Hooters

A rueful smile formed on my lips as I looked out the window of the hotel room. Across the parking lot blinked the orange neon sign with its familiar owl emblem.

I sent the message: You’re taking me to Hooters for our first date?

She messaged back: Yes.

I wasn’t surprised. Gwen is aware of my issues. She is my domme, after all.

We have a different kind of dynamic. I don’t expect anyone to understand it. It's none of their business. She told me where to be and when to be there. I went. I don’t question her. If I did, she wouldn’t answer. Some things in life just are.

I showered, brushed my hair, and dressed. The outfit I had brought to wear - the short, low-cut dress that had seemed right when I tried it on at home - was all wrong. I studied myself in the mirror, hating what I saw.

My heart began beating erratically and the familiar pangs of an anxiety attack set in. I sipped a minibar brandy from the tiny bottle, willing my heart to slow down. The thought of leaving the room was terrifying. And exhilarating. I couldn't stop thinking about it.

Minutes ticked by.

An hour.

I messaged her: I’m scared. Come get me.

She responded instantly: Where?

Room 215.

The knock on the door came way too fast. I opened it and saw her face-to-face for the first time. I let her in.

She was angry. I knew she would be. "It was stupid to invite me to your room," she said. "Dangerous. I could be anyone."

"I couldn’t meet in an open place," I said. "I needed to be in a smaller space."

She sighed and handed me a gift bag.

"You brought me a present?"

"Yes."

We sat on the bed and I opened the bag. It contained a few small, inexpensive items, mostly related to inside jokes we had shared in the weeks of online flirting that had led to this night. The gifts made me smile. I started to relax.

There was also a belt. I unrolled it. Black leather. Thick. "You won't be keeping that," she said. I rolled it back up and set it aside.

We sat on the bed and talked. I relaxed and conversation began to flow easily. I asked if she really planned to take me to Hooters. She smiled. "It had crossed my mind."

An hour later I returned from the bathroom to find the TV no longer tuned to the music channel I had put on. The room was silent.

She stood next to the bed holding the leather belt.

Calm washed over me. "Tell me what to do."

Later, she told me she hadn't expected me to be so sweet, so docile. She had expected the bratty smart-ass I sometimes played in our online discussions.

I couldn’t reply. My head was a bit scrambled and foggy.

The truth is, my internal faucets weren’t connected right when they were installed. They are faulty. Warmth leaves me cold; coldness makes me warm.

I was safe with her, just as I knew I would be. She understood.

I started to dress. "No bra," she said. "And leave your panties here. You won't need those at Hooters."

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