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╨ С Ў С ╨ Ў ╝ ╝ и и и и ┘ Melissa and I were fighting again. Something that I was finding depressingly common. This time it was about Halloween. Sheila Wood, one of the women from her study group, had invited Melissa to a party on Halloween night and Melissa wanted me to come with her.
Now I had nothing against Sheila, or any of the others from her study group. Well, OK, I didn't like Carl. But the rest were alright. There were eight in the group, three other women besides Melissa and Sheila, and two other men besides Carl. They met once a week to work on the newest assignment for their adult education classes. You know, the ones that working adults take to complete their MBA's. The group met once a month at my condo.
But I wasn't much of a socializer, and I hadn't had fun at a Halloween party since junior high. And I really didn't want to go to a party and fight with Melissa all night. Actually, I almost wondered if we'd still be together in the week till Halloween. But tonight, we were taking a walk downtown after dinner.
The walk was frustrating me as well. Not so long ago, we'd walk hand-in-hand, or with our arms entwined. Now I had my hands at my sides and she had hers stuffed in the back pockets of her jeans.
"You know, Jeff, I really do want to go to Sheila's party. I know a lot of people from school are going, and it sounds like it could be a blast."
"Melissa, you know I don't do parties very well. Shit, even having your study-buddies over gets to me a little."
"Oh come on, Jeff! You can wear a costume and pretend to have a good time for a change, can't you?"
"Yeah, a costume. Sure. I'm supposed to find a costume a week before Halloween? Right," I said sarcastically. "I suppose she has a theme for the costumes too. Care to tell me about what I'm supposed to be trying to find?"
"Actually, you're supposed to dress up like a character from a book or series of books. Of course, with some of these people, I expect to see a lot of comic book characters."
"Melissa, I really don't think I'll go. If your heart is set on going, ask one of the guys from your group. Or go stag." I couldn't see the look on her face at my words, but I expected it to be furious, and we walked on for a bit. The next time she spoke, she was leaning against the display window of a used paperback store, and I was looking at the books without seeing them.
"Jeff, if you'll do this, you can use any book you want, and I'll be whatever character you decide."
I was going to refuse again when my eyes focused on the display, and an idea occurred to me that I thought was guaranteed to end the discussion. If it ended our relationship, maybe that was for the better, too.
"Any book?" I asked.
"Any book you've read, I'll go along with."
I pointed to a book in the window. It had a ridiculously muscled man with a big sword and a cowering female in not much of anything. "Have you ever read any of those books?"
She turned around to see what I was pointing at. "Gor? Yeah, back in college. Why, you want to dress up like Conan?"
Yeah, right, the fat Conan, I thought. "Well, not quite. But how about characters from that milieu?"
"Sure, I can use some of your armor for an Amazon costume." We were both active members of the SCA, or Society for Creative Anachronism, a group that would dress in medieval costume for jousts, "wars" and just fun weekends. I had a pretty good selection of armor and weapons I'd collected over the years.
"You said you'd be whatever I chose?"
"Yeah, I did. What did you have in mind?" I think she was still thinking Amazon, or maybe a Freewoman.
"I'll go. If you go as my slave."
She looked at me, then at the book again. I fully expected her to slap me, or at least tell me to Fuck Off. She didn't. Instead she said; "All right. But you have to get my costume together. I'll come to your house a half hour early to pick you up and dress." Then she turned around and hailed a cab, and I didn't hear from her again for the rest of the week.
That night, I dug out my collection of Gor books, and surfed the web for reference. The next day, I went to a fabric store and bought a length of translucent red silk. That night, I pinned together a pleasure slaves tunic, and went through my armor pieces for my own costume. I decided on a heavy leather kilt and a broadsword. Monday morning, I had a friend who worked with metals make a steel collar for me, with a hasp and slot in the back. He engraved it with a veritable garden of blossoms, with my name across the throat. Monday night, I admitted I was wasting my time. No way in hell was Melissa going to show up Friday night. I was better off using my time to pack her stuff for when she demanded it all back.
Friday after work. Sheila's party was supposed to start in about an hour. I felt like a fool in my leather kilt and fur lined vest. Want to know what a Scotsman wears under his leather? Not a thing. I opened a beer and flopped on the couch, thinking "God, Jeff, you are such a fuck-up."
I had just taken a second gulp when the doorbell rang. I grabbed my candy bowl and opened the door. My heart nearly stopped at seeing Melissa.
"Hello Jeff. May I come in?"
I opened the door wide and motioned her in. She looked me over with a smile. "I like your costume. Is mine ready?" I pointed to a chair, and the red material draped over it. She sauntered over and picked up the tunic I'd made and chuckled. "Red silk. How appropriate. So tell me Jeff, when does my servitude begin?"
I swallowed. "When you decide." She nodded and carried the tunic into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. The door opened a few moments later. She stepped out and leaned with her back against the side of the door, the palms of her hands on the jamb, her head up, lips slightly parted, eyes smoldering as she looked at me. The tunic clung to her, and I realized that unless she was wearing a very tiny red thong I couldn't see, she was nude under it.
Then I remembered the collar. I opened the drawer of my desk, and took it out. I approached her, and held it out for her to admire it. She smiled then lifted her hair up and let me place it around her throat. I slipped the hasp through the slot. She handed me a tiny padlock she'd had concealed in her hand, and I locked the collar on her.
Suddenly, she was kneeling before me. She sat on her heels, her back straight and her head held high. Her knees were spread widely, and her palms were up in supplication to me.
"Speak, slave." "Melissa greets her Master. May Melissa please her Master?"
"Not yet. Perhaps later. Now, stand. We travel." When she stood, I held her long leather coat for her, then slipped my raincoat on. No sense getting arrested for indecency on the way. In the car, Melissa had a present for me.
A leather whip with a single long, wide strap.
Sheila told us later we missed quite a party. The way she looks at me sometimes, I think Melissa told her about our own party.
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