Chapter 2

Sheraton Fishermen's Wharf, Tuesday

Early morning

We awakened slowly the next morning. As I expected, she had a hangover, but was remarkably energetic. From the mini-refrigerator, I served her some tomato juice. When I started to brew coffee, Vanessa looked a little pale. "Maybe some tea for me? I'm going to go casual."

Her casual look did involve tight jeans and a deep red T-shirt, with heels. She hadn't taken off her makeup the night before, so just freshened her lipstick. Casual hangover looked better on her than the thorough primping of most women in the hotel.

Juice and tea was energizing, and we headed to the hotel's luxurious brunch. Vanessa still looked a little green, so I brought her a plate of fruit. "Oh, we're going to be active today. I need more than that." She jumped up and went to the buffet.

Eggs Benedict, of course, are a brunch classic. They also include somewhat jiggly poached eggs, covered in unctuous clinging Hollandaise. As she returned with a plate of them, I gently asked, "Is your stomach ready for that texture?"

"Oh, I'm strong." After several bites, or more correctly slippery swallows, the green intensified. Since she was, for her, comfortable in four-inch heels, she was able to run to the ladies' room. I sighed and asked for a pitcher of club soda to be brought to the table, as I waited.

10 minutes or so later, she came back, and indeed seemed to have lost the green. Still, she was pale, and even more embarrassed. "I did make it into the bathroom, but lost it just inside, in the trash basket."

I had had enough experience living with a woman to know that it would be unwise for me to utter other than sympathetic noises.

Back to the room, and the hot tub. A remedy of mine, alternating sips of hot tea and ginger ale, seemed to help. "Thanks, Victor, for nursing me. This time, you tell me what to eat for a second brunch. That's not a request for domination, just for smarts. I still want to explore stuff, though. A parochial school uniform sounds rather exciting, both for seduction and for a spanking for being naughty.

"I can probably manage horny in a couple of hours, but maybe we should take advantage of other things in the city. How about the Ansel Adams exhibit?"

"That sounds great. I think there are some other galleries around there."

Streets of San Francisco

An elegant city, San Francisco mixes business and culture. One could play tourist, but especially if one were to be visiting museums and high-end restaurants, Hawaiian shirts and dangling cheap cameras would not do nearly as well as tasteful attire. Of course, the tasteful attire would be most appreciated on tasty people. I chose a somewhat academic and somewhat preppy look, of a brown Harris tweed jacket,

It was a bit cool, so she decided one of her skirted suits would provide a warm jacket. I learned that while she had bought a couple of especially dramatic suits for the honeymoon, she also had had a seamstress temporarily shorten her regular skirts to the magnificent middle of her thighs. Of her more or less routine outfits, one reliably turned heads in a business environment, yet remained professional. Camel-colored wool combined with a blue oxford shirt, and a bronze and deep blue scarf, to be most complimentary to her skin, hair, and eyes.

For today, however, she tuned it beyond professional. A metallic necklace, with a brooch to point to her breasts, replaced the scarf. She opened several buttons of the shirt, with no bra in evidence. On the other side of her miniskirt were soft brown knee boots, with a thick four-inch heel that she found comfortable for walking. I knew that she had nothing on it under it other than golden tan thigh-highs, and a tiny black micro-slip that kept the wool from rubbing against her delicate parts.

Before we went out, she took something from her traveling jewelry case, and asked me to put it on. "Don't assume too much symbolism with this, my dear. It's more for me to practice, and think about what I'd like." It was a discreet, dark red choker collar, with a classic cameo brooch. I realized, however, that she was exploring other kinds of collars. "I believe, sir, that you should put it on me. Let me assume a proper position." She knelt and bent her graceful neck.

I tried for the appropriate attitude. "You please me, my precious one." She smiled. I didn't assume anything when I put it on, but realized it might be the equivalent of a training bra for BDSM. A multilingual European friend of mine, now married to an American in Texas and a popular junior professor, routinely wore black to the university, and her black leather collar simply seemed a fashionable accessory. I knew, however, that it represented a very serious, yet real-world, intelligent submission. When I was invited to play with them, she wanted more pain than I was comfortable inflicting. When her Dom offered her, eagerly, to me, I was too upset to be a good sexual partner. That was something that I hoped to rebuild, or at least form a friendship between them and my new bride. So, I wasn't casual in putting on any kind of collar. Dominance wasn't especially a fantasy of mine, but I looked at it as a gift that I could offer if desired.

Every city has its own style of scary cab drivers. In New York, they rarely get much room to speed, but merely hurl their mounts into small gaps, challenging anyone to hit them. San Francisco, however, does have some areas where, other than in rush hour, the cabbie can get up to speed. Vanessa pressed a warm thigh against me, but then rather deliciously crossed her legs. After noticing the driver keeping his eyes in the rear-view mirror more than the road, I whispered, "I love it when you show off. Give him a great view when we get out, but for now, keep his eyes on the road if we're going to survive to our destination." She giggled, but complied.

At the first museum, my intuition was confirmed. We had a staff member walk with us, discussing the work, while the more garish tourists got a cold shoulder.

I have to say that I consider Ansel Adams to be a great craftsman, but my favorite of the masters is Edward Weston. Adams had a great eye for natural beauty, but Weston, as with erotic photography of vegetables, created beauty where it did not exist. Regardless, we stood and stared at Adams' craftsmanship, which only showed in the actual print, not a reproduction. In the actual silver print of his most famous photograph, Moonrise, Hernandez, New Mexico, the highlights glowed with a seeming inner light. I reached out to hold my love. "I see things I have never seen before. I am especially happy to see them, for the first time, while sharing them with you." We looked into one another's eyes and saw things there as well.

We continued through the exhibit, ordering some prints to be sent to our home. I looked at some notes. Vanessa had been uncomfortable in talking to some sexual educators and advocates at home, but I certainly was not. They had given me a number of things to see out here, and we hoped that they might be less threatening a couple of thousand miles away. My friend Rose, an educator and sexual rights attorney, had given me the phone number of a highly recommended bookstore. Apparently, the usual practice was to make an appointment, but she suggested calling and giving her name to the manager of the Query. I found a pay phone -- they still existed -- and called.

A cautious voice answered with a phone number. For a moment, I wondered if I had accidentally dialed an office at the CIA.

"Rose Edgeworthy suggested I call you, and say both Dark Orchid and Map Case. I'm Victor."

The cautious voice laughed delightedly, and shifted to a warm welcoming tone. "I'm Georgia. We'd love to have you. Map Case is Rose's code for saying you are a searcher and explorer, but truly open to ideas."

"I'll have to say, in fairness, that my partner, Vanessa, is open but hesitant."

"That's fine. While we call this a warehouse, we also have a nice conversation area, and we'd be happy to chat. Since we do have to open boxes and ship things, would you be so good as to assume that our sweats are symbolic of our nice leather?" I agreed enthusiastically, and she gave directions. It wasn't far.

Behind the Green Door, early Tueday evening

It did seem to be one more door in a warehouse, although I grinned when I saw it was bright green. Humming Green Door, What's that Secret you're keeping?, I pushed the buzzer. Two women opened it and welcomed us.

One looked very much like Rose: an Italian earth mother. The other was a tall blonde athlete, who did wear a collar. "Welcome! I'm Georgia. Let me introduce Virginia. Yes, we've heard all the jokes. I like to describe us as a pair of alternate states of consciousness."

At my side, I had felt some uncertainty, perhaps even some trembling, from Vanessa. That description, though, had her step forward, beaming.

Georgia said, "some people like to start browsing before we chat, while others like to talk first over a cup of tea. I tend to recommend browsing first, not so much to sell things but to give things to talk about. We're comfortable about our market and aren't pushy." They took us to an area of tables bearing publications. "Most of our business is mail order, but we set these things out. We'll be at the back, doing mail stuff, but just call and we'd love to talk. That's mail, not male. Remember Mongo from Blazing Saddles? Georgia gay. Virginia bi."

I didn't know how Georgia was in Domme mode, but this way, she was a person around whom it was hard not to be happy. Vanessa and I started browsing. Things weren't in any particular order. She picked up a Guide to Erotic Spanking: it doesn't have to be heavy. "Sounds like something for beginners." Before long, she sucked in her breath. "Oh. My. I'm getting wet just looking at the cover." It was the Toybag Guide to Hot Wax and Temperature Play "Honey, I didn't know this was a fetish before I saw this. Now, though, I'm seeing a darkened room, with you in leather and candles everywhere, including your hand. It gets blurry after that, in the nicest possible way. This is a must-have."

"I wonder if these nice people carry appropriate candles? I haven't done much wax play, but I've seen it demonstrated. Apparently, you have to be careful about the sort of wax. Some are low temperature and just give a sting and warmth, while others can burn unless you know just what you are doing." I paused. "My friends Jay and Karla definitely do wax. For some of their edge play, they put out candles on her boobs." Vanessa sucked in her breath. "I hope you meet them. Even if I don't like some of their play, Jay is what I can only call a craftsman. If he weren't a lawyer, I'd trust him utterly ... not serious there. It's too bad, though, that Karla isn't a lawyer, since she likes pain and fucking."

We took the books to the back. Virginia looked at them and asked, "would you be interested in a video about wax?" Vanessa enthusiastically nodded. Virginia got us a tape, and then invited us to sit down.

They did have a nice conversation area. Georgia joined us, as Virginia brewed tea. "We're tea junkies, so we always like opportunities to have some. Any special preference?"

"We're your guests, and in your hands."

She opened a blue-and-white can. "Cookies are always nice, but I have to warn you about these from Blue Chip. I've been told that some doctors recommend heroin for withdrawal, at least from their white chocolate macadamia. These." We took little bites, and it was well that they were little. Vanessa had been excited by Ghirardelli, but these went to a new level of sensuality. I realized that our journey was not only to increasingly edgy levels of sexuality, but to increasingly edgy levels of chocolate. I wondered if my butterscotch and caramel fixation was the moral equivalent of bisexuality.

Virginia arrived and poured tea. It wasn't a Japanese tea ceremony, but formal enough to be appreciated. We inhaled the aroma. Vanessa closed her eyes, appreciating the fruity Oolong. I raised my cup in salute. "The peach aroma always reminds me about body parts that have the warmth and sweetness of peaches."

Georgia lightly touched Vanessa's hand. "Am I right that neither of you has much experience with what we call the leather scene, but you're especially interested? Victor is being cautious for your protection?"

She agreed. "I feel very safe with him. He has excellent judgment. I get the impression that his kink fantasies tend to be visual and enjoying me being provocative, not heavily submissive. I'm not sure how subbie I want to get."

Georgia's voice was soft. "Of course. You may want to watch other people first, and certainly talk. Obviously, wax appeals to you, and it can be a very gentle start if you pick low-temperature candles. We have those. In general, the softer the wax, the lower the temperature. Paraffin is good, and better when softened with mineral oil. Never try beeswax except in expert hands."

"The idea of being naughty excites both of us, Georgia. I actually was a Catholic schoolgirl, so when Victor mentioned the idea of rolling up my school skirt to mini length, changing into very high heels, but being spanked for showing off, I almost lost it right there. Other than playing that role, however, he likes to see me show off, sometimes more than I would dare on my own. I should mention that we do have an open relationship, and have found we don't have any sexual jealousy but actually enjoy seeing each other get stimulated." She hugged me. "I know he'll protect me with his life -- and vice versa."