New York City Submissive Female

Nothing about her pleased him. Not the clothes she wore, not the friends she hung out with, not the music she listened to, not the books she read. Not even the grades she earned. "You think you're better than me, high and mighty with your straight As?" he would jeer. "You haven't got a lick of good old common sense."

The pain of his disdain was nothing compared to the raw physical pain, the searing agony that weakened her limbs and tortured her very spirit. Endure, she thought desperately to herself, endure. She used to pray to God, but had long since given up on getting an answer.

She hated her mother too. There she was, standing there, apparently helplessly, while her daughter was savagely beaten with a belt. She said nothing. She did nothing. There was only the loud silence of acquiescence. Another in a long list of memories.

***

1976 it was. Winter.

"Why do you just stand there when Dad hits me?"

"Maybe if you took a little responsibility, you wouldn't have to suffer these consequences," her mother snapped.

"Responsibility? You're my mom and dad! You're responsible for me!"

"Exactly. That boy could have given you any number of diseases or gotten you pregnant. I for one think your father let him off too easily. Boys like that are predators and should be treated as such."

"Mom, this is goddamn child abuse!"

"Don't use language like that and don't give me that liberal nonsense. Parents have every right to discipline their children."

Icy rage gnarled into Sue's stomach. How many times had she skipped gym class rather than let other girls see her scars? She'd even been suspended over that last year, and the school summoned her parents to a meeting, at which they lectured her about — you guessed it, personal responsibility.

***

Phil logged in after work one day very excited. Sue was online. Perfect.

Start spreading the news, he wrote.

What?

I'm leaving today (well next week, actually)

Where?

I want to be a part of it

Part of what?

New York, New York!

What are you saying?

I'll be coming to New York in person next week. Work trip. They're putting me in a hotel in Times Square.

That's great hope you have a good time.

Do you think, he asked, we could finally meet in person?

She didn't reply. He waited for a while, then prompted. Are you there?

Yes, she replied.

He waited a few minutes, then sent her some question marks.

I would love to meet you, she wrote. I would love to do everything in person. But

He waited. But what?

I haven't been entirely honest with you.

What? You're a man??

Phil would not have believed it possible. Why would someone go to all this trouble for a prank? Most internet practical jokers didn't try to go more than fifteen minutes.

No, silly. I'm a woman. Everything I told you about what I like is true. But the photo I sent you is fake.

Well to be honest I suspected that wasn't real. Real women have more than one.

I'm not 26 at all. I'm really 40.

I still want to meet you. The best-looking women aren't always the best in bed. That was definitely true. He'd learned long ago not to go for the prettiest lap dancers, masseuses, or prostitutes. The chubby one sitting there looking sheepish was the one who let you suck on her tits. The older, battle-hardened one was the one whose fingers caressed rather than rubbed. It was always the drop-dead gorgeous one who wanted you out in five minutes.

You don't mind meeting someone almost old enough to be your mother?

My mother is 57, he shot back. Heather Locklear is 40. Liz Hurley is 41.

I'm not them, she said.

Let me be the judge of that.

It was another while before Sue responded.

Oh what the hell. You only live once. Of course we can meet!

Phil was so excited he stood up at his desk, clapping his hands in triumph.

One more thing though, she added.

He waited for her to continue.

I'm married.

Oh, shit.

Cyber- or phonesex with married women was one thing, but meeting in person was another. Phil may have been a regular buyer of sexual services, but he wasn't totally without morals.

Maybe meeting in person isn't such a good idea?

Why not?

What about your husband?

Typical male, she wrote. You've never even met my husband, and all of a sudden you care more about his feelings than mine.

Phil started to type a response, but her messages came fast and furious.

Haven't I been your friend?

Haven't I listened to you moan about how you don't have a girlfriend?

Now a woman is offering to meet you and you'd refuse?

You've been to prostitutes, haven't you?

How come that's okay, but my meeting you isn't?

How do you know they weren't underage?

How do you know they weren't trafficked?

If you'd rather go to a hooker than me, it's your loss.

Her avatar went blank. She had signed out.

***

1996 it was. Summer.

"Bear with me," said Phil. "This is my first time."

"Yeah, like hell it is."

"No, seriously. This is my first time."

"How old did you say you were?"

"Twenty-two."

"Twenty-two? And you've never had sex before?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Nobody wanted to have sex with me. Even you're only doing it because I'm paying you."

"But...but you're a guy!"

Phil spent years trying to understand what she had meant by that.

***

Phil was reading his email.

Dear Phil,

I don't want our friendship to end this way. I have had many good times with you and I still want to meet in person. Why don't we meet for lunch? Just lunch. Somewhere public. It doesn't have to go further if you're not comfortable.

Sue

Feeling a bit guilty, Phil wrote back with the address of a café, across the street from his company's New York office.

***

On the plane Phil was restless. Was he really going to meet his online fuck buddy and have a wild night or two of real, unpaid sex? Or, more likely, would he face one more humiliation? Once he had met a cyber-fuck buddy, who lived in the same city. He still remembered how her face had fallen when she saw him, how she suddenly had a boyfriend she'd never mentioned before, and couldn't stay long because she had to get back to work.

Chapter 2

1988 it was. Spring.

"You're always reading!" said Pauline.

Phil found this a little annoying. Of course, he was always reading. What else were the breaks between classes for?

Pauline, a plain but slim blonde girl, tried to make conversation with him in almost every Grade 9 class they were both in. He never understood why. She also seemed to smile and giggle a lot.

This only went on a few weeks. Phil didn't even notice when she stopped talking to him. He did see her holding hands with her boyfriend in the halls. Idly, he wondered how teenage couples got together. Where did it start?

***

1994 it was. Winter.

"Well, this is my stop," said Phil.

"See you next week," said Roos. She was a pretty Dutch girl, slender as a rail, with long curly reddish-brown hair. She took the same bus home as Phil on Friday nights. They'd sit opposite the aisle from each other, comparing notes on school. She majored in psychology, he in computer science.

Phil quite liked Roos. He had a warm feeling in his stomach each week after talking to her. He knew little about her other than academic interests, but still, it was pleasant to have someone to look forward to. He'd never been friends with a girl before.

He wished he could see Roos more often, but she only took that bus on Fridays. Oh well, he thought, better than nothing.

He had to miss that bus the last day of the semester, staying late to finish an assignment. He never saw Roos again.

***

It was a small café. Phil sat down unobtrusively near the entrance, scanning the room. There was a hot blonde in a corner. Could that be Sue? He gazed at her furtively, then dropped his eyes. Be honest. The real Sue is almost certainly a middle-aged overweight woman. Well, nothing wrong with that.

The minutes ticked by. Where was she? Was she going to stand him up, as so many had done before? He stared at the menu, but the choice of burgers hardly seemed the most pressing issue facing him. Still, he had to be back at the office by one.

He signaled the waitress. "I'll have a bacon double cheeseburger with fries."

"Okay," she said, scribbling in her pad. "And for the lady?"

"What—"

"I'll have a chicken salad," said the hot blonde helpfully. Phil had not even noticed her sitting there. She was looking at him with an impish smile.

"Sorry, I was waiting for someone—"

"—and you have found her."

Phil stared as the waitress headed off.

"Sue? You're Sue?"

"Are you surprised?"

"But you were here when I came in. Why didn't you—"

"Did it ever occur to you that I might be nervous? It's not every day you meet someone who masturbates to thoughts of you drinking their piss."

Phil blanched.

"But then," she went on, "I could see that you're even more nervous than I am. You didn't seem to notice me staring at you."

"You were staring?"

"I think this might be why you've never had a girlfriend. You'd never notice if a woman was interested in you."

"I'm pretty sure that none ever have been."

Sue didn't buy it. "Do you have any idea how sexy you are?"

"No. As far as I'm concerned, I'm a hideously ugly, socially retarded, uninteresting, boring—"

"Stop it!" she said sharply.

"I don't look like — well, like you."

She dimpled. "You think I'm sexy?"

Sue was slender and fair, with long straight blonde hair. She had the beginnings of wrinkles, and her breasts lacked the perkiness of a younger woman's, but she was still a beautiful woman. Perhaps not quite the standard of Heather Locklear, but better looking than many prostitutes Phil had hired. She was dressed conservatively, in a black and white striped blouse and black pencil skirt.

"You're definitely way sexier than that photo you sent me," he said, truthfully.

"If you're trying to get me into bed with compliments, it's working," she said slyly.

Phil felt scared. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Don't apologize. You can say nice things about what I look like any time you want."

Phil had to close his eyes and take deep breaths to continue.

"Thank you for being so patient with me—"

"My looks," she said, impatiently.

"You're beautiful. Your face is just so, I don't know, so appealing. You're thin and I can see your curves." He let his eyes flit downward briefly. "Your waist is tiny. And your...your..."

"My tits?"

"Your breasts look really nice."

She chuckled. "That will do for a start. Now will you listen to some for you?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. I think you have the most wonderful dark brown eyes. You're as cute as hell, especially when you're nervous. And you look really professional, even distinguished."

That last one had a ring of truth to it, as Phil had often heard similar things from recruiters.

"Why don't you tell me what you're doing here, in New York?" she asked.

Phil's body relaxed at familiar turf. Soon he was happily chirping away about the tech projects he was working on. Sue never lost patience, listening intently. It turned out she also worked in software, as an engineering manager. Just as Phil had moved to Silicon Valley to seek his fortune, she had left her Texas hometown to pursue a career on Wall Street.

"It's amazing that you're an engineer. You see so few women in the field."

"And so many men," said Sue dreamily.

"But...you're married?"

"Yes, but I think it's best we don't talk about that," said Sue. "Are you free tonight?"

"To...tonight?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner. Do you like Italian food? Little Italy—"

"Oh. Sure. Yes. That would be great."

***

1988 it was. Summer.

Sue was excited. It seemed like they were in paradise, a taste of heaven itself. Here she was, in a glorious Caribbean island with the man she loved. Their hotel was the very epitome of luxury. The resort was everything she could have asked for in a honeymoon.

While Keith was in the shower, Sue was admiring herself, decked out in a light green bikini. The top was a thin triangle, the bottom a little square thong and a g-string for the back. It was the smallest, flimsiest thing she'd been able to find, and judging by the material, it would be transparent when wet. She would be virtually naked in public, and the thought sent little tingles of excitement down her spine, warming her blood like strong drink.

Keith came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. Sue turned towards him, her green eyes inviting.

He stopped, and stared. Sue permitted herself a half-smile, hoping to see the towel fall...

"What is that outfit?" he asked, sharply.

"Don't you like it?"

"Oh, I like it," he replied, his face filling with disapproval. "So will everyone else. A little too much, if you ask me."

"But...I like it," said Sue.

"Sue...honey...this is what we talked about, remember? You're my wife now. You don't have to be a whore anymore. You've said goodbye to that life."

"I wasn't going to fuck anyone—" she sputtered.

"I know you weren't." He took her hands in his. "But showing your body like that isn't respecting yourself. It's telling everyone that you're cheap, that you don't value you who are."

"I do value myself," Sue protested. "I just like showing off—"

"What effect do you think that will have on other men?" Keith asked. "Most of them are here with their wives or girlfriends. And how do you think that makes other women feel?"

"I wouldn't mind if you looked at other women—"

"You should. I don't look at other women. I never will, now that I have you. And I value you. Maybe more than you value yourself. But you'll learn how. Together. With me."

Sue could not find in her the strength to insist. She changed into a more modest, forgettable one-piece outfit.

***

Phil had meetings most of the afternoon, but in between he thought about Sue. It was wonderful to meet her as a person. Even if they never had real sex.

He walked to the restaurant. He had always had a childish love of tall buildings, and Manhattan's fabled skyline enchanted him. Many were the times he stopped to admire the city's breathtaking panoramas.

"I'm here for a reservation for two for six-thirty," he told the hostess.

"Name, sir?"

"The name is Susan."

Phil turned and stared. The modest blouse and skirt had been replaced by a very short, tight, and sexy green dress. Sue's shoulders, arms, legs, and a generous amount of cleavage were bare. Gone was the plain, relatively unvarnished look he'd seen this afternoon. In its place was brighter lipstick, tapped-on rouge, and blue mascara.

It wasn't what a prostitute looked like. Real prostitutes dressed in ordinary clothes, except for streetwalkers who dressed in flashy, garish outfits. It was what an average person would think a prostitute looked like.

The hostess led them to their table. Sue was grinning wolfishly.

"What do you think of my looks now?"

"I'm thinking how soft your cheeks are. How much I'd like to kiss them. How beautiful your hair is. I want to run my fingers through it."

"You're getting better at this. What do you think of this outfit? I just bought it today."

"Today? What for?"

She just raised her eyebrows in response.

"You bought that outfit...to impress me?"

Phil loved staring at women in miniskirts, but struggled to do so without them noticing. Never had a woman worn a particular outfit entirely for his benefit. He felt deeply moved.

"It's okay, Phil. I feel fantastic wearing it. Please tell me you like it."

"I love it."

"Tell me why you love it. And don't be diplomatic. Tell me what you're really thinking."

"I...I'd like to put my hand up it."

Sue smiled, a sweet, welcoming smile. "Go on."

"I look at your breasts—"

"Tits."

"Your tits, and...I want to pull them out and play with them. I...I want to slide that dress off you. What do you have on under it?"

"Would you like to find out?"

"Yes," he said with sudden resolution. "If your husband doesn't mind?"

Sue's good humor vanished. "My husband does not own me. There is a reason why I'm here with you, and not at home with him. But that is a matter between him and me."

They were interrupted by the waitress taking their drink orders. Manhattan for the lady. Screwdriver for the gentleman.

Seeing the look of fear on Phil's face, Sue softened a bit. "I'm not angry at you. But it's funny how we've done all sorts of graphic sexual things together, but you're worried about my being married."

"I don't have much in the way of sexual morality," said Phil, "but I do have two rules. One, don't use force. Two, don't lie."

"Are you lying to me?"

"No, but are you—"

"I am lying to my husband, yes. But that's not your doing. And if it wasn't you, sooner or later I'd probably be doing this with someone else."

Phil digested this for a moment, torn between his libido and his principles, until the waitress came back with drinks and took their food orders. Shrimp linguini for the lady. Spaghetti bolognese for the gentleman.

***

Sue looked at Phil as they ate.

"Have you ever wanted to just, you know, throw caution to the wind? Forget about all the rules, the regulations, just go wild?"

"Yes, many times. Especially—" He blushed.

"Especially what?"

"Especially when looking at girls."

Sue laughed. "Do you know what I'd like to do?"

"What?"

"Open your zipper and suck your cock."

Phil gaped at her.

"I've felt that since I started talking to you. It's because of the way you think of blowjobs. They aren't vanilla sex to you. You think of them as BDSM, as an act of submission."

"Of course."

"That's what makes you so hot. I've never met a guy like you before. You get so turned on and so grateful for the littlest things. Hell, just typing out sucking your cock online makes me so horny I need a vibrator."

"Really?"

"Yes really. You can't conceive that women can enjoy blowjobs and swallowing, can you?"

"There are surveys showing that only seven percent—"

"Seven percent, not zero percent. And that's including the average woman with the average male blockhead for a partner." She leaned forward. "Tell me something. Have you ever had any kind of sex without a condom?"

"No."

"Do you have any kind of sexually transmissible disease?"

"No!" said Phil with some heat.

"Neither do I," said Sue. "And I've had the operation. I can't have children." She gave him a shrewd look.

***

1992 it was. Spring.

Phil noticed a girl drinking from the water fountain.

Her body... oh, god. He felt he would forsake all the art of man just to stare at that body, at that incredible hourglass waist. The sight was so lovely it brought tears to his eyes.

Her back was to him, she could not see him staring. His eyes bore hungrily into her ass, round, perfect, and adorable. Her long blue jeans fit it perfectly, framing it, tempting him, tantalizing him.

More than anything else in the world, Phil wanted to touch that ass, put his hands on it, just explore it and feel it. Could he do it? He felt the desire flooding him. Just one feel. Please. Please.

He shut his eyes tightly and clenched his fists, forcing himself to walk away.

***

Sue insisted on splitting the tab for dinner, just as she had at lunch. "I'm a manager, you're just a young pup starting out," she admonished.

They stepped outside. It was a beautiful evening. The dying rays of the sunset poked through the pillar-like Manhattan buildings. All around were the rush of cars, the yells of shopkeepers, the bustle of pedestrians. This was New York, full of life and energy.