Snippet from 'The Glass Oubliette'

Part One - The Awakening

“You broke up with your boy friend. So many girls have. Yet they have not responded to my ad.”

I listen intently to the soothing voice. First impressions are amazing prognosticators of attitude and relationships. I am not through the first half of my latte and know that had this meeting been a first date when Conrad was younger, I’d be recklessly crawling into his bed before the promised expensive dinner. Still, though at an age approaching fifty, the menace of the years has been more than kind to him. Conrad is polished, athletically slim, distinguished with an occasional word hinting of his German accent, hair graying at the temples. At my age he is a father figure... and what naughty girl has not fantasized over some incestuous encounter with a paternal incubus.   

“I found it appealing,” I reply most evasively, fighting the urge to be more candid.

“There will be no opportunity to change your mind, Marissa. I must so emphasize. The ad specifies generous compensation and a girl of your intellect can readily surmise why. You will join me at my castle and castles were built to ward off invading gothic tribes. Remote and inaccessible in the French Alps, the location is difficult to reach even in an era of modern equipment. In winter, it is impossible to come or go on foot. We use treaded vehicles... snow cats... and dare to do so only in good weather. The snow is incessant with the mountains shifting the prevailing winds upwards where warm moist air instantly cools to bring a steady accumulation of freezing white.

“Do you ski, Marissa?” the question seemingly spurred by an impromptu thought.

“No.”

My response brings a sly smile, evidencing his spontaneity was somewhat of a ruse.

“Such a shame. The skiing is superb... for the expert. Other than the snow cats, it’s the only form of transportation. So, you see, once in the castle, second thoughts will bring futility.”

Yes, there is a definite Teutonic inflection in enunciating ‘futility’. In pausing, Conrad strangely seems to relish using the word... or the fact that I cannot ski.

I sip in thought, reflecting on the advertisement in the Village Voice. Known for avant garde classifieds, it is a publication where many disgruntled working girls fantasize in seeking heartening words of solace... ‘handsome and rich bachelor desires ordinary working girl to shower with gifts, travel, money and affection’.     

Conrad’s ad did not say that of course. It was blunt... but in a way oddly subtle.

‘Man of means seeks girl with dreams for exotic travel. You provide youth and acquiescence... I provide cash and guidance. Expect a powerful exchange.’

Yes, subtle indeed. In our brief confabulation, Conrad has not hinted at any D/s activity... yet. But the words, cleverly camouflaged... acquiescence for submission... guidance for dominance... the hint of power exchange, suggest my German host has some curious agenda... exotic indeed.

Conrad Von Reinhardt is handsome, single and wealthy. He does not need to post classified ads to attract women... vanilla women. But in contemplating the few simple words, suppose a known socialite such as him does have certain proclivities... just how would such be furtively engaged?

And me? Well, many months of dating, post college graduation, have resulted in frustration. Men are so... well so one dimensional. Just because a girl in her twenties is Ivy League educated and aspires to a lofty career doesn’t mean her only interest in sex is to assume the missionary position, close her eyes and hope for a quick and benumbing coupling.

Girls have proclivities too... though mine are... guess I should describe such as undefined... or undeveloped... perhaps unbridled?

Conrad interrupts my reverie.

“You will quit your job?”

I nod.

“I have not been employed long enough to have significant vacation time accrued. And a long leave of absence will mean the magazine will have to hire someone for my position. Effectively I’d be fired. So your offer is real? The money portion? I will need it.”

“It is a  simple arrangement, Marissa. We meet at the airport. I will have the funds wired to your account before we embark. When we land in France, you contact your bank to assure the funds have been received. Then we proceed to the castle.”

“It seems like a lot of money for just a few months of... of what, Conrad?”

“‘Mr. Von Reinhardt’, please Marissa. I am many years your senior. Mr. Von would be an acceptable diminutive.”                   

“Sorry... Mr. Von. But what is it you expect of me?”

“Acquiescence... as specified. In offering such, there need to be no further questions. And once our arrangement is agreed upon, there will be no further answers.”

The inflection of his voice becomes firm. I suppose any other girl would feel concern. Me... well with this proclivity which I cannot fully delineate in my own mind, much less descriptively narrate, the stern words bring a brisance of... well I guess of arousal.             

The benumbing missionary position be damned.

I sip my latte in silence. Mr. Von seems sanguine that my questions are truncated by his authoritative tone. He actually smiles, smugly knowing that he has me.

“The snows begin in October, Marissa. I will book the jet for the end of next week.”

“What should I bring?”

“Nothing.”

His abbreviated response, rather suggestive for a girl of my ilk, brings more of that odd arousal.

“Would you mind providing some simple measurements, Marissa? I’ll need to have something made for you.”