Kyle stopped going to the discussion groups. When Caroline called to ask about her absence, Kyle replied bitterly that she’d heard all there was to hear. She knew Caroline was worried about her, but Kyle gave her no room to talk. Finally, Caroline stopped calling.

Eventually Kyle began to go to Leather’s again. She stared at the women around her, feeling none of the old sense of communion she once shared with them. Nothing stirred her heart. She reached out to no one. Late one night she saw Dane across the room. She was ensconced in her old place by the jukebox, looking aloof and distant. She glanced at Kyle once, briefly, her face betraying no recognition. Kyle was forced to turn her back, so exquisite was the pain. When the anguish dissipated, the steely anger returned. She had to erase the lingering image of Dane’s face from her mind. She ordered another beer and looked over the crowd. She carefully avoided Dane’s small corner of the arena. Her attention focused finally on a young woman standing alone, her back against a pillar. When her eyes fell on Kyle, who was staring at her pointedly, she looked quickly away. Kyle smiled slightly to herself and lit a cigarette. She smoked leisurely, finished her beer and ordered two more. She carried them both unhurriedly through the crowd until she was at the young woman’s side. Up close she could see that she was indeed young. Her smooth features were unlined, and her blond hair fell in childlike wings about her forehead and temples. She continued to stare ahead, waiting for Kyle to initiate contact.

Kyle handed her the beer. “Yours is warm,” she said in a low voice.

The woman immediately tossed her half-empty bottle into the receptacle behind her and took the cold one Kyle offered.

“Thank you,” she replied.

Kyle smiled slightly and ran her finger lightly down the young woman’s exposed forearm, stopping at the thin black leather band which circled her wrist.

“Are you serious about this?” Kyle said softly, hooking her finger under the bracelet. She realized she was enjoying this new approach, even though emotionally she felt detached.

“Yes.”

Kyle slipped her hand beneath the edge of her companion’s jeans at the hollow of her spine. The muscles there tensed at her touch.

“I need to know your name,” Kyle said, gently kneading the firm flesh under her hands. When she felt the young woman hesitate, she thought she understood.

“Any name, it doesn’t matter.” Kyle realized that it didn’t. She didn’t need or want to know anything about the woman other than what was necessary to complete the scene. Kyle wasn’t interested in her as a person, beyond the roles they would both soon play.

“It’s Jean.”

Kyle nodded, leaning into Jean, her thighs insistent against the smaller woman’s hips.

“Well, Jean, are you tired of the bar tonight?”

“I’ve seen everything I need to. Now that you’re here.”

“I’d like to take your clothes off, somewhere quiet and private. There might be other things I’d like to do.” Kyle was going by instinct now, playing out a fantasy which was somehow real. She was vaguely aware that she was not really physically aroused, but still she was excited. She was excited to be in control, to be creating the events moment to moment. “Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Jean replied. “May I make one request?”

Kyle nodded.

“Please don’t mark me.”

Kyle hid the shock she felt. For an instant she saw Dane again, lying on Caroline’s bed, her back a river of ruin. She felt physically ill.

“I agree,” Kyle said after a moment.

She drove to Jean’s apartment with Jean clinging to her on the rear of the big motorcycle. Once there, Kyle directed Jean to take them to her bedroom, leaving the lights off. Kyle lit a bedside candle with a flick of her lighter. She undressed Jean herself, slowly and carefully. She turned her about in the flickering light, stroking her body, studying her reaction. She could tell the younger woman was excited—she trembled at each light caress of Kyle’s exploring hands.

When Kyle had satisfied herself visually, she placed Jean face down on the bed, removing the pillow to be sure she could breathe.

“You’ll need a safe word. Anytime you want me to stop, or something happens which hurts you in a way you don’t like, you must tell me,” Kyle said gently as she removed the heavy belt from her leather pants. She bound Jean’s hands securely to the upper part of the bed frame as Jean told her safe word. By doing so she entered into a contract of trust with Kyle. She trusted Kyle to respect her limitations, her boundaries, regardless of how Kyle might feel. And Kyle, in turn, trusted Jean to be the guardian of her own body. Only Jean could know when her limits had been reached.

“May I give you something?” Jean asked quietly.

Kyle leaned back from the bed. “Yes.”

Kyle opened the closet and looked where Jean had described. She removed a short-handled crop with multiple fine leather strands at the end. Her heart plummeted when she closed her hand around it. She knew Jean was asking her to use it on her, and she wasn’t sure she could. She found it more and more difficult to look at Jean’s naked back without seeing Dane, again and again. She knew the scene was hers; she could refuse. But she also knew that there was Jean’s pleasure to be considered. The top’s responsibility, ultimately, was to create a scene which both partners would find pleasurable, within acceptable limits for them both.

She started with the stout handle, the leather strands entwined in her fingers. Slowly she traced each muscle, each bone in Jean’s back and shoulders with the edge. She could hear Jean gasp at each new contact. Suddenly Kyle realized that in this instance it was the suggestion of pain, the illusion of power, which was so erotic, rather than the actual infliction of punishment. She began to relax a little and found that she was enjoying the sense of power Jean had given her. When she finally did use the crop for what it was intended, she wielded it gently, causing no real discomfort. The effect, however, was instantaneous. Jean responded to each light blow with a soft groan, and her hips moved against the bed convulsively. When Kyle judged that Jean was near to the peak of her arousal, she straddled her body, one of her leather encased thighs between Jean’s naked ones. She slipped one hand beneath Jean’s pelvis seeking the moisture she knew she would find. She brought her other hand in from the rear and completed the circle. She was inside and outside of her at once, controlling Jean’s body to the very end. When at last Jean came with a shuddering groan, Kyle felt her own pent-up tensions dissipate. She felt no need to reach orgasm herself; it was enough that Jean had. Her own body seemed removed from the scene. Indeed, the excitement had primarily been the feeling of power she drew from the encounter. When she left, Jean was asleep.

Kyle quickly discovered that what she had always heard was true. Experienced tops were always in demand. Ruefully, she found that she no longer had to search for partners. Whenever she entered the bar, someone was more than willing to accompany her home. She developed considerable skill in creating and controlling a scene. She learned to recognize what excited another woman by the way she responded to Kyle’s first advances. Kyle quickly came to appreciate the subtle signals which indicated the degree of a woman’s experience and the level of control she would give to Kyle. To her amazement, she found she was becoming quite accomplished with a variety of crops and whips. Her unease at being the source of physical pain abated as long as she was sure her partner found pleasure in it, and Kyle trusted the woman to know her own limits. Kyle had no desire to abuse or humiliate anyone. She never went with anyone young or inexperienced, and she never used drugs in association with a scene. She was even careful not to drink too much so she could be sure she never lost control.

She rarely felt any desire in a purely physical way for her partners, beyond the need to lose herself for a few hours in the intensity of the scene. She often remained completely dressed, and she never allowed anyone to top her. Without realizing it, she was becoming the archetypal top. Aloof, cool, physically distant. She could create a scene, give pleasure in the way her partner wished, and walk away untouched herself.

She often drove home over the empty miles of highway with an overwhelming sense of loneliness. She would see the woman she had just made love to in her mind, and she felt nothing. There was no one who moved Kyle inside, no one who could penetrate the barriers she herself had created. Once home, she couldn’t sleep. She would sit with a brandy before the fire, watching the intricate patterns of red and black coals, wondering what was happening to her. Eventually her encounters became less frequent as her sense of detachment grew. The brief intimacy reminded her too painfully of how much she longed to really touch someone, and be touched in return.

CHAPTER TWENTY

IT WAS A COOL fall evening in October. Kyle had just brought in a load of wood and started a fire. The phone interrupted her just as she carried her brandy into the living area.

“Hello,” she said absently.

“Kyle, this is Roger.” Kyle noted instantly the anxiety in his voice. Before she could respond, he went on hurriedly. “Is Nancy there?”

Kyle cursed under her breath. She hated to lie. “Uh, Roger—” she began.

“Never mind,” he sighed. “I know she isn’t. I’ve known for a long time that she wasn’t with you or any of the other friends she said she was visiting. I should have done something before this, but I was afraid. I was afraid if I questioned her, she would just leave for good.”

Kyle empathized with him, but she really didn’t know what to say. “Hell, I’m sorry, Roger. Maybe she just got held up somewhere.”

“You don’t understand. She didn’t come home last night at all. And there’s no sign that she’s been here today. I wouldn’t have called you if I knew what else to do.”

Kyle sighed. “Roger, why don’t you come over here. You sound like you could use some company.”

Roger hesitated. “Kyle, do you think you could find her? Ask her to call me or something. I need to talk to her, to know she’s all right.”

“But I don’t know where she is,” Kyle said in frustration. She realized that she had nearly excluded Nancy from her life completely. Suddenly she felt very selfish. She had been so absorbed by her own pain, she hadn’t even tried to reach Nancy. “I’m sorry.”

“Kyle,” Roger continued, “I thought you might know where she goes at night.”

“Why should I?” Kyle said, hating the feeling of being caught in the middle of Nancy’s and Roger’s problems.

“She’s seeing a woman, isn’t she?” Roger asked quietly. “It’s different this time, not like her little flings with men used to be. She’s so preoccupied she doesn’t even pretend to hide what she’s doing. I always felt before like she just wanted a little diversion, but this time something’s changed.” He stopped, obviously distraught.

Kyle decided to be straightforward. She really didn’t know what else to do. “Look, Roger—Nancy has been going out to some women’s bars. I thought she was just curious, looking for something new. I don’t know if she’s actually involved with anyone. We haven’t really been talking much lately.” She sighed and continued. “I’ll try to find her. I can’t promise she’ll listen to me. But I’ll look for her, okay?”

“Thank you,” Roger said in relief. “I’ll be at home.”

After he hung up, Kyle stared at the fire and finished her brandy. It was time, she thought, to do something for someone else. She couldn’t help Dane. It had been much too late. Maybe it wasn’t too late for Nancy. She got up and carefully prepared for the journey.

She looked for Nancy’s car outside Leathers. It wasn’t there, but Brad’s Mercedes coupe was. Kyle half-hoped that Nancy wasn’t with her. As soon as she entered the bar, she saw them. Brad and Nancy were sitting at a table in the rear, nearly in shadow. Even from a distance Kyle could see that Nancy was drunk, or high on something. Kyle walked directly to them and pulled up an empty chair from a nearby table. Brad looked at her in surprise, a slow smile playing across her lips.

“Why, Kyle. Do sit down. What are you drinking?”

“Beer,” Kyle said, noting the glazed look in Nancy’s eyes. She had never seen her so disheveled before. Kyle’s anger, simmering like a buried coal for so long, began to flare within her.

“Nancy,” she said, touching Nancy’s arm lightly, “are you all right?”