Millie and Amanda met at a party. Millie was in a dress, a sleeveless low-backed dress which left her arms bare. Her arms, and also the faint pink rope-mark twisting its way up one forearm and wrist.
She'd gone out in a hurry, and forgotten the rope-mark was there. Usually she remembered, and at least checked for marks, and covered any that showed, but tonight she'd been in a hurry and forgotten.
Tonight, by mistake, she'd let a mark show.
There was a mark because she sometimes masturbated with a rope wrapped around her wrists. Or a belt, or a sash. Anything to feel trapped. Anything to feel helpless. She'd never done more than tie herself like that, and she'd never actually done it with anyone else, but it was what she liked to do when she was on her own.
Somehow, Amanda saw the rope-mark and knew what it was. She guessed. She must have guessed, and then begun watching Millie, and watched for a while, because she came over when Millie was by herself, in a corner, looking at the books on a shelf.
She walked up behind Millie and said, "That looks beautiful."
Nothing else, not hi or how are you or do you feel like talking. Just that something looked beautiful.
"The dress?" Millie said, puzzled.
"Your arm," Amanda said. "This."
She reached over and touched Millie's wrist. A stroke, a caress. A caress which was sensual, and wanting, and soft. A caress which almost tender.
Millie was confused. She looked at Amanda. Amanda was in a dress of her own, a sleek sleeveless dress that left her arms bare, too. Amanda had strong arms, arms with actual muscle. Millie liked that. She liked the idea that Amanda was strong.
Millie wasn't interested at all, not in Amanda, but she liked Amanda's arms all the same.
"I'm Amanda," Amanda said.
"Millie."
"Hi."
Millie smiled. "I don't understand," she said, even though she thought she did. "What do you mean about my arm?"
"You understand."
"I really don't."
Amanda reached out, and touched Millie's arm, and stroked the rope-mark again. "That," she said. "I know what it is. And it's beautiful."
Millie flushed. She felt caught out. And trapped. And part of her liked feeling trapped. She didn't know what to say.
"It's beautiful," Amanda said.
"Stop saying that," Millie said softly, and looked around. Luckily, there was no-one close enough to hear.
"It is," Amanda said softly, almost whispering too.
"It's not. It's just my arm."
"You know that isn't what I mean."
Millie hesitated, and looked at Amanda. She bit her lip. "What do you want?" she said in the end.
"I know what that is," Amanda said quietly. "I don't know how it got there, but I know what it is, and if you'd like me to, I'd like to help you make more."
Millie bit her lip. She looked at Amanda. She felt embarrassed, and slightly uncomfortable. She didn't want to talk about this to a stranger.
She felt embarrassed, but all the same, she didn't take her arm away. She left it where Amanda could touch her. And Amanda did. Amanda kept stroking her as they talked, tracing gentle fingertips along the rope-mark on Millie's wrist.
"I don't think I understand," Millie said, after a moment. Flatly, trying to deny everything.
"Yes you do," Amanda said.
"I really don't."
"Liar."
Millie looked at Amanda, and didn't answer. For a long, breathless moment she didn't answer, until she suddenly realized that her silence was probably an answer in itself. It was an answer, she supposed, because she wasn't being shocked and walking away, and because she wasn't laughing and saying oh she liked to sail and there was a yacht and there'd been this silly accident.
She had answered Amanda, and told Amanda a lot, by not telling Amanda a thing.
She didn't know what to do.
She looked at Amanda, thinking. They had been speaking quietly. They had been almost whispering, in a crowded room, as if they were sharing a secret. And part of Millie wanted to share her secret with someone. Part of her did. So maybe she should, she thought.
Perhaps she already had.
Actually, she thought she had. She thought she had by not denying it, and she wasn't even sure if she minded.
She stood there, looking at Amanda, thinking.
Amanda seemed interesting, Millie decided. Amanda seemed interested, too. She seemed sure of herself. She was quietly confident, and certain of what she knew. She didn't seem alarmed, either, which counted a lot. Millie thought, and decided that was enough. Amanda knew her secret, and wasn't alarmed. Amanda was just sipping her wine, and looking at Millie, waiting to see what Millie did. And so, Millie decided, she didn't care about Amanda's job or friends or favourite food, or any of the other things she might talk to a stranger at a party about. She only cared about that.
Amanda wasn't alarmed by the rope-mark. Amanda was actually interested in why it was there.
"How did that mark get there?" Amanda said after a while. Her hand was still on Millie's arm. Her fingers were still stroking, gently.
Millie swallowed. "I don't know what you mean."
"Yes you do."
Millie thought. She wasn't sure why, but she decided to be honest. "I did it myself," she said.
"Did what? How?"
Millie bit her lip. "I put a rope around it."
"For fun?"
Millie was surprised. Perhaps they weren't talking about the same thing. "Well... yes," she said, a little confused. "Of course for fun."
Amanda smiled. "By yourself? Or with someone else?"
Millie looked at her. "By myself."
"Do you often do that? When you're on your own?"
"Sometimes."
"Would you like to with someone else?"
Millie hesitated, and didn't answer.
"Would you?" Amanda said again.
Millie just looked at her.
"I want to do that to you," Amanda said softly.
"What?" Millie said.
"I want to do that to you," Amanda said again. "I really do."
"To me?" Millie said, and then, "Oh."
Suddenly this made a lot more sense. Suddenly Millie remembered whose party she was at, and who was here. Her friend Sarah, and Sarah's girlfriend Beth, and all of Sarah's friends. She thought about Sarah's friends, and what being spoken to here, like that, might mean.
"You're flirting with me," Millie said, surprised.
"I am."
Millie was relieved. "Oh right. I'm not interested in women."
"You're not?"
"Oh, no. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. It's my fault, that you thought... I didn't think to say."
"Have you ever tried? Being with a woman?"
"Well, no. Actually."
"So how do you know you're not interested?"
"I know," Millie said, then hesitated, being honest. "I think I know. I'm fairly sure."
"But you never actually have?"
"Well, no, I suppose not."
"So what you mean is, you've never been with a woman. Not that you aren't interested. Which isn't quite the same thing."
"It's the same thing."
Amanda reached over, and stroked Millie's wrist, and Millie shivered slightly. "Really?" Amanda said, smiling.
"It is."
Amanda nodded, still smiling. "Of course."
"I'm really not," Millie said.
"You're interested in me."
Millie opened her mouth to deny it, and then stopped.
"Aren't you?" Amanda said.
"I don't know," Millie said softly.
"Aren't you a little? Because of the rope?"
Millie looked at her. She wanted to deny it, but she couldn't.
"Aren't you?" Amanda said again.
Millie just stood there, helpless. "It's the same thing," she whispered in the end.
Amanda smiled, and didn't ask anything else.
Millie looked at Amanda and thought. She'd never wanted to do the things she did to herself with a man, which was why she'd never done them with anyone else. It had never occurred to her before that it didn't have to be with a man, and that there were other people in the world who might want to do those things to her.
Millie wanted to be tied up and hurt, to be flogged, to be scared and pushed around and made to do terrible things. She'd only ever been with men before, but she didn't want a man to do that. It seemed too wrong. It seemed too real. It made everything she wanted to do seem appalling.
She'd never thought about doing these things with someone else, but she could, she realized, if she did with a woman.
She wanted to, she suddenly decided. She wanted to be tied up and hurt by a woman. Even though she'd never been with a woman before, she wanted to, and Amanda wanted to do it to her.
And Millie wanted her to do it.
"I want to be hurt," Millie whispered.
Amanda just looked at her.
"I want to be hurt, and scared, and sometimes ashamed."
"I can do that to you," Amanda said.
"Do you want to though? Do you want to for you, for yourself, not just because I asked you do?"
"Does that matter?"
"I think it does. A lot. So do you?"
Amanda nodded. "I do."
"Give me your number," Millie said, glancing around. "We'll talk later, not here."