This is a longtime coming; a story that's been in my head for years. If you haven't read "Raw" and "Raw & Broken" yet, you'll want to, as this story concludes the series. If you need a refresher on the introduction to Ginger and Darryl, re-read "Raw Ch. 09."
~ SSW
~~~
Everything happens for a reason. Which is why I hadn't second-guessed how that weekend in Toronto, Canada, had turned out six years ago.
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"There will be hot guys!"
Ashley and Mindy, my two roommates, had said that at least five times after I reluctantly showed them the posting online for the BDSM convention and the "Velvet Rope Exhibition." I'd actually been wanting to go to it ever since I'd seen postings and photos about the previous year's function on a fetish website I belonged to. I'd also heard conversations about the various demonstration sessions at the munches I'd been to over the past several months.
I'd been waffling on telling the girls about the conference at all since they weren't really into BDSM. They just liked having profiles on the fetish website to post sexy photos…to get attention. But after the cost of the entry ticket, I would have only been able to afford the hotel room if we split it three ways. Thankfully, they were on board.
At least until we got there.
We arrived early on Friday, the first day of the convention, and started with the main ballroom where all of the vendors were set up. Not surprisingly, the girls lost interest within less than an hour. Their expectation had turned out to be true: there were plenty of hot guys. They just weren't looking to hook up.
I don't know where the girls had gotten the idea that there would be play parties that weekend. It wasn't mentioned at all on the event announcement. But that's what they complained about ever since we'd checked in and gotten the itinerary for the weekend. They rolled their eyes when I reminded them that this was not an orgy but a convention with classes for those with kinky predilections.
After they made fun of just about every vendor we passed—not to mention gotten us glares from several sellers—I was ready to tell them to just forget it and I'd refund their money if they wanted to go home. Before I could mention it, they decided to go swimming.
I went on in peace, attending some of the demos and browsing the booths to see what piqued my interest.
It was midafternoon when I saw her. I second-guessed myself for only a moment. There was no doubt, though. She looked just like the photo on the back of her earlier books; in the article about her revealing herself to be Drake Alexander; and on the news story when she had gotten away from the man who had kidnapped her.
But…
Could Rebecca Rockland—my favorite writer—really be at a BDSM convention? In Canada?
She was standing with a tall, handsome man at a booth selling chains. I overheard her speaking with the burly man on the other side of the table, but the noise level in the room made it impossible to make out anything clearly.
Still, she was here. I was here. If nothing else happened this weekend, it was well worth putting up with my roommates to even catch a glimpse of Rebecca in person.
Once it was no longer possible to remain inconspicuous while observing her, I moved on with the crowd. I spent the rest of the afternoon perusing the vendors. Smiling every time I caught a glimpse of her.
That evening, the girls decided to join me for the erotic art exhibition. I begged them to behave. To dress appropriately for a vanilla setting as though out in public, per the convention rules. But they insisted on wearing their matching school-girl outfits. I told them they looked like they were ready to step out onto a porn set. They only said that was the look they were going for.
I managed to get ahead of them in line and met up with them inside. I'd noticed that every other woman was wearing an evening dress—some shorter than others, but all were modest. God only knows how my roommates were able to gain entrance into the exhibit in their skimpy attire.
My cheeks blushed as red as my hair while they kept up their earlier shenanigans, ridiculing each piece of art—even the live models—while we walked through the various stations that had been set up. At least two burly guys stationed as security guards had been eyeing our small group from the get-go. I prayed that I wouldn't be accused of being guilty by association.
Everything changed, though, when we stopped at a Greek-style pillar with a rope-and-metal sculpture on top. I did another double-take when I saw Rebecca standing by a display depicting rope suspension. My roommates had not believed me earlier when I'd said she was here. Even after I repeated all the hype with Rebecca in the news about revealing she was really Drake and then being kidnapped and tortured by a past lover, Ashley and Mindy doubted me. I wish I had one of her older books to show them.
A low, whispered argument ensued until Rebecca actually approached us and the girls drifted away. Leaving me all alone with my idol. Face to face.
I was mesmerized. Speechless. Both weak-kneed and stiff as a board. I'd never met a Hollywood celebrity, but I could imagine it would feel the same.
The whole time Rebecca talked to me, I was riveted to every little detail. How she spoke. Stood. Dressed. I was actually talking to my idol! About kinky sex! Surrounded by kinky art!
Wait, did she just invite me to have breakfast with her in the morning? To hang out with her and Malcolm, the man she was with, for the rest of the exhibit? And their friend Darryl, the chain seller?
I was as giddy as a school girl…sans outfit.
---
If that encounter had not happened—if I'd not encouraged my roommates to drive the four hours from our hometown in Ottawa to attend the conference with me in the first place so I could afford to go—I wouldn't be where I was now. Be with who I was now.
I smiled warmly at Darryl, my fiancé, while he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music.
He let out a soft laugh, dancing in his seat. Doing a little sway to the left and a twist to the right, glancing at me with a grin between mouthing the lyrics. Then he twisted and swayed in reverse, returning his attention to the road. Which only made me giggle louder. He shot me another grin before I looked out my window.
My smile widened while watching the water rolling under the twin suspension bridge as we crossed the bay in Delaware.
Becca and Malcolm had left the hotel just in time that weekend. Us three girls had been snowed in at the hotel. My roommates had decided to go swimming again to pass the time, and I'd found Darryl downstairs having breakfast when I'd gone meandering. He'd invited me to join him. Since his flight back to Maine wasn't until Monday, we'd hung out the rest of the day in the business lounge, just chatting.
When I'd started to close up again, he'd quickly coaxed me back out of my shell. To talk about my interest in the lifestyle. He'd encouraged me to not let my fears of not fitting in deter me from attending events or learning more about those topics. He'd assured me that I wasn't just going through a phase. He could see I was a true submissive; I'd just not explored all that I could be yet. I needed a good dominant partner to help me do that. Attending local events was a step in the right direction, especially if I wanted opportunities to meet such a partner.
When it had been time to go our separate ways, he'd surprised me by giving me a business card and telling me to call him the next weekend if I wanted…that he'd like to accompany me to a local munch he knew of in Montreal. It would help quell my fears of going alone and not knowing anyone there. He knew the hosts, and he'd be happy to introduce me to them.
I'd protested that it was at least a 6-hour drive for him from Maine, but I'd not regretted taking him up on the offer.
Two weeks later, I'd attended my first rope demo with a play party afterwards. Darryl had gone as my surrogate Dom. He'd said my first bondage and suspension experience should be done by someone I trusted, as well as someone knowledgeable on the subject. Who better than himself? While he sold chains as a side business and enjoyed rigging with the chains, he was quite experienced in rope bondage. In fact, he preferred it since it was more versatile.
I still got shivers whenever I thought of the care with which he'd spent binding me with jute rope that first time. How he'd constantly made sure I was comfortable. The liftoff had been a bit scary, but the floating in air had been totally exhilarating. And afterwards? He'd held me, gently caressing wherever the rope had bit into my skin. He'd whispered encouragements in my ear as I'd drifted back to reality. Called me a rope bunny. Said I was so natural with being bound. And watching me enter subspace—that place of bliss where I'd felt calm and yet highly aroused—had been a delight to witness. That I had slipped into that space so easily.
One party had turned into two, then three and four. Afterwards, he'd always crash on my couch. Such a gentleman. My roommates would snicker and tease me that I was being a Miss Goody Two-shoes. I always told them to fuck off. At least I had a guy to hang out with. A guy who was becoming a good friend. Nothing more, I told myself. Play partners, he'd called it once. Nothing intentionally intimate happened beyond the occasional brush of a hand here or there while tying the rope.
Each time he left, though, a part of me ached inside. I grew anxious for his next visit. For our next party. Anything that would allow us to spend more time together. I was becoming attached to the short, burly personal trainer who liked to suspend people with ropes and chains for fun.
We'd never really discussed dating. I'd figured it was a longshot with the miles between us, not to mention residing in different countries. He had dual citizenship having lived in Canada for several years with his family before moving back to the states after college, but I didn't even know if he felt the same way I did. At least, not until that weekend my roommates were gone and we'd had the apartment all to ourselves after a party.
***
I made a quick descent from the front porch of the host's house and stumbled halfway down. I gripped the railing for a moment, righting myself. The cold metal did little to quell the zinging feelings still racing through my body.
"You okay?" Darryl's hand pressed lightly to my lower back.
"Yep."
"I'm sure we could have stayed longer to let you come down more."
We'd not gotten as much time to play as usual due to the larger-than-normal crowd. There had been a lot of newbies tonight, and I'd had to wait until last to get bound and suspended. Darryl had insisted on the scene since he'd come all this way. But the brevity of it had left me on the edge of subspace, not to mention the noise from the others saying their goodbyes had messed with my attempts to tune everything out. Too soon, I was being let down and unwound from the ropes. Getting dressed. I didn't really want to go home, I just wanted to get out of there.
My legs felt like Jell-O when I stepped onto the sidewalk, so I paused, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath.
"Ginger?"
"I'm fine." I waved him off and continued on, feeling a little more sure but no less frustrated.
His footsteps sounded softly behind me.
I was a few feet from my car when he put his hand on my arm. I turned to face him and snarled, "What, Darryl?"
He frowned at me and dropped his hand. "I know you like driving because you're familiar with the area, but you're in no shape tonight."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you." I lowered my gaze and noticed his upturned palm between us.
