Six

Dr. Connor waited but Trapper said nothing. "So you and Ann decided that you would have a relationship beyond and beside what she does…besides her profession." Trapper nodded. "So how do you feel about her continuing to work as a….?"

"Dominatrix," Trapper finished for Dr. Connor, "and I'm not sure," Trapper said. He stood up again and Dr. Connor smiled. Trapper had stood up and paced and then sat back down at least ten times now. "Well, that's not the exact truth. I'm not as open-minded as I'd like to be—as I thought I could be. It makes me angry. Okay, maybe more jealous than angry. I mean here she goes out and preforms a sexual service—she insists it's not sexual, that it's therapeutic but I told her that she's just looking to rationalize it—it's sex—and then she expects me to treat it as if it's just another job. I mean—give me a break." Trapper gave an uncomfortable chuckle. "What do you think?"

"What I think is immaterial. I do have to tell you that there is a type of therapy where a patient is paired with a trained sexual surrogate and it's not that unusual. But what you think is what's important here."

"Oh, c'mon. I need a little validation. Tell me it's sex. I mean the men are naked, she binds them, some she gags and does God knows what else with them. How can that not be sexual?"

Dr. Connor tried to remain neutral although he found Trapper's "problem" an intriguing and arousing one; he kept having to remind himself that he was the professional and had to remain objective. "Have you told her how you feel, that you're jealous?"

"She knows how I feel about her work but not that I'm jealous," Trapper quietly said.

"Why not? As strongly as you feel about it, why haven't you told her? Shouldn't you be honest?"

"I don't think that honesty is necessarily the best policy here. I originally told her I could handle it and I thought I could but now…" Trapper shoved his hands in his pants' pockets, the bottom of his sports jacket breaking over his wrists. "I don't know, I just don't know. We get along beautifully—always have a good time until her business intrudes and then we end up arguing. Actually, I'm the one who argues; she turns cold and just watches me act like a damned fool. I mean she has a doctorate in psychology and this is what she does with it? Works as a dominatrix? I can't understand it and she can't explain it or won't."

"She has a doctorate? How did she fall into being a dominatrix?" Dr. Connor was becoming even more fascinated with the woman; he could understand Trapper's problem better now.

Trapper stopped his pacing and sat back down, leaning over and clasping his hands. "She said that she was working on her doctoral thesis—something about psycho-sexual crap, and was doing some 'research' on the psychology of the need of some men-men who had important professions like doctors, lawyers and politicians and such, for domination and found her calling—as she put it. She says it's good, easy money and serves a purpose in society but I think she just enjoys dominating men. I know she tries it with me on occasion—not the bondage and the paddling and humiliation but in our relationship. She wants to be the one to call the shots and so far, she has been the one. I just dance along to her music because, well, because I do enjoy her both in and out of bed—I like her. She's funny and smart and falls on her back for me whenever I want. If it were just sex—well, it would be much easier to turn my back on her and move on but it's not. In some way, I identify with her, feel as if she's the other half of me—the female me. If I were a woman, I would be just like her."

"Since you feel so strongly about her and don't want to end the relationship, what happened to bring about this…crisis, the reason why you're here?" Dr. Connor wondered why Trapper had suddenly decided he needed to discuss the issue.

"Last night was a turning point so to speak. We were to go to dinner with Melanie and David—I introduced her to Melanie—that's how strongly I feel about Ann, that I want her to stay with me, maybe even marry her and then she'd have to meet Melanie eventually so I decided why not now. Anyway, we were all four going to take in a play afterwards, so I went to pick Ann up with more than enough time but we never really made it. I had thought that she was going to end her job as a 'therapist'…"

~ 0 ~

Trapper sat on Ann's front porch in a wicker rocking chair, impatiently waiting for Ann to arrive. He kept glancing at his watch. Usually, it was he who was running late; he had tried to call her but it went to voicemail and he had become angrier each time he tried and was thwarted by the message on both phones—her business number and personal number. And then he became anxious; what if she had run into a bad client, a new client who had other plans for the woman he had arranged to meet? Trapper stood up; he suddenly became too worried to sit and wait. He pulled out his phone and tried her number again and cursed when it went to voicemail. It was almost dark and he strained to see down the road that led to her house. The house was set back from the road in a small, quiet neighborhood where the houses were a good distance from one another. Ann said that she liked the privacy but Trapper didn't. He thought that something could happen to her and no one would know, no one would hear anything. There was a gated front wall which enclosed desert plants that didn't require much upkeep and her front porch was long and narrow with wicker furniture and some potted plants. A schefflera was by the chair in which he had been sitting and a large pot of mother-in-law tongue was also on the porch next to a rubber tree plant. Trapper mindlessly pulled a leaf off the schefflera and tore it to small pieces, letting then fall on the planking. Then, in the dusk, he saw a car coming and as it came closer, he felt relief; it was Ann.

He waited on the porch while she pulled up, parked and stepped out of her car. He noticed that she was wearing a long trench coat, tied shut and he could see that she was wearing the high boots; she often wore them for him, the boots and nothing else. He liked the way they looked, the shiny blackness against her pale skin and the stiletto heels threw her posture off just enough to give her a certain vulnerability. Trapper knew it was a psychological mind game; a man knew that wearing those heels, no matter what, she could never get away from him. After all, she couldn't run in them, couldn't escape him or anyone else for that matter.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she called as she hurried up the three steps to the porch. "I was driving and couldn't get to my phone if that was you calling me." She was about to kiss him but stopped. His face was stern. "Oh, are you in your disapproving parent mode?" She walked by him and unlocked the door and walked in. Trapper followed and closed the door behind him. He watched as she removed her coat and threw it over a chair.

"Well," he said, "Cat Woman is alive and well and living in San Francisco." Ann was dressed in a catsuit and although Trapper had never seen her in it before, he found it arousing. But it made him angry as well. It hugged her so closely that it emphasized her narrow waist and her rounded hips and breasts but it also made her untouchable and practically unattainable. And he didn't like that she wore it for another man—client or not. Whenever he wanted to prod her or annoy her, Trapper would refer to her clients as "Johns" or "Tricks." Then they would argue about how she made her money and Trapper would feel such rage building up in him that he would have to leave until he cooled down, either standing on her front porch or going out on his back porch depending on whose house. But then he ran the chance of her leaving if he stayed out back too long so he rarely left her inside alone at his place.

Ann noticed how he was staring at her. "Do you like it? Trust me, it's uncomfortable and hot—like wearing another skin. Usually I wear it like this." She reached up to the neck and pulled the zipper partly down until it exposed the inward curve of her breasts. Then, convinced that she had bothered him with the display of skin, she turned and strode into the bedroom, calling out, "I'll change. Call your ex and tell her we'll be a little late and I'll be ready as soon as I can."

Trapper waited a few moments and then followed her and when he walked in her room, she had her back to him and was rolling the suit down over her hips, shifting to move the tight fabric down to her thighs. She bent over to unzip the ankles and Trapper watched, mesmerized as she raised her legs to step out, her skin glowing with the slight shimmer of sweat from the heat of the fabric. He moved behind her and she turned in the last moment as he slid one arm around her waist and pulled her to him.

"We'll be late," she said, looking up at his face. He clenched his jaw and he had what she called "that look" on his face. It meant that he was in the mood for serious sex—not a quick one where he just bent her over a chair or took her against a wall with her legs thrown about his waist, her ankles locked as he took his pleasure. No, this was going to be a hard and long one. "Do you want me on the bed?" He nodded and Ann pulled down the covers and then crawled onto the cool sheets.

Trapper began to quickly undress, shrugging off his jacket, loosening his tie and slipping it over his head and Ann watched as he shed the rest of his clothes. Many a night she had considered whether becoming entangled with Dr. John Francis Xavier McIntyre had been a good idea. He had become too important to her and she had been happy before he entered her life. Now she was always thinking of him and they would argue and then reconcile and she would know as she clung to him that it was the right choice—until the next discord.

Trapper crawled into bed and took her in his arms, kissing her deeply. Then he rolled over and Ann was on top. "Sing for your supper," he said, "at least metaphorically. Use your mouth."

Ann smiled slightly and then she ducked her head and began. She often considered that she had never enjoyed being on her knees before a man but now, because it pleased Trapper that she would do it, especially when she did so unprompted. She found that this was a way to control him and also because it gave him such pleasure and despite their arguing, she did want him to stay. Ann knew that without him, if he would walk out of her life, the emptiness he would leave could never be filled—it would just become bearable with time.

So Trapper enjoyed the pressure of her tongue and her hands as she pleased him, the sounds of wetness as she moved faster and faster, her hands applying pressure and releasing until he could bear no more. After she moveded up and laid her head on his chest, giving a light bite to one nipple.

"Ow," he said and wrapped his arm around her, gently playing with her hair which had partially come down from the up-do she had worn that day. "Thank you."

She looked up at him and stroked his beard. "What about dinner? What about David and Melanie?"

"I'll call them—later-and apologize."

"If we left in a few minutes, we could still make it on time." She ran her fingers through his chest hair but knew that they would miss dinner and the movie; this was how Trapper wanted to spend the time, in the bed with her, just the two of them pleasuring each other so that was what they would do.

"What about you?" Trapper asked. "I think you deserve a long, lengthy evening in bed after working so hard." He reached down and pinched her buttocks causing her to jump slightly. "Now, just lie back and enjoy." And so she did, leisurely putting her arms over her head and feeling his hands cup her breasts. Ann moaned softly, moving under his ministrations. This was what Trapper enjoyed; being in charge and giving her pleasure that he hoped no other man did—and she assured him that no other did or really ever had, that he was the only man for whom she spread her white, round thighs and arched her back in delight.