Guy now; he had used and tricked her. Again Paul disagreed, suggesting she try and think of it from his point of view. She hadn't confided very much at all to Guy. He knew nothing, really, about her secret dreams or longing for a connection.
She had pasted her image of what she wanted in a Dom onto Guy, who remained happily oblivious of her intentions or expectations. He couldn't be blamed for being a horny guy who would jump at the chance to get into her pants. It was her own expectations she should find fault with; not him.
Guy continued after that to try and reconnect with Tracy. On some level he knew the experience had been less than satisfactory, but he wasn't insightful, or involved enough, to really understand. Tracy had been a delightful diversion, and was still a constant temptation, as she was always in his direct line of sight at work.
She, on the other hand, no longer had the slightest interest in meeting him again 'after hours'. His attempts with further little letters 'ordering' her to comply, were ignored, as were his efforts to try and get her to another happy hour, presumably to get her drunk and compliant.
She did finally agree to go to lunch with him, to explain herself and make it clear, once and for all time, that whatever they had had was definitely over. To his credit, Guy backed down like a proper southern gentleman, when he finally saw it was hopeless. There was a cute little thing in collections he had his eye on, anyway. Tracy was just too much work.
Tracy found she no longer had any ill feelings toward him. As Paul had said, he was really just a guy as frustrated and lonely as so many people were, trying to find something in his life that approximated joy. And again, Tracy realized Paul was right. She also acknowledged another thing that had been growing like a secret seed in her mind and heart for some time. A little flower of admission pushed up into her consciousness – it wasn't Guy she wanted; and it wasn't an abstract experience of being dominated by another. It was Paul.
CHAPTER 6
It was a beautiful spring day when Tracy's secret world came crashing down around her. She had spent a pleasant hour picking out the perfect bouquet for Paul's birthday, with a card to be signed, 'Your secret admirer.' She was going to call the florist back tomorrow with the address to his office, as soon as she got it from Paul's receptionist, and have the flowers sent. She smiled as she imagined his surprise and delight when he got them.
There was still a trace of a smile on her face when Tracy opened the door to her home. Tonight, Kyle had gotten there before her, and at once she knew something was up. He was there to meet her at the door, something he never did, and his expression was grim. 'What's the matter, Kyle, you look like you've seen a ghost.'
'You could say that,' he said, enigmatically, his voice flat.
'What are you talking about?' Tracy asked, as she dropped her suit jacket over a chair and slipped out of her uncomfortable pumps with a little sigh of relief.
'This is what I'm talking about.' He led her into the living room, where her laptop sat, its little lid hanging by one hinge, several of the keys smashed out, and the power source ripped from its socket.
'What the hell…' Tracy trailed off. At first she thought they'd been robbed, but that didn't make sense. They would have taken it, not destroyed it. Then she knew, and a cold sick feeling flooded her gut, making her want to either pass out or throw up.
'That's what I want to know, Tracy,' Kyle said, his voice cold.
'You ruined my laptop!'
'You've ruined my life.'
'What?' She was stalling for time and knew that he knew it.
'Cut the shit, Tracy. I got in there. I read all yourfucking emails to thatfucking Paul person. I know about him. And about all the sick twisted shit you're into. You disgusting bitch! You slut! You cunt! ' His voice got louder and louder as he loomed over her, all 6'5' menacingly poised in a fighter's stance, his fists clenched in rage. Tracy took a step back, adrenaline flooding through her body like ice blasts.
'How could you? Oh God, how could you?' Kyle's voice slipped and broke into sobs, as he collapsed on the floor beside the chair.
Tracy reached out to him, even as her gut still clenched in terror. 'Oh, Kyle,' she whispered, fear shutting her mind down, his tears breaking her heart.
'How could you, Tracy, after all our years together? How could you betray me like this?'
Tracy looked over at her destroyed computer, and thought with fledgling rage and indignation that Kyle had read her personal letters, her secret thoughts and dreams that she'd never felt safe sharing with him. It felt like a rape, not the sexy dream sequence rapes of her fantasies, but a violation, pure and simple.
'Me? What about you, Kyle? What about all those months of coming home late, pretending you were at meetings when you weren't even at the hospital? Where the fuck were you then, Kyle? Where were you?'
Kyle's tears stopped abruptly and he looked up her, his expression sheepish. 'Oh, Tracy.' He sounded almost apologetic, but his expression clouded again. 'So you were spying on me then, huh? It seems like I don't know you at all. The simple sweet girl I married never existed.'
'Don't turn it around like you always do, Kyle, answer my question.'
'Fine. I was seeing someone. But it's over. It's been over for a long time now. And there certainly wasn't any question of love. None of that disgusting blather you and your online boyfriend were puking all over each other. And that filth! All those talks of whippings and slaves and torture. And that Guy whoever he is! That you met at some sleazy hotel downtown. You make me sick. I'm physically ill over this. God, I don't even know you!'
Tracy barely heard him, focusing on her own shock, though of course it shouldn't have been a shock at all. 'Seeing someone?' she said, her voice trembling. Of course she'd suspected, known even, but having him admit it point blank, threw her off balance, broke off another piece of their crumbling marriage.
'Jesus Christ, it was just a release, since you're so cold and ungiving in bed. Damn it, a man has to have his needs met, and God knows, you've never met them!'
Tracy was stung by his remarks. After all she did to placate and accommodate his constant need to rut, for that's what it was in her mind, and he had the gall to say she didn't meet his needs! What about her needs? What the fuck about her? She was ready to fight back; to respond in kind, but Kyle crumpled on the floor again, leaving her helpless.
She'd only seen him cry once before, years ago when his grandmother died. It had been a gentle thing then, where she could take him in her arms and soothe him. But this out and out sobbing – raucous and uncontrolled – frightened Tracy. She knelt awkwardly, trying to put her arms around him.
'Oh, Kyle, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Never.'
'Don't you love me, Tracy?' Kyle whispered brokenly through his tears. He'd said her name, at last, but in such a heartbreaking way, she felt tears pricking her own eyelids, sliding down her cheeks.
'Yes, oh, yes, I do,' she promised, no longer sure in her own mind what she felt about anyone at all, most especially herself.
'Don't cry, Kyle. Please, please don't cry.' Together they sobbed on the floor, arms around each other, hearts breaking along the myriad of cracks they'd been hammering into each other for so long.
'You have to close all the doors, Tracy. All the doors and windows. No Exit. That's the sign you need to see in your head.'
The marriage counselor she agreed to see with Kyle was a youngish man, not much older than she or Kyle. She found him, actually, a Rational Emotive Therapist, remembering Paul's recommendation early on in their
