Say Uncle

I Know A Place

“...I just believe there are more traditional routes that could have been taken before we came to the ridiculous conclusion of…”

Everything Adam discussed went through one ear and out the other, a marinade of unrequested opinions with a few drizzles of misogynistic expectations in a relationship with a sprinkle of xenophobia. Usually, it took a few dates before guys like Adam displayed their true colors, but he seemed to be on a roll without any concern for the long haul of subtlety.

By the time our entree came, the only thing keeping me sane was the few glimpses of the curly-haired gentlemen entertaining some business associates a few tables down. He sat facing our table and looking beyond Adam, I watched the way he smiled at a joke or twisted his lips at a comment with scrunched eyebrows which only made him more dashing. And then there were the moments when our eyes caught, an ambiguous glint that shined from a distance that mesmerized me, tapping his glass before one of us finally looked away. Who was this man? Why was he so captivating?

“...like you. You have a regal yet sophistication that’s just been lost by women nowadays.”

“A what now?” I asked, barely listening to a word he'd been saying. I took a small sip of my glass, having caught the mystery man’s gaze once more beyond Adam’s shoulder. He smiled. My chest reverberated with the hammering of my heart at the sight, having to look away quickly and back at Adam for it to compose itself.

“A sophistication like Kate Middleton or Jackie O. They are regal women who support their husbands without having to be all out there. You know what I mean?”

Okay, time to put a stop to this. Placing my glass down, I leaned forward over my plate of salmon and marsala risotto, granting him a serious expression that made him flinch, catching him off guard. Good. “I do know what you mean, Adam. I knew what you meant from the moment you sat down and told me how different I am from ‘other females’ by our chats on the app. Yet, you couldn’t recall one genuine conversation we’ve had and have only spoken about your preference and how you imagined I checked all the boxes. However…”

Now he leaned back in his chair, an expression of aloofness grazing his face as he ran a hand through his blond hair before crossing his arms. I knew immediately he didn’t appreciate where this was going. “However?” The word rolled off his tongue in annoyance.

“However, I don’t even come close to checking off all the boxes. After this so-called date, I plan on not ‘seeing where this goes’ and heading over to my favorite b**m club where I'll most like meet a curious newcomer, strip him—or her—down, and have my way with them—with consent, of course. By the way, I always refuse to be submissive. I’m always the dominant party and I’m certainly not regal or sophisticated or Jackie O-like in the slightest. And although I’m a chef and I love what I do, I have no intention of coming home to cook, clean, and doing whatever a ‘traditional’ woman should be doing nowadays. I used to be like that but now, I’m all out there. I like that about myself.”

He stared at me for a moment, his poor mind spiraling with a reply to my revelation as I took another sip of my wine haughtily. This is how I usually end a date with a guy like him. His ego couldn’t take a woman's s****l exploration and any minute now, he’d scoot his chair back, stand up, and leave. But not without saying something stupid, because that’s usually how it goes.

This time, he leaned forward with a smile that could have fooled a lesser woman, but I knew something unfortunate would fall out. “If you were a freak, you should have just said that instead of pretending to be a lady online to get some.” I froze for a split moment at his insinuation, enough time for him to pull out his wallet. “Good thing I can afford it. See?” He flashed his black card and a few hundred bills, making me roll my eyes and lose my appetite. “So what’s the going rate for a girl like you? A thousand? Two thousand?”

With a disgusted scoff, I grabbed my purse and stood away from my seat, not wanting to give this i***t another minute. “You could be a billionaire and you still can’t afford me,” I told him in a huff.

“No p***y is that good.” Without another word, I turned to leave until I felt his hand on my arm. “How about this? Since you’re so domineering, I’ll let you be on top…”

Balling up my fist, I was a moment away from punching his lights out in the crowded room of spectators before a tall shadow intervened, the familiar scent of oakwood and mint welcoming me to his presence. “It doesn’t seem like she wants to be manhandled by you. May I suggest you take your hand off of her?” With a disgusted pinch, my mystery hero grabbed the end of his sleeve to remove his hand from mine, which I snatched away immediately.

“This has nothing to do with you, man,” Adam began, attempting to reach for me again. Instead, I took a step back as the gentleman took a step forward between us, both my hands now clutching my purse. He turned back towards me, his hazel eyes hesitant for a moment before saying, “You can head out. I’ll take care of the bill.”

I nodded a thank you but I already knew the Maples would handle everything when I left and if they wanted compensation, which I doubted, they knew where I worked. “Thank you.”

Turning around, I headed towards the entrance door for my exit, the restaurant keeping its eyes on Adam and the gentleman. Adam slapped his hand away after a few seconds, a slight hint of a blush of embarrassment on his cheeks as I finally smiled, heading out the door.

As expected, this was a horrible date, another failure, and I just wanted to go to my happy place as soon as possible to forget this whole ordeal. Adam’s behavior brought back memories of my ex, Wyatt. They were similar in their desires for ‘traditional women’ which became their entire personality. And once upon a time, I fell into the trap of pleasing their desire by any means necessary. A chill shot through my back at the thought of that woman who just wanted to be his dream homemaker, relinquishing my own dreams for his. If he hadn’t cheated and broken my heart, I’d probably be the Jackie O type with Wyatt, married and conforming to his old-money style of living, sustaining myself on idle gossip and childrearing.

I shook those thoughts out of my head, stepping into the brisk city nightlife of Vancouver I’d come to adore. The city that helped me gain my sanity and find myself again after years of molding myself into his ideal woman and wife for his medical and political future.

Only a mere five blocks away, I’d be at the entrance of the b**m club properly named Mise En Place, Put in Place, which caught my eye as a culinary chef. However, they used the term in reference to having everything prepared for members to get down and dirty at a moment's notice. The front part was a dance club and bar, while members could head to the back with a partner in one of their themed chambers. Sometimes I’d be assigned a random guy or girl who wanted to be submissive, but I always signed up to be a dom.

The submissive lifestyle wasn’t for me anymore and I doubt it’d ever be again.

As I reached next to the last block, I noticed I was being followed by heavy footsteps, feeling my heart race. Adam. It was late with only a few people walking around and apartments above stores and restaurants already closing their blinds for the night. Instinctively, I popped open my purse to grab my pepper spray, only to pass by the reflection of myself in a wide store window, pausing as I realized who was actually following me.

“Is there a reason you’re following me, curls?” I asked, slowing down my pace but still having my hand ready.

He spoke calmly a few feet behind me. “You dropped your bracelet…” Something soothing and reassuring about his rich voice had me biting my lip before turning around to meet his gaze. He's really handsome. As he handed me the simple charm bracelet, our fingers grazed one another, causing me to straighten at the sudden burst of nerves exploding inside from the touch.

“Thank you.” Why did he unnerve me but in a delightful way? Usually, I’d just thank him and walk away, yet I stood there, staring up into his memorizing hazel eyes of gold and green. He matched my gaze, the corner of his lip rising then falling then rising again to say something.

“Do you want to get a drink?” he asked boldly, not a hint of hesitancy. A man who knew what he wanted.

I smirked at the offer. “Sure. And I know just the place.” Now he stepped in pace with mine, side by side as we crossed the street towards Mise En Place. The heavy ringing of music perforated from the building before we even stepped inside, noticing him looking up at the cursive sign with a raised eyebrow. Boldly, I answered the question swimming in his mind. “It’s a dance s***h b**m club, so you’ll probably see a few topless patrons if you’re alright with that.”

Once again, I expected him to look at me in disgust or bewilderment that I’d frequent such a place. Instead, he just smirked handsomely. “Haven’t been to one of these since Singapore,” he muttered with an impressed expression. Respectfully, he opened the door for us to enter. “Shall we?”

Such an interesting man you are, I thought, stepping inside the dimly lit club, the music growing louder in our ears. In the front, there were already people in masks chatting with the bouncer, Bruce, with glasses of tequila and margaritas. We stepped forward until Bruce gave his attention to greet us.

“Welcome back, blue raven,” he smiled, the patrons he’d been speaking to looking over his broad shoulders at me. I had a sort of reputation here, most patrons knew me as the Blue Raven, the dominatrix who gave you a good time without mercy. “And shall you be partnering up today?”

Looking up at the no-name stranger and realized he was watching me intensely, waiting for my reply, his eyes gaining a spark of something I couldn’t quite identify. Perplexity? Interest? Excitement? Whatever I was, I had no intention of denying it now. “Yes. He’ll play submissive after we get a drink.”

“Wonderful. I think your usual mask is available on the wall.”

“Thank you, Bruce.”

With that, we entered together and I hastily headed toward the wall of masks, grabbing the glittering turquoise with gold ribbons and pearls. “You don’t have to wear one if you don’t want to,” I told him.

Biting his bottom lip, the motion sending electricity through my body straight between my thighs, he grabbed a black leather mask with horns at the top. Picking it off the wall gently, he wiped the inside cautiously before swiftly placing it on, tying it in the back. “I’ve come this far, I might as well, right.”