Eve: Portrait of a Submissive

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

Nirvana

Eve was something of a night person, and the Friday night before her next date with Roger she didn’t get to sleep until three a.m. It was nearly noon before she got up. She awoke from her long sleep alert and refreshed and sprang out of bed, already in a state of high anticipation. Rushing to the bathroom, she grabbed a tube of toothpaste and squirted it over her toothbrush, and sat on the toilet brushing furiously and peeing at the same time, racing though her morning rituals as if she had five minutes rather than five hours before her date. After flushing the toilet and washing the toothpaste out of her mouth she turned on the shower. Here she lingered. She loved hot showers, loved to gradually turn down the cold water as she adjusted to the heat. When she was done she hurriedly dried herself off with a towel, then walked naked to the kitchen, her wet feet leaving footprints on the wood floor. Next she prepared her usual breakfast of a bowl of dry cereal and skim milk, which she ate standing up. When she was finished she dressed. The weather had turned warm and summery, and she put on a white, sleeveless blouse, a blue miniskirt, and a pair of thick-soled sandals designed for walking. Slinging her leather bag over her arm she went out, locked the door and scurried down the four flights of stairs through the front door and into the street. She strode down the street at a brisk pace. It was windy and she felt a warm breeze blow between her bare legs. Across the street a skinny long-haired youth turned to look at her. She smiled. She felt young and sexy and happy to be alive.

She turned right along Avenue A heading north to Eighth Street then west to the Astor Place subway stop. She had decided to spend the afternoon at the Guggenheim Museum, which by a pleasant coincidence was a few blocks from Roger’s apartment, and which was only a short ride uptown. Once inside the museum, she bought her ticket and began to climb the famous spiral ramp. She loved to stop at each floor and look down at the atrium, with the little fish shaped pool in the corner, before entering the galleries to survey the artistic treasures. After reaching the top she would do the same in reverse, stopping again in each room, taking more time to examine those pictures or sculptures which had particularly engaged her fancy on the first go round. There was a special exhibition which included paintings by Cezanne, early Picasso, Matisse, Kandinsky and various German Expressionists. It was a period that particularly appealed to her.

It was twenty minutes past four when she left the museum. Roger had instructed her to meet him at an Indian restaurant named Nirvana located just south of Central Park. A bus ran along Fifth Avenue, but Eve, who loved to take long walks in the city, had already decided to cover the two mile distance on foot and had timed her departure accordingly. She strolled for several blocks along the tree lined cobblestone sidewalk by the park, then turned into the park itself, making her way along a path that had its outlet on Central Park South, which marked the park’s southern boundary. Walking at a brisk pace as if she could contract time itself in her eagerness, she experienced a rare sense of exhilaration. Once more she was in love with her life. To spend the day in a wonderful museum communing with great art, walking in the city on a beautiful spring afternoon on the way to a tryst with her lover at a restaurant serving the kind of exotic cuisine you could only find in New York, then capping it off, a passionate night of love making—what more could she ever want? She arrived at the restaurant just before five. Peeking inside she saw there were no other customers yet, as the dinner hour was just beginning. A few minutes later she spotted Roger walking towards her, wearing a brown suit of light weight fabric over a light blue dress shirt. He greeted her with a light kiss on the lips.

“I thought you said it was casual,” she protested. “I feel underdressed.”

“I am dressed casual. See, no tie. Don’t worry, you’re fine.”

He opened the door for her and they went in. The sound of sitar music greeted them as they entered the dimly lit interior, its red-draped walls covered with Indian-themed mosaics and tapestries. A tall dark-skinned waiter dressed in Indian garb led them to a corner table and handed them the menus. Eve accepted Roger’s recommendation of the Tandoori chicken, a specialty of the house, while he ordered a lamb biryani for himself. They also ordered Mulligatawny soup and a plate of assorted appetizers. Eve thought it quite the best Indian food she had ever tasted. The fragrant spices, expertly blended to produce flavors delicate yet piquant, produced in her a kind of ecstasy, almost like being high. Everything, the wonderful food, the romantic atmosphere, the mystical music, along with the presence of her lover, and the promise of the night to come, combined to make it a magical moment for her.

Perhaps for this reason she was more animated and less reticent than usual. As he drew her out about herself she talked about her recent life and her difficult relationship with her family, which in her mind invested her life with some of the dignity of heroic struggle. “My big sister calls me the family rebel,” she said with a touch of pride.

This drew a laugh from Roger. “What’s so funny about that?” she asked indignantly.

“Well, if I was looking for a word to describe you, I don’t think it would be ‘rebel’.”

“Oh? What word would you use?”

He paused for a moment, then answered, “Submissive.”

Eve frowned. “I’m not sure I like that.”

Annoyed, she looked down at her plate and spent the next few minutes picking at her food. “Why do you say I’m submissive?” she asked at last.

“Because you like being told what to do.”

“My parents wouldn’t agree with you.”

Roger ignored this and attended to his curry.

“Is it because of how I am in bed?” she went on. “I know I’m passive. I like the guy to take charge. That’s just the way I like it. I guess Gloria Steinem wouldn’t approve. Well, f**k her!” she concluded defiantly.

“I’d like to,” he said with a smirk. “She’s a good looking broad.”

Suddenly the idea of Roger having s*x with the founder of Ms. Magazine struck Eve as irresistibly droll. She pictured her on her knees sucking Roger’s c**k and began to giggle.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, smiling.

“Oh, nothing,” Eve replied, as she grabbed a piece of Tandoori chicken and attacked it lustily.

A half an hour later they were standing on the street. There was still an hour of daylight, the clocks having just changed, and he suggested a little walk in the park. They crossed over Central Park South and entered the park.

“From here we could walk to your apartment. I did a longer walk on the way here. If you can manage it,” she said saucily.

“Actually, I have to leave you shortly for another engagement.”

“Oh.” Eve felt crushed, her dreams of a night of passion shattered. So this was it, just dinner? She wanted to cry. Who was he meeting? She experienced a sudden pang of jealousy. “Who is your date with,” she asked, trying to control the tremor in her voice. “Is it a woman?”

Roger looked at her with amusement. “It’s a business meeting, of sorts.”

“A business meeting, on a Saturday night?”

He laughed. “My ‘date,’ as you call it, is with a fat, bald, Japanese businessman. Someone I’ve been trying to get to invest some money. He called me this morning and said we should discuss business tonight over a few drinks. He’s a bit eccentric, but when you have five million dollars to invest, you can get away with a bit of eccentricity.”

“Maybe I could come along. If it’s just a few drinks, maybe it won’t take long.”

“No, I’m not taking you along to a business meeting. Besides, he might want to do something afterwards.” He laughed. “He’ll probably want to go to a strip club. It’s the Japanese way of doing business. We don’t have Geisha houses here, unfortunately.”

Eve frowned. She began to walk faster, her eyes fixed on the ground.

“Now don’t pout,” he said teasingly.

“I’m not pouting,” she said irritably.

They continued their walk in silence. Eve felt angry and humiliated. She struggled to put her thoughts in some order.

“You know,” she began, once more trying to control the tremor in her voice, “when you ask a girl out to dinner on a Saturday night, she doesn’t expect to be dropped like a hot potato afterwards. It’s almost like being stood up.”

“When I called to ask you to dinner, I didn’t say anything about afterwards, did I?”

“No,” she admitted resentfully.

She waited for him to say something more but he was silent. Finally she asked, “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking you look pretty when you’re angry.”

“Don’t patronize me!” The clichéd nature of the expression added to her fury. She began walking very fast now. Roger let her get a few feet ahead of him, then followed her at a steady distance. They continued to walk like this for some time until, having worked off some of her anger, she stopped. She waited for him to catch up, but as he drew abreast of her, instead of stopping he continued on towards the left, heading for a nearby bench. He seated himself and assumed a slouching posture, draping his arms around the back of the bench and stretching his legs out lazily in front of him. She approached and saw he was smiling, with a bland complacency that was almost insulting. For an instant she considered turning around and leaving, probably never to see him again. Instead she sat next to him, leaning forward to avoid his arm. After a brief silence and without looking at him she began speaking, in a quiet, almost humble tone.

“I like you Roger. I like you a lot. I don’t want to be—I can’t think of the right words—I don’t want to be someone you just call anytime you feel like it. I know we haven’t known each other long, but we’ve already had s*x twice and I thought, well, that you liked me and...”

Unable to think of what else to say she turned to look at him. He was staring off into the distance with a serious expression.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

He turned to her and his face broke into a broad smile. “What am I thinking about? I’m thinking you’re a lot of trouble.” His smile grew broader, with a touch of mockery. “I’m thinking I’d like to take you over my knee right now and give you a good spanking, for being such a little troublemaker.” Then he broke into hearty laughter.

Eve’s face turned red. She stood up and glared at him. “You don’t take me seriously!”

Abruptly his laughter stopped; he stood up and taking her arms in a tight grip said “I do take you seriously. Maybe more seriously than you take yourself.” She stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Come on,” he said, “let’s walk.”

They continued their walk, this time with his arm around her shoulder until they came out onto Fifth Avenue. Then he stopped and turned to face her again.

“I have to leave now. Would you like to see me later tonight?”

She hesitated for a few seconds then said “Yes.”

“Ah women. My great weakness. You can wrap me around your little fingers.” He was laughing again in the same mocking way he had on the bench. Then turning serious he said, “I want you to go home now. Take a cab. I’ll call you when I’m done with this Japanese fellow. It might be an hour, it might be several. But I will call. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll pay for this though,” he said, laughing once more. “Remember what I said on the bench.” He hailed a taxi. It stopped; he opened the door, handed her a ten dollar bill, gave her a peck on the forehead, ushered her into the cab and closed the door.

A half an hour later she was back in her apartment. She lay down on her bed and wondered when he would come. She didn’t know how long he would be but suspected it would be a long time. This very moment he must be sitting with that Japanese businessman, drinking, maybe a scotch. (What did businessmen drink?) He had said the guy would probably want to go to a strip club. She pictured the businessman, bald, fat, with piglike features—yes, he would be that type! She had never been to a strip club. She pictured a bunch of naked girls with big hair and big bouncing breasts dancing erotically, advertising their wares in a blatant fashion and surrounding them a crowd of cheering, leering men, young men with short hair and mustaches wearing black tea shirts and jeans and sporting obscene tattoos on bulging biceps, fat middle-aged businessmen in suits, and Roger—how did he fit into this picture? She imagined him sitting there watching with that calm, superior smile of his. He wasn’t the kind to go to strip clubs on his own, no, she couldn’t picture that. He wasn’t the kind of guy who needed to get his kicks in strip clubs. He was tall, handsome and magnetic, the kind who had to fight women off with a stick as the saying goes. He also knew how to find the kind of women he wanted, the kind he could accost in a gallery and who an hour later would invite him to her apartment, the kind who would wait days for him to call and then go out with him on a moment’s notice, the kind who at his command would go down on her knees and suck his c**k, the kind who would be stood up and who still would wait for him for hours, those kinds of women, submissive women...

Yes, he must be right, I am submissive. But why did he say that? Say what, what was I thinking? What he said sitting on the park bench. He said he wanted to take me over his knee and spank me. Why did he say that? Was it just a joke? Or did he sense this was something she really would like, which was true, for he had awakened in her an old fantasy, long suppressed, hidden away in the dim recesses of her mind like a locked jewelry box buried away at the bottom of a closet, sufficiently well hidden that one could for long periods forget its very existence. But when and how did it start, this fantasy? She couldn’t recall; was it something she had heard or read, a scene in a movie or on television? If one of her lovers, sharing the fantasy had broached it to her she might have agreed, with fear and trembling, but she could never have suggested it herself. So she suppressed it, but now this man, who seemed to be able to read her thoughts, had awakened it again as if he had secretly rifled her closet and found the jewel box and picked the lock ... He reminded her! Yes, before sending her off in the cab he had said, remember what I said on the bench. It wasn’t a joke!

She broke out into a cold sweat. It was going to be a long wait; she needed something to calm her nerves. She went to the pantry and took out a bottle of whisky, got some lemon juice from the refrigerator and made herself a whisky sour. Eve didn’t drink much as a rule, only when she needed to calm her nerves. Her preferred drug was m*******a. She would have that too. She went back to her bedroom, found a plastic bag containing pot, put some in a pipe and began smoking. It took effect quickly, inducing a quiet state of euphoria. She decided to listen to some music. Thumbing through her record collection she pulled out the album Apocalypse, by the Mahavishnu Orchestra. The subject seemed appropriate to her mood. She sensed that her life was about to undergo a violent change, that some part of her past existence was at an end. The next few hours she spent listening to music, reading poetry and falling into deep reveries.

A little after eleven o’clock the phone rang. It was Roger. He was on his way, it would take him a half an hour or more. As she hung up she felt herself trembling all over. She decided to undress. She would greet him naked. He would like that. She would put on her blue stockings too, like the last time. He would like that too. She took a couple of thick candles from the pantry and placed them on the end table by her bed. After waiting a half an hour, she lit the candles and turned off the light in her bedroom. She went to the bathroom, and when she came out she left the door open and the light on. It was now the only electric light on in the apartment. She waited for the buzzer, then remembered that the lock on the downstairs door was broken. Would he ring the buzzer anyway or just go in? She stood by the door, listening for footsteps. Twice she heard steps, both times stopping short of her floor. The wait seemed endless. Then, when it was nearly midnight, she heard steps, first remote, then ever closer, they lasted longer this time, they grew ever louder, until they stopped. Then she heard a knock on the door. She peered through the peephole. It was him.