Chapter 4

Kjersten nibbles and slides her tongue over me again until her mouth is perched just under my ear. I can’t stop shaking. “You can come now,” she whispers.

That’s all it takes. Kjersten holds me in her strong and gentle grasp, while her fingers continue to press in just the right spot. A shudder that starts somewhere in my toes, makes its way through my body. I go rigid.

“Oh — Oh — Oh my god.” That’s all I can manage to put into words. Everything else just comes out as grunts and squeaks. But Kjersten understands. I look up at her face and she’s beaming.

Kjersten is still grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I told you. You’re much prettier when you’re not sad. More fun too.”

I stick my tongue out at her. I had intended it as a rebuke for her comment, but she just pulls it between her lips and traps it there with gentle suction. Her tongue flits over mine and I have no desire to do anything other than melt into her and enjoy her gifts.

“Thank you,” I say again after she releases me.

Kjersten grins. “Would you shut up and just kiss me again.”

So I do exactly that. I shut up, and I kiss her. Again and again and again.

Eventually our passion has exceeded the capacity of the hot water tank, and we are forced to leave the shower or risk hypothermia. Kjersten wraps me in the long, white towel and hugs me dry. “I guess I should probably cut your hair now.”

Grinning, I offer her my hand and we step through the door.

I’m sitting on a chair in the kitchen feeling a little like a drowned rat. The floor around me is covered in pages of last week’s Sunday Tribune. I’m wearing one of Kjersten’s t-shirts — we didn’t want to get hair clippings all over her roommate’s stuff — and it only covers me to about mid-thigh, so I have goosebumps on my legs.

Kjersten’s standing in front of me with her arms folded and scissors in her hand. “I’ve only done this a couple of times before.” She tilts her head and frowns. “My brother used to let me cut his hair when he was a penniless undergrad. So you’ll probably end up looking like a boy.”

“I don’t care. I just want it short again.”

Kjersten goes to work, fingers deftly moving through my hair, pulling and snipping. I try my best to keep my head still as damp clumps of my dark brown locks collect at my feet. I feel an odd sense of relief. I know it’s only a haircut, but each bit that falls represents little pieces of my old life, and I’m more than happy to cast them off.

With each snip I feel myself sitting up a little straighter, a little taller. Kjersten comes around again with a mirror that she holds in front of me. “So,” she says. “What do you think?”

Kjersten sizes me up for a moment, tilting her head to the side. “I took a little more off than I had planned on the sides and the back, but you don’t look too much like you lost a fight with a lawnmower.” She chuckles at her own joke and I join her with a smile.

I run my hand over my head. The sides and back are short, yes, but she’s left the top longer and swept it to one side. “I love it. Thank you.” I stand up and kiss her. Not two seconds later I am startled by the sound of the front door’s deadbolt turning.

“It’s just my roommate and her latest girlfriend,” Kjersten says and pulls me back in.

I sense someone is near. Still wrapped in Kjersten’s arms, I turn my head to see. I am staring directly into the eyes of a smiling little firecracker of a girl, sporting an electric blue mohawk.

“Busted!” she exclaims, and throws her head back into a raucous laugh. “And in the kitchen of all places. Kjer, you naughty thing. I hope you plan to scrub the counters later.”

Her girlfriend, a striking blonde who towers over everyone except for Kjersten, is grinning too. “Kjer, you never bring anyone home. Good for you, girl.”

“Maidali, this is my roommate Zabina and her girlfriend of the hour, Alex,” Kjersten says. “Zabi, Alex, this is Maidali, I met her last night at the club.”

Zabina steps over and punches Kjersten in the shoulder. “Honestly Kjer, we’re engaged,” she mutters, “Girlfriend of the hour. Pfft. I’ve been bringing the same woman home for the past eighteen months. Just ’cause you don’t take your nose out of a book for more than thirty seconds …”

Alex pays no attention to her girlfriend’s playful assault on Kjersten. She’s busy staring and rubbing her hands together. “So, what’d you two get up to at the club? Details, details.”

“It’s not like that, guys.” Kjersten frowns. “Maidali had a little run in with somebody, so I brought her home where she’d be safe.” Everyone is deadly serious as Kjersten relates the story of how we met and the abuses I suffered. And at her urging, I lift the hem of the t-shirt I am wearing just enough to show them my reminder bruise.

No one says anything, but their eyes go wide.

“It’s OK, you can show them the rest,” I say, and Kjersten pulls out her phone.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.” Alex rubs her hand gently over my arm, while Zabi slips down the hall and pulls out her own phone.

“It’s OK, you didn’t know.” I smile at Alex, while resting my head on Kjersten’s shoulder.

Zabi is back, apparently finished with whatever conversation she was having. “Let’s go down to the restaurant,” she says, “I gotta talk to my brother. I’ll treat you guys to lunch.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I start.

Alex laughs. “It’s OK, she knows the owner.”

Kjersten leans down and kisses me on the lips. Apparently no one is at all fazed by this, so I just go with the moment and offer her my tongue. She sucks it into her mouth and I giggle. A feeling of warmth washes over me and I loose myself in Kjersten’s kiss.

“I’ll give you guys ’til one o’clock to get it out of your systems,” Zabi cuts in. “After that you’re buying your own lunch.” She turns on her heel and Alex follows. I hear the deadbolt turn and we are alone once again.

Kjersten and I make our way down the hall hand-in-hand. It takes quite a bit of time to reach her bedroom, because we have to pause every so often after bumping into a wall. Navigating is difficult with our lips locked together.

We waste no time undressing each other and tumble onto the double bed. I feel Kjersten’s fingers running through my short, and still slightly damp locks as she pulls me in for a long, passionate kiss, her tongue flitting over mine.

“I want to make you feel good too,” I say, snaking my hand down to her hips.

To my surprise, Kjersten moves my hand aside. “Maidali,” she says, “let’s have today be about you, OK? I think you deserve that much.”

I press my lips to hers for a moment. “Please?”

“Maidali, I don’t know how to say this,” she starts. “I like you, OK? I think you’re sexy and I’d love nothing more than to have an orgasm by your hand.” She strokes my hair again before continuing. “But I’m afraid that this would turn out to be just a one night thing. And — and, I’d really like you to have a reason to come back.”

I nuzzle Kjersten’s chest and enjoy the gentle feeling of her hand running over and through my hair. I’m feeling like a schoolgirl again. “How is it you always know just the right thing to say?”

“Really?” she says. “You’re not upset?”

“Kjersten, how can I be upset? You’ve shown me more respect in the past eighteen hours than most guys have shown me in months of dating. Particularly that last asshole. God, I’m so glad to be done with him.”

“Maidali, I really wish you’d reconsider talking to the police.”

I shake my head and Kjersten doesn’t press the issue. She just continues stroking my hair as I lay my head back down on her chest.

“There’s a rowing team cookout and bonfire next weekend,” she says. “You wanna come? You could meet some new people, maybe expand your circle of friends a little. Besides, I’m selfishly hoping to make some of the other girls a little jealous when I show up with you on my arm.”

I snuggle my head onto her shoulder. “You mean like, show up as your date?”

“Yeah,” she says, “as my date. We can bring your red dress. Throw it on the bonfire if you want.”

I smile. “I like that idea.”

Kjersten hugs me to her chest and runs her fingers through my hair. I sigh, and think about how well things are going for me. And how much more I like my hair now that it’s short again.

It’s a beautiful spring day, not a cloud in the sky, as I ring the bell for Kjersten’s apartment. We’re going up to Millennium Park for a concert this afternoon, our second real date. It’s my reward for getting myself re-enrolled in school and signed up for abuse counseling.

While I’m waiting, I bend down to pick up her copy of the Tribune. I’m leafing through the back pages to see if I’ve somehow magically won the Powerball jackpot, when I come across a small article with a familiar picture by it.

‘Violence on UofC campus,’ reads the headline. ‘Esteemed professor hospitalized after bludgeoning attack. Police believe this was a targeted act of violence and that students are not in any danger. Suspect is described as wearing a bright blue baseball cap. Anyone with information should contact …’

I stop reading, fold the paper and clutch it under my arm. I straighten up and peer at my reflection in the glass. With my free hand I reach up to push the top of my hair over to one side. I want to look good when my girlfriend comes to the door, and it’s so much easier to do now that my hair is short again.

My muse and part-time content adviser has pointed out that most BDSM-themed stories show dominant pronouns and titles in uppercase, while submissive titles, pronouns, and even proper names appear in lowercase. I agree with my muse on the fact that it is indeed a common tradition. However, you will notice that my stories always follow the more general English rules for casing. (For more on that, see the Wikipedia article for “proper nouns”.)

The reason I choose to break with the BDSM tradition is because I think that the case distinction is used to suggest that the submissive partner is somehow less important than the dominant partner. I could not disagree more with this stance. In fact, if you are a regular reader of my stories you will see that both partners have equal importance, even in dom-sub relationships. They take on different roles, yes, but neither is more or less of a person because of it.

Still don’t believe me? I’ll give you the example of my dog. Is he submissive to me? Yes. Am I dominant over him? Yes. Do I feel the need to degrade him by spelling his name out in all lowercase letters? No.

So, if this break from tradition has been bothering you in any way, I want to let you know that I am aware of it, and I do it on purpose. If it still bothers you, then there are plenty of other stories out there to read besides mine.

I hope you have enjoyed this one. Please let me know in the comments.