Page 8 of Deep End

“And he . . . was he interested, too?”

I workshop the perfect phrasing. “Not in the same things. That’s why I thought my experience might be relevant to you and Lukas.” Because Lukas Blomqvist is kinky. Lukas “Olympic gold medalist, swim-world darling, record-holding Scandinavian treasure” Blomqvist. Whatislife?

“And how did you approach the situation?”

“I told him what I thought might be hot. Josh did the same. Wecross-referenced.” The resulting Venn diagram didn’t include much, but still.

“This is soFifty Shades, Vandy.”

“Right?” Our eyes meet, and we share a smile at the improbability of all of this. But she seems much more at ease.

“Would you be able to explain what you like about letting someone else take charge?”

Would I? “It’s lots of things garbled together.” The ease of prenegotiating a social interaction. Having, for once, specific instructions. The stable quiet in the never-ending chaos of my brain. The satisfaction of doing something right, of being told as much. Disconnecting from the rest of the world and going with the flow. And yeah: I’m not surewhyI’m wired like that, but pain and pleasure have always mixed up in my head, and it feels good when someone I trust pinches my nipples. It’sthatsimple, sometimes. “To me, it’s about freedom.”

She snorts. “The freedom of . . . having someone telling you what to do?”

“I know it sounds counterintuitive, but I’m usually overthinking something. Desperately trying to avoid screwing up and working myself up to a panic.”Am I taking up too much space? Boring you? Disappointing you? Would you rather be somewhere else, with someone else?“Overwhelmed by the burden of wondering whether I’m doing it right.”

“Doing what right?”

I laugh. “I’m not even sure. Sex, but also, more in general, being a human?” I shrug, because that’s the problem, isn’t it? There is no right or wrong way to exist. Real life doesn’t come with an instruction manual. Fortunately, sex can. My kind of sex. “If someone I feel safe with is directing me . . .”

“You like the structure.”

“That’s a good way of putting it.” I smile. “I can’t speak for Lukas,or people on the more . . .dominantend of it.” The word oscillates bizarrely between us. Truth is, I don’t feel totally comfortable doling out BDSM terms, either. Like any other community, I cradle an assortment of doubts on whether I have what it takes to truly belong. Labels have to be earned, and my pockets always seem too empty to pay up. “But clearly they get something out of it.”

“Clearly. Are you and your boyfriend still together?” Her gaze sharpens. “I feel like I know so little about you.”

What a coincidence. I, too, know very little about me. “We broke up.”

“And the guy you’re seeing now . . . ?”

“I’m not. Seeing anyone, that is.”

“But that’s not because of what you’re into?”

“Not really.” At least, not entirely. What I like to tell myself and whoever asks—Barb, mostly—is that I’m too busy and career driven to date. But my celibate phase has been going on so long, I’m not sure it’s voluntary anymore, and I’d rather not mention that after what happened with my dad, men can be unsettling to be around.

“I suspect I shouldn’t ask it like this, but I truly have no clue how to phrase it, so I’ll just . . . Did your ex hurt you? During sex, I mean.”

I nod. “Sometimes. A little.”

“And you were okay with it?”

“Absolutely. Everything was pre-agreed. We constantly checked in with each other and had a safe word.”

“Oh my god, soFifty Shades. Did it ever make you feel . . . ?”

“Feel what?”

“Like you’re flushing seventy years of feminism down the toilet?” Her face scrunches in a guilty grimace, but it’s nothing I haven’t asked myself.

“For me, choosing to be sexually submissive has little to do with gender equality. And I’m not giving up my rights. Josh always stopped when I asked him to—and the other way around.” I shrug again. “Iunderstand how vulnerable it can be, discussing this stuff. For you. For Lukas, even. Plus, kinky people sometimes get this bad rap, like we’re intrinsically aggressive or predatory—”

“I know you aren’t,” she hurries out, palms wide open. “I’m not a prude, I swear. I don’t think Luk is twisted or disturbed for wanting this.”

My relief is genuine. “Good.”

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