The Man Tamer

"You treat this like it's a game," he said to her, half amused and half anxious.

"What's wrong with that?" she responded calmly. "It is a sport, but I'm not for play. I think you know I'm serious."

"Clearly," he laughed. "Not to mention competitive."

She eyed him quietly, moving carefully up from his feet to his head. Competitive, she chuckled to herself. Just look at him. He acts as if he doesn't know.

"I don't like to lose," she finally stated.

Normally when this kind of banter came up with a member of the opposite sex, he would tease back with something suggesting they might have to get used to losing. Or at the very least he'd agree that he doesn't like to lose, either. This time, however, he said nothing. His mind was elsewhere, though he was quite aware that he'd left her words hanging on the air unchallenged.

Fierce is such an overused description for someone, but he could think of no better word for Becca. The woman didn't know when to quit. The concept just seemed to be absent from her vocabulary. Every morning she would be out running. Every evening she'd be at the gym. He knew she busted her ass for a stressful and fast-paced job.

What stood out most, though, was that she was persistent. They had lived on the same block for years. She had been friends with him and his wife. He had never gotten the impression she was interested, and she had never been anything but respectful. But immediately after the divorce, Becca was there, as if she had been waiting and counting down the days.

"I've never seen you this quiet," she spoke up suddenly with a grin.

Tom scratched the back of his head and smiled back. It was an awkward yet friendly smile. He still didn't know if it had been a mistake telling her about the divorce. Months later, he was now really waking up to the fact that he had a temper problem. That he could be selfish and careless. He wanted to change, he knew that, but had it been a bad idea to tell Becca and risk changing how she saw him, too?

"Sorry," he sighed. "I don't mean to be all spaced out. I think it's just a little early and I'm still a little tired."

"Do you want to go home? We can call it a day and you can get your beauty sleep if you need to."

"What?" he scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. It's not even 7 yet. I haven't had my coffee."

She loved teasing him. Most of the time it was actually playful and harmless, but she had grown more deliberate in it. He was a good looking man, she'd think to herself. Tall, fit, and with the kind of jaw you wanted to bite at the same time you wanted to kiss it. She knew about his temper and inconsiderate behavior even before he'd told her.

Following the divorce, things had started innocently enough. She dropped by to tell him she was there for him, in case he needed anything. It wasn't lost on her that this might put certain thoughts on his mind. Twice he had tried asking her out on a date, and twice she had politely declined. Then one day he got the invitation to join her on her morning run.

By now, he had lost track of how many mornings he'd been doing this with her. It had become almost a ritual he performed without thinking, although he looked forward to it every day. The first three days, she outpaced him much of the time. On the fourth day, as he started to keep up with her better, she took a detour into another neighborhood. This continued into different neighborhoods until day seven. On the seventh day, she ventured off the beaten path altogether.

He lost her that time, somewhere in the surrounding woods. But the next day he joined her, he managed to avoid that happening again. The little wooded area outside their neighborhood had narrow trails with twists, turns, and hills. If you weren't careful or tried to rush by someone, you'd quickly lose sight of where they were. By staying a little behind to follow her, he was able to keep up with her.

On this cool Saturday morning, she had led him out even further, past the park and the peaceful little pond nearby. They stopped to take a breather and he announced that he needed to sneak off for a moment to take a leak. That was when she said it.

"I don't think so."

For a second he laughed, believing she was toying with him. When he could see she was not, he became annoyed.

"Alright, whatever. Go ahead then and I'll catch up."

"No," she fired back. "Come on. You'll have a chance to pee later on."

Tom stared at her in disbelief. She was already slowly starting to walk away. He wanted to argue, but what he didn't want to do was get left behind. So he took a breath and hurried after her. With her back to him, he couldn't see or imagine the smile that came over her face as she heard him start to move.

After fifteen minutes, he stopped again and said he really needed to use the bathroom. Once again, she told him no. After some back and forth, he had assured her he wasn't going to quit.

All he could think about was getting the chance to relieve himself. He was beginning to feel desperate. Who the hell did she think she was to tell him no? He had no earthly idea where they were, and he needed to pee. He couldn't just keep going, nor could he just let her go on and risk getting lost himself.

Fifteen more minutes passed and this time she was the one to announce it was time for a breather. Sarcastically, he turned to her and asked permission to take a leak. He was sure he was on the verge of being unable to hold it in any longer.

"Yes, you may," she replied seriously. "On one condition."

"Oh really, and what's that?" Now he was starting to get quite irritated.

She stepped toward him and wiped the sweat off her forehead, looking him over. There was something in her expression and body language that made Tom's insides flutter.

"Unzip and do it here. I'm not waiting on you." He began to turn his back to her and she interrupted. "No, facing me."

Hesitating for a brief second, he turned back to her and blurted out: "Are you fucking serious? Come on, Becs, stop messing with me."

"Time's ticking," she voiced impatiently. "If you're too embarrassed, go ahead and wander off. You'll be able to find your way back."

He paused for thought. This felt weird, but weirder still, it intrigued him. As she crossed her arms, he knew she meant business. Quickly, he fumbled for his belt, unbuckled it, and slowly unzipped, staring quietly at the ground at his feet.

"Tom," she said softly. "Look at me."

He raised his head up and met her eyes. His face was full of confusion, embarrassment, and something else she knew all too well. There was a thrill in there, curiosity, too. Games, she thought. He thinks I like to play games.

"Let's go," she instructed him.

Slowly, he pulled himself out. It took a few minutes for him to get going. Once she heard the sound, her expression softened. They continued making eye contact. He found himself relaxing again, but could feel his cheeks gradually turning red. Then he watched her eyes drift quietly down to his crotch. She looked him over for a moment as he finished going, before her gaze bolted straight back up to his again. He shook off and zipped up silently, then they continued on their way.

Nervously, he kept pondering it in his head until he could take it no more. When the ability to form words finally returned to him, he asked her what that was about. Why had she asked him to do that?

"It's simple," she chuckled. "I like men that can control themselves. If you can't hold out long enough to find a toilet, maybe it'll teach you a thing or two to be treated more like an animal."

The nerve on this woman, he thought. Yet somehow it made a kind of morbid sense. He stared at her from behind as they kept walking, wondering what had come into his life.

"Besides," she continued, "men already treat the world like it's their toilet and it's disgusting. You don't know how women talk about having to clean up after the men in their homes that miss the toilet when they piss. If you ask me, those guys should be the ones on their hands and knees cleaning up after themselves. Or they should learn to be better behaved."

-

A week later and the memory of that awkward encounter on the trail stayed with him still. For the first couple days, it was difficult to meet her eyes for long. It took real effort. After that it became easier, but he couldn't shake the thought from his mind when he would see her. She hadn't sexualized him, didn't tease him, and didn't seem to be joking. She just told him to go right then and there. Why had he gone along with it?

He knocked on her door and waited. When some time had passed, he knocked again. Then rang the doorbell.

She answered the door, took one look at him and laughed. "What are you wearing?"

He smiled and pulled the corners of his shirt, as if showing it off proudly to her.

"Bad motherfucker," he read from the print on it.

"Jesus," she cackled. "Sounds to me like somebody's compensating for something."

The smirk dropped off his face instantly. Becca just grinned. Behind him, she could see his truck. His ugly, gas-guzzling, obnoxiously over-sized truck, complete with the usual assortment of unoriginal and unintelligent bumper stickers.

"Well, are you ready?" he chimed in.

"I am, but we're taking my car."

Her car was a gold Prius. Tom had long assumed that she was just your average health-conscious hottie who wanted to save the environment and other naive things. It was a small price to pay, he supposed. He could suck it up and ride with her; he didn't have to drive it at least.

Some while later, they arrived at the shopping center. They parked and exited her car, walking from the lot to the main area. She put an arm around his back and kept him close. When they got to the first store, he politely grabbed the door and held it for her.

That was when he noticed the back of her pants. She had mocked him for his shirt, but there in bold white letters covering her ass was a single word: Boss. Quickly he became all too aware that he had still been holding the door while staring, and he went in and let it close.

He hated shopping. Why was it so hard for some people to just get what they came for and get out? Why all the browsing? The hovering? The indecision was the worst of it all. He and his wife used to bicker and argue over it whenever he'd get dragged along to go shopping with her. This time, however, he knew he had to watch himself if he hoped for anything to happen.

Before he knew it, Becca had made a couple purchases and handed off the bag to him.

"Oh, thanks," he said sarcastically.

She gave him a look. Then let her eyes wander straight down to his crotch, before they glided up to his face again. He couldn't say for sure what this meant to her, but it was pretty clear to him. It said: I know you. Don't forget.

At the next store, he stuck by her. She didn't acknowledge it, though she certainly had noticed. To express her approval of this, she kept him company and engaged him in conversation.

"Tell me about your shirt," she teased.

"What's to tell? I thought it was kinda fun. I like Pulp Fiction, you know. It seemed to suit me."

"Does it?" she inquired lightheartedly.

"You don't think so?" he asked with a little smile.

"I don't know," she responded. "I hope not. I told you I don't like to lose. I don't like bad boys, either. Self-congratulating men. I like good boys. Besides, I'll have some serious concerns about you if you and your mother are that... intimately acquainted."

Tom laughed and she could see genuine amusement on him. She let a moment pass and then asked a question.

"What did you think of my ass?"

This time the laughter from him was nervous and embarrassed. Like he'd been caught in the act of something. "Uh... well... it's very nice."

She turned and playfully swatted at him. "No, dumbass. You know what I mean. I've seen you looking."

"Oh, that," he corrected himself. "You like Boss pants?"

"Tsk tsk tsk," she scolded. "You know, sometimes I think you get so close - close enough to have things staring you in the face - and yet you still miss so much."

"Yeah," he said quietly, looking off in the distance. Her ears perked up at this and she spied him slightly out of the corner of her eye. By the time he looked up again, her eyes were back on the clothing she was examining in her hands.

"You remember telling me I treat some things like a game?" she told him. "When I play a game, I don't play it to lose. I don't play it for shits and giggles. I play to have fun and I play to win. But the only way you're going to really get both out of it is if you play to get better."

"Oh," he added after her. "So that's why you're the boss."

"No, honey," she said sternly. "I'm the boss because I make the rules. I win because I know what I'm doing. I'm very, very good at it."

He found himself being given another bag to carry. Then they walked out together and on to the next store.

Later on, after the fifth or sixth stop, he started to feel almost like a pack mule. A bag was hanging off each hand, and in between them was a stack of three boxes. What must he look like to other people, he wondered to himself. Occasionally, they would look in his direction at the man carrying all this stuff for the woman in front of him. The woman with "Boss" printed clearly on her backside. The boxes he carried for her were not so tall as to obscure his view of her, but they were just tall enough to cover what was on his shirt.

What she said before gradually sank deeper into his mind. How could you have fun if you're not getting something out of the game? How could you hope to win if you weren't getting any better at it? Maybe that's your problem, he said to himself. Maybe you're spinning your wheels because you're not doing what it takes to get better. Maybe you thought the rules shouldn't apply to you anymore.

When they got back to the car and drove off, he worked up the courage to ask.

"So you think I should play to get better? Then I become the boss of my life, too? Something like that?"

"Not everyone is cut out to be the boss," she answered. "Even the best players need a coach. I think you do need to make some changes, don't you?"

"Yeah. I know I need to."

"Do you think you can make those changes all on your own? Be honest."

For a minute, he sat there and stared at her in thought. She could feel him staring, but didn't mind it. If she had articulated what she was thinking, she'd have encouraged it. She'd have said, Yes, that's it. You need to see what's in front of you.

Finally the word came out and broke the silence between them beautifully: "No."

Becca wasted no time in picking up the thread. "Good," she said. "Then you know what you need. You need someone to coach you."

-

There was no better word for it than peculiar. He had been to her house before when he was married, and he had met her there many times since the divorce. Being inside it now was a very different feeling, though. Now its unassuming interior struck him as misleading, as if it hid a dark secret. The fact that she had chosen to forego their run that morning and invited him in instead was itself a strange development. More games.

For the past few days after their shopping trips, she had been probing him with all kinds of questions, sharing more about herself, and giving him new things to do. There was a lot of talk about relationships and dating, self-improvement, healthy living, and the like. She would send him things out of the blue over text and email, then ask him about it later. Initially, it was as if she was inviting him to a Bible study. But it wasn't God they were studying.

Whatever it was that she was preparing him for, it did enrapture him, though.

"I'd like you to do something for me," she said as she approached him and took his hands in hers.

"What's that?"

"I'd like to see you put these big strong hands to work."

"Oh yeah?" A big, cocky grin filled his face.

"Yes," she teased softly. "My carpet needs to be vacuumed."

His expression changed like he was ready to complain. As he made a frustrated sound, she stepped forward and got in his face. Even though she was several inches shorter, she nearly made him fall backwards.

"Is this your one battle?" she asked, standing firm in front of him.

That question. He knew what that meant. It was an expression she liked to use often. Choose your battles wisely. When they began talking, it was a personal example for her, a reminder for herself to think twice. Then it became a reminder for him when he would vent or hesitate.

One day, he had yelled at her. Raised his voice so that the neighborhood could hear. To be fair, he was upset at something she had said, suggesting why his wife had left him. The truth is, she was not wrong, and he knew she was not wrong. But the truth hurts sometimes, and because it hurt, he stood there and yelled at her in full view of the neighbors. So she instituted a rule.

"You get one battle per day," she had warned him after dealing with his outburst. "One. That's it. You can vent once, about one thing, and we'll handle it. But don't you raise your fucking voice to me like that again."

For some reason, this policy sounded incredibly generous to him. However, he didn't question it. He accepted it and knew that when she asked if this was his one battle, she meant business. And when she did ask, that was usually all it took for him to realize it wasn't worth it.

"No," he said at last. "I'm okay."

"Good, then you can do something else for me, too."

"What is it?"

"Strip and leave your clothes on the couch."

He gave her a suspicious glance for a second. She put her hands out as if to welcome him to share his reservations. Then he started unbuckling.

Once finished, he stood quietly in front of her, covering his cock with both hands. She calmly reached down and pushed them apart, adding, "It's not like I haven't seen that before."

Becca took a couple steps back and admired him. Tom had wondered if she was really interested in him sexually, but this moment removed that doubt. He wanted to take her in his arms. Tear the clothes off her. Make her scream his name.

Her eyes drew an outline around his muscles. She imagined how it would feel to touch his chest. What fun it would be to tie him down and slap his handsome face while riding his cock. Make him scream her name.

"Vacuum's in the closet," she said. "Do upstairs and downstairs, then put it away and come find me when you're done."

I guess this is it, he laughed to himself. If you weren't her bitch before, you kinda are now. But this little thought quickly faded as he walked away, feeling her eyes take in the back of him and continue dancing across his body.

He started upstairs first, then came down to do the downstairs. She had found a nice, comfortable seat on the couch with a book, right next to his little pile of clothes. Just in case he tried to get away with anything. From time to time, he'd peek up from his work to see her watching. Other times, she'd seem to be caught up in her book.

Eventually, he finished and put the vacuum back in the closet. He approached her and she put her book down and leaned forward.

"...why don't you kneel so I'm not looking directly into your crotch?"

An odd request, he thought. Or maybe not. But he did as she suggested anyway.

"Comfortable?" she snickered, biting her lip slightly.

"Ha," he laughed. "I guess it depends what you mean."

"Do you want to leave or would you like to stick around?"

The room grew silent. She rested her chin on her hand and waited with eyebrows raised. He had been asking himself a question a few times since she let him in this morning. Instead of wondering more, he decided to ask her.