“Stop over-thinking,” Odessa warns me sternly. “Stay focused on the scene. Remember, Christina: stay focused.”
“I will.”
She grabs my chin and turns me toward her. Odessa’s bright brown eyes practically glow as she gazes at me.
“You are not a mother tonight. You are not a widow. You are not a childcare provider. You are not anything but a submissive. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Say it for me, love.”
“I am only a submissive tonight.”
“That’s right,” Odessa nods, seemingly satisfied. “Don’t make the mistake of spacing off during your scene, okay?”
I blush, embarrassed she remembers the debacle from a few weeks ago. I had been playing with someone new and just couldn’t really get into the submissive mindset. As a result, I was spacing off, thinking about grocery lists and errands, and the scene fell short.
Really short.
“I won’t space off tonight,” I tell her. Odessa is a submissive, too, and she’s going to be playing with her regular Dom tonight. Theodore is a kind-hearted tax-attorney who is seriously cut. He’s huge, and if I was at the end of his whip, I’d be terrified. Odessa isn’t, though. She loves it, takes it in stride. She’s a perfect fit for him and sometimes, I wonder why the two of them aren’t dating.
“Good girl,” Odessa says, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I give her the same once-over she gave me, fixing her top and adjusting her boy-shorts to make sure every part of her looks perfect. We each take one last look in the mirror, but then it’s time.
It’s time to leave the safety of the locker room.
It’s time to go to Anchored.
Odessa takes my hand and we leave the room together. Instantly, the sound of the heavy music hits our ears, reminding us where we are. Tonight is about fun and excitement. It’s about relaxing. It’s about unwinding, but it’s about more than that, too: it’s about submission.
Tonight is about giving ourselves to our partners, and in return, they’ll give us a little bit of themselves, as well. That’s the true beauty of submission. In giving of myself, I get something in return. The feeling of offering myself to my partner is satisfying in and of itself, but knowing that it meets my partner’s needs, as well, is even more fantastic.
I like knowing that my Dom or Domme feels good about themselves when we’re through playing together.
I like knowing that they’re having just as much fun as me.
And I like that at the end of the night, when I walk out of Anchored, I’m leaving them at the door.
It’s fucked up, but I don’t really care.
Anchored is my release. It’s my safe space. It’s my haven. Anchored is where I go because I have nowhere else to go. Anchored is the only time I get to myself, and I take it. It’s the only time I have away from my daughter. It’s the only time I can be me.
I’m not the best mother in the world. I certainly wasn’t the best wife. When Cameron died, he left me alone. He left me without anyone in the world. Even now, I don’t have anyone. It’s been two damn years since he died and I have no one.
No one.
But I have Anchored.
I have this place where I can forget, for just a couple of hours, that I’ve lost my true love.
I have this place where I can forget, for just a little while, that my life fell apart and I’m only starting to rebuild it.
I have this place where I can forget, for just a tiny bit of time, that I am completely alone in this world.
I have this place.
And I’m not giving it up.
I’m not going to get in a relationship with one of my play partners only to have us break up. Then coming to the club would be awkward, weird, and uncomfortable. I’m not going to get into a relationship where we have a fight, and then neither one of us goes to the club. I’m not interested in that.
I don’t want to sacrifice my safe space for the temporary satisfaction of being someone’s romantic partner. That’s not what I want and it’s certainly not what I need. That’s not for me.
So at the end of the night, after I play with Mistress D, I’ll spend some time crying in the locker room showers. I’ll wash my hair. I’ll clean my face. And then I’ll get dressed, get in my car, and go back to the real world, where I am a mother, and a childcare worker, and a widow.
I’ll go back to the real world where everything hurts.
I’ll go back to my life as a solitary person.
I’ll go back to my world.
“Christina,” I hear a sharp, crisp voice, and I turn. A tall black woman with braids tumbling past her shoulders is walking toward me. A corset pushes her breasts up and out. She’s wearing tight leather pants and stilettos that are even taller than Odessa’s.
Instantly, I drop to my knees, palms down. I bow my head and I wait quietly for my Domme of the night to tell me how I’ve done so far. I wait until she tells me it’s time. I wait until she tells me she’s ready.
And when Mistress D tells me I look beautiful, and that she’s ready to play with me, I take her hand, and I walk into the world of Anchored.
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