you?"

"No."

"I had a feeling," Jay chuckled as he folded his hands across his lap. With our differences in height, Jay was still looking down at me as he leaned back in his chair.

"Well, bravo for the politically correct language. But I'm guessing that 'trans women' is not what they call themselves on the websites you watch, right? If you were to pull out your phone and search for a favorite video right this moment, what term would you put in the search bar?"

Obediently, I shook my head.

"So you open up your phone browser, you navigate to your favorite website--what term would search for? Don't be shy." Jay leaned back into his chair.

"Tgirl."

"'Tgirl?' Now that's a convenient Portmanteau word."

"Portmanteau word?" I asked.

"It's an amalgamation of two words to make a shorter one, like 'spork.' Didn't you take any writing classes at that liberal arts school? It doesn't matter. I don't think that 'tgirl' is the only term you use when looking at porn like that. What else would you type in?"

I looked down in embarassment. "Shemale."

"Good boy. That one's more interesting, but I suspect that there are more pejorative terms that you search for. Tell me about those."

"I mean, there's 'trannie.'"

"Good boy, but that term is less in style today. I can tell when someone is holding back on me now. Tell me the most common term you search for. The most common term that Caleb uses when he's searching for tgirls and wants to fantasize about being a tgirl being fucked by a man." Jay was leaning forward by this point with his elbows on the table. Somehow his suit jacket appeared custom-made to match the dark cherry of the table.

My chagrin was obvious through my blushing cheeks and downcast expression. "Sissy," I breathed.

"You'll have to speak up, Caleb. And I want you to look at me when I'm speaking to you."

With my head tilted downward, my eyes looked up at him passively. "Sissy," I murmured barely above a whisper.

Jay's smirk widened into a cruel grin. "I still can't quite hear you, Caleb."

My eyes narrowed as I maintained eye contact. "Sissy."

"Good girl," Jay purred, "it makes me happy when you're honest and open with me."

Despite myself, I felt a warm sense of gratitude fill the bottom of my chest at Jay's remark. "Thank you, Sir."

"Because you've been so honest with me, Caleb, I want to help you out. I think that I can help you find the drive to reach your career goals. Maybe even your fitness goals, even if that just involves yoga. I represent a new company, Orgos, that specializes in a cognitive restructuring program. It's been shown to help smokers, alcoholics, and unruly children; I think it can help you find your true self and get out of your shell a bit."

Jay had disarmed every defense, every red flag that my brain had presented up until this point. So unsurprisingly, I sweetly smiled and profusely thanked him for his help.

Jay stood from his chair, "you're looking a little tired, Caleb. Let's get you to your room."

Strangely, I found myself in need of a nap. "Maybe I should go home first. The move-out date on my current place isn't for another week..."

As Jay walked around the table toward me, he cut me off with a wave, "I already sent a van to take care of your belongings. You'll be staying here now."

A reasonable person would have run out the door at a presumptive move like that. But between Jay's seemingly supernatural charm and my sudden onset lethargy, I lacked the willpower to protest. Jay pulled my chair out, helped me up, and guided me to my room.

Through half-closed lids, I saw the house's crimson undertones shift to more white undertones as Jay opened the door to my new bedroom. The king-sized bed looked plump with its plush, pillowy white bedding. White fleur de lis patterns were carved into the window frame. White, sheer curtains fell at each side. And was that a lowering black-out curtain I saw above the window? The only other pieces of furniture were a waist-height sandalwood dresser, a sandalwood armoire that towered over me, and a white, plush, highbacked armchair.

Jay guided me to the bed and sat me down. "You'll find a sleeping gown in the armoire. Sweet dreams."

After Jay stepped out, I stumbled to the armoire. Was it unusual that this "sleeping gown" was a sheer white and accompanied by sheer, tiny underwear? Far too delirious to leave my room and debate the matter, I quickly changed and climbed into bed. Whether exhausted from the wine, my confession, or the most comfortable bedding I had ever laid in, I instantly fell asleep.

**TO BE CONTINUED**