The Gentleman Mentor(3)

The next step is to meet in person and make sure this will work for us both. In the meantime, tell me one thing you’re scared of—what you think is holding you back. And also your schedule. I’m fairly open next week—I’m free on both Thursday evening and Sunday afternoon.

Speak soon,

—X



I stare blankly at his response. While I appreciate his lengthy e-mail—which helps me understand a lot more, both about this process and him being a Dom—doubt creeps into my mind. I have only a general idea of BDSM, and it’s not something I’ve ever felt the urge to explore. Honestly, I don’t know if I can do this.

I read his words again. He’s going to explore and learn my deepest fears and desires. He’s asking too much and I don’t even know him, so how can I be expected to share these most intimate parts of me?

A bubble of laughter rises up my throat at the irony. I’ll be sharing a lot more of my intimate parts with him if I pursue this.

I close my computer and pace my bedroom, realizing I’m stressed out and I haven’t even met the guy yet. Pulling a deep breath into my lungs, I decide I’ll sleep on it. I’ll wait a day or two to respond, give myself time to think about this. Having made that one small decision, I immediately feel better.

I head into the bathroom. Turning the faucet to hot, I let the tub fill. Sinking down into water that’s almost too warm, I sigh deeply. With my eyes closed and my body in a state of relaxation, I let my mind wander.

Almost immediately, I picture Kirby. With his broad shoulders, messy blond hair, and striking blue eyes, he is my warmth. My comfort blanket. He has been for a long time. He’s been a constant in my life, the man who has supported me emotionally through many ups and downs, loaning me money after graduation when the real estate market dropped, helping me move into my first apartment, and sending me my favorite flowers—peonies—on my birthday every year.

With a newfound sense of purpose, I rise from the tub, suddenly feeling silly for questioning myself. I don’t want to miss my only shot at getting actual help. This arrangement with the Gentleman Mentor—whoever he is—may be unconventional, but it might be just the thing I need to help move me from friend zone to girlfriend material where Kirby is concerned. And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that e-mailing back and forth with my mentor has me feeling intrigued and slightly turned on.

Tossing on my cotton robe, I head for my laptop and open my e-mail. Glancing at his last message, I recall that he’s asked what I’m most scared of, along with my schedule. I fidget for a few minutes before typing out a hasty response, leaving out the part I don’t know how to answer.



Gentleman Mentor,

I would prefer to meet on Thursday. I’m supposed to go to my parents’ house on Sunday, and if I have to miss it, I don’t want my mom asking why. ;)

But can I ask you something? Has a woman ever backed out after meeting you in person?

—Bookworm92



Bookworm92,

Thursday would be fine. And no, a woman has never backed out after meeting me.

—X



I read his message with a growing sense of comfort. That’s good to know. Perhaps it’s simple curiosity because I have no idea what he looks like, but I’m afraid that he’s unattractive. I haven’t seen a picture after all. I know it’s terribly shallow, but I couldn’t go through with it if I’m not attracted to him.

Another thought flits through my brain and my nerves are back. My next e-mail flies from my fingers.



Have you ever refused services after meeting a woman?



His reply comes right away.



Bookworm92,

Yes, twice.

—X



I read his message and worry that he could refuse me if he doesn’t like what he sees. It’s not a comforting thought. I chew on my lip, unsure what to write back next when another message comes through. It’s as if he knows I’m hesitating and takes the decision from my hands.



Bookworm92,

We will meet Thursday at 8 p.m. at the Dakota. You will order one drink and wait for me at the bar. Dress in all black, wear something sexy, and underneath, your panties and bra will be red.

—X





Chapter Two


Brielle



“You’ll call me the second you’re done, right?” my best friend, Julie, pleads through the phone.

“I’ll call you,” I promise for the seventeenth time. “Unless I end up chopped up into little bits and tossed into a garbage can. In that case, you’ll hear about it on the eleven o’clock news.”

“I thought you were meeting in a public place?” she asks, her tone worried.

“Yes, we are. He said to meet him at a place called the Dakota. But a girl can never be too careful.”