The House of Pain Read Online Free PDF Page B

Toronto means the transit system is near-constantly under construction, and delays are inevitable. I don’t want to be late.
    Just before I leave, I make a quick call to my friend Amanda.
    “Hey,” I greet her. “I just need to tell you I’m going on a date, okay?” I give her Doug’s name, address and phone number. Just in case.
    “Internet date?” she asks.
    “Someone who works with me but I don’t know him at all.” I don’t reveal more than that; I’ve told none of my friends about the House of Pain.
    “And you are going to his house?” I sense the disapproval in her voice.
    “He seems fine, I’m just being cautious,” I mumble. And that’s the entire truth. Doug seems fine, normal; but he also wants to tie me up and beat me. It seems wise to let someone know my whereabouts.
    “Well, have fun,” she says, a certain amount of resignation in her voice. “I want to know all about the date next week, okay?” Amanda and I are in the same French class; I’ll see her tomorrow evening.
    ***
    It takes an insane amount of time to get to Doug’s. I read on the streetcar and try not to fidget in nervousness. My emotions are a strange mix of anticipation and fear. I read an entire page of my book, realize I don’t have any idea what it said, and give up the reading as a lost cause.
    Instead, I focus on the fear. I like being spanked, it isn’t the pain I’m afraid of.
    No, I’m afraid of the entanglement. Doing a show at the House of Pain is easy. I show up, do a show and go home. It puts my deep craving for pain and submission into a nice, tidy box. The rest of my life proceeds, unaffected. But having sex with Doug has all the potential of getting messy.
    I make a silent resolution. I’m going to do my best to keep Doug in that nice, tidy box. I’m about to start a new job in a couple of weeks. I’d like to move. I have hobbies and interests that keep me busy. I don’t need this to become complicated.
    ***
    I find my way to Doug’s place. It’s a nice house. Not too large, beautiful landscaped garden out front, a small front porch with an armchair on it. I’m quaking with nerves. I walk up, ring the doorbell.
    A dog starts barking inside the house. “Shut up, Alia,” Doug’s voice yells out. There’s a certain wry resignation to it. The door opens, I’m nearly bowled over by the golden retriever. She’s friendly; her tail wagging. Doug has his hands on her collar, trying to hold her back. My lips twitch. This is very different from the cool, controlled executive who had lunch with me the other day.
    “Come on in, Sara,” Doug gestures, still trying to keep Alia down. She’s threatening to bowl me over. I start to laugh, helplessly. Doug laughs with me.
    “Sorry, she’s a handful, and I indulge her shamelessly,” he says, looking at Alia ruefully. “Alia, down.”
    Alia finally listens, she settles down, tail wagging, in the hallway. I’m still laughing. I like this version of Doug much better. Doug follows me into the living room.
    I look around. Not what I would have expected. His house is warm and comfortable. The leather couches are clearly chosen for comfort; throws are scattered about on them. There’s a lot of warm tones; reds and oranges mixed in with the browns of the leather. The house looks lived-in. I settle myself on an armchair in one corner, perched on the tip of the chair.
    “Want a drink?” Doug asks me. “I have beer and wine, coffee and tea?”
    “Just water, please,” I say. Doug nods, disappears into the kitchen. When he comes out, he’s holding my water in one hand, a beer in another. He hands me my water, sprawls on a couch opposite me.
    Today, he’s dressed casually. He’s wearing a red t-shirt and faded shorts. His hair is damp; he smells faintly of soap and aftershave. He looks good enough to eat. 
    “Have you eaten lunch?” he asks politely. “Pizza should be here any instant.”
    “Pizza sounds great,” I say. I realize I’m starving.