"Submissive?"
I'm having a quiet cigarette in the local shopping centre carpark when I hear this spoken behind me.
Startled and disoriented, I turn to see a large-bellied middle-aged man looking me over with a mocking smile. Yes, he really is talking to me! My jumpiness clearly amuses him. He stares calmly into my eyes making me feel even more awkward and flustered. I look down and struggle to speak.
"Um, er, what do you mean? Why would you say that?"
He pauses for some time, coldly gazing at me, but with the occasional smirk, assessing me maybe. The long wait amplifies my unease and he seems to like that. He eventually speaks.
"Well, there are so many reasons. Where should I begin? OK. Let's start with your demeanour, shall we? You lower your eyes when spoken to. You can't look me in the eye, can you? Also, you don't see many men smoking menthol. It shows that you are not ashamed about what you put in your mouth even though you must get a lot of funny looks. People will think there's an opening there somewhere, for sure. You are shy and crave approval. You are not asserting yourself. Anyway, that's just some of what immediately struck me about you. But maybe I am wrong?" he said sarcastically, as if daring me to disagree.
"Um, I don't really know, I am married", I reply, blushing a little now and trying and failing to look him in the eye.
The truth is that I had always preferred menthol and knew full well that men rarely smoked it. In fact, I had heard that sort of comment before, but many years ago. I hadn't thought much about it for a long time.
He continues to inspect my eyes. I glance at him on occasion, but I have to avert mine from his intense gaze. It's too much. He makes sure I notice his smug victory smile though. He is enjoying his win over me and brazenly licks his lips to show me. Again he pauses, savouring my discomfort.
"Being married doesn't stop you from being submissive, you know that don't you? Why did you say that? Ah! You've got nice soft, delicate, slim fingers too I see."
I realise that I should really be objecting to his taunts, but I do not. I feel very confused and overwhelmed and can't think what to say. Is he coming on to me? It seems that way almost, but not quite. There is no sign of affection. I dare not pursue the submission issue as, well, to be honest, he does have a point.
He smiles coldly and winks at me. "Oh, and this is the sealer: here you are: loitering around the toilets and sucking on a fag!"
I protest that I I'm not deliberately here for that reason. I just wanted a quiet place to smoke, though he is now starting to make me second-guess myself.
He laughs. "Well, if you say so, but you left yourself wide open there. No need to freak out mate. I'm just having a lend of you, well, to a degree. The main reason I am here is because I saw you and your wife moving into your house the other day. Well, I presume she is your wife. Don't worry, I won't bring it up in front of her."
Bloody hell, news moves fast in small towns. I am still unsure what to say, when my wife returns from her shopping. I have little choice, so I introduce her to our new neighbour, whose name turns out to be Bill. I am a bit alarmed when he tells us that he lives right next door to us.
He is all charm with her and even invites us over to watch the game tonight. I make half-hearted excuses, but my wife insists that we at least make an appearance. We are new here after all and it would be rude not to.
So here we are at his house. Bill continues to flatter my wife, borderline flirting more like, but not being that keen on watching sport, my wife leaves after just one drink, but insists that I stay and enjoy the game. She says it might be good for me to have a boys' night out sometimes. Bugger! Well, I suppose I at least won't have to do too much small talk, I can just focus on the game.
The house is a bit shabby and seedy, rather grim and sordid to be honest. The sort of place where one could imagine bad things happening. Bill apologises to my wife about the untidiness, but she makes light of it, tells him not to worry; it is what one would expect from a bachelor, though it could obviously benefit from a feminine touch. Bill laughingly agrees and says he'll have to do something about that.
I'm sure I would be much happier at home, but I say nothing. Bill tells me that he is divorced and semi-retired. I start developing exit plans, but it is a good, close game and the alcohol is now beginning to work. Before long it is quarter-time and I realise that I'll probably have to do some conversing, but my thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door.
Bill opens the door and a balding, overweight man enters confidently. His belly is even bigger than Bill's and I'd guess that he is probably in his fifties. I stand and am introduced to Vic who looks at me unsmilingly and barely greets me. I nod as he deigns to look me up and down. He's not exactly what you'd call a charmer and then he proceeds to sit down in the same chair I was just sitting in, so my next best bet is the sofa, but it doesn't have such a good view of the telly. I sit there anyway, feeling a bit annoyed that I have been relegated like this, but -- what the hell -- it's not as if I have to be here, though realistically I probably won't leave early this evening. I can hardly complain anyway. It's not as if it is my chair. Why am I even worried about it? It's totally illogical. But still, Vic is clearly lording it over me.
Bill informs me that Vic is an old acquaintance of his.
Vic speaks: "So, your wife won't let you fuck her. Eh?"
He must be talking to me! Fuck, say what you mean, why don't you? I adjust my position to look at him properly and try to pause for a respectable length of time in order to maintain some level of dignity, but I feel that I do have to reply and I guess that sort of crude banter is just the way some people speak. Maybe I have led a sheltered life. So, rather than telling him bluntly to mind his own business, I meekly say that it is just that she has lost interest due to the menopause and all that.
"Amounts to the same thing. Bill reckons she's a really nice piece of arse too. Eminently fuckable. Yeah, they were the words."
How dare they talk about her like that! But they are being accurate after all and it's not as if they are insulting her exactly, so I choose not to verbally object. However, my expression surely communicates that I am not enjoying this line of questioning.
Bill asks me why I have never looked elsewhere for cunt; why I haven't been a real man. He really is so crude. It must be quite liberating really, I suppose, to express one's feelings. I tell him that I would never betray my wife, that she would go birko if she ever found me with another woman. He tries to persuade me that I could probably get away with it, but I remain unconvinced.
He goes on. "She's so close and so sexy, but you can't have her. You're constantly getting horny, but with no relief possible. It must be so frustrating!"
After a brief uncomfortable silence, Vic chimes in and asks me whether it would still count as betrayal if it were a man she'd found me with. Not that he is offering necessarily, mind; he's just interested in hearing my opinion.
