Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
I swallowed hard as his words reverberated inside of me.
Even Dr. Cohen looked a little taken aback in the corner of my eye.
Kirk was right, damn it. He was right. It was my choice.
Two
Kirk gave me a similar boost the day he touched up my ink. And the day after, I went out and bought a T-shirt. I wouldn’t part with my chinos and dress pants and get jeans, but the tee was nice. It was faded gray, ridiculously soft, and had the silhouette of an F-22 printed across the chest. It wasn’t my favorite fighter jet, though it was certainly close.
I spent the morning in front of the mirror doing double-checks, only to make sure you couldn’t see the scars at first glance.
You couldn’t, but that didn’t stop me from being nervous as hell when Vincent drove me to my munch. I felt naked and exposed wearing so little.
We arrived in Logan Circle and at a pale-green-painted corner rowhouse that had been turned into a popular brunch place. The second floor had big windows, and the third was the rooftop terrace where the munch was hosted.
“I’ll be back to pick you up in three hours,” Vincent said, looking at me in the rearview. “Don’t let anyone take advantage, ya hear? I’ll drop-kick a fucker.”
I snickered and opened the door. “Thank you, Vincent. I’ll be careful. Would you like me to bring you back some eggs Benedict?”
“I’ll never say no to those.”
I smiled and nodded, then got out of the car and put on my sunglasses.
It was a good day for nervousness and brunch with fellow kinksters. Nervousness was nothing new; I usually shook it off by the time food was served, but today was different. The buttoned-up shirt with long sleeves had been replaced by something much more casual.
Mom had accepted T-shirts somewhat, so I didn’t feel guilty wearing one. That was nice.
I could see the hostess’s gaze lingering on my neck, where some of the ink peeked out, and then down to my arms. Then she cleared her throat and checked the bookings.
“Oh, here we go.” She found Ivy’s last name. “You’re on the terrace. Drinks will be brought to you soon.”
“Thank you.” I stuck my hands down into my pockets and trailed up the spiral staircase. What I liked most about this place was that I didn’t have to struggle to fit in, because everyone fit in as much as no one did. Jamaica met DC chic, with colorful walls and picnic tables against fancy silverware and black-and-white photos of actresses from Hollywood’s golden era. The servers here were cheerful, and there was good music. I liked that. The place was simply alive.
Ivy and Gretchen hosted the munch every month, and the two subs greeted me warmly with hugs when I reached the terrace. The red canvas ceiling moved in a slow wave with each breeze, and the flowers that sat atop the stone wall around the entire terrace reminded me of my mom. She used to love tulips. “We wake up with the tulips in spring,” she used to say.
“Oh my God, I love your tattoos,” Ivy gushed. “Are they new? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a button-down.”
I grinned hesitantly and eased back some. While I appreciated the compliments, I didn’t want them touching my arms. “Thank you. Yes, they are kind of new.”
“Well, they’re amazing,” Gretchen said with a smile. Then she nudged Ivy and nodded at someone behind me, so I moved out of the way. They had more people to greet, and I spotted a handful of people I wanted to call friends.
The picnic tables had been pushed together to form two long rows of seats, and I bypassed the first one without giving the men and women there a single glance. I didn’t know if it was like this in other kink communities, but Doms and subs naturally gravitated toward their own “type” here. It was a big community, and many who were paired up sat with their partner. Though, for the most part, it seemed the munch drew the subs together for gossip, and the Doms made evil plans. Sadistic, twisted, evil plans for play parties and stuff.
Plans that never included me.
Cameron, the other one of my two friends, theorized that one of the reasons we split up into Doms versus subs for munches was because many of us were heavily into Daddy/Little kink. And a munch was the perfect spot for Littles to “go play.”
I couldn’t see Cameron here today…
Reaching the end of the table, I put a smile on my face and said hello to Ella, Sandra, and Shay.
Shay was kind of new in our community, reserved but nice. “Well, hell. Welcome to the club?” He smirked lazily at my arms, making me remember the damn T-shirt. Perhaps I shouldn’t have strayed off the beaten path. Shay had no issues putting his tattoos on display, but he’d gotten them because, per his words, it made him hard to get inked.