A House of Cards: Deconstructing Ethan (9 page)

Ryan and I tried to room together again the following year, but the assignments didn’t work out. As we approached graduation, however, I became thankful for that. During our time with Mistress Nicole, Ryan had developed a crush of sorts…on me. I had heard him pressuring Nicole a few times before sessions, trying to get her to let him be with me. I was just about to open the playroom door one day, when I heard them arguing. Of course, Nicole refused, with no room for discussion, stating that it would violate our agreement and that she would not do that – period. He argued that I was just scared and that he would be gentle with me. But, no doubt remembering how much effort and patience she expended at the start of my training, she felt certain that I wasn’t just scared and while he continued to request it, she never conceded. To this day, I am not sure what I would have done had she asked me to do it. As it was, I could see her disappointment, for I knew it was something that she wanted of me as well.

Carefully, I considered it. It was something they both wanted; it was something I’d technically already done. My entire life I had been taught that sexual gratification was a way to win favor and rewards. Couldn’t I just suck it up and give in to what they wanted? Nicole was able to penetrate me now with a toy – would it be much different to be penetrated by Ryan? Would I feel his breath on my neck? Would I hear his low animal grunts in my ear as he took me? I started to pant and panic at the thought of him violating me in that manner and I realized I couldn’t do it, at all. The toys brought back enough of those memories. It took all of my concentration to keep myself in the present moment when she touched me like that. Even thought I had been terrified at first, she had been patient and kind, and I couldn’t believe Ryan would be the same way. If something went wrong, it would set back any progress that I had made, going back to the self-loathing, rage-filled boy that I had been before meeting Stephen and Nicole. I didn’t ever want to be that scared little boy again.

Finally, after a few years, I decided that the arrangement with Nicole was no longer working for me. I liked Ryan, I revered Mistress Nicole, but the growing pressure of their expectations and subsequent disappointment strained our relationships and I found myself seeking Stephen’s advice. He had been monitoring my progress with Nicole and knew details about my training. We talked for nearly two hours about my relationship with Nicole, with Ryan and about what excited me about our sessions, as well as how I handled certain aspects of my training. I liked being disciplined, but I also liked to discipline Ryan, who desperately wanted me to follow up his whippings with a sexual session, but I wasn’t able to. Finally, Stephen made a suggestion that intrigued me – he thought I should become a Dom.

And so I did.

I had a successful assessment and, of course, Stephen and Nicole took me under their wing, helping me set up my own playroom and introducing me to my first long-term sub, Gwen. She was bright, sweet, wickedly funny and had already been trained and was looking for a new Dom, as hers was moving out of state. After my first year as her Dom, I was approached about training a new girl. It seemed that another Dom, Derrick, had found a new submissive, but didn’t want to go through the hassle of training her. He wanted her ready to serve him, so I took her on and taught her everything that Mistress Nicole had taught me. Enlisting Gwen’s help in her training, we worked for a long time until I felt she was adequately prepared for her new role. She did very well in her assessment with Derrick and he was very pleased. My reputation in the community started to grow.

I graduated from medical school and started working at the hospital. Everything seemed to be going well for me.

It wasn’t until Gwen came to me and told me that she had to end our agreement that I realized my new dilemma. I had based my identity, my self-worth, on my role as a Dom. After she left me, I would have no sub and, to me, that meant no identity. It meant that I had no purpose. We fought for the entire last month of our agreement and, while I knew I couldn’t stop her from leaving, I couldn’t support her either. She consistently sought my approval, but I found that I could not give it. It pained her that I was upset with her for leaving. She felt that if I cared for her, I would encourage her to follow her dreams. What she never understood was that I cared for her in her role, but not as anything more. We weren’t friends, we weren’t lovers – we simply were.

I reached out to Stephen and Nicole in an effort to find a new sub. They knew of none that were available. It wasn’t often that newcomers joined our community and none of the other Dom/mes were looking to change their current agreements. Just as I was about to give up hope, Gwen told me of her roommate’s interest. Lexi became my salvation, more than I ever would have expected. When Gwen told me that her virgin roommate wanted an assessment, I almost laughed. What good was a virgin sub going to do me? But at that point, I was pretty desperate, so I agreed to meet with her. I would insist on sex as one of the requirements. She had to give it up eventually if she wanted to be my sexual submissive, however, I would accept having to wait for a while.

As soon as I walked into the front room of my house, I knew I had found my new submissive. She was beautiful and had a body just made to be bound and punished. The first time she bit her lip and blushed, I got hard. I wanted to take her up to the playroom right then and fuck her, but we had a lot to discuss. She had to be the one to decide. My decision was already made – or so I thought.

Like any responsible person, she decided to check my background before agreeing to anything. When she found out that Ethan Bryant hadn’t existed for more than a few years, she checked public records and found my name change. A quick web search of Ethan R. Hughes Jr. told her everything she wanted to know. It told her that I wasn’t, in fact, a criminal as she may have suspected – but a victim.

If I hadn’t been so determined to take her on, I might have dismissed her entirely. She handled it better than I ever thought she would, telling me that who I was before wasn’t who I am then and she liked me regardless, that my history wasn’t an issue for her. She became my sub, my friend and my confidante. At the time, I wished she could become my lover as well. I wished that I was capable of that kind of relationship, that I was capable of it with her. Unfortunately, that just wasn’t meant to be.

For the first few weeks with Lexi, I was rather frustrated with our lack of sexual progress. I was waiting for her to come to me to discuss what she wanted to do about her virginity. She knew that sexual intercourse was something I expected of her, but we had agreed that she could be with someone else for her first time if she so chose. She didn’t. I was astonished when she wanted it to be me and I was determined to make her first time a more fulfilling experience than mine was. Already, I had been quite a few of her firsts. I taught her how to perform oral sex and I loved letting her practice – she was an absolute natural. Also, I induced her very first orgasm. I provided her with all of the sexual experiences and delights I could, short of that one final act. Then, she asked for that as well.

It took a little planning, once she assured me that it was what she wanted, because I didn’t want to tie her down and throw her a quick fuck. It was important and I wanted it to be a gratifying experience for her. Briefly I considered taking her to my bed, but I felt, as Stephen had once suggested when I first became a Dom, that allowing a sub into my bed was blurring the lines – so I needed an alternative. Setting up the mats in the back of the playroom like a bed, I laid out sheets, a comforter, and pillows – all in an effort to make her feel more comfortable. When she entered the playroom, she was nervous, but determined. She walked to where I stood before her in nothing but a pair of sweats – it wasn’t the day for the paneled pants. Then, I pulled her to me, holding her for a long moment. I felt her trembling. Pulling back, I kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her neck, everything but her lips – that too blurred the lines of our relationship, at least for me.

I took my time with her and did all that I could to make the experience pleasant. She climaxed hard against my lips as I pleasured her, allowing her body to relax before I penetrated her. I tried to be gentle and caring, wiping away her tears after I broke through her innocence. Although I wouldn’t have called it lovemaking, because there was really no love present, I cared for her because she was my sub. She cared for me as a person – but it wasn’t romantic or flowery. As like most women, she didn’t orgasm that first time during sex, however, I certainly made up for that in subsequent sessions, making her climax every time I fucked her after that because her pleasure was of the upmost importance to me. Because really, if you don’t gain pleasure, gain sexual gratification from the experience, then what’s the point?

A strange thing started to happen with Lexi as my sub. I gained more confidence and I started to feel better about myself. That hadn’t happened with Gwen, she hadn’t believed in me as Lexi did, which made a difference. By that point, I had accomplished so much and I was stronger and more secure. I took charge, both in the playroom and outside of it, and was starting to become the man I wanted to be. Now if only I could draw from that experience, that strength – to get through brunch.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?” Lexi asked, putting her hand on my chest and I shook my head. Sick of being an emotional cripple, it was something I needed to do on my own. If I couldn’t even deal with my own parents, how was I going to become a whole person? That’s what I considered myself, a broken person. With the writing, I was slowly getting better, but I was still a long way from recovery and part of that recovery meant reestablishing a relationship with my parents. For the last decade, we had been exchanging cards on holidays, along with the occasional birthday phone call. I hadn’t been back to Chicago since I had left for college and they had never been to Washington. They hadn’t even attended my college graduation, though, I think they would have if I’d bothered to tell them about it.

“I have to do this on my own,” I told Lexi and Jayden agreed. While Lexi liked to coddle me, Jayden knew that in order to get though things, I had to start facing them. Beneath the surface, Jayden understood me on a level that Lexi did not. I’ve never felt that before, but then, I’ve never had friends before. Emotional connections were not something I ever had to deal with.

I picked up my token bottle of wine, remembering from my youth that a gift was customary when you’ve been invited to someone’s home. Although I wasn’t sure that really applied to your own parents, but it seemed like the right thing to do. I put on a jacket, picked up my keys and straightened a few pictures of Lexi’s parents on the table, knowing that I was stalling for time. Then I took a deep breath and actually walked out the door. In no time at all, it seemed, I arrived at my parents’ large home and pulled into the drive.

It wasn’t until my phone chirped, indicating a text message, that I realized I’d been sitting in the car in my parents’ driveway for more than fifteen minutes. Briefly, I wondered if they’d noticed. Home. I felt more at home with Jayden and Lexi than I had ever felt anywhere else. That thought gave me the courage to get out of the car and face my demons.

I knocked on the door and it opened slowly, almost like one of those horror flicks. Or was that just my imagination? Then, the door was fully open and there stood both of my parents. Ten years had changed them greatly and, deep down, I felt like I was looking at strangers. I didn’t really know them and they didn’t really know me. Handing the bottle of wine to my father as I entered, he examined the bottle rather than look at me.

“You have excellent taste, Ethan,” he complimented. He looked different than I remembered. The Ethan Hughes I remembered was about 8 feet tall with black eyes and permanent scowl. This man was about my height with soft brown eyes, grey hair and pleasant demeanor as he shook my hand. He was nothing like the childish representation of him that I had created in my head. The constriction in my chest loosened as I realized that I had nothing to fear by being there. These people and their friends had no hold on me. I could either have some sort of relationship with them as adults, on equal footing, or I could choose not to. I was in control.

My mother hugged me and then they led me down a hallway that seemed at least vaguely familiar and just as I remembered, the hallway led to the sitting room. When we entered, I looked around and was startled to see images of me scattered around throughout the pictures of the rest of the family. Aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents littered the small space. On every surface, there was at least one picture of me and, at the piano, there were several pictures of me. The contrast between the happy child and the self-loathing, brooding teenager sitting on the bench alone was staggering. In the first picture, the happy child played piano with his mother. They must have been playing something bright and cheery because it looked like they were laughing. In the second photo, the teenager sat on the bench alone, with his head down, his shoulders slumped, looking utterly defeated. That, more than anything else, brought home the reality of what things must have been like for my parents upon my return. Aside from the brown hair and eyes, I was a completely different boy.

A smooth hand wrap around mine and I looked down into my mother’s face, the same face that I remembered from my childhood. She was the same woman that read to me, sang to me and made me feel that warm glow inside. Wrapping my arms around her, I pulled her to my chest and we embraced for several minutes, neither of us speaking until she pulled away. Surreptitiously, she wiped her eyes and pulled me to a nearby sofa. I looked around, but my father had left the room.