Under Control: A BDSM Love Story

Not surprisingly, it was extremely hard to see my best friends leave again for God only knows how long. After being nearly crushed to death in Charlotte’s arms again and being nagged by Anthony to keep in touch some more, they went to LAX to catch their flight to Florida for a life-escaping vacation. Why couldn’t they understand my idea of a life-escaping vacation?

As for me, it was work as usual, avoidance of as many people as possible, and then the mandated group therapy. Lord, strike me down now, I prayed. Nothing happened.



In spite of how normal everything seemed that day, however, it was anything but. When I showed up to therapy, I noticed something different. There was one more person in the group.

When everyone was seated, Dr. Martin wasted no time in getting things started. “Folks, I’d like to point your attention to our newest member,” he said, motioning to the man sitting next to him. Then, to the person he said, “Would you like to introduce yourself to everyone?”

Without another word, the new man stood up and eyed everyone in turn. “Hello. My name is Hector.” And with that, he sat back down.

For a moment everyone remained silent. Finally, Dr. Martin cleared his throat. “Uh, nice to meet you, Hector.”

Hector did not respond.

“Would you like to share with us?” Dr. Martin added.

Hector slowly turned his head until he was staring straight at Dr. Martin. “No, I don’t believe I would.”

Dr. Martin gave everyone a nervous smile. “Excuse us for just a moment, folks.” He stood up and walked into a far corner of the room. After a while, Hector stood up and followed.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t watching that man the entire time. It wasn’t so much how he looked, though he was attractive in a stern way. No, it was the way he carried himself. Like he did everything with such intent. I suppose this is what people would call “confidence”, and if that’s the case, he had it in excess. I would also be lying if I said I wasn’t intimidated by him.

I could barely make out what Dr. Martin was saying, but it was angry. I could hear things like, “Why are you even here?” and, “I won’t be made to look like a fool in front of my patients,” and so on. Little did he know how much of a fool he looked at that moment.

Finally after a while they seemed to come to some sort of understanding and they both came back and sat down, Dr. Martin a bit more frazzled than usual.

“Well, are we all ready for our activity today?” he said.

Nobody was enthusiastic about it. The small hypochondriac Jewish woman said, “As long as I don’t have to touch anyone. I think I have a cold.” The teenaged boy with OCD took out his hand sanitizer and applied it to his hands three times in a row.

“Today we will each pick a partner, take turns sharing a certain insecurity, and then take turns refuting those insecurities with positive reinforcement and compliments.” A few groans of displeasure here and there. I could see the bulimic Jenny eyeing me but I avoided her gaze by looking down at my hands. “Are we all ready?” asked Dr. Martin. He looked at his watch. “You have one hour. Go.”

I did not get up, nor did anyone else right away. The kleptomaniac stood up first and walked over to whoever he thought was the richest, I guessed. This made everyone else more at ease with getting up, and everyone paired off. Jenny was about to come up to me when Dr. Martin stopped her and asked to talk to her, taking her into the far corner of the room where he had spoken with the new man.

The new man did not stand up either. I figured that at least I wasn’t the only one who would be lectured for not participating. I immediately set to looking busy by messing around with my cell phone as though I was text messaging someone. In reality I couldn’t send or receive texts, nor did I have anyone to send them too. I had sunk to a new low.

It did surprise me when, after about ten minutes of this, I sensed motion out of the corner of my eye. I looked away from my phone and was startled to see Hector standing in front of me, staring down at me in my seat. My heart nearly leapt out of my throat.

“I see that you don’t have a partner,” he said casually, as though we had already been in the middle of a conversation.

I was at a loss for words, but I pulled out whatever was there in my brain at the moment. “I was talking to a friend. She’s on vacation.”

“Ah,” he said, his stare unrelenting. “If you’re busy I can just sit this one out.”

Ever the blithering idiot, I was unable to formulate a complete sentence, so I just went with, “Uh, not busy. I’m free.” I slipped my cell phone back into my purse.

Hector sat in the chair next to me. Something about his posture reflected just what kind of person he was; he sat straight up attentively, almost like a wolf who has locked onto his prey. His eyes were a lovely shade of hazel, though they seemed a bit cold and distant -- not much different from the other people in the group. His dark hair was slicked back and he was dressed in a nice button-up shirt and slacks. Everything about him suggested he was not a casual or relaxed person. We remained silent for a moment as I studied him. Then he turned to face me.

“You seem normal. What are you in here for?”

I wasn’t sure if this was a serious question or not, so I said, “I don’t know. I guess people have to get rid of me somehow.”

He didn’t say anything to that, so I added, “How about you?”

“I like to hear what others have to say,” he said without much passion at all in his voice. “People can be so interesting.”

“Are you one of those people who watch Jerry Springer?” I asked jokingly with a raised eyebrow.

“No, are you?” he responded.

“No,” I said, weirded out by his complete lack of any sort of reaction to my joke.

“So you’re in here because you either tried to kill yourself or someone else. Which is it?”

I was so completely taken aback by this, I couldn’t even say anything for a long while. I simply sat there with my mouth open, all sorts of uncomfortable emotions running through me. I don’t know what it was about this man that made me want to tell him, but at last I said, “The first one.”

He nodded once, not looking directly at me. “I thought that might have been it.”

“Why do you ask?” I said very quietly, almost shaken up by his question.

“No particular reason,” he answered. “Does that make you feel insecure?”

“A little,” I stammered, though I wasn’t entirely sure why I was admitting all this to him, a complete stranger.

“You don’t have to worry about it,” he said, his strangely beautiful eyes settling onto me. “I won’t tell anyone else. I was just curious about it.”

“Everyone here already knows anyway,” I said dazedly. It was like he had hypnotized me or something.

“Well, now one of your insecurities is settled. I’ve done my part. Now it’s your turn.”

I gave him a questioning look.

“The assignment for today was to find out someone’s insecurity and refute it. Ask me a question.”

I couldn’t decide whether the fact that he could lead a conversation this way was attractive or creepy, so I left it in the air. Instead I said, “Is your name really Hector?”

“Yes it is,” he said, a hint of a smirk on his face.

“And do you like your name?” I pressed.

“It’s fine enough.”

“You’ve never thought of your name as strange?”

“Not really. Have you ever thought of yours as strange?” he shot back.

“This isn’t supposed to be about me now, it’s about you,” I scolded, not liking the way he was manipulating everything.

“Forgive me, I just wanted to know a bit more about you.”

I relented. “Well, if you must know, I do find my name strange. There aren’t many people my age with the name Delilah.”

“You’re fortunate,” he said. “Too many women have the same name these days. Rejoice in your uniqueness.”

“You could say the same for yourself,” I replied, trying not to blush and failing miserably. “You’re the first Hector I’ve met.”

“It means ‘to possess’. In Greek mythology, Hector was a great Trojan warrior, killed by Achilles himself. It’s a proud name.” He slowly turned his head to look at me and said, “Would you like to know what your name means?”

“Delilah was that woman in the Bible, the one who cut her lover’s hair, right? So that he would be powerless?”

“Your name means ‘delicate and weak’. Like a flower.”

“The Delilah in the Bible was a bitch,” I said, suddenly hating my name more than ever. I didn’t know what had come over me. Maybe it was the fact nobody had really brought up the source of my name before, or maybe it was the fact that this strange man seemed to care so much about it. Either way, it had made me say more than a few words to a complete stranger, which is rare. Something about him made me want to open up. It was scary.

“Perhaps she was just misunderstood,” he said. “So many people are, you know.”

I couldn’t really respond to that, so I changed the subject. “Are you even insecure about anything? You seem like such a collected person.”

“Oh, looks can be deceiving. Everyone has their vices.”

“Well I doubt I’ll ever guess what yours is,” I said, raising my eyebrow.

“That’s alright. I don’t think you could understand mine anyhow.”

“And does that… make you feel insecure?” I asked with a sly grin.

“Somewhat,” he replied.

“Don’t worry, it’s not my job to understand. You only need to understand yourself.”

This seemed to satisfy him as far as refuting that insecurity went, and he murmured, “Good answer.”

We both remained silent for a while, looking at the pairs of people crying and comforting each other. Doing the exercise the right way. And here I was, slacking off with this strange man. Suddenly I didn’t mind this therapy group so much anymore.

“Delilah,” he said out of nowhere.

Startled, I said, “Call me Dee.”

“I like your real name better.”

“I don’t,” I insisted.

“I do,” he said with finality, and I didn’t argue further. I’m not a very argumentative person. Then after a moment he said, “I’d like to go somewhere with you.”

“Where?” I said, confused.

“Maybe to a coffee shop. I know a nice place around the corner, we can go there after this is over.”

“I suppose that would be fine,” I said, though what I really meant was yes please.

“Good,” he said, a pleased look on his face.

We sat through the rest of the session in silence, knowing we could speak so much more freely outside of this stifling environment.



“So your employer is making you go to those ridiculous therapy sessions?” Hector asked, then took a sip of his coffee. He drank it straight, no cream, no sugar.

“It’s costing the company less money to pay for that than to train a new person for my job,” I admitted, feeling a distinct lack of self-worth. I idly stirred my iced coffee with the straw.

“Well I’m sure there are other reasons,” he said, looking into my eyes. “I’m sure you are an invaluable part of their company, and there is no way anyone else could sufficiently replace you. That’s why they’re going through all the trouble.”

I chuckled wryly. “Or maybe they’re just cheap and lazy.”

“You never know,” he said, sipping at his coffee again.

“Let me ask you something,” I said, crossing my legs. “And this is purely out of curiosity.”

“Mm,” he said, looking at me intently.

“Have you ever felt… like everything, absolutely everything in the world, was pointless? Like there’s no reason for you to even be around, because nothing even makes sense anymore?”

Hector raised his eyebrows. “That’s quite a question.”

“It’s been bothering me for some time,” I confessed.

“Is this how you feel everyday?” he asked, seeming almost devastated by the thought.

“Pretty much,” I said.

“That is unacceptable,” he said, lightly pounding his fist on the table. “I don’t feel that way, and neither should you. You know why?”

“Why?” I said, trying not to laugh.

“Because you do have a reason for living. If for nothing else, then at least for this moment, right here, right now.”

“You really think so?” I said, astounded by the idea.

“Of course. I think you’re looking too hard at the details of life’s big picture. You need to change your perspective, you know?”

I nodded, realizing I had never thought of it that way before.

“Everything has meaning, as long as you want it to,” he concluded. “Take us for example. To us this is a casual outing. We’re getting to know one another. But for passers-by, it might look like we’re good friends, or even lovers. It’s all about perception and the meaning we give things.”

“That’s deep,” I said, and let out a small chuckle. “What do you do for a living, exactly?”

“Well actually, it’s kind of funny,” he said, taking a deep drink of his coffee.

“Oh?” I said, waiting for his answer.

“I’m a psychologist, if you can believe that.”

I nearly choked on my coffee when he said that, and it took me a full minute to recover. He even patted my back to help things along, and eventually I could breathe again. When I could finally speak, I said, “You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all,” he said, sliding my coffee out of reach, and I guessed it was out of fear of me causing another scene.

“I don’t understand,” I said, coming to grips with the concept.

“Why not?”

“For one, why would you be in group therapy if you’re a psychologist?” I was incredulous, and it was obvious. Not sounding like an idiot at this point was completely out of the question.

“I told you already, I like hearing what people have to say. Besides, even psychologists have issues.”

“Like what? What issues could you possibly have? You’re so… normal,” I reasoned, wondering exactly how deceiving looks really are.

“Dear,” he said, leaning forward and giving me an intense gaze. “You haven’t known me long. Stick around, and you might just find out how strange I am.”

I swallowed a lump in my throat and, rather unsuccessfully, forced myself to laugh. I decided changing the subject might be a good game plan. “So, um… why did you decide to become a psychologist?”

“Ever since I can remember I was interested in how the human mind worked. I wanted to know what made people tick. Wanted to know why some people could be so kind one moment and then turn evil the next. I figured becoming a psychologist was a good way to start.”

“Ah,” I said, reaching over for my coffee, which he pulled away again. “So now you can listen to people for a living. Assuming you have your own practice.”

He nodded. “In the valley.”

“And you came all the way out here for therapy?” I said. “Why?”

He shrugged. “People in the city are different. Plus I wanted to call that idiot Dr. Martin out on his bullshit. He’s no doctor at all.”

“I figured,” I said, looking down. “So, doesn’t your job get boring? I mean, you probably get a lot of boring people like me on the leather couch.”

“What makes you think you’re boring?” He said. I had no answer. “Besides, I like helping people. If you can believe that.”

“What makes you think I don’t believe you?” I countered, looking him in the eye.

“You seem like someone who is difficult to convince,” he said, sliding my coffee back into my reach. “I hope you won’t nearly die every time I tell you something you don’t know.”

I took a sip, and after a moment of reflection I said, “I’ll do my best not to.”