Hapless adventurers: Prologue

Ingrid compulsively picked up her phone again, checking the time. Three minutes to 7pm. She hustled over to the kitchen of her small, one bedroom apartment and finished slicing the loaf of freshly baked bread--a round loaf with a hard, cracked and textured surface. It had turned out magnificently, but being the anxious perfectionist she was, could only see the part that had gotten a little burned. Next to the bread was a plate decked with slices of various kinds of cheese, arrayed in rainbow-like concentric circles. With the various colors of the different types--from the white of the Gruyere to the yellow of the Gouda to the deep orange of the habanero cheddar--it almost looked like a sort of rainbow, too. This made her smile.

Behind her, Ingrid's coffee table in the center of her open living room-kitchen space already sported five small plates alongside a bowl of hummus (store-bought this time) with chips and fresh carrots and broccoli for dipping.

Yes, you could easily accuse Ingrid of being one of those liberal types that bakes artisan bread and eats organic vegetables. Likely, she wouldn't even complain at the designation. And yes, she lived in a small apartment downtown and had a cat instead of kids.

But there were ways Ingrid wasn't so typical, either. For starters, when she browsed for handicrafts on Etsy she looked at leather whips and floggers, not candle holders, jewelry, or vintage shot glasses. Her appearance and style weren't necessarily run-of-the-mill either. She sported a nose ring and one side of her head was shaved. The rest of her hair was long enough to nearly reach her shoulders and she could comb it over the undercut if she needed to. She usually did this when showing up to her day job where she worked as a technical writer for a home furnishings company. But nothing could hide the exotic shades of blue that her hair cycled through regularly.

But perhaps the biggest give away that Ingrid was a little "different" was the large, wooden St. Andrews Cross in the corner of the living room. Given that her entire apartment was just shy of 600 square feet in size, the intimidating edifice was simply impossible to miss and frankly dominated the room--emotionally and physically. When her friends asked her why she featured it so prominently, she replied simply that it was too large to fit in her small bedroom and that she never invited anyone into her apartment (a sacred space for her) who couldn't handle her kinky side. Indeed, the vast majority were pretty kinky themselves.

Whisking the cheese plate (one side now burgeoning with slices of warm bread) over to the coffee table, Ingrid pulled her phone out of one of the many pockets of her army green cargo pants. The bulky, canvas pants looked a bit odd on her skinny figure, contrasting strongly with the tight-fitting t-shirts she wore, but that was the charm of her style, actually--illogical, but with just enough method to the madness to come off as uniquely hers. Combined with the random slogans or names of obscure metal bands emblazoned across her shirts, it worked somehow.

Just in time, she thought. The cheese plate had touched down right at 7:00. She bent backward into a sort of "limbo" pose, stretching her back and earning a few ominous cracks. Why am I so compulsively punctual?

Ingrid stood there in the silence of her apartment, feeling the familiar anxiety and unease she always encountered when hosting friends--even friends as close as the four who were on their way. The silence continued as she considered the orange, summer evening sunlight striking across the sky and silhouetting the downtown skyline.

Perhaps a better question, Ingrid thought to herself as she sighed, why are my friends pathologically late?

Settling in on her sofa to wait, Ingrid thought of the Dungeons and Dragons campaign they were about to start together. Ingrid had volunteered to be the Dungeon Master, a role she had played with this group in the past. It was a role she loved and, truth be told, she was good at it. If she was honest with herself, Ingrid was never happier than when she was at her desk, aeons deep in notes and lore and maps, creating worlds for her friends to inhabit and explore.

This time, though, things were going to be different, and it made her nervous. You see, Ingrid understood (as all good DMs do) that the most important variable in the success of a D&D campaign is the dynamic between the players at the table. Are they connecting with the story and the challenges their characters face? More importantly, are they connecting with one another? Is there space and trust enough for true vulnerability?

The reason Ingrid loved D&D so much was not only that she had pretty much grown up living in fantasy worlds, from Jacques to Salvatore to Tolkien. It was because more than traditional storytelling, where one person--the storyteller--weaves a narrative and everyone else--the audience--listens in rapt silence, Ingrid loved collective storytelling. In her mind, D&D was great because everyone at the table gets a say in the story that unfolds. At Ingrid's table, the choices of the characters really mattered, and not just in determining the outcome of a battle, either. They shaped whether the story that unfolded, week after week, was one of good vs evil; a quest for redemption; a struggle against inner demons; a journey of personal discovery; or anything else they (her friends, that is) came up with.

Ingrid set the stage, but her players spoke the lines. And there was no script.

For this to work, it required all the players to engage with one another in a wholehearted manner. It demanded listening, courage, and authenticity. If done well, it produced a special kind of intimacy that felt like magic.

But if it went wrong, it could fall totally flat.

Ingrid chewed her nails, a classic anxious habit of hers. You could fairly accurately read her recent mental and emotional state simply by examining her finger tips.

I've never mixed kink and D&D before, Ingrid worried for the 47th time. What if they don't like it? What if it doesn't work? What if it feels contrived? She had, of course, already discussed the unconventional idea with each of her players at length. She had been clear and explicit about the parameters, and everyone had given their enthusiastic consent. And her friends were all pretty kinky themselves.

But still.

Ingrid's anxious spiralling was rudely--but mercifully--interrupted by a sharp rap on her door. She compulsively checked her phone again: two minutes past the hour.

Must be Silus.

Sure enough, as Ingrid peered, shy and uncertain, around her apartment door (though she had done this countless times before, she still felt this way each time she did it) there stood a handsome man dressed in gray slacks and vest over a plain white t-shirt.

"Hey Silus," Ingrid offered, immediately a little shy and awkward. She showed it by subconsciously hunching her shoulders, going into something of a 'perma-shrug'. Ingrid's posture wasn't the best normally, but it got even worse when she was feeling socially uncertain. It's not that she was romantically attracted to Silus. Ingrid considered herself more of a "kinky asexual." Ingrid did, however, have quite the intellectual crush on her friend, his luscious dark skin contrasting beautifully with the white t-shirt and complementing nicely the dark gray of his vest.

"Hey there, Ingrid," Silus responded in his rich, velvet voice. He hefted a cardboard carton containing hard seltzer and offered, "I come bearing gifts."

Ingrid smiled and blushed deeper. "Well, then I guess you can come in."

Silus strolled down the short hallway and into the kitchen as if he lived there, kicking off his shoes as he went.

"You know, Ingrid," he said cheerily, "I never can get over how much I love your apartment."

"I kinda like it, too, I think," Ingrid meekly concurred, after a pause.

"The exposed brick gives it so much texture and character. And the flood of natural light from all these windows is just amazing!"

Ingrid's was a corner unit and, though small, was not short on light or character.

"Thanks, Silus," Ingrid replied, folding herself up into a tight ball on the sofa. "What are you reading lately?" she offered, eager to change the subject to something less focused on her.

"Oh, this new book. It's a fantasy, of course." Ingrid nodded along enthusiastically, far from surprised. "It's got all these queer characters in it, which is great. And it goes out of its way to avoid tropes and classic stereotypes. Kudos to the author on that front."

"But?" Ingrid prompted.

"Well," Silus said, staring up at an angle in contemplation, as if carefully choosing his words. His magnificent crown of black hair, curling wild and free, looked like a halo of wisdom and, Ingrid noted, framed his naturally handsome face nicely. "It tries maybe a little too hard to be different," he concluded finally. "For a while there, I had little idea what was going on, and wasn't well anchored in the world."

"I know what you mean," Ingrid sympathized. "I've read lots of those. I guess there's something to be said for tradition, after all."

"Yeah, maybe. The sense of wonder we all love from fantasy and sci-fi sort of gets lost if you can't immerse yourself in the world the author is creating because they don't give you a proper tour of the place."

The two talked for a while longer, sipping seltzer and snacking on the delights Ingrid had prepared. In many ways, this was Ingrid's favorite part of Tuesday evenings. In her heart, Ingrid wished she could spend more time with Silus, just like this. But he was all over the place, his life and heart shooting out in a thousand directions. Though she hardly knew any of them (Ingrid was the consummate introvert), she was certain he had hundreds of friends--each of them, like her, wanting more of his time than they got. She felt that 4 hours each Tuesday was already more than she dared ask for.

When the second knock came at the door, Ingrid realized she had stopped checking the time, had stopped touching her phone altogether. She hopped up off the couch and trotted lightly to the door like a slight, goth, fae creature.

"Hey!" The cute Asian American girl greeted her with a bright smile and a single, half-circle wave of one hand.

"Come in!" Ingrid replied in a rare burst of bubbly enthusiasm that only Yuna could bring out in her. The two friends embraced like school girls. Stepping back from the embrace, Ingrid looked over Yuna's shoulder at the quieter girl stepping into the apartment behind her.

"Hi Emma!" Ingrid's welcome this time was no less warm, though perhaps a notch softer. Emma returned the greeting with a soft, genuine smile and began taking off her cross trainers. Yuna, meanwhile, picked up the shopping bag Emma had set down and excitedly withdrew its contents.

"We found ice cream mochi!" she declared, reveling in her triumph. Ingrid's eyes went wide.

"No way! These are the kind we had that one time at the end of the last campaign, too! Where did you find them?"

"Oh, you know me," Yuna said in an off-hand way. "I know all the Asian markets." A second later, Yuna leaned in to whisper in a conspiratorial tone, "Actually, my halmeoni found them," inducing a giggle from Ingrid.

Ingrid looked her friend up and down. As usual, she was very tastefully dressed--white short shorts and a navy blue tank top went perfectly with a stylish black leather jacket and red Converse Allstars. Her straight, black hair was cut in a bob that framed her cute face and complemented her irrepressible gregarious energy.

"Yuna," Ingrid said, a tinge of exasperation in her voice, "how do you always look so good?"

Yuna waved her off. "Pssh! I don't know what you're talking about," she said, kicking off her sneakers and strutting confidently into the open plan kitchen-living room with the box of ice cream mochi resting nonchalantly on her shoulder.

If Ingrid was jealous of Yuna's slender legs and fashionable style, she was even more jealous of Emma's quiet self confidence. Politely setting her shoes on Ingrid's shoe bench, she straightened up and strode into the room, her light, white and blue track jacket hanging unzipped. Underneath, she wore only a red sports bra and skinny jeans. Though Ingrid had seen Emma in less at kink events, it still surprised her that she could so calmly and confidently express herself this way. Ingrid knew from personal experience that kink scenes often involved a good deal of theater--for many, it was a show, a presentation, a performance. Emma's style, though, was how she lived everyday life. It wasn't presentational, or even intended to be ostentatious. It was simply who she was.

Of course, she can afford to be confident with a body like that, Ingrid thought with a tinge of envy.

"Hello, you two," Silus said in his rich, honey voice, a smile of genuine warmth on his face.

"Hey Silus!" Yuna skipped over to where Silus sat on the sofa and planted a kiss on his forehead.

"I see you're in good spirits, as always," Silus commented. Yuna simply smiled broader and plopped herself down on a cube-like bean bag chair across the coffee table from the sofa, immediately reaching for the vegetables and hummus on the table.

Silus looked up at Emma as she walked in after Yuna. "Emma! A pleasure, as always. Though I confess I'm surprised to see you aren't tied up." He did his best to keep his face and voice straight, but even before Emma could respond cracks started appearing in the facade. Yuna giggled, Emma blushed and gave Silus a dirty look, and Ingrid hid a smirk behind her hand on the way to the refrigerator.

"Anyone want a hard seltzer? Silus brought a bunch."

Emma and Yuna were a thing, and had been for nearly a year now. It wasn't an exclusive sort of thing--Yuna encouraged Emma to seek out experiences with other kink partners, believing that personal development should never be limited to interactions with just one person--but they were remarkably faithful to one another in the ways that seemed to really count.

The stability of their relationship probably had a lot to do with their compatibility. Where Yuna was outgoing and gregarious, Emma was quiet and reserved. Where Emma was submissive and loved to feel helpless, Yuna was a natural dominant and got a thrill from control. Yuna was a shameless voyeur, Emma a consummate exhibitionist. They both enjoyed the freedom of meeting and exploring with others, but ultimately preferred the solidarity and understanding of their own relationship.

"Whatever could you be referring to, Silus?" Ingrid said in a reproachful tone as she set two selzters down on the coffee table in front of her new guests. "You accuse our friends of debauchery? On what grounds?"

"On the grounds that the last time I saw these two tarts at a party this one was chained up and that one was leading her around by a leash," Silus responded in a sensuous, Southern drawl.

Ingrid inhaled sharply, a look of shock hardening her features. "Scandalous! What have you raunchy sluts to say for yourselves?" Ingrid did her best Puritan school teacher voice.

"Guilty as charged," Yuna replied with a wink at Ingrid. Emma said nothing, the blush still on her cheeks. She busied herself with the snacks on the table instead. Yuna glanced over at her girlfriend, checking her emotional state.

"Make an insight check," Ingrid said, noting the glance and its intent. Silus snorted.

"We don't live the D/s lifestyle 24/7, you know, Silus," Yuna said, her voice earnest this time. "Not that there's anything wrong with that," she quickly clarified, "it's just not our thing."

"Oh, I know," Silus replied, his tone kind and conciliatory. "I was just messing around, Emma. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Emma cracked a smile. "I know, Silus. I'm not hurt! I'm serious." Emma's blush only deepened as a result of all the attention on her.

"Actually," Yuna offered, "that kind of embarrassment usually just turns her on." Emma rolled her eyes and would have blushed harder if that were physically possible.

"She's not the only one who gets turned on," Silus admitted. "Emma's so hot when she's your plaything. It's hard to look away."

Unsure how to change the conversation herself, what saved Emma at last was a third knock on Ingrid's door.

"And that'll be Seb," Silus announced. "I know, because it's more than 30 minutes past the start time."

"You also know because Seb's the only one who isn't here yet," Yuna retorted.

Sure enough, when Ingrid opened the door, there stood a skinny kid with stylish, dark hair combed over one side of his face.

"Sebastian!"

Seb gave Ingrid a small, shy smile and the two embraced. Ingrid loved this kid, who was several years her junior, like a little brother. Come to think of it, the others did, too. Yuna hopped up and nearly danced to the door to give him a hug. Even Silus got off the sofa to attempt to ruffle Seb's perfectly coiffed hair, which he deftly ducked on his way to his favorite seat at the far end of the coffee table, next to Emma.

"How are things?" Emma asked quietly. Seb looked her in the eye and shrugged. Emma put a hand on his leg and squeezed. "I like this," she said, scratching at her throat.

"Oh, this," Seb replied, rubbing the black choker he was wearing. He shrugged again. "It's nothing. I just like it."

"Well, I like it, too," Emma said with a complimentary look. "It looks good on you." Emma thought it went nicely with his frilly, fancy white shirt and tan, olive skin tone. Yuna eyed the choker warily, throwing Seb a worried look.

"Ok, we're all here," Ingrid announced, trying to sound officious. "So maybe let's get started."

Yuna rubbed her hands together eagerly, leaning forward on her bean bag chair. "Lead the way, fearless leader," Silus said encouragingly.

"Are we really beginning?" Emma asked, her hand still on Sebastian's thigh. "I've been looking forward to this campaign for so long."

Ingrid smiled nervously. "Well, I hope I don't let you all down."

"Hey, it's not just on you, DM," said Silus. "We're all in this together. This is collective storytelling." The others nodded their assent.

Ingrid took a deep breath, literally on her feet now. "Ok, you're right. Let's all do this together then, ok? Let's be present and vulnerable and listen to each other and bring our true selves to the table."

"Aye, aye," Silus encouraged.

Ingrid looked around the room, making eye contact with each of her players in turn. She looked anxious still, but also beginning to feel the flow.

"Before we jump into tonight's episode, though, let's cover some ground rules."

"Oooo," Yuna responded. "This is the part I've been waiting for."

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"Alright, I've spoken with you all individually," Ingrid began, "but I want to go over it all as a group once before we start, to make sure we're all on the same page. The key here, as always, is consent. I want to know that each of you enthusiastically consents to this... rather unusual experiment."

Yuna raised her hand high, her arm as straight as it would go. Her expression exuded the enthusiasm of a second grader. "I consent!"

Ingrid paused, slightly taken aback, then let out a slight chortle. "I haven't explained everything yet, Yuna. You don't know everything you're consenting to." Yun put her hand down and gave Ingrid a knowing smile.

"Just pulling your leg, DM. You looked so serious just then."

"Consent is serious!" Ingrid replied. "Look, you all know I love kink."