Three Sides of the Coin (Catherine I) Page 6

  So despite the fact that the kids were gone, and there was less work to be done with just two sets of dirty clothes and dishes, the number of tasks that she was requiring of herself stayed fairly constant, even if the volume of the tasks had decreased. As a consequence, she was about as tired as ever, and when the task of sex came up, she would slip into the routine they had developed. This is not to say the two of them did not enjoy it. No orgasm could be a waste of time, in Steven and Catherine's eyes. But Steven felt that sex should be more interactive and with two creative people, surely there could be something more than routine to something this wonderful. But he did not know her feelings on the topic. And this is what depressed him. After all these years, he was imagining the interaction of her being an imperious queen using her male slave for her enjoyment and then wrenching his man-juice from him, like Delilah cutting Samson's hair on a weekly basis. But he did not really know what she was thinking. Was she imagining rainbows and angels singing, was she sleeping with another man, or even a woman? Or was she, ironic tragedy of all, playing that she was dominating him just as he was imagining. He did not want to go to his death bed not having the chance for them to be in such perfect sync.

  So for a year he thought about it and looked for signals that would support his hope. Yes, she would play with his nipples, but was it purposeful or just stray actions that he was over reading? She believed in equality for the most part, but he also believed that she felt women were better than men in certain regards. She had been raised so Norman Rockwell normally that he feared a Puritan backlash with any suggestions of kinkiness. Would she be aghast at his observations of her female domination techniques and stop immediately? Or would she find it an, up till now, unappreciated insight to what pleased her?

  He did not even know how odd his own feelings were. He sought out confirmation that others might have similar thoughts. High, cruel, heels were always a fashion item associated with sexy women, but was the cruelty to the pain they inflicted on women, or on what they implied they might do to men groveling at their feet? Lucy Liu, in 'Charlie's Angels' was, obviously, an appealing sexy domme to all sorts of nerdy men, like himself. Science fiction books had sexy, powerful women as role models and evil temptresses. Ads in high end magazines showed women aggressive in their stance, their dress and even their attitude towards the men in those advertisements. So he did not think that a dominant female was beyond the pale of what a normal woman might consider herself. But he was not certain.

  In the men's magazines that he bought, he found pictures that delighted him. Women smiling cruelly at the male beneath her feet, collared and chained, their nipples twisted by their female betters, he craved to be so humiliated, to become a sex toy for her, to be helpless before her. He wanted sex to be a relief from the responsibility of being in control all day at everything. He wanted to trust beyond any reason, this woman who could take whatever she wanted from him. And more importantly, he wanted her to want to take control.

  So on a trip to the high country, he sprang his thoughts on her. They were coming back from a one night stay at her friend's cabin in the mountains north of Phoenix. The cool evening was a refreshing change from the one hundred plus temperature in the valley. On Sunday they were driving back on I-17 when an accident stopped all traffic. After an hour, when they had walked up and down the freeway, which had suddenly turned into a miles long parking lot, they found out the police had blocked off all lanes going to Phoenix, and that it would be blocked off until their investigation was completed in a couple of hours. As patience wasn't Catherine's strong point, she copied the handful of others who had bounced their SUV's across the median, doing the only off-roading that these vehicles would ever see, and they turned back the five miles to the last turnoff to Prescott and with Steven navigating, Catherine drove them on back roads and switchbacks to take an alternative route to Phoenix.

  Steven had been thinking about this for weeks, but he wasn't good about choosing his words on a good day, and this wasn't a good day. He pretty much mangled what he had to say. He stuttered and used half sentences and made a mish-mash of things.

  "Cat," he began, "We have to talk." Always an attention getter, even if it was prone to bring a defensive ear to the party.

  "I've been thinking about...stuff. Our sex life is great and all, but...."

  "But what, Steven?" A cold even voice said. Of course, that didn't take much pressure off him.

  "I feel like I am missing something.... No, that's not it. Maybe, we're missing an opportunity....No; no....I wish you would dominate me like Lucy Liu."

  "What? Steven, are you seeing another woman? When?"

  "No." He sputtered, "No, not at all. That's not what I mean. I just want you to do more."

  "More what?" she asked evenly, a little, but not much relieved.

  "I want you to take charge in bed." He spit out. "Make me, no, order me to do things for your pleasure."

  "That's it?" She asked, wondering if more was involved, and at the same time irritated that he was messing with her ritual.

  "Maybe spank me and make me wear women's underwear." He said quietly.

  She drove in silence for a while and no one said anything as she processed all of this. Finally, she declared: "No," shaking her head. "I have so many things to do already. If I am not woman enough for you as I am...."

  "Cat, I adore you. I really do. There is no one else. I couldn't even imagine anyone else."

  "Lucy Liu?"

  "It isn't her that appeals to me, it is her attitude. I thought you had some of it too. I thought you would enjoy controlling our sex life. You seem to like to make rules and control things."

  "I control things because otherwise things won't get done. It's exhausting. I can't be bothered with running your sex fantasies. Sex is just there. It's a form of relaxation for me."

  "I was just...hoping that you were thinking like me. I mean, you twist my nipples during sex...."

  "I just do that because it works...whatever gets the job done." She said with finality.

  He sat there as the car droned on the flats, groaned when it went up hill, and hummed on the downhills. He felt defeated like never before. "Whatever gets the job done," burned in his ears and mind. He felt like an obligation to her. He vowed never to initiate sex with her and let her.... Well, he didn't know. He never imagined, as much as feared, this sort of an outcome. He hadn't thought she would be so rigid in her response; or that he would be so awkward in his approach.

  And they did not discuss any further and drove the final two hours to Phoenix with the occasional comment on the awesome, and sometimes terrifying view as they switched backed down the mountain, cut so tight that it was one lane quite often with the opposing uphill lanes in another area. Looking over past Catherine, all he saw was open air. It looked, for all the world, like she was flying a plane.

  And to his credit, he played 'hard to get' in the coming weeks. And to her credit, she didn't seem to notice and at first, did not alter her routine at all. But, now his fantasy was broken. He knew her heart wasn't into dominating him and it all became a routine, lessened for the lack of his fantasy, once he recognized its falsity. He was sorry he had brought it up. Ever so sorry and sad.

  But then something changed. Actually, two things changed all of it. One was what he called an S.E.E., a 'Significant Emotional Event. ‘The second was a conversation Catherine had with Mike. He never knew about that conversation, but he certainly knew a lot about the S.E.E. He had read about S.E.E.s in college. The theory was that we don't make significant changes to our daily lives without a significant emotional event causing us to re-think everything.

  Catherine flew early the next day, Monday, to Chicago to an afternoon meeting with a client and Monday evening found her waiting at a pizza restaurant for about six hours, while the seventeen inch deep pie baked. Alright, we might be exaggerating a bit both about the time and the depth of the pizza, but pizzas in Chicago Style are basically very thick cheesy stews on a biscuit shell.
As a result, it is best to have an interesting dinner companion, or it will be hideously boring. And in this respect, Catherine was letting Mike down.

  "Okay, Catherine,” Mike finally spoke up, "You have been distracted all day and your mind is somewhere else even now. Usually people find me incredibly fascinating. I know I do."

  She smiled at this as he sparkled his eyelashes at her, and sighed. "I know. And I don't know who else I should talk to about this. My girlfriends would never be able to look at us the same way. Well, you're kind of a guy...."

  "I am honored,” he said, holding his head high in a preening fashion.

  She laughed at his reaction and said, "I don't mean it that way. It is just that Steven dumped something on me and I don't really know how to react." She paused for a second, "I am not even sure if I did react right."

  He looked at her carefully and said, “The Doctor is in. More nouns and verbs, please. Perhaps you should back the truck up a bit. Beep, Beep, Beep." He said, as he waved his hands towards himself, palms in, as if directing the traffic.

  She smiled again and related the tale from the day before. When she was finished, she sighed again, and said: "Well that was a load off. Thanks for listening."

  He asked with an arched eyebrow, “Could you take a little constructive criticism?"

  "I think I actually need another perspective, and I was hoping you might be able to tell me if my husband has some...I don't know gay feelings."

  "I am afraid I'll have to inform you that your husband is very likely a fully functional heterosexual."

  "But what about that whole dress up thing?"

  "I've met Steven. He has no gay vibes at all. Trust me. As a matter of fact, have you ever seen him look at a guy?"

  "No."

  "Ever see him look at a woman?"

  "Well, of course! Oh. I see what you mean. I guess I was over-reacting."

  "Just a bit. Listen, girls get to wear really cool fabrics and colors. Women will wear guy's shirts and will never be accused of going lesbian just because they do. It actually takes a lot more than clothes to make the gay or ‘lez’. And really, not every gay guy dresses up as a girl. I'd be willing to bet that percentage-wise more straights than gays dress up."

  "Why?"

  “The fabrics are soft, and admit it, silk and satin feel better on your skin than canvas." She nodded quietly.

  "Really,' he continued, "The question should be why not? And that is easier. You just gave it with your reaction. I think you might have been more effective with a body slam or a two by four across the forehead than your reaction."

  "You think I was too severe? I was impressed that I didn't kick him out of the car."

  "Let's see. Your husband of how many years bares his soul to you, hoping for a more interactive sexual life and a response of 'I can't be bothered,' seems fair to you?"

  "Well," she replied with a blush, "I guess I could have been a little more sympathetic."

  "Here is a test question for you, 'A dog is down. Do you now, A.) Kick him? Or B.) Kick him really hard?'"

  She laughed. "Now you are calling my husband a dog."

  "I am sure he will forgive the analogy. Listen, I think your husband is asking for a very common sexual fantasy. Women are all the time trying to get men to be in touch with their feminine feelings, but they don't think through that very well.

  "Lots of men want to escape through sex. In fact, I have seen, through my extensive research into the pornographic art form, that a common mental set is that some men want to be treated like a nineteen fifties woman. A complete sex object, wanting to please, to be objectified and acting like a complete slave to their spouse."

  "That didn't work out so well for the women back then. We have fought pretty hard not to be treated that way." She retorted.

  "And that," he said, hands opened out, "Is why it is called a fantasy. Life, in business, can be pretty intense. Fantasies are meant to escape from the realities of life. That is probably why he thought you might buy into this fantasy. Most women don't want anything to do with the whole sex kitten thing. They would like to get exactly what they want for a change, without having to fight for every concession. Men, on the other hand, are trying to get away from it all, to have no decisions for a change. On sheer logic it is perfect."

  "But I don't want to see my husband dressed up like a girl. I want to be the sexy one. I want to be the girl."

  "But he doesn't want to be a girl. He just wants to be treated like a girl. It's exciting and stimulating and sexy and embarrassing and humiliating."

  "Why would anyone want to be humiliated? It seems cruel."

  He hesitated before answering. "I know. But maybe he needs cruel. A lot of Catholic boys like him feel a lot more sexual release from being 'forced,'” he said with air quotes. "You might even get off on that as well, if you can get past the societal constraints."

  They both sat there for a bit. The pizza was delivered and they dug in. "I can't do it all at once," she said with a thoughtful sigh. "I'll have to do it a little at a time. Any ideas how I do that?"

  "Are you asking a gay guy how a woman can turn her submissive husband on?"

  "I suppose this is beyond your job description."

  "Not at all, as a matter of fact. You don't have to be a cow to know what milk is. If I were you, I would go slow. What do you wear to bed now?"

  She blushed before she answered. "Nothing."

  He laughed. "Well, if I looked like you, I would assume you can't improve on perfection, but actually you can. The best gift in the world looks better with nice ribbons and bows. In this case, if you wore some aggressive colors like red and black. Leather, satin, rubber, lace...any fabrics would work. But you just vary it to keep him off expectations. Act first, be demanding, get on top! All that kind of stuff should work."

  "How do you know this stuff, Mike? Do you do this with....?” She let her words trail off as she did not know how to finish her question.

  "I am a pretty vanilla guy. Despite everything you might think of gay guys, it is not all whips and chains and leather and drag queens."

  "I'm sorry." She said with a red face.

  "Don't be." He laughed, "It was worth it to see you glow in the dark like that."

  They finished their pizza and went to their hotel rooms and finished the week. She found time to go to a Victoria Secret's and bought a couple of black and red outfits that did not stray far from her self-image. It was a couple of weeks before she even wore one of them to bed, but she was amused at how much more responsive Steven became. She vowed to slow play this, but a couple weeks later something happened to the two of them: The S.E.E.

  It was a weekend and the two of them were making some progress on the house. Cat had found a couple of new fixtures to replace the original 1978 lights that hung over the bar. The bar was a large affair, stretching the length of the kitchen and housing in its center on the north side, the cook top. On the south side, four barstools allowed people to, though facing the kitchen instead of the pool and lake, watch other people work while preparing their food. It seemed to fascinate many visitors. The bar was below the highest peak, (of course), in the ceiling and as a result, in order to minimize the length of the ladder, Steven had put a board between the exposed truss beams and had propped one end of the extension ladder on it, and the other on the counter top. His footing still, with all the tricks he could manage, would be seventeen feet above the counter.

  This all worked pretty well for about five hours and Steven was completely finished with the first light, to both his and Catherine's satisfaction. He had moved the ladder to the second light and was about three quarters done when Mike had called and Catherine asked if she could focus on the call and abandon her job of idly holding the bottom of the rock solid ladder. The always accommodating Steven told her to go ahead, as he did not think she was value added for this particular task.

  About ten minutes later, Catherine was deep into a discussion on the logistics of the following week's trip
to Cleveland, when she heard a rattling sound and turned to see the ladder slide, in seeming slow motion, off the supporting board, twirl and cast Steven in the air where he fell like a sandbag. She screamed into the phone, "Steven!" and dropped the phone abruptly. By the time she got across the living room to him, Steven had managed to roll off his now broken arm and ribs and fall an additional three feet from the counter to the floor. He raised himself to his feet and staggered away from the counter and fell to the carpet on his back.

  She bent over him and asked, "Are you all right?" He glanced at the bone sticking out of his arm and appraised his difficulty in breathing and rasped out, "You might want to call an ambulance."

  She did that and in the next hour she dealt with half a dozen firemen, about four or five emergency technicians, all of who felt, as they rushed through the front door, obligated to yell at the top of their lungs: "No railing!" as they observed the open landing. She suspected there was an OSHA rule that required all certified EMTs to follow that procedure. They were all curious how Steven had gone so far from the landing following his fall. When she explained that he hadn't fallen the ten feet from the landing, but seventeen feet from the ladder, their eyes got large and said, "He should be dead." She didn't agree, but soon she found herself being quizzed by the investigating police officer, who wondered if she had done anything to help Steven in his fall. This appeared to be standard operating procedure. Catherine wondered how often this was necessary. Apparently, she did not come off as a black widow and after a bumpy stretcher ride around the back and up the outside stairs, (The EMTs were terrified of the lack of railings on the landing and would not expose themselves to it anymore than they had to.) they took Steven via ambulance to the hospital . She drove herself there alone.