For the Love of April French Read online

  Dennis

  The restaurant was downtown, with high-end steakhouse vibes and a game-heavy menu that went along with the taxidermy-heavy décor. It was too tasteful to call kitsch, yet there were enough antler light fixtures to give a vegan a panic attack. Dennis got a steak, while O’Reilly ordered an Idaho rainbow trout.

  Ed O’Reilly was a florid white man in his sixties, missing some hair but not bold enough to wipe the slate clean like Jason. He looked like he might be between his second and fourth heart attacks. “I know you were making a lot more in Seattle,” he said. “But we’re going to be glad as hell to have you.”

  “I was,” Dennis admitted. “But I didn’t like the work. I’m interested in what you’re doing here.”

  And he still had stock options from his old job, but that didn’t seem politic to bring up.

  Growing up, both his folks had worked jobs that they hated over the years to keep them in shoes and hot meals, and come home from those jobs to plant tomatoes and zucchinis in a backyard garden, to make the food stamps go a little further. It wasn’t until he was in high school that things had smoothed out a little for his family, and the result was twofold; he didn’t know how to stop working, and he was determined not to work in a job he didn’t like.

  He continued: “The work you do with Medicaid and other public agencies...it’s important. I’m doing well now, but I know from experience those programs make a difference in people’s lives. And I think by sharpening your technological approaches, you’re going to be able to make your clients’ money go a lot further.”

  O’Reilly agreed eagerly. “Absolutely. Things are scattered all over the place, redundant programs and departments, and frankly, our internal developers treat us more like nuisances than clients. And the Help Desk!” The CEO shook his head. “Not a day goes by I don’t get a complaint about the Help Desk.”

  “We’re going to solve those problems and we’re going to do great things together, Ed,” said Dennis seriously, and cut into his own steak. He tried not to let money go to his head, but he had to admit that a high-quality steak, aged, minimally seasoned, still cool in the center was worth the spend. A crust of sea salt flushed out hidden reserves of flavor and reminded him why people used to be paid in the stuff.

  O’Reilly continued: “Now, officially we’re headquartered out East, and we’ve got more offices scattered around the country. You’ll be doing some travelling, especially the first six months. But most of the tech folks are here in Austin rather than back at corporate.”

  Dennis nodded. He did his research before he took a job; most of this he knew. “Do you spend a lot of time down here?” he asked.

  “Not as much as I used to.” O’Reilly smiled. “Our COO is located here. Since we promoted him, I don’t have to spend quite as much time flying back and forth. Except when we have a new addition, haha.”

  Dennis chuckled politely. “I appreciate you taking the time. Did I meet him during the interview process? There were quite a few interviews.” He smiled to show it was a joke, but internally he knew if the chief operations officer hadn’t been mentioned until now, there was a reason. “I know I saw the name somewhere—Graham, isn’t it?”

  “Leo Graham, that’s right,” said O’Reilly. “Hell of a guy. Came up through the consulting side but decided he was more interested in the how than the why. Did a lot to modernize our operations. Hell, half the reason we wanted someone like you to fix our tech issues was because Leo showed us the way with Ops.”

  “I’m sure I’ll enjoy working with him.” And I’m damn sure there’s another shoe waiting for me somewhere...

  Damn it. Dennis had never expected to find himself sitting on millions of dollars in stock options, let alone in the first ten years of his career. Alicia and Sanjay’s little company had blown up beyond anyone’s imagination. But he knew, however much money he was making, start-up work was going to kill him.

  On top of that, Seattle had no longer felt like home after Sonia left; without her to come home to, the overbearing whiteness and Seattle freeze had gotten to him. Taken altogether, the standing offer of Jason’s guest room had been a lifeline. Yet he wasn’t ready to retire midway through his thirties. This job had seemed like a nice, safe option.

  The last thing he wanted to do was come down here and butt heads with someone...well, someone like himself. Or yourself before you got the wind knocked out of you, he thought ruefully.

  “I was actually hoping to introduce you two over dinner, but he had other obligations,” O’Reilly offered, which also didn’t bode well.

  “Well, there will be plenty of time for that,” Dennis agreed.

  He decided to text April from the restroom; the package had already blown any “play it cool” protocol.

  Dennis: And what are you doing with your evening, doll?

  April: nothing exciting...ate some leftovers and now im trying different jewelry and makeup with my new clothes

  Dennis: Is that arousing for you?

  April: yes Sir

  Hm...she had said she was into orgasm control, hadn’t she? He picked his phrasing carefully.

  Dennis: I’d really like it if you didn’t touch yourself until I see you again.

  There was a significant pause before the next yes Sir. Excellent. He’d certainly be on her mind until the weekend. He sighed and kicked his brain back to business mode, thinking as he returned to the dining room of the steakhouse that he’d rather be eating barbecue from a crappy truck with her.

  After dinner, riding back to Jason’s, he was still on his phone, restless. He wanted to text April again, but surely that would be coming on too strong... He found himself browsing Instagram. He didn’t follow Sonia anymore. Had she protected her account?

  Apparently not.

  No evidence of a new boyfriend. She was living in the Bay Area now, and there were lots of pictures of food, of monuments, of buildings. Not many of friends. Not many of her. He found one, only a few weeks old, and stared at it. She was growing her hair out, in a natural puff that suited her, and wore a yellow dress he wouldn’t have picked for her. It looked good, though, her dark skin popping. That long, graceful neck had worn his collar. Here was the woman he’d almost asked to marry him.

  She didn’t look happy. But then, she didn’t look scared, either, the way she had the last time they spoke. He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, then closed the app.

  April

  For April, Friday passed in a blur of rapidly intensifying horniness. She didn’t even masturbate that much, in a normal week; even once a week was more than she managed sometimes, since her orchiectomy. But now she wasn’t allowed to, and that changed everything. Her mind went in a predictable circle...she thought about cheating, she thought about Dennis’s dark, commanding eyes, and even though that only made her more turned on, she refrained, until her mind inevitably cycled back.

  Thank God she was allowed to wear jeans on Friday and thank God for compression garments. Her crotch still felt pinched and achy. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and shot Fatima a message:

  AFrench: I need to get out of here for a minute. I’m going to run to the drugstore, do you want anything?

  FNayeem: Not really, but do you want company? We can hit the smoothie place.

  That wasn’t going to work. The shaving cream was fine, but she didn’t particularly want to talk about buying an enema.

  AFrench: Really just have to run there and run back. Lots to do.

  Already, walking outside at noon was like walking face first into a wall of heat. Instantly she felt so gross that sex seemed impossible. She made her purchases at the drugstore down the street and returned to the office, sternly telling herself to pull it together. She worked late to make up for Thursday and managed to keep her mind mostly off Dennis.

  She reserved Saturday to prepare. She had an emergency haircut, where her stylist le
ft the length alone but pared off a lot of volume and layered the remainder, then piled it up in a glamorous bun she tried her best not to touch for the rest of the day. She had her nail appointment with Fatima, and a last-minute wax of places she couldn’t reach and a touch-up of her brows. Then she took a long bath and got the rest with a razor. The enema happened, never a particularly pleasant experience.

  She was ready by seven, which gave her an absurd amount of time to sit around her house dressed like a fetish doll and try not to feel ridiculous but also not aroused, which was hopeless. She was wearing panties but not spanks, and she checked herself in every mirror to see if her clit was visible. (The stiff PVC was on her side there.)

  She wiped her face clean and re-did her makeup three times, finally reaching for the Dermablend, the absolute gold standard for a smooth, shadowless base of foundation. It was a pain to clean off, but if you wanted absolute perfection...

  By nine she was posted up in Frankie’s, staring at her new nails and trying to breathe. Compared to Wednesday, Frankie’s was a whole other world. The main room was packed, and the rear doors had been folded back to reveal the additional spaces that weren’t used during the week, including the room with the stage, although there was no formal demonstration tonight. As she’d promised Dennis, the dial had also been turned up when it came to fashion; although there were still plenty of jeans-and-cowboy-boots holdouts, more nightclub styles and more leather, PVC and latex moved among them. The usual DJ was in his cockpit, cranking out EDM and dance remixes. It wasn’t anything she’d listen to on her own time, but it was fun for dancing.

  She felt skittish and giddy. She hadn’t dated much in high school and she hadn’t known she was a girl yet then, but this was how she imagined it felt to be a schoolgirl waiting for her prom date. She stopped to talk to Vic; he worked the door like a bouncer, but he was actually the bar manager, and she wanted to touch base with him about an upcoming Shibari training event Frankie’s was hosting.

  She made her way to the bar, where Aerith—gothic finery cranked up for the weekend—had been joined by one of the weekend bartenders. Aerith had a Painkiller ready for her before she got there. As she sipped it, other friends passed by, several complimenting her look. She was too nervous for much conversation, and most of them took the hint and wandered on. Caroline, however, grabbed a stool near her, hitched up her bustier and started a long recitation about babysitting her sister’s kids.

  “And then the other one was throwing up and—whoa, who’s that?”

  It was just after ten when Dennis arrived. She felt a needy pang shoot through her. He wore another tailored suit, this one dark as a hole cut in space, with a sliver of charcoal shirt and a pink tie visible under his jacket. The only leather he wore were his shoes, the color of blood and a lot of money, not brand new but gently worn in and obviously cared for.

  He arrived with Jason Beaumont. That must be his friend. April knew Jason, not well, but enough to recognize his smooth pale skull and wiry frame. True to form, he hadn’t dressed up at all, although he was rocking some very expensive sneakers and his hoodie was clean. Despite his low-key look she knew he had a reputation among the gay doms as a sub who was anything but casual.

  She was on her feet immediately but waited at the bar for Dennis. God, she was buzzing. He was looking around, taking in the transformed space impassively, but once his dark eyes settled on her they didn’t move. He moved towards her like a homing missile, drawing Jason along in his wake. He didn’t stop until his arm had snaked around her waist. “Hello again,” he rumbled.

  “Hi,” she whispered. His body was hot against her and she could feel an erection pressing through his slacks against her thigh.

  “This is my friend I mentioned. Jason. I’m staying with him while my house is finished.”

  “We’ve met,” Jason said, smiling in a thin way that made her nervous. “We’re both practically charter members.” Like her, he was regular, involved in a lot of bar activities which had thrown them together. Unlike her, he was rich, and she’d heard rumors he’d invested money in the club. “Hi, Caroline,” he added.

  Oh, right. Caroline was there. Suddenly very there, soft and curvy in her corset-style bustier, which she filled out the way April never could, all creamy flesh pressed up and spilling out of the top and smooth shoulders that were not in any way similar to a linebacker’s. “Hi, Jason,” she said in a sultry voice. “Who’s your friend?”

  “This—” Jason and April spoke at the same time, and she bit her lip and dropped her eyes to let him proceed. Looking down gave her an excellent view of the low-heeled court shoes that had made her so happy when she opened the box, now positioned next to Caroline’s strappy six-inch stilettos that brought her up to approximately April’s shoulder. There was a tiny patch of hairs near her knee she’d missed.

  “This,” said Jason again, “is my best friend, Dennis. We’ve known each other since we were kids. He’s new in town and we’re trying to show him a good time.” In a dozen words, he had reframed the evening—it wasn’t a date, how could it ever be a date?—and April felt her already precarious mood shatter and fall around her fancy buckled shoes. She just prayed it didn’t show on her face.

  Dennis

  He drank her in from the moment he found her at the bar. She looked fantastic. Of course, he’d provided the clothes, and he was pleased to see that they fit her and how they fit her, but she’d brought a thousand alluring grace notes to his basic idea.

  Her blond hair was piled on her head, emphasizing her long throat rising from the buckle of the dress’s neck and making space for delicate pink crystal drop earrings. Her face was made up expertly in the colors of her outfit, with dark smoky eyes and the pink bitable lips. The skirt was shockingly short, giving a glimpse of the tattoo wrapped around her upper thigh, and his hand itched to check if she’d worn the panties. Her arms were bare from the shoulders down to the cuffs, but on her long fingers there was a scattering of rings, and as he raised one hand to kiss them, he saw the black-to-pink ombre that ran the length of her long nails.

  Her flush burning through her foundation, her dropped eyes, her immaculate style, and most of all the sight of her in something he had picked out for her all added up to a submissive gift he’d like to bend over the bar right now.

  “Seems like he’s having one,” said a girl with dark hair, in a tone that told him he was staring, and he dragged his mind from inappropriate fantasies to the here and now.

  “I’m sorry,” he chuckled. “I met April earlier this week and I was captivated by her look tonight.”

  The girl looked sideways at April, eyes widening. “Oh, she’s a total cutie. I was wondering where all this came from. It’s not your usual style,” she said, addressing the cutie in question.

  “I think my style is a work in progress,” April answered, her voice tuned up to a squeak. She did seem a little anxious, Dennis realized, pushing back his libido. Was she uncomfortable? With the clothes? Or with the possessive moves he’d made since he’d come into the bar?

  “No, totally,” said the girl, who was possibly named Caroline. “I mean, isn’t everyone’s? I’m just glad you found something that makes you feel hot, yeah?” He couldn’t tell if it was just a thoughtless remark or a calculated jab, but he saw it hit home.

  “Hm,” he said. “Do you feel hot, April?”

  She turned within the curve of his arm to meet his eyes. She was tall—by far the tallest woman he’d been involved with, nearly matching his height, and he found he loved being eye to eye with her. “Yes,” she said quietly, repressed passion in her voice.

  His hand tightened momentarily on her hip before he remembered that they weren’t alone. He ached to hear her say Sir. But even if he had been 100% clear how she felt about exhibitionism, he knew he was being rude. “And I agree,” he said, clearing his throat and pivoting out of the two-person universe they seemed to be generati
ng between them. “How long have you two known each other?”

  April and Caroline exchange glances. “A few years, I think,” April said. “I know I was already a regular here when she started coming.”

  Caroline nodded. “I was still in college. April was great, she always looks out for the new subs. Lets you know who to avoid, or at least not to get stuck next to in a crowd.”

  Jason frowned at that. “Anybody like that ought to be reported to the club.”

  “Well, yeah,” said Caroline. “But wherever you draw the line someone’s going to get right up next to it, right? I’m just saying, we can always count on Mama April to look out for us.”

  April looked away and whispered something.

  “What was that?” Dennis asked.

  She looked back and smiled, or at least her lips turned up. “Wendy Syndrome.”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard of that.”

  “It’s sort of like the opposite of Peter Pan Syndrome. Even among the Lost Boys there’s always somebody who has to remember to be sensible.”

  “And you’re Wendy.” She nodded.

  “It’s not a bad thing,” Caroline protested. “I mean, everybody loves her, right, Jason?”

  “Of course,” Jason said quickly.

  Dennis tightened his jaw; he was no student of mean girl logic, but with three sisters he knew words like everybody loves her could land like a punch in the right context. He studied her face, looking for traces of the impact, and didn’t like what he saw. Abruptly he said: “Would you like to dance? I feel like dancing.”

  Her expression cleared instantly. “Yes, I’d like to dance. That sounds great.”

  He smiled and saluted the group. “We’ll be back. Order me a drink, Jase?” he said, and with a hand on the small of her back escorted her into the crush of the crowd. The two of them were tall enough and took up enough space to carve out their own bubble.