Mike is a very talented author who has been following The
Bet avidly. Here he has put his own
twist on Chapter 1 of The Bet. But I’ll
let him tell you more in his own words.
- Karen
Hello.
My name is Mike. I find that a greeting is a nice way to start, don’t you? About
a decade ago I was a regular reader of Karen’s original sissy rules story site.
I am pretty sure I even commented on one of the message boards. Life moved on,
and so did I, and then about three months ago I found Karen’s blog and
immediately started to read everything. I read every post, starting with the
oldest. I absorbed the stories and then I finally reached the bet. It was
already about Chapter 48 or so when I found the story and I just couldn’t put
it down. Word after word after word. Eventually I caught up to the end and as
so many others I wanted more. I can’t wait for Tuesday’s and Friday’s now.
As
I read, ideas formed; things I would like to see. Humiliations I wondered if Chad would ever
endure. And I envisioned endings. I think most of the dedicated readers have
probably pondered how it would end. Will Chad win or lose and which one is
which? Well, I had my ideas and so I put them to paper and sent that first
story to Karen. I know, who the hell am I and how do I have the gall? As I told
Karen at the time, she’s given so much and I wanted to give something back. I
gave her an out, promising not to do anymore if she disapproved. Fortunately
for me, that story was well received.
Since
that time I’ve written a few more. Some are good, some not. I have pushed the
boundaries of Karen’s story I am sure, usurping the canon for my own benefit.
Each story I sent to Karen has been well received, or so I believe. I’m fortunate
to have this avenue for my own musings.
The
story below was my most recent and Karen was enamored enough to want to post
it. I’m flattered by that and consider it the highest praise I can receive from
her. I hope you dear and faithful readers of The Bet enjoy my offering. It was a gift to Karen, bribery for her
efforts if you will, and she kindly decided to share it with you. One day,
perhaps, I’ll pen another she likes as much.
Thank
you, Karen, for the work you do. It’s truly amazing.
Déjà Vu
A Sissy Chad Story
Is
the future fixed? That is the question I’ve asked myself for a number or years
now. The other question that keeps seems to haunt me is this: are people
psychic? For me, the two questions are interconnected in a way that I have not
been able to fully understand and I’ve spent hours trying to figure it out. I
used to think that time was a river and each of us was a leaf stuck in the
current. Can you picture it, that leaf? Imagine it as a young, green frond
floating in an icy current, racing towards some unknown destiny. Life, like
that river, has turbulent points as well as parts where the sailing is smooth
and serene. Picture that leaf turning colors with the seasons, aging if you
will. You start out green and young and slowly, as you age, your pigment dims
until finally at the end you’re withered and brown. Where does it end? Where
does that leaf stop? Your life ends when the leaf ceases to ride the currents
of that river. Now, however, I am not so sure that time is so fixed; I think
that maybe the currents in a flowing stream can be redirected. Now, I think,
the future isn’t set at all.
When
I was eleven I was walking home from school when it dawned on me that I had
forgotten my English book. I had homework to do and so I turned around to
retrieve what I’d forgotten. With my book in my backpack I began to make my way
home again. It was winter, I remember that much. Snow coated most of the
ground, sparkling in the cold day. It has always been a pretty sight to me, the
dead trees standing almost defiantly amid a blanket of pure emptiness.
Peaceful. The beauty was marred only by
ugly brown splotches where the snow had been shoveled and cast aside to clear a
path. I was walking home, along that shoveled lane, my now heavier backpack on
my shoulders when I heard a loud crash. I looked up and screamed.
Two
cars had collided and one driver had not been properly belted in. That person,
a young man I think and to this day I still can’t recall with any certainty if
it was a man, blood and cuts and scrapes prevented me from knowing for sure,
was collapsed out the broken windshield. Blood coated his face in a patina of
red. Pain marred the lacerated face; the man looked at me, unblinking and I
knew he wasn’t seeing me. He had died in that crash. It was the first time I’d
seen a dead body.
Lying
in bed that night I had the strangest thought. Was that man (or was it a woman)
dead because of me? Intellectually I know I wasn’t the cause of the accident,
but what if I hadn’t forgotten my English book? What if I had remembered it and
so I was ten minutes ahead of the accident when it occurred instead of standing
there able to see the eyes that weren’t able to see me in return? I couldn’t
shake the feeling that had I not been there, then the accident could never have
happened. I hate to admit it, but that night I cried feeling a wave of guilt
that hurt my heart.
I
think that was the first time I thought about the future. I didn’t imagine that
it could be changed. That came later.
Have
you ever had psychic flashes? I don’t mean true premonitions where you know
what lottery numbers are going to come up at the next weekly drawing forcing
you to rush out and buy a ticket, but tiny glimpses of the future? I have. My
dreams have foretold my future only I didn’t know it at the time. It’s an odd
sensation when you find yourself living some event and it dawns on you with a
calm clarity that everything that’s happening is something you’ve experienced
before in a dream. Countless times I’ve been doing something, and it can be as
mundane as getting my oil changed to something elaborate like having a party at
work with dozens of people singing “Happy Birthday”, when I’d stop in my tracks
and think “I’ve dreamt this.”
It’s
actually an eerie feeling when you have that sense of déjà vu wash over you and
you know that you are repeating history even if you were just now catching up
with that glimpsed future event and it wasn’t history you were repeating so
much as you had witnessed a future you hadn’t yet reached. The leaf in the
river finally caught up with the downstream dreams.
Interestingly
enough, every time I’ve stopped with the realization that I was repeating
something I’ve dreamt, as soon as I acknowledged aloud that I was reliving
something, then everything that follows changed. The future, my future, was
only written until I knew and revealed out loud that I had seen what was
coming. It had to be out loud; if I thought it, then the flowing river of time
remained fixed. I proved that before.
Once I knew and acknowledged the future, then the knowing ended and my future
changed. The question is this: did my future change? Remember, I am basing my
ability to see the future based only on a dream, not a reality, so I can’t say
with any degree of certainty that I changed my future but I swear that’s what
it feels like. After all, how can you change a future you’ve never lived
through?
I’d
dream, I’d foresee, I’d acknowledge and then I’d live in some new reality even
when I never actually lived inside that old one. This has happened to me more
than once. It’s happened often enough for me to truly believe I was glimpsing
my future in those dreams; it was more than coincidence. It was premonition.
And
that brings me to Melissa.
You
see, I dreamed of her, too. My whole life.
* * * * *
The
first time I met Melissa wasn’t the first time I met Melissa. I had seen her in
my dreams at least two dozen times. Of all the dreams I’ve had and realized to
be glimpses of what I thought was my future, she was the only person to ever
appear in more than one of them. Well, besides me, of course. I was always in
my dreams; Melissa was in a third of them. When the leaf of my life finally
caught up with the stream that was Melissa, I felt my breath catch in my
throat. It was her and I was rendered speechless.
The
first words she ever spoke to me were, “can I help you with that?”
My
breath was still caught; I could feel my heart race. I know her was my first
thought, my second was that she was a “nosy neighbor.” My real world and my
dream memories were colliding.
“Oh,
that’s okay. I can get it. Thanks anyway.” What else could I say? I couldn’t
really say, “Hello, Melissa, it’s finally nice to meet you. I’ve been dreaming
about you for years.” No, I couldn’t say that at all.
Her
voice was exactly as I’d heard it in my dreams. She grabbed two of the smaller
bags I was struggling with and in that moment another memory of my dream
flashed into my conscious mind. The bag I was carrying was going to rip and my
shameful secret would be revealed. It had happened in my dream and as long as I
didn’t speak aloud, it would happen again. And what could I say? Could I utter
the words that shattered my future in front of this stranger, this stranger who
I’ve been intimate with deep in the realm of slumber?
She
followed me into my apartment and I muttered an apology, “Um… As you can see,
the place isn’t quite presentable yet.” Another memory returned - a memory of a
place that months later hadn’t changed much. A cardboard dresser and a blow up
mattress were added and some childish artwork, my artwork, hung on the walls.
And the bet. Suddenly, vividly, I remembered the dream of the bet.
I
was staring at the bag I was carrying as it ripped as if I had been waiting for
it to happen. You see, I knew it was
going to happen. All of this, this meeting, this conversation, it wasn’t new to
me. I had dreamed about it and now I was living what had happened before. Was
this my past or my present or my future? At that moment I didn’t know when in
time I was; what was real? This, now? The dreams I was reliving felt more like
memories than dreams; they didn’t have that hazy, unreal quality to them like
dreams do upon waking. There wasn’t any sense of living in a fog. I was living
what I’d dreamt. There wasn’t any other way to describe it.
The
bag tore open and the contents spilled onto the floor. I stared, red-faced, as
an embarrassing assortment of items poured onto the ground. Dresses and skirts,
heels and bras, diapers and plastic panties all tumbled onto the cold tile. The
bottles when they hit echoed in my sparsely decorated home. My face was crimson
and my head hung in shame. It had happened exactly how I had dreamed it many
years ago. The only thing different was how I felt. In the dream I was elated,
my secret was revealed. Now, with the reality bearing down on me, I was
mortified.
“Yours?”
she asked. It was a decidedly silly question? Whose stuff would I be moving
into my new home?
My
throat seemed to close and I found I couldn’t speak. Twice now, in less than
five minutes, Melissa had rendered me mute. I dropped to my knees and pushed
everything together before covering them up with other bags I had moved in. I
could hear my pulse thrumming in my ears. My mouth was an arid desert. I
reached for the two bags Melissa had carried in hoping to use them to help
cover up the embarrassing spill.
“Thank
you,” I muttered. I tried to regain control of myself and the situation, “Now,
if you’ll please excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.”
She
blinked in surprise, recognizing the brush off for what it was, “Oh, of
course.” She held her hand out to me, “Oh, by the way, my name’s Melissa… Mel.”
I
stood, holding the two bags Mel had carried, momentarily surprised that she was
telling me her name. But, of course, she hadn’t dreamed about me. She couldn’t
know I already knew her name. It wasn’t until I heard her say it that I was
truly convinced I wasn’t dreaming now. “Chad,” I finally managed, looking
awkward and feeling uncomfortable. My home felt like an oven, oppressively warm
and stuffy all at once.
I
was shaking slightly when she finally left. I have never felt more confused
than I did at that moment. My dreams were coming true faster than they ever had
before. Every moment of the last few minutes I had lived before in the land of
slumber. I had known who she was before she uttered her name. I had known the
bag would tear open before it tore. Nothing that had happened had been new to
me and yet it was new. It hadn’t
happened but it had in my dreams. The two seemed interconnected now, both
realities coalescing into one and I was dizzy with trying to understand it.
I
spent a few hours sorting through the boxes and bags I had brought with me. My
hands were busy but my mind was scrambling, trying to come to terms with the
strength of my reality clashing with my dreams. I couldn’t reconcile the two. I
had had glimpses of the future revealed to me in dreams before but never with
such clarity. Every action, every word was identical to what I had dreamed
before.
I
looked around my new apartment. I knew I’d need to make getting furniture a
priority. The floor would be uncomfortable when I slept that night but could it
be any more uncomfortable than how I felt meeting Melissa for the first time?
Or was it the second? To her it was the first but to me it was, well, I didn’t
know what it was. The fragility of time washed over me, filling my mind with
confusion.
I
sat on the floor and thought of Melissa. The bet. What was it about the bet
that had popped into my mind during that disastrous moment when my secrets
spilled onto the floor? She and I made a bet about something. Did I win? Did
she? I couldn’t remember. Did I even dream that outcome or had that outcome not
been written in the current of time. My head began to hurt. What was the bet?
Somehow it seemed important but I couldn’t figure out why. It was an anomia,
stuck in my mind but not readily recalled.
I
was still pondering what I couldn’t recall when I heard a soft rapping on my
door. Have you ever tried that, thinking about what you can’t remember? It’s a
thoroughly frustrating endeavor and I was happy for the distraction of the door
even though I was certain it wasn’t for me. A thought flashed into my mind, a
glimpse of a dream. It was, indeed, for me. “Just great!” I thought when I
realized the door was Melissa again. I just couldn’t tell if I knew it was Mel
when I opened the door of before.
“Hi
neighbor,” she called out with a cheery voice. She sounded happy. “I brought
you a house warming gift. I kind of thought you could probably use some about
now.” She was holding up a six pack of beer.
I
realized she was being nice and that it was a peace offering of sorts. Or maybe
it was an apology for witnessing my embarrassment. “Uh, I don’t really drink,”
I said apologetically.
Her
eyes went wide, “not at all?”
“Well,
not usually.”
“How
about to be nice?” She was still smiling, exactly as she had in his dreams when
they had had this conversation the first time.
We
chatted briefly as we drank her icy beer. “To being neighbors,” she toasted me,
again. Or was it the first time? My mind was hazy and adding half a beer didn’t
seem to help. I felt a little light headed after just half a beer and my mind
was still trying to wrap itself around the duality of my reality mingling with
my dreams, of the past vision mixing with my life now. My head spun.
I
knew it was coming. I didn’t even need to have the earlier dreams to warn me.
“So, all that stuff was yours?” I knew she was going to ask when I had opened
the door to see her standing there holding the six-pack we were drinking aloft.
My
face was burning when I replied, exactly as I had in my dreams, “Yeah.”
“So
you’re into all that kind of thing then – I mean the women’s clothes and
things?”
“Yeah.”
I was a genius with my one word, guttural responses. What else could I say? There
not mine? Hadn’t I heard that lie uttered in countless television comedies? It
was not something I wanted to discuss and yet, here we were doing exactly that.
“How
about the diapers and bottles I saw? Those too?”
As
I had when this was nothing but a movie to be witnessed as I slept, I nodded.
My mouth was dry and a sip of beer didn’t seem to help. I had to change the
subject, didn’t I? But if I did, what about the bet? The bet seemed important but that memory
wasn’t revealed to me. My head continued to spin, how could a memory be
something that had not happened yet? It defied logic but I was stuck in that
confusing loop.
That
was the first time I wondered if I could change the future but not just change
it, control the change. I knew if I uttered the magic words, “I dreamt this,”
then everything that followed would be different but I’d have no knowledge of
that future. History had proven that. Could I steer the future if I didn’t
utter the words? I didn’t know and I also didn’t know exactly where I wanted to
steer the future to, my mind was still too hazy. I just knew I wanted to change
the subject and I wanted to very, very quickly.
We
went to dinner and I was happy that nothing was mentioned of the dresses and
diapers. I wanted to keep that subject off the table. Dinner was enjoyable and
I was feeling more at ease with Melissa as the meal progressed. I learned a bit
about her, mostly that I liked her in person every bit as much as I did in my
dream-state.
Returning
home, Melissa invited me into her home. We sat down at her dining room table
and after fetching the beers we had left in my place, we began to chat. Two
beers later Melissa broached the subject again. Why couldn’t she just drop it?
I knew the answer, of course. It had already happened, hadn’t it? Yes, until I
uttered the magic words, the stage was set, the actors in their place, and the
word “action” shouted by some unseen director, Fate in her three forms,
perhaps. All of this was happening exactly as I had foreseen in my dreams.
“So,
tell me about it.”
“About
what?” As if I didn’t know. She’d been anxious to get back to this conversation
all night.
“You
know,” she said, reading my mind, “the stuff I saw.”
“Ugh.
I’d rather not.” But I would unless I changed it. I wasn’t ready to, not yet.
The bet popped into my mind. My conscious mind hadn’t unlocked the significance
of that just yet and I sensed it was important. It was on the tip of my tongue
and I needed that memory to make up my mind.
“Come
on. I’m the pushy type – if you haven’t figured that out by now. I’m going to
keep pestering you till I find out anyway.”
Or
until I change my future, I thought. She tried to make it sound like I didn’t
have a choice but she was wrong. My future could still be altered. I was
certain of that. I took a pull of the beer. It was a little warmer than it had
been at first and it didn’t taste all that fresh now. The beer, like my hazy
memory, wasn’t crisp. My mind seemed dulled. Was that the alcohol or my mind
trying to cope with my dream world and current world colliding. I wasn’t sure.
“Geez!” I snapped, I didn’t mean to, but I did. “What do you want to know? I
like it. Okay? It’s complicated, damn it!”
“Okay,
okay. You don’t have to swear. I’m just asking that’s all.” She didn’t sound
defensive. She sounded triumphant.
“Yeah,
sorry. Look it’s not something I’m used to talking about you know.” Yet, here
we were talking about it and for me it was the second time we’ve had this
conversation. My head hurt.
“Yeah,
I’m sorry, too.” She waited a few minutes watching me. I could feel her eyes on
me, studying me. She was going to ask about the diapers and bottles next. It
had happened before as I slept. None of this was new to me. “And the baby
stuff.”
I
was calmer now; I had seen this coming or was it that I had witnessed it
happening before. Ugh, my head was spinning. “Yeah, I like that, too.”
“So…
do you wear the diapers and wet them, too?”
My
memory seemed to sharpen a bit. I would admit to wearing them and then she’d
ask me to tell her about it and, and what? Something. Something big. The bet.
It was the start of the bet. “Yeah, sometimes,” I said. I’d said it before.
“Tell
me about it.” Exactly as predicted. Though, is it a prediction if it’s a
replay? I remembered an old comic; I think it might have been an old Archie
where one character bet another that a football player wouldn’t be tackled
during a play. That character had lost the bet. He was offered a way out when
it was revealed that the game was a replay and the outcome was already known.
The character making the bet, maybe it was Jughead said he knew, he’d seen the
game as well but didn’t think the player would make the same dumb mistake. That
past couldn’t be changed, but could the future?
I
felt run down with all the circles spinning in my mind. “What can I say? It’s
another little quirk of mine.” I paused, staring at my bottle of beer. This was
it, right? The start of the bet. How did the bet end? Was that important? I
seemed to sense it was, but at that moment it was still a hazy shape in the
distance that couldn’t be fully made out. “I have this… friend… on-line, who
whenever my wife was away for a while, would give me some… let’s say
‘assignments’ involving the diapers and dressing and stuff. They were fun.
Exciting.” I kept pausing as I remembered the past, which is way easier than
remembering the future, a fact I was growing to understand fully. I looked at
Melissa, at my beer and back to her again, “I have this crazy fantasy where I’m
forced to wear diapers so much that I actually become incontinent from it –
like a baby. In fact,” I could feel the heat in my cheeks. I was blushing. Did
I blush in my dreams? “The whole baby thing gets me off, too. The last time it
went on for almost a month. It was great.” My voice trailed off.
Melissa
watched me, waiting for me to continue but I didn’t know what else to say. “So,
did you actually become incontinent?”
“No,
not even close. I did almost wet the bed one night afterward, but that’s as
close as it got. It couldn’t really happen, though. It’s just a dream.” A dream
in a dream in a dream. Now my head was really spinning. Was I dreaming now? Can
one dream of being asleep and then, if so, can one dream in a dream. Was now
real or was this just another dream that would come to me like déjà vu in some
distance place and time and if so, would that dream be shattered by uttering
the words “I dreamt this?” I have never
felt more confused. I felt like I was a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. It
felt as if I was an incomplete picture with holes covering the important parts.
“Well,
it was only a month.”
“I
don’t think it matters how much time, it’s like I have this switch in me that
turns it on and off.” But was that true? Did time matter? I felt like I was in
some weird time loop right now with my past, present and future leap-frogging
over each other in some odd dance for dominance.
“I
could make you do it. If I wanted to, I could make you incontinent – just like
a baby.”
She
was crazy, or at least that’s what my look told her. I laughed at her, just
like I had in my dream. Or was this the dream? Can you duplicate dreams? I
didn’t think so or Olivia Wilde would have taken up permanent residence in my
nocturnal, sleep induced visions. I shook my head, “No, it’s impossible. I know
myself too well. Besides, it would probably take someone who was here with me
all the time to ride me unmercifully – and do it for months on end. Even then,
I seriously doubt it could happen.” Now, where had I heard those words before?
Of course, I’d uttered them myself.
I
knew it was coming and I loved the sound of it. Melissa laughed, “You don’t
know me very well. I could do it! If I wanted to, I could make you do anything
I want, and there’s nothing you’d be able to do about it. I could turn you into
such a baby that you’d never be able to go without your diapers again. You’d be
sucking your thumb and crying for your bottle all the time.”
She
was wrong, though. I did know her. More and more of my dreams were returning.
The things she’d do to me and the embarrassment she’d cause. My cheeks burned
with the memory of things I’ve not yet done. God, my head was throbbing with
the circular thoughts I found traipsing around my mind.
I
knew her very, very well. More memories came to me and with them, feelings. I
love her. Where did that come from? I just met her and yet I love her? That
didn’t seem right yet as I tried to analyze it, the reality of it solidified;
it was true. I couldn’t utter my magic phrase just yet, I had to see what
happened, I couldn’t break the feelings that were assaulting me. “Couldn’t
happen. I know myself too well.” I was stalling now, not wanting to lose the
joy that was enveloping me. I love her.
Yes
I could, she’d say next.
“Yes,
I could!” She declared triumphantly. I laughed with her, both of us for
entirely different reasons. I denied her claim, she repeated it. I called her
on it; she took it as a challenge. We bantered back and forth with me looking
at her with a rising feeling of love. I knew her and what she’d do and I knew
where it would lead.
“Bet
I could!” she shouted.
The
bet, of course, how could I forget it? Then again, it hadn’t happened yet. Can
you forget the future? “Impossible! No you can’t!”
“Bet
I could!” She repeated her assertion even louder than before.
And
she could, I remembered that now, too. Still, my words weren’t mine to choose;
they’d already happened, hadn’t they? “It can’t be done!”
We
seemed locked in battle and in a way we were but not in how she saw it. She saw
it as a battle between herself and me and even she described herself as pushy.
I saw it how it really was; we were engaged in battle between what has happened
and what was yet to come. The only true moment was the current one; the rest
was opaque. But was it malleable?
“What
do you want to bet?” Her voice grew serious.
“Bet?
I don’t know. It can’t be done.”
Furniture,
she’s going to offer to furnish my apartment and in exchange I’d become her
slave for a year. I’d be her maid, her personal servant, her anything she
wanted me to be. That was to be the nature of the bet. I sat back in her chair,
nursing a beer that was entirely too warm. The bet, that was what started it. I
would take the bet and I’d fall in love with her. There was more, another tickle
of memory that was still eluding me. I had to know what it was; did she love me
back? That was one thing my dreams hadn’t revealed, had they? I took another
sip, not because I liked the beer but because my mouth was dry.
I
felt a tickle in the back of my throat as she said, “tell you what, if I can’t
do it, I’ll furnish your entire apartment with everything and anything you
like!”
Exactly
as predicted, or was that happened? God, my head was spinning. “Anything? All
the furniture?” I was stalling.
Anything,
she’d say. “Anything,” she said.
“That
would be awfully expensive.” Even as I said it another memory returned, she was
wealthy and could easily afford it. She would have a new home made when I lost
the bet and then I’d be her maid there as she entertained. Another memory
stirred - a painful one. Derek. My friend would stop being my friend; Derek
would beat me if he took the bet.
“It’s
okay. I’m a lawyer. I can afford it.” But I knew that, didn’t I? Of course.
She’d told me that before in an earlier time while I’d slumbered.
Stalling
as more memories formed, I choked out, “I can’t match that. I’m getting
divorced. I don’t have that much.” I had Mel, which was enough, flashed behind
my eyes. But I didn’t have her and I never would. More memories solidified in
my mind. The memory formed of Mel taking me to play poker with Ray and Derek
and Mel dating Derek and them growing closer with each date. The memory of Mel
choosing Derek over me and the agony that caused me. The memory of nearly being
molested and Melissa ignoring that so she could have sex with Derek made me
frown. If I took the bet all of that would happen again. Was it again?
I
could change it if I uttered my magic words but how would it change? Could I
direct the change?
“Okay
then, how about this, if I do manage to do it… and I have no doubt I will…”
“Ha!”
I interrupted as scribed by Fate.
“Then
you’ll furnish and decorate your own apartment however I want you to. And…
you’ll continue in service to me for an entire year – doing anything I tell you
to. Agreed?”
But
I wanted her for more than a year. I wanted her forever. I was in love with
her; I didn’t have to remember that - I felt it. I could feel my heart aching
for her as we sat in her dining room discussing a bet that we’ve already made
only she hadn’t lived it yet. I loved her for what she made me do. I loved her
for how she made me feel and I wanted nothing else but to feel her love in
return. If we made the bet, as history had it currently written, I’d lose her
to Derek. But, in her time, she hasn’t met Derek yet. How could she choose him
over me if she never meets him? Could I prevent that introduction? I couldn’t
unless I uttered my magic words but if I did that, how could she ever fall in
love with me?
I
could feel my eyes tearing up with the strength of my headache. “That’s crazy!” I continued to stall, “You
know, of course, that you’re just offering to buy me all new furniture. And I
have expensive tastes.”
“No
I’m not,” she countered, “I’m getting myself a personal servant for the next
year, and one who won’t even need bathroom breaks.” She laughed at the thought.
My
thoughts were less jovial. If I took the bet, it would continue as I had
dreamed. I’d get every fetish I’d ever had thrust upon me with no way out. A
personal heaven if I were to be perfectly honest with myself. I’d feel shame and humiliation and pain and
hopelessness and despair. I’d be despondent and angry and hurt. Thoughts of
suicide would dance in my mind and through it all, I’d fall deeper and deeper
in love with a woman who would reject me for a person I’d once called a friend.
But, if I didn’t take the bet, we’d never interact at all.
In
my mind I could see all the things she’d have me do. I pictured her neighbor
Cassie and Sandy who I could pick out of a line up though I’d not meet them for
a full week and the humiliating, infantile things Sandy would have me do. I remembered the yet
to happen diaper changes Cassie would kindly do for me. I’d miss out on Gloria’s relaxation sessions.
I’d miss out on Robin making work a living hell even though secretly I would
love every second of it.
I’d
lose so much if I just ignored Melissa and let the thoughts of the bet fade
away. Yet, if I took it, I lost her, too. Was life always so cruel that you’d
always find yourself in a no-win situation? How could I keep Melissa and not
let her meet Derek? Should I take the bet and utter my magic phrase right
before our scheduled poker game? Would it be too late by then? Oh, and the date
with Derek. Why were Melissa and Robin always trying to set me up with men? Why
were my limits never discussed about that? How could I accept doing anything
when anything wasn’t honest?
How
could I have Melissa and my fantasy life all at once?
“That’s
crazy,” I said, oblivious to what Melissa was thinking, so caught up in
reconciling what has happened with what would. I wanted Melissa, how can I make
that happen? “It can’t happen,” I said at last, despair evident in my voice.
Misunderstanding
my confusion Melissa exclaimed merrily, “Bet it can!”
“No,
it can’t.” My thoughts were back on how I could win the woman I was already in
love with. I needed her; it was something that I couldn’t deny.
“Bet?”
There
it was, the final nail in the coffin. Our discussion came down to this. Yes, I’d
take the bet and I’d lose her. No, I’d not take the bet and I’d lose her. The
third option was to utter my magic phrase and the future would be rewritten but
I had no way to know how it would be done? Would we end up together or would I
end up miserably watching her relationship with Derek grow in the way I needed
it to grow with me? Was there a fourth option?
An
idea began to form. I had no idea where we’d wind up but it seemed that of the
three known avenues, none of them wound up with me happy. Maybe I could have
everything. Just maybe. The thoughts in my head were muddy but I was certain I
was on the right path, “I have a better idea.”
Melissa
raised her eyebrow, “Oh, you don’t want to be my personal servant?”
“Actually,”
I began, setting my beer bottle on the table. My hand was shaking so much that
the bottle rattled noisily against the glass tabletop, “that’s not it at all.”
I dropped to my knees to kneel at Melissa’s feet. It felt right, almost like a
homecoming, but I’d been there before in my dreams countless times, “I propose
that you already won the bet. I offer
myself to you fully, as your servant to do with me as you see fit. You wanted a
servant that doesn’t need bathroom breaks, you have one. You want me to
decorate my apartment as you see fit, make it so. I offer myself to you fully,
Mistress.” I spoke the word and felt relief wash over me. “I offer myself as
your servant, as your slave, as your baby, as your sissy; however you want me,
I am yours.”
Melissa’s
eyes went wide. I could tell what she was thinking. It had all been a fun
diversion for her, she didn’t think I’d take the bet and she definitely didn’t
think I’d concede before the bet had even started. “There will be no backing
out,” she stated firmly, “you’re mine for a year. You do understand that,
right?”
She
didn’t understand, “No, Mistress,” I corrected her, “I’m yours until you
release me, no time limit. I want to be yours forever.” I almost told her I loved her but it was too
early for that. She’d never meet Derek this way; I knew that, though I couldn’t
exactly voice how I knew it. I still didn’t know if she and I would be together
forever the way I needed but I knew in my heart that by this one action, by
giving myself to her fully now, the we’d never make that humiliating poker game
and she’d never bet on a hand with herself as the prize. She’d never meet
Derek. I had fixed that at least.
I
looked up at her as she stared down at me. Both of us were waiting for the
other to cave first. She thought I was joking and was waiting for me to stand
up and tell her I was kidding. I was waiting for her to tell me to get up and
to stop being silly. I needed her to accept; I prayed she would.
She
stared at me and then she grinned. Her beautiful face lit up when she smiled,
“get up and take me to your apartment. We have work to do.”
“Yes,
Mistress,” I said, climbing to my feet to lead the woman I loved into my new
life.
My
dreams that night were new. I dreamed of a wedding.
My
wedding. Our wedding.
I
never uttered the words, “I dreamt this,” again.
