Hard Corps (22 page)

‘Well.’ He seemed to be appraising me, giving me some kind of secret test in his head. At last he said, ‘I don’t usually talk about it. I mean, I usually tell people I’m a carpenter, because I do that too. I make furniture for a local store here when I’m not writing. I don’t even know why I told you that yesterday morning about being a writer. Maybe I wanted to impress you.’

I smiled, pleased at the idea that he had wanted to impress me. I waited.

‘OK. I can see you aren’t going to let this drop. I’ll just tell you flat out. I write erotica. I have a very active imagination and an active libido to match.’ He smiled, his eyes crinkling with mirth. ‘Figured I might as well make some bucks at it.’

‘No kidding! How did you get into that? I mean, how do you even think of doing something like that in the first place? Who do you write for? How did you get the idea?’

‘Well, I was a very horny and very lonely teenager with acne and a stutter.’ No trace of either now, that was for sure. ‘And,’ he continued, ‘I bought a lot of soft-porn magazines and got on-line a lot too, downloading endless series of pictures and stories I found on the web. I was almost always disappointed. The stuff in the magazines was usually so poorly written you couldn’t even masturbate to it without getting distracted and disgusted by the bad writing.’ He blushed a little as he said this, which I found absolutely endearing.

‘I thought guys were into pictures. Girls like to read about it, boys like to look at it.’

‘Well, that’s a bit stereotypical, don’t you think, Remy?’

Now it was my turn to blush a little. He was right. I was being sexist in reverse. ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right. Sorry.’

‘No, it’s OK. You’re right for the most part, I guess. Anyway, I started writing out stuff I would like to read about. Written in proper English with some sense of a storyline. But still full of sexy stuff. You know, to be read with one hand while the other is, uh, busy.’ Again the faint blush, but I could see he was enjoying himself, and trying to gauge my reaction.

‘And what do you like to write about?’ I asked, teasing him, hoping to catch the blush again.

‘Oh, the usual. Whips and chains and naked slave girls begging for mercy.’ Silence. I felt a little catch in my chest as I looked down at my plate. Probably he was just kidding, throwing out something ‘perverted’ to see what I’d do.

‘Well you sure got silent all of a sudden. Cat got your tongue? Or was it something I said?’

‘You’re kidding, right? About the whips and chains?’

‘Why would I be kidding? Don’t be a prude. It’s a free country. If two consenting adults want to play a few little SM games, why not?’

‘Oh,’ was all I said. I nibbled at my muffin, not really tasting it anymore.

‘Remy.’ He seemed concerned now. ‘Hey, I’m sorry. Sometimes I get out of line. I forget, because I’m in the business, that not everyone is open to that sort of thing. I’m sorry if I offended you.’ He looked so worried and contrite at the thought of having upset me that I burst out laughing.

‘What? What’s so funny? You really have me confused, Remy!’

I was laughing now so hard the tears were rolling down my cheeks. To think that this man was worried about offending a girl who had just spent most of the last two years involved in a club where she was regularly stripped, bound, and beaten for fun. Whips and chains indeed.

Laughter is contagious and finally Eric started laughing too. At last I ran out of breath and slowed to a halting, hiccuping stop.

‘OK, Remy. You can let me in on the joke now.’

‘You sure you’re ready, Mr Porno Writer, sir?’

‘Oh, come on, I’m not — ’

‘I’m just giving you a hard time. The joke is this. I’m a slave. I mean, a real sex slave! I’m so into your whips and chains I can tell you stories that would send you screaming to your mamma. Or running to your publisher, maybe.’

He stared at me, those big, blue-green eyes wide with disbelief. Then his mouth twitched up into a little grin. ‘Well, you don’t say. Miss All American girl, miss girl-next-door beauty, is a perverted, depraved slut!’ He started laughing and again we burst into uncontrollable hysterics. I hadn’t had so much fun since, well, ever, I guess.

‘Let’s get out of here, Remy. You have some talking to do! Here I am, just imagining the stuff and writing fantasies, and I have before me a real live girl whose maybe done all the nasty stuff I contrive in my sick, twisted mind!’

We left the diner arm in arm. He invited me back to his place but I opted for the park bench again. I wasn’t quite ready to go home with a guy I’d just met. Once we were settled comfortably, I got out two Cokes from my backpack, offering him one, which he took.

‘OK, Remy. Now tell me what you really mean when you say you are a slave girl? Does your boyfriend tie you up and spank you?’

‘I don’t have a boyfriend.’ That seemed to distract him for a moment. I liked the fact that it did. But he wasn’t to be dissuaded.

‘Well, so what do you mean, then? You can’t just throw out something like that and then not follow up!’

‘Well, I want to tell you. I think I do, anyway. I’ve never told anyone. I’ve never even talked about it with fellow Corps — ’ I broke off, having already revealed more than I meant to.

‘Fellow core? What are you talking about? What are cores?’

I had been about to say Corps members, of course. I laughed at his misunderstanding. I felt so comfortable and happy being around him. It was really weird for me. A first, you might say. Even around Jacob I had never felt exactly comfortable. In some way I was always on my guard. With Eric, things felt so relaxed.

‘Not core, silly. Corps. As in a military corps. Only this corps has a twist. I’m afraid to tell you, though, because of my promise. I am sworn to secrecy, you see. If I tell you, I might be betraying the trust of the other members. If it ever got back, I’d be thrown out for sure. I might even be thrown out of the Academy!’ It was strange but, as I said it, I had the shocking realisation that I didn’t particularly care.

Everything that had seemed so vitally important to me — the Academy, my military career, the Slave Corps — suddenly just didn’t seem to matter so terribly much. It seemed pale, almost an imitation of real life. Sitting here with Eric felt like real life times ten. I was a little shaken by this. I didn’t even know this handsome, strange guy next to me, and yet on some level I felt more comfortable with him than I did with anyone I had ever met. I decided to tell him, there and then. What the hell? Who would he tell, anyway? He didn’t even live in the same state.

Eric was probably gearing up to swear to secrecy, leaning forward, looking sincere, but I cut him off. ‘You know what, Eric? I’ll tell you. I feel like telling you. Isn’t that crazy?’

‘No, that’s terrific! Because I intend to hound you until you give in, anyway. So might as well be now as later, right Remy, darlin’?’

I sat back, feeling happy, but nervous that I was going to say out loud the deep, dark secrets of my life. Secrecy had become such second nature to me that I wasn’t sure I could be very articulate about it.

‘Well,’ I started. ‘It’s like this. Underlying the basic military and college life at Stewart, there is a secret society, a club, kind of. You have to get invited to join, and even then you have to pass some pretty rigorous tests to qualify. It’s called the Slave Corps, which is kind of a misnomer, since there are masters and mistresses in the club too. It’s got the nickname “the Hard Corps”, which might be more apt, really.’

He smiled and nodded toward me, indicating that I should go on. He was leaning further forward, listening intently. I took a deep breath and continued.

‘Slaves get assignments. That’s what they call it. Every week or so, or a few times a week, for an hour or two, you meet with an assigned master and they get to abuse you for a while. Whippings, bondage, sex, but no intercourse. Just about anything goes but they can’t mark you. Wouldn’t look good in the public showers.’ I looked sideways at him to see how he was taking all this. He was staring at me, his eyes bright, his mouth slightly open. I plunged ahead. ‘I guess you could say it’s a place where people with like interests — in this case sadomasochism and dominance and submission — come together in a formalised process to express their needs and desires.’

‘Huh?’

Laughing, I expounded, ‘It’s a sex club. Either you are submissive, and get beaten and sexually used and tortured, or you are dominant, and get to do the abusing. Get it now?’

‘No way.’ He was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘No way. How could the students ever get away with that? They’d be caught in a New York min — ’

‘Who said it’s only students? The most powerful and active members of the group are professors and military staff on the campus. And it doesn’t stop there. I’ve heard we have members all the way up through the Pentagon. We students are just little cogs in the big perverted wheel that is the Hard Corps.’

‘That is absolutely incredible!’ Eric leaned close to me, looking at me intently. ‘And you are submissive? You look so, I don’t know, so tough. No, that isn’t the right word. You look so confident, so strong and sure of yourself.’

‘Well, thank you, I think. But why do being submissive and being strong have to be at odds? I think to truly submit takes way more courage and confidence than just whipping someone’s ass with a paddle. You know?’

‘Yeah, I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that.’

‘I know. I was like you at first. I confused submission with passivity. I had no idea of the grace and courage it takes to submit with honesty and passion.’

‘Wow, listen to you! You should be the writer! You have a very poetic way with words.’ I looked down, embarrassed but pleased. ‘Remy.’ Again my name rolled on his tongue like honey and melted butter. ‘Remy, you are the most exciting woman I’ve ever met. Beautiful, intelligent, honest. Listen, I want to confide something in you. But I’m a little nervous about it.’

‘Oh, Eric! Come on. I just told you the biggest secret of my life. You can tell me a secret too now. After all, it’d only be fair.’ I was grinning as I said it, but very much in earnest.

‘I know you did. And I believe you. It sounds impossible, but something in your face, in your voice, makes me know you are telling the truth. And I want to hear all about it! I will hold you my prisoner until you confess every word!’ We laughed again, though my perverted mind instantly seized on the phrase, ‘hold you my prisoner’. Sounded yummy.

‘So back to you, then. What did you want to tell me?’

He sat back, looking toward the fountain, as if the answer might be in the clear water splashing over a triad of stone fish perched up on their tails. ‘Well, you know we share the same passion of dominance and submission. But your passion is tested. Mine is academic. I’ve written about it, fantasised about it, dreamed about it. But I’ve never had the courage to do a thing about it in real life. I think I’ve secretly believed that there is something wrong with me. That’s why I don’t usually tell people what I do for a living. They would scream “pervert” and run away. And I have never dared even hint about it to my girlfriends.’

I must have made a face at that point, because he hastened to explain. ‘Past girlfriends. I don’t have a girlfriend now.’

I smiled at him, embarrassed that I was so obvious.

‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘I can’t tell you how often, when I’ve been with a girl, that I’ve wanted to try something, pin her down, or smack her bottom. But I never dared.

‘See, here’s the weird thing. I regard myself as a feminist, or humanist might be a more accurate term. And I’ve never been able to reconcile those feelings that we should all be equal with forcing a girl to do things, and tying her up and whipping her, you know?’

I smiled. I had wrestled with precisely the same demons. ‘I used to think that way, too. Before I understood the true nature of dominance and submission. It isn’t about you forcing her, or taking something that you have no right to. In a real D/s relationship, there is an open, acknowledged exchange of power. She gives you the right to do the things you do. She gives herself to you. And, really, in a way, you give yourself back. Because when you take control of her, you also take the responsibility for her, to keep her safe and loved. I think it’s the most romantic exchange possible.’

‘Wow. And you found all that in the Slave Corps?’

‘No.’ I felt sad for a moment. ‘No, I have just come to imagine that this is how it should be, really. The Slave Corps is just a game, when you get down to it. It’s a very intense, exciting game. But there is no love exchanged. At least there hasn’t been for me. It’s more like mutual masturbation, I guess you could say. It’s very exciting and very demanding, but it isn’t romantic. Not to me. So far I guess it’s just the best I could hope for.’

We both fell silent. I suddenly felt very shy around Eric. As if sensing, or sharing, the change in feeling, Eric stood up. ‘We talk too much. Let’s take a walk. I’ll show you my furniture shop.’

I jumped up, glad for the suggestion. Things were getting a little too intense for both of us. Eric walked me down the block and around the corner to a quaint little shop with a bell by the door. A sign hung over the bell:
FRANK’S FINE FURNITURE
. Eric rang the bell as he walked in. ‘Hi, Frank, come meet my new friend, Miss Remy Harris.’

A short, heavy-set man with a merry face came out of a little room off the side of the showroom. He was wiping his hands on a cloth. Then he held one out to me. ‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Harris. A friend of Eric’s is a friend of mine.’ I took the offered hand.

‘Show her around, Eric. I got to finish oiling up this armoire for Mrs Cluney. Nice to meet you!’ Frank was gone before I could respond in kind.

‘He’s a great guy,’ Eric said. ‘Lets me make stuff in his workshop, and then sell it on consignment here. I do real well with it, actually. It’s sort of my therapy.’ Eric showed me some furniture he had made. The pieces he showed me were of a light, pretty wood. There was a low, deep rocking chair that made you want to curl up in it with a good book. There was a futon frame, minus the cushion. It was curved on the sides, giving the hint of motion somehow. In front of it sat a low coffee table shaped like an S that was all curves and beautiful wood grain. I was enchanted.