The actual move itself? Sucks giant smelly donkey balls.

My apartment is a cyclone, boxes everywhere, and I’m trying to reorganize everything as I pack it so the unpacking will be easier. I’m pitching a lot of things, too. I have no need of VHS tapes anymore because I no longer have a VCR. Several trash bags full of clothes I will never wear again went to the Salvation Army, along with some pots and pans on their last legs.

Phone calls, the minutiae of setting up utilities (some of which the apartment complex covers, which is nice) and the mail forwarding are all taken care of. Movers booked.

All this bending over and lifting things and rearranging has put my back and neck in a kinky place, and I don’t mean the fun kind of kink. Normally, I’d do some yoga to stretch out, find my center, and relax through it. But my floor space is gone. My yoga DVDs are packed away. God knows which box my mat’s in. So I booked an appointment for a chiropractor and went to get my neck snapped.

God, I forgot how good that feels. My neck and shoulders were out of whack, and he straightened them out, then put me on an electronic muscle stimulation machine with some ice for seven minutes to let my muscles get stimulated. I couldn’t help thinking as he was turning up the dials on the electro-muscle thingy and having me tell him when to stop that I could test my pain limits and see how much I could stand for how long. I didn’t though. I don’t want to fuck my back up any more than it already is. But I did do what he said and went as high as I could. It wasn’t pleasant, until after it stopped. I have to go back tomorrow for one more adjustment.

Anyway, I was all relaxed and noodly and on my way out the door when I ran into Connor coming out of the coffee shop next door. We stopped in our tracks and looked at each other, and all that fresh-bought relaxation went right out the window. I tensed up immediately, though I did put on my big boy pants and say hello. He gave me a stiff nod and walked away. I realized that every time I saw him, my whole body cringed, just waiting for him to snap at me for saying or doing something wrong, or have him tell me some creepy way he was trying to get closer to me. I found out from my mother a few days after he left that he’d been calling her behind my back to ‘chat’ and was digging for information about where I went to college and other boyfriends I might’ve brought home. She never told him, and played dumb to what he was doing. At first, she thought it was sweet that he was so interested, but she started to get uncomfortable the last few weeks.

“He asked an awful lot about Theo. I don’t know why he didn’t just ask you.”

“Because he probably didn’t want to hear the answer, Ma.”

“Well, he was nice and in person I liked him a lot. But the last few weeks, just… I don’t know. I’m kind of glad it didn’t work out, honey. I’m sorry, I know that sounds bad, but I was getting concerned.”

I quickly reassured her that it was fine, and I’m glad she told me, though I wish she’d have told me sooner.

“It was subtle, sweetie. I didn’t realize at first how pointed his questions were. And then, the longer it went on, the more I realized you’d be upset that I didn’t tell you he was calling to chat in the first place. He said it’s because his own mother disowned him and he liked how supportive I am of you, and that sometimes, it’s nice to get advice from an elder, even if it’s not one he grew up answering to. It was flattering.”

I sat, dumbfounded. “Wow. Then my moving couldn’t have happened at a better time.”

So I look at the stacks of boxes everywhere, the shambles of my belongings, and no matter how much of a pain in the ass it is, I’m really happy, and just maybe, I dodged a bit of a bullet.

“Hi, may I speak with AJ Rose please?”

“This is AJ,” I said, recognizing the area code as St. Paul, but not the number.

“This is Marlene.” She rattled off the name of the apartment complex where I’d filled out an application. “Your credit app was approved and I wanted to find out if you’re still interested in the apartment.”

“Oh, absolutely. That’s awesome.” I resisted the urge to pump a dorky fist into the air.

“You’ve put down a small amount to hold the apartment while your application was being processed. I’m calling to see if you’d be able to fulfill the rest of the deposit and first and last month’s rent?”

“Yeah, that’s no problem. Can you process the payment over the phone or do I need to send a check?” She told me she could take the payment over the phone with a major credit card, and we agreed that, because I had to set up subletting my current apartment, I’d pay the deposit and one month’s rent, and then call back with my moving date so she could prorate the first month’s rent by day. They’re not that nice about fluid moving dates in New York, so that was a pleasant surprise.

Once the details and an additional pet deposit were worked out, I called the superintendent of my current apartment and let him know I’d be moving out sometime in March, if I could find a subletter.

“I may have good news for you. There was a young couple here the other day asking about openings. I had to tell them nothing was free, but I have their contact information if you’d like me to call them.”

“Absolutely,” I said, amazed at how smoothly things seemed to be working.

That was over the weekend. Today, the young couple came and looked at the place and agreed to sublet through the end of my lease. I spent the rest of the afternoon on the phone. Arrangements with movers were made. A date’s been set. I decided to wait until I get to Minnesota to buy a car. So I booked a one-way flight for me with plans to transport Princess, too. He’ll hate flying. He’ll probably pay me back for the discomfort by barfing in my shoes.

I don’t care. Three weeks. I texted Fen, who leaves New York in a week. “I’m not too far behind you. Don’t trash the place before I get there.”

He replied with a simple smiley face.

I know this has been tough for him. I can see the haunted look in his eyes when he talks about it, the worry and the extra scowl line forming between his eyebrows. He’s worried. About his mom, finding a job, JJ… I want to tell him it’ll be alright, that he always lands on his feet. He’ll see. I know it’ll be difficult for him, but I keep telling him the same thing over and over: he doesn’t have to do this by himself. I don’t think he believes me yet.

Tomorrow’s agenda: get some boxes and start packing.

“Paypal has deactivated BookStrand.com’s vendor account until they remove content from their website ‘which contains incest, pseudo-incest, bestiality, and rape for sexual titillation.’” He was obviously quoting.

“Wait, what?”

He read it again. (To read the email itself from BookStrand.com, go to Fen’s page.)

“It’s like the virtual version of book burning,” I said, frowning.

“I know.”

BookStrand is a site where publishers and indie authors upload content for readers to purchase, and one of their payment options is PayPal. Apparently, PayPal thinks it’s within their right to tell BookStrand’s users what they are and are not allowed to read and write. It’s the corporate world’s equivalent of ‘play by my rules, or I’m taking my ball and going home.’

“Yeah, I can see people getting indignant over this.”

“Hell, I’m indignant. You realize what that means? What are some of the most popular themes in our genre? Vampires and shapeshifters. A lot of writers portray the relationship between a vampire and their vampire children a parental one, and there’s some sex between those characters. They’d be banned for the incest or pseudo-incest. Shifters falls under bestiality. Werewolves are shifters, and hello! Wolves. Plus, I’ve read books where shifters can take on any animal form. There’s a lot of generalization in that bestiality restriction.”

“Holy shit, I didn’t think about all that,” he said.

“Not to mention my new idea. My BDSM research has made it clear to me that during a play scene between a Dom and sub, ‘no’ doesn’t exactly mean ‘no’. Sometimes the Dom gets off on the sub showing resistance and wanting to be ‘forced’ into an aspect of play, to have their boundaries pushed to heighten the experience and the emotional connection between Dom and sub. No doesn’t mean no. Safewording means no. It’s a big part of the BDSM culture, depending on where the players fall in the spectrum of D/s. Fuck, Fen. That’s like PayPal telling me what I can and can’t write if I expect to be able to sell my copies on sites that use PayPal for their readers. Fuck. That. Noise.”

I was mad, getting madder, and working up to a full head of steam. Oh HELL NO. What’s next? No homosexual content? No interracial relationships? I realize PayPal isn’t trying to pass any laws here, but they are trying to dictate the content of a website owned by someone else who has relied on PayPal in the past to do business. They’ve deactivated BookStrand’s account. That’s fucking with someone’s livelihood. They are trying to dictate what passes from beginning user (author) to end user (reader) on the web by taking out the step between the two that allows for the transaction to take place. *pulls a chair over, stands on it with a decisive stomp, and shouts* BULLSHIT!

I hope BookStrand won’t cave and ask their contributors, both publishers and independent authors alike, to censor uploads. I hope that BookStrand will stand up to PayPal’s Wal-Mart-esque tactics and say ‘fine, deactivate our account. We’ll offer payment options straight to the debit and credit card companies. We don’t need you.” Because BookStrand, it’s true. You don’t need PayPal.

And if they continue to attempt to censor our Constitutionally protected rights to free expression, I don’t need PayPal either. I believe after I post this, I’ll be finding that phone number on their website and canceling my account.

If you can name the movie, I’ll be your friend for life.

After I told Fen about Connor walking out — without giving word for word commentary; a guy has his pride — we made plans to meet for lunch to talk about things. He picked the place, and once again, he beat me there. I wove my way through the lunch time business crowd to fall into the seat across from him in a squeaky vinyl booth.

“Hey,” I said in greeting, ordering a beer from the waitress.

He gave me a look. “Not sleeping these days?”

I laughed. “Oh, fuck off! I’m sleeping fine, except Princess has appropriated Connor’s side of the bed. Dipshit.”

“You and that dog.” He snorted and picked up his glass to drink. “How are you doing otherwise?”

I fiddled with a packet of sugar, unable to sit calmly. “You know how you think things are fine, good even, until they change abruptly and then you can see all the tiny little ways you were miserable but didn’t realize it?” I pointed to myself. “So I’m good. Great. Been busy, though.”

God he looked good. My knee bounced beneath the table, burning off excess… whatever. Fear. Excitement. Nerves. I kept staring at my hands, the stupid sugar packet, the other patrons, only glancing at him in quick little flickers, as if that would protect me if this went south. Which was stupid. He’d already told me he wanted me to go to St. Paul with him.

“Yeah? Doing what?” His sharp eyes searched mine.

“I talked to the manager of a bar in downtown St. Paul about a job. It’s a cabaret, sounds like fun. It was a phone interview, and it sounded promising.” I paused, taking a deep drink of my beer. “So when I finished that call, I found an apartment online and called the property manager. If I get good news from the bar, I’m going. Moving to St. Paul.” The truth was, even if the job fell through, there were others. I had my mind made up.

He grinned. “So you’re moving then?” He tapped his finger on the table, eyes bright. “I’m glad. It’ll be nice to have one friend there.”

I grinned back. “I’m moving, then. You didn’t honestly think I’d leave you hanging, did you?”

Shrugging, he finished his drink and ordered another. “It’s a big deal. Don’t make it sound like it isn’t.” Half-rising, he leaned over the table and gave me a hug before regaining his seat.

I savored the warmth of his embrace for the seconds it lasted, trying to suppress the grin of all grins. It helped that the waitress arrived to take our food orders. After she left, I leaned forward. “You’re right. It is a big deal. Is it going to be a big deal to JJ?”

Heaving a sigh, he twirled his finger in the moisture on the table. “Yeah, but let’s not go there. He’s stuck in Sunnyside until the end of the school year at least. I love that fucker, but he can’t get away and I have to go. Soon.”

I nodded. “Has he considered finding something else there until a teaching job opens up? Just to get there by the end of the school year, so you don’t have to be apart long?”

Fen shook his head. “He’s a teacher. That’s what he does.” He helped himself to stale pretzels. “I can’t blame him. Can you? He’ll join me when he can. In the meantime…we’ll be loose in a new city!” Throwing his head back, he laughed. “Just like old times.”

His laugh was infectious, and I was glad to see him happy. I know how stressed he’s been lately. “No, I don’t blame him. It’s just…” Not how I would do it, if it were me. But it’s not. So I let it drop. “Let’s hope they’re ready for us.”

“I’ve been reading up on the place. Sounds pretty cool. Apparently, it’s one of the big gay cities in the country.” Our food arrived and we dug in. “You know how I love new adventures and it’s been too long.”

I groaned, biting into my chicken sandwich. “Is this going to be like that time you dragged me into that bar you swore was a transvestite bar and it turned out to be karaoke night with every college age Goth lesbian ever born? Every one of whom became convinced we were tourists and insisted on taking us on a pub crawl where I saw more pussy than if we’d just camped out at a gynecologists office? I had nightmares for a month.”

Fen laughed his ass off. “Jesus, I’d forgotten all about that! Damn I’ve missed you.”

I smiled, warmth blooming in my chest. “I’ve been here the whole time, Fen.” But I didn’t want to get into a bitch-fest over Connor versus JJ and who kept more tabs on whom. It was a moot point anyway. “Now, we have all new wrong turns to make where we find out the woman who played Large Marge owns a bar and hosts wet t-shirt contests and shit. I can’t wait.”

“What the fuck, PeeWee’s Big Adventure?” He clinked his glass against mine. “To interesting times, and I’m not talking about the Chinese curse here.”

Interesting times, indeed. I had a feeling, things would get very interesting before we even left New York. Whatever happened, I knew we’d deal. We always had.

Or, you know, not this week.

After Connor left, I decided I needed to go out, forget about my stresses for awhile, and just let shit go. I ended up at a bar in my neighborhood I haven’t been to in a long time, mainly because Connor didn’t like it. He called it a meat market. He was right, but it was exactly what I wanted. I had a few cocktails, danced some, flirted some. There’s something to be said for anonymity now and then, and no strings.

I didn’t go home with anyone or take anyone home with me. Sometimes, the attention itself is enough. Sometimes, the darkened corner in a back room is enough. For a little while, anyway.

In the morning, I threw away the three phone numbers I found in my pocket and took Princess out for a jog, guzzling Gatorade before and after to help the hangover. I haven’t gone running in a long time. Harder in winter, but also, I felt like the time I had available to go jogging would end up pissing Connor off if he was around, like I was choosing something solitary on purpose so I didn’t have to be around him. I realize now just how many times I didn’t do something in order to appease him. Having my choices be my own again brings such a stark contrast to how often I bent over backwards for him without realizing it.

He cleaned out his stuff the next day, as promised, and my apartment feels bigger, less cluttered, like the walls themselves have taken a big, cleansing breath and exhaled in relief. I got a couple leads from the placement office at the bartending academy and over the weekend, talked to the managers of two different bars in St. Paul, MN. They seemed interested, but one of them isn’t really looking for anyone right now. I guess they took the call because the placement office set it up. The other one is promising, though. It’s a cabaret with a diverse clientele and one of the questions they asked me was if I have problems with the gay lifestyle, since a lot of their patrons are gay. I managed to suppress a laugh and assured them that no, I have no problem with that at all. They want to talk to me again after a few more interviews with other people. I have my fingers crossed.

It feels good to be doing something about the moving question, instead of just thinking about it. I’ve decided. Even if I don’t get this particular gig, there are others to try for. I contacted the leasing office of an apartment complex not far from Fen’s address. They have a few units available, including one with the floor plan I found on Rent.com that I like. It’s in my price range, and pet friendly. It has amenities I don’t have here, including a balcony. No roof access, but the balcony makes up for that.

I’m supposed to have lunch with Fen this week, talk about shit. I don’t think he’ll be surprised this is happening. When I texted him the other night to tell him Connor left, he told me he was relieved for me. I guess he saw things I wasn’t objective enough to see.

It feels like I’m getting a fresh start. After a few years of feeling kind of stagnant, it’s a good feeling. I think I’m doing the right thing.

“Hey, babe,” I said, coming up behind him and planting a kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’re here early. I figured you’d be working late.” I took a long inhale of the scents filling the kitchen. Looked like he was in the mood for Chinese without all the MSG. Colorful peppers, some mushrooms, onions, carrots, and other assorted health food I normally turned my nose up at were piled on my cutting block. But it smelled wonderful.

“Yeah, well,” he gave a soft chuckle. “I told my supervisor that I was cutting back from seventy hours a week to fifty, and that I want remote access to work from home.”

I raised my eyebrow, snagging a stick of red pepper and leaning against the counter, munching. “What’d he say?”

“He gave me a sour look for a few minutes, then said he’d been expecting as much for the last couple months. He knows how hard I’ve been working, and the year end stuff about killed me. I’ve given to them without complaint for a long time, and he recognizes that it’s time to give back to me a little bit. Doesn’t hurt that he knows I can go anywhere, even in this economy, and get work.”

He was right. His resume contained words I didn’t even know, programs I’d never heard of, and he was fluent in so many different computer languages he could go almost anywhere.

“So what prompted this? Besides the usual exhaustion.”

He slid another round of veggies into the sauté pan and threw in a spoonful of minced garlic. Another wave of delicious smells assaulted my nose. That done, he crossed over to me and settled his hands on my hips, giving the corner of my mouth a garlicky kiss.

“I miss you. And with you bartending, it’ll be easier to see you on your off nights when I don’t have to worry about staying late to finish something up. I figure while you’re writing in the evenings you’re free, I could work from my laptop from home.”

Home. He was thinking of my apartment as home. I swallowed and a piece of pepper got lodged in my windpipe. I coughed brutally for a moment while he smacked my back, then got me a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Not the reaction I was hoping for,” he said drily.

“Sorry,” I said, eyes watery. “Swallowed wrong. Not a reaction to you.” My voice was scratchy and hollow, muted.

“Good,” he said, pulling me close, pressing his forehead to mine. “Because I was thinking. It would be easier to see each other, even in passing, if we lived together. I’m already over here eighty percent of the time, and it’s stupid for me to pay rent on a place where I never sleep.”

“You want to move in with me?” I asked, dread pooling in my stomach. Shit. I’d been hoping to put off this conversation until I had something concrete to talk about, not that our relationship wasn’t concrete enough, but still… So many things in the last few weeks have been fluid in my mind with my considering moving to Minnesota. I didn’t know if I was going for sure, still hadn’t gotten very far in finding an apartment. The placement office at the bartending academy had a couple interesting jobs they’d passed on to me in the Twin Cities, but I had yet to have a conversation with the hiring managers of either place. Not to mention, I wanted to make sure those bars were close enough to St. Paul and Fen’s address that if I did move, I could find an apartment close to both him and work.

“I do. I love you, AJ.” He kissed me, pushing his tongue into my mouth. I let him for a moment before pulling back completely, running my fingers through my hair. How would I even begin to say what I had to say? I knew it would hurt him and that’s the last thing I wanted. I blew out a breath.

“You don’t look enthused at the idea,” he said softly, watching my face.

I looked at him, then. The least I could do was look him in the eye. “I’ve been thinking about moving to Minnesota.”

An array of expressions crossed his face, disbelief and hurt followed quickly by frustration and a certain resignation, as if he weren’t at all surprised. Then he shut down completely, eyes stony. The only movement was a minute clenching of his jaw.

“When were you going to tell me this?”

“I’m not sure I’m going, so there wasn’t much to tell.” That was only half true. The idea of going felt right in my gut, even if the logistics didn’t work out smoothly. I’d already decided that if I couldn’t find a place right away, I could crash on Fen’s couch until something shook out. It’s not like we hadn’t done that for each other in the past. A job was a must, though, and that was the one thing keeping me in the ‘maybe’ column instead of ‘I’m going’ column.

“Don’t,” he spat. “Don’t try to appease me. Just be honest.” I thought I heard ‘for a change’ muttered, but he had turned away, back to the pan on the stove, stirring vigorously enough to slop veggies over the side of the pan. He threw them in the sink with an audible splat.

“Fen asked me if I’d consider it. His mom’s sick and his other family there is busy helping her. He needs someone else he can depend on. And as she gets sicker, he’ll need someone to lean on in other ways. It’s also closer to my mom. I’d be less than a day’s drive from her, and besides a couple neighbors and one friend, she’s got no one nearby either.”

“Why not move back to St. Louis, then?”

Why not indeed? I’d be just as helpful to her as I would to Fen. But I knew the answer. I don’t belong with my mom. I cut that umbilical cord when I moved to New York. “Because Fen’s mom is dying, and he’s going to need someone to help him through it.”

Connor snorted. “He’s got JJ.”

That pissed me off, as if Fen can’t use all the help he can get from everyone willing to let him lean on them. “Yeah, who is stuck in New York until the end of the school year at minimum, and Minnesota is cutting teaching jobs, not creating them. He’s worried about being able to find a job. It could be months to a year or more before he can get there. Fen’s mom may not have that kind of time.”

“He should try bartending,” Connor sneered.

“You’re saying that if something happened to your mom, you wouldn’t lean on everyone who was available and offered to help?”

“My mom and dad threw me out when I told them I’m gay. Far as I’m concerned, they’re both already dead.”

“Then you wouldn’t understand,” I snapped, wheeling on my heel and going into the living room where I angrily kicked off my shoes.

“You know,” he said, following me, dinner forgotten. “He’s never going to love you the way you love him.”

I froze. “What?”

“I’m not stupid, AJ. You’re in love with him. I remember asking you if you’ve ever loved someone and you said yes, but that it never happened. I guess you’re still hoping, trying to be Theo’s knight in shining armor so maybe, for once, he’ll actually notice you. Following him around the country like a well-trained puppy isn’t going to make him see you any differently than he does now. You’ll always just be the tag-along, and the thing is, you’re so eager to take any scraps he gives you that you jump at the chance to be on his leash.

I saw red. For a moment, I pictured myself charging him, shoving him into the wall and making him hurt the way his words hurt me, until I realized that it didn’t hurt because Connor said them, but because what if it was true? I stood there, staring at him in disbelief at his callousness, fists clenching and unclenching in an effort to dispel some of the urge to throttle him. In as calm a voice as I could manage, I spoke.

“The leash I’m escaping is the one you’ve tried to put on me. Fen has never once made me feel like you just did. You probably only want to move in with me to keep better tabs on me.” He glared, crossing his arms over his chest, about to say something else, but I cut him off. “Fine, Connor. You want the truth? I do love Fen. Always have and probably always will. And if he never loves me back as more than his best friend, that’s fine with me. Because he’s my best friend, too. And being friends with him is more important to me than fucking him.”

Connor recoiled as if punched. “More important to you than fucking me.”

“I was never just fucking you, Connor, but you’re the one who can’t handle my friendship with him. If you make me choose, you’ll lose.”

He stood there for a moment, pain etched on his face, a small, disbelieving smile turning up his lips as he shook his head in resignation. He stalked over to the front door, yanking his coat off the peg on the wall. Hand on the door knob, he turned back to me. “I’m the only one with the spine to say out loud that I’ve been competing with Fen from day one. To you, it’s never going to be just a friendship, so don’t worry, AJ. I’ll make it easy for you. I’ll be back tomorrow while you’re at class to get my stuff. Check with the super tomorrow to get your key back.” He wheeled around and stormed out, leaving a wall-rattling door slam in his wake. It was only when the smell of burning food broke through my stupor that I unfroze, running into the kitchen to dump the aborted and ruined dinner into the sink.

Why would I be reading a BDSM book? And not a fiction one at that, since this is the psychology behind it?

Well, first I can blame Fen for the offhand comment that I’d “be good at writing BDSM, if [I] knew more about it.” That got the wheels turning.

Research. You guys. You guys! I am at the beginning of an idea that will either fizzle because of my ignorance, or, if I can write it in depth enough to do it justice and still maintain the action within it, will fucking sing.

I’m most specifically interested in the D/s aspects of BDSM. For the layman, that’s Dominant/submissive. The very beginning of the book states that at one time, every person has displayed some tendencies for one side or the other. I know which side I fall on, and I’m not telling. Neener neener neener.

Ever get into a silly wrestling match where you struggle for power over the other person and find their limitations as well as your own? Was there a thrill when they finally stopped struggling and let you hold them down? Or did you do the surrendering and find the thrill of giving up and trusting them as powerful as if you’d been the winner? Ever call someone’s bluff if they threaten to smack your ass if you do or say something borderline acceptable to or about them? Did they end up spanking you? Did they not? Did you regret pushing them if they did smack your ass or did you want one more skin-reddening slap? Or were you the spanker, wondering just how willing you were to actually follow through, and if you did, was it enticing? Horrifying? Did their squirming excite you? Make you feel guilty? Did you see them begin to trust that you wouldn’t go too far? What’s too far?

Did your heart beat faster?

Did your breath catch?

Did their gaze smolder watching you and vice versa?

The possibilities for exploration here are endless and fascinating, and dare I say, breathtakingly HOT. Dangerous. Some say abusive. Painful? Depends on the actions. Maybe it’s about being tied down and unable to help yourself, forced to fully trust someone else to take care of you. Maybe it’s doing the tying and the heady responsibility of shouldering that trust and taking it one step farther to keep it intact.

What are your limits? Do you know?

Or maybe reading this whole post has made you completely uncomfortable and you’re about to unsubscribe, unwilling to look any deeper.

I don’t know about you, but just reading this stuff makes me interested to find mine. Maybe they stop short of pain, either inflicting or receiving. Maybe it’s a matter of sensory deprivation or heightening for me. Restraint. Obedience. I’m interested to find out as a person fascinated by human behavior, and as an erotica writer. Do I know where this will go? No. This idea may end up a forever WIP, and the psychological dynamics may be too much for me to apply to my own psyche.

It’s also the not knowing that’s thrilling. I’m gonna see where this goes… Welcome to The Matrix.

“Largest Coke you can give me,” I answered. Fen smirked at me.

“Rough night last night?”

I was hungover and I knew I looked it. “Yeah, went out with Roberta from the travel agency and ended up closing down the bar we ended up at. I had a few too many Captain and Cokes. I’m dehydrated.”

“Drinking more soda isn’t going to help,” he chided.

“I don’t think this place stocks Gatorade. I’ll make do,” I said, perusing the menu and deciding my stomach wasn’t up for anything fried, which eliminated about 99% of the items they served.

“So what’s up?” Fen asked.

I swallowed a nervous laugh and took a giant gulp of the drink the waitress set in front of me, declining to order food. “Uh, how serious were you about the possibility of me looking for a job in the Twin Cities?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it. You thinking about it?” he asked, leaning on his elbows on the small table.

I studied his face, trying to gauge his reaction.

“I’ve, uh… started taking bartending classes over in Manhattan. It’s only a month long course, and they help with job placement all over the country. They asked me at class the other night if I had a location pinpointed when I’m finished, and I told them I’d have to let them know.”

“Bartending, huh? What sparked that?” He sounded curious, nothing more.

“Well, I don’t wanna get sucked into another day job that leaves me so tired when I get home that I can’t think to write. I could make decent money if I get on at a busy place and still pay my bills. Then I’d have the days to write or take care of shit. Not to mention story fodder,” I grinned at him then, remembering some of the crazy shit he and I have seen and done in our bar hopping days.

“Makes sense. Want me to see if there are bars in the Twin Cities hiring next time I’m there?”

“Nah, I can do all of that online, I think, or over the phone. But I didn’t want to make any calls or look into finding an apartment if it was just a one-off comment.” I picked at a hangnail before continuing. “Thing is, I hate the idea of being that far from you. You’re my best friend and it’s one thing to shoot you a text or email or call to keep in touch, but that seems… I don’t know, not really enough. I also don’t like the idea of you being there on your own.” I held up a hand when he started to talk. “I know you have your mom and other family there, but are you gonna have them come get you if your car doesn’t start? Or if you get in an accident or hell, get jumped. Not like it hasn’t happened before.”

“I’ve thought about that stuff. It won’t be fun learning my way around if I have to do it on my own, and no, I won’t bother my mom if I have car trouble or something. She’s got enough to worry about.”

I nodded. “I talked to Elaine about it last week and she doesn’t like the idea of you being by yourself either. Or me being by myself here in New York. To tell you the truth, I think she just likes checking up on me and you’re her source.” He rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “She thinks I should go and I would be a lot closer to my own mom.”

“What about Connor?” My head snapped up, trying to read his face. It was neutral, but he wasn’t looking at me, sort of lazily surveying the room. Was that casual coolness real or put on? Usually I can read Fen like a book, but at that moment, I had too many internal influences clouding my perceptions.

I grimaced a little. Connor is a sticking point. “Well, we’ve been together for five months, not five years. I’m not ready to live with him, even if he does stay at my place most nights. But…” my voice trailed off.

“So you wouldn’t ask him to go with you?”

“Probably not. And if I tell him I’m thinking about this, he’ll hit the roof. Hell, he hit the roof when I said I was taking bartending classes because that would mean working nights when he’s not, even though he works late a lot anyway and it wouldn’t change much. Then there was that time a couple months ago when he went looking for me after I told him I needed to go out and clear my head. He just… doesn’t give me a lot of room to breathe.”

Fen nodded knowingly. I’d told him the whole story about Connor looking for me all over the neighborhood under the guise of taking Princess for a walk. It creeped me out at the time. Hell, it still kind of did.

“It’s not like you to let that go on for long.”

I swallowed. “He’s been better about it, but still not great. But no one’s perfect.” I drained my drink. “So what would JJ say? If I were to move, too? I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

I saw a flicker of something, maybe concern, cross his face before disappearing. He licked his lips. “JJ would have to get used to it. It’s not like it’s any different than us living in the same area here. He either trusts me or he doesn’t.”

“I think it’s more about him trusting me, and he doesn’t. Especially not after that blog post.” The one where I admitted my feelings for Fen and thought I’d posted it as a private entry but it was public for a few hours. “But even then, I haven’t given him any reason to think I’ll go back on my word to respect him and your relationship with him.”

Fen shook his head. “No, you haven’t. So it’s his problem, not yours.”

I took a deep breath. “Well, okay then. I’m going to do some more research, look at cost of living and poke around the web for pet friendly apartments. Do you know your address yet? I don’t want to end up on the other side of the city from you.”

He borrowed a pen from a passing waitress and wrote it on a cocktail napkin. He passed it across the table to me, and our fingers accidentally brushed. I yanked my hand away, jolted. I’m sure he noticed, but he didn’t say anything.

“Does this mean you’re going?”

“It means… I’m seriously considering it. Lots of things have to fall into place, namely a job and somewhere to live. And I’d have to get a car.”

“Oh Jesus, AJ Rose loose on the streets.”

I threw my straw wrapper at him. “Hey, I’m a good driver. Shut up.”

When the waitress came back with a refill of Coke for me, I decided to order something anyway. My stomach had calmed way down.

“Interesting. A couple of the guys decided they’d had enough of one-upping each other on drink recipe knowledge and went at it on the street after class.”

His eyes widened. “They decided to fuck in public?”

I stared for a second before bursting out laughing. “No! They got in a fight. With their fists?” I shook my head, pulling my coat off and hanging it on the peg by the door.

He chuckled at his gaffe. “Well, usually when you say something like ‘went at it’ you mean some kind of sex thing.” He came over and kissed the corner of my mouth. “Your dinner’s in the oven. Kept it warm for you.”

“Thanks. And yes, usually I mean some pervy kink or other, but nope. This time, just a good old fashioned ass beating.”

Connor snickered. “That could be a sex thing coming from you, too.”

I used a dishtowel to pull my plate out of the oven. Nice. Steak and mashed potatoes with gravy. I love Connor’s gravy. I can never get the seasoning right and it always ends up gloppy. Not his. Smooth textured, not too salty or peppery, and ladled over my mashed potato mountain like it was inviting me to suck it down.

Jesus, I am pervy.

“What can I say,” I asked out loud, digging out a fork and leaning against the counter to eat. “I can take any word in the English language and find a way to corrupt it.” I groaned at the first bite. The steak was a little more well-done than I like, but Connor’d kept it from becoming shoe leather in the oven. More than I could have done.

His eyes gleamed wickedly. “Challenge accepted. Um…” he cast about for something that couldn’t possibly be related to sex, settling on the dog’s chew toy lying near the trash can. “Rawhide.”

I raised a brow. “Seriously? Too easy.”

“Do it,” he demanded.

“Rawhide is the step of animal skin before it becomes leather, which is one of the most important fashion elements in a Dom’s wardrobe, not to mention all the restraints he’d use on a sub.”

“Nylon.”

“You’re not even trying. Again, restraints. Or stockings, which I’m sure are another important wardrobe piece for drag queens. Next.”

“Television.”

“Porn DVDs.”

“Okay, conversation.”

“You mean like this?” I let my voice go breathy, set my plate aside and slinked up beside him, pressing my lips to the shell of his ear. “Every time I see you, I want to render you speechless, get you to make those mewling sounds of desperation beneath my hands, my lips, say things to you that have your eyes rolling back in your head. I want to use my voice to get you off, like in-person phone-sex, only better because I can see how you react. I can watch your pulse quicken in your neck, your chest rise and fall with faster breaths. I can watch your cock swell and twitch. You can feel my breath tickle your skin, the flick of my tongue against my lips as I speak,” I punctuated that with a lick to his ear. “You can see my pupils dilate, how much I want to kiss you all over, get you so hot you grab me and hold me down and fuck me into the mattress or wall or floor.”

I stepped back, calmly picked up my plate and shoved another bite of potatoes in my mouth, watching him.

“Bed,” he barked.

I snorted. “Not even dignifying that one.”

He stepped close, took the plate out of my hands and shoved it on the counter, grabbed the front of my shirt in his fists, and manhandled me to the bedroom, where he crashed into me with a growl to the back of his throat. When he let me come up for air from a searing kiss, I grinned. “Guess it’s not so bad dating a porn writer, is it?”

He never answered, but I didn’t need him to.

Courtney S. please check your email (as well as your spam folder) because you are the lucky winner of the free copy of The Yearning.

Congratulations!

If I don’t hear from you by 9 om EST on Wednesday, February 1st, I’ll have to choose another winner.