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“Now hold on…”

“I’ve gotta cool off.” Kathleen stands, the look on her face broadcasting how little she wants to deal with me. No, Katie, don’t leave… where are you going? Are you coming back? Please tell me that this is hormones, a bad day, anything other than you walking out that door and not answering your phone for weeks, or responding to my non-work texts for days, and leaving for Europe as you sort out whatever the hell you need to sort the hell out.

Damnit, Kathleen! Don’t you know that I love you? Don’t you know that I’d do anything at this point? Anything to see you walk through the door and say that this was all a joke?

Where are you going?

Come back!

I am walking through a haze of nothing but work, drinks with businesspeople, and books, movies, and people arguing on the internet. I am bitter. I am annoyed. I am everything I fucking hate in a whiny little insecure bitch.

Kill me.

It’s been four weeks since Kathleen dumped me. Oh, I know what she called it. Taking a break. Thinking. Contemplating the birds and the bees and the whips and chains. She can call it whatever she wants. I know she’s dumped me. Otherwise, why would she avoid me outside of work? Why won’t she kiss me before she leaves for home?

All right, I can understand wanting to take a break from the kink if it’s getting to her. I can even understand wanting to avoid sex… I mean, I guess. Wouldn’t make me terribly happy, but it’s better than not being able to be with her at all.

Four weeks of not enjoying her touch, her breaths next to me in bed. Her company in the tub. Her light snores as she dozes on my shoulder or curls up beneath my covers, next to my cat.

And then… two weeks of no Kathleen at all. She went to Europe right away, visiting her mother, or at least that’s what she said. Before she left, she was morose, confused, frayed…

When she returned, she looked and acted like the Kathleen Allen I have seen sporadically over the years.

I first saw her in a café, where I was having lunch with some of the investors for The Ace. Minding my own business, sipping lattes, and trying to think about anything but women, and then in waltzed Kathleen with two women I know from the Domme scene.

She was smiling. Smiling.

Laughing. Carrying on. Making jokes before politely ordering her food with a grin.

I caught her eye in the beginning. Her smile faltered around me. It felt like an arrow to the chest. Naturally, I texted her. I held back my real feelings, asking her how her trip was and letting her know that it was good to see her glowing. Whatever happened in Europe, it must have been good for her.

I wonder if she found someone else.

Ugh, not something I want to think about. Yet how can I think of anything else? Kathleen is a beautiful, radiant woman who attracts people to her like an angel. She attracted me, didn’t she? I apparently couldn’t give her what she wanted. Or at least not enough.

You know, if she would tell me…

No, Ira, don’t act like this. It’s not becoming of a gentleperson. Nobody wants to be around a whiny ass who is experiencing heartache for the first time in their young life. As my mother told me when I went to her place to moan, “You’re so used to getting what you want. How about you think about what another person wants for once?”

I have the sinking suspicion that my mother has something to do with Kathleen’s disappearance. I wouldn’t put it past her. Especially since she’s been making comments about my kinky lifestyle if you know what I mean. The gender shit is sacred, but BDSM? Fair game.

I can only imagine what Kathleen has told her.

Four weeks. Now here I am, sitting in Midnight with Jem and another friend who has only been here a couple of times, as they’re not too much into kink. We’re all stag. Gwenyth’s off visiting relatives, and as far as anyone here is concerned, I’m single.

I should feel relieved here. Seeing other dominants with their subs usually makes me feel better about my future. Let’s also not forget that beautiful women abound. More than one has made eyes at me from across the room. Three months ago, two months ago, I would have been tempted to flirt back.

It feels wrong now.

Kathleen commented on me “fucking some other blonde,” but I don’t want to. Every time one of these young ladies looks at me, I see her face, her eyes, her hair… even if the woman in question looks completely different from Kathleen. A Domme walked by, and I wanted to ask her if it could work between someone like us.

Plus, you know… this is the last place we made love.

Sex is not on the table for me tonight. I don’t even feel right watching the show that begins between a dominant and their nubile sub, a woman whom everyone wants because she has “all the right curves” and the meekest voice in the room. Some get turned on by that. Normally, I would at least enjoy the spanking her round ass gets from a paddle.

It feels wrong. I wish we had gone to a normal bar or club tonight. Somewhere far away from the kink.

“Uh-oh,” Jem says after the show ends. “Bunch of bitches on patrol. Three o’clock.”