Page 10 of A Dom Vs. Domme Story
I kid. A little.
“I’m thinking I should date an American businessman to settle down. I’m getting to an age where I should start considering that.” Is that sarcasm? Because Fujiko has to be in her early sixties. At the youngest. “When I retire, I want a capable man who will woo me like a woman of my standing deserves.” She shrugs, and that is that.
“Even if I did not have my own money, Ian would be more than enough to get me through the rest of my life.” I should hope so. The fucker’s a billionaire and not one to squander the money, the occasional bad investment aside. “We’re perfect for each other.”
“Do you get married? Oh, oh, invite me! I want to meet American businessmen and get this ball rolling, as you say.”
Both women look at me, waiting for an answer. Even Ms. Junri has been wondering about my marital status.
I’m gonna need even more booze for this shit.
Once I’m properly lubed up, I give them a brief rundown of what’s going on in my love life. Why not? I’m technically drunk now, and it’s not like they can’t find this shit online by tracking down fanblogs that are really, really into Ian and me as a couple. Seriously. They’re creepy, but in that rather harmless sort of way. (I hope.)
“We don’t have plans to get married yet,” I say. “We’ve talked about it, but…”
They both lean forward. “But?”
“I’m not really the marrying type.”
Fujiko leans back in her seat. “Naruhodo!” she exclaims, whatever that means. Her thumb jerks against her chest. “Same! No marriage for me.” She reaches over and pats her niece’s knee. “Her too. One time she was engaged to a hot man. Then she dumped him.”
Junri’s cheeks are red.Red.“Don’t go telling people that…”
“It’s true. If you met her fiancé, you would think she’s crazy for dumping him.”
I can tell from the further furrowing of Junri’s brows that she doesn’t find it crazy. Awkward. Even more awkward when she snaps something at her honorable aunt in Japanese. These two are either drunker than they look, or they are so close they can get away with speaking so informally to one another.
“We all have our reasons for turning down proposals.” How many times has Ian proposed to me now? He finally stopped after I told him I’d bring it up when I was ready to seriously discuss putting some plans into motion. We’re in engagement limbo. In my mind we’re basically engaged, but making a formal announcement would tear my world apart, and I’m not ready for that yet. My own best friend barely knows what I’m getting up to in that regard. I’m not going to tell some strangers I met on the other side of the world. Even if they keep it to themselves, that’s two more people out there who know my innermost fears.
No thanks.
“Don’t I know! I’ve been proposed to many times.” Fujiko nods sagely. Junri looks like she wants nothing to do with this conversation. “When I was a girl, it was because of my family. Many suitors came, and my parents wanted me to marry half of them. Yet if I married to boost the family’s capital and image, I wouldn’t be allowed to work. I wanted to work! I could do better helping my family’s company succeed from the inside instead of marrying some incompetent man from Tokyo.”
“I was also offered many proposals when I was growing up.” It happens to every heiress of a large fortune. We’re doomed to be nothing more than trophies to half of the elite families in the world. “It felt like such a waste of my time. Luckily, my family didn’t care about them either.” Crazy to think of my parents as liberal in that regard. But my mother was so jaded by the time I was old enough for her to receive proposals on my behalf, and my father detested the thought of his virginal daughter (ahahaha) being in the arms of some playboy (ahahahaha!) I’ll point out that Daddy’s fears were the ones that came true. Ian was the king of playboys before he stuck it in me over two years ago. He’s been drunk on my cunt since, bless him.
“Now I get proposed to by men like these who are looking for money for different reasons. Like I would ever.”
Here we are, a room full of heiresses of different ages. Well, I don’t know how old Junri is. I have a feeling she is solidly in her thirties, which would make her a little older than me, but she doesn’t look old enough to sprout gray hairs yet. Hm. Maybe she’s the same age as me. I’ll have to snoop later if I remember.
“I would love to get married to my partner,” she says. “Except it’s difficult.”
Fujiko levels her gaze on her niece’s face. Is that a look of caution? Damn. Maybe Junri is involved with someone below the family’s standing. Even someone like Fujiko isn’t going to approve of a marriage to someone not of the proper breeding. Fooling around? Perfectly acceptable! I know her type of older woman all too well. My mother would have been that type if she didn’t have a mental breakdown when I was younger.
I’m having one of those moments where I’m grateful that my boyfriend happens to be acceptable. He’s so acceptable that I’m sure our fathers would have arranged a marriage between us hundreds of years ago.
Not every heiress is so lucky. Already I’m cooking up stories on Junri’s behalf. Dumped a fiancé who was considered acceptable? Now in a relationship with someone who was tolerated but not expected to join the family? I could see it. I don’t want to makeassumptions,but I have a feeling even the most liberal of Japan’s elite business families are still more conservative than American families I know.
“In a perfect world,” Fujiko begins once we all have our final rounds of drinks, “would you marry your boyfriend?”
“In a perfect world that doesn’t exist?” I hold up my glass for another toast. “I would have married him the moment I realized I was in love with him.” That’s the truth.
I said that this would be my final drink of the night, but I’m soon proven wrong. My sentimentality toward Ian has me downing one after the other, loosening up enough until I stop thinking about marriage and what it means for someone like me. It already haunts me every night as I drift off to sleep as it is.
Everyone is drinking. Fujiko, Junri, the hosts who now set their sights on Fujiko’s drunk ass in the hopes she’ll buy more of their services that night. Not me. The only time I touch those guys tonight is when they practically carry me down to the cab that takes me back to the hotel with the other ladies. Fujiko’s stumbling about the lobby of her hotel, yelling at her staff to help our drunken asses up to our rooms. Once I’m in my dark room, I check my phone for a message from Ian. Where the hell is he? I wanna cuddle. I hope he’s not as drunk as I am.
So many messages. Are they even in English?
“Baaabyyy.” He never calls me that! He must be drunk.“I don’t feel goooxmkjmwekltz.”
Someone’s learning German. Or Greek. Either way, I’m passed out on the bed for the next twelve hours.
