Bossy Bottom Read online

  Bossy Bottom

  Jeremy Jenkins

  Contents

  1. Luke

  2. Adam

  3. Luke

  4. Adam

  5. Luke

  6. Adam

  7. Luke

  8. Adam

  9. Luke

  10. Adam

  11. Luke

  12. Adam

  13. Luke

  14. Adam

  15. Luke

  16. Adam

  17. Luke

  18. Adam

  19. Luke

  20. Adam

  21. Luke

  22. Adam

  23. Luke

  24. Adam

  25. Luke

  26. Adam

  A Note from the author

  Newsletter

  Also by Jeremy Jenkins

  1

  Luke

  I cracked open a book about BDSM in the section at the back of this bookstore, giving a quick glance around to see if anyone was watching me.

  No one was around except this harmless-looking overweight guy in the next aisle, so the keen sense of alert that was spinning up inside me slowed down.

  I was alone. I could do this. No one was around to watch or judge me.

  Leaning against the bookshelf, I thumbed through the pages, checking to see if the writing style of this book would be up my alley.

  I saw the word “daddy” appear a few times — that was a good sign.

  Then someone sneezed nearby and I slammed the book shut with a snap. All of my senses were on high alert.

  I shouldn’t even have been lingering in this section… my mom had little spies all over the place.

  Stealthily, I did my best to tuck the book under my arm, flipping it so that the cover was facing my body. If anyone was watching me in this bookstore, all they’d be able to see would be the back cover of the book, some indiscernible words scrawled across it, and a bunch of pink petals under the text.

  My senses were on high alert, and I felt that familiar part of my mind begin to tremble. Even in this quiet bookstore, my senses were being overloaded. The music coming over the speakers was too loud, the chatter that was going on all around me were like razor blades in my ears, and the woman sipping an iced coffee at the nearby cafe was taking a loud, greedy slurp.

  This familiar sensation came over me — this monster that had been eating at the back of my mind for the past few years — my anxiety — was stirring from its slumber.

  I was unlucky that it was a light sleeper. Any certain combination of sounds or sensations could set it off and wake it up. Once it was fully awake, it would have complete control of my mind and debilitate me, rendering me incapable of forming coherent thoughts. I wouldn’t be able to do anything but curl up into a little ball and breathe.

  My mouth began to go dry as I took faster and faster steps towards the bathroom. I needed to get away from all of this — get into a tiny, boring space where I felt safe.

  Almost running now, I opened the bathroom door to a thankfully deserted single room. Closing the door behind me with a thud, I turned the deadbolt and then sank down to the floor. Breathing heavily, I clutched the book close to my chest.

  I knew that this was a fabricated fear. As anyone with anxiety will tell you, one of the worst parts about this pesky little disorder is knowing that there was no threat. Knowing that there was no predator around waiting to get me.

  But my body didn’t know that. My body thought that if there was a lot of noise or too much going on, or that I couldn’t see or hear all the things that were moving in a certain area, then the correct thing to do was to panic and shut down.

  Totally makes sense, brain.

  I put my head between my knees and counted to ten, forcing myself to breathe slowly.

  It was lucky that I found this bathroom, and that it was quiet because my vision was starting to blot out and go white.

  I sucked air slowly into my chest, then let it out just as slowly.

  Control. I was in control here.

  In my mind, I pictured myself as winding up a lasso, swinging it to capture the wild thoughts that were running amok in my brain. A thought about what would happen if one of my mother’s friends saw me looking in that forbidden bookshelf appeared. A thought about feeling like I wasn’t enough came — that was one of the most common ones that showed up there. And finally, the grand-daddy that was the leader of this little anxiety parade: The thought that I was a filthy abomination that had certain sexual tastes, and once people found out about them, bad things would happen.

  As I breathed, my heartbeat slowed and I settled myself down, I stood up.

  Even after a mild anxiety attack like that, my knees felt weak. My body had just blown through a small store of its adrenaline; wasting it on this stupid stuff.

  I leaned on the sink and looked at myself in the mirror, scowling.

  The reflection that stared back at me was that of a young man — twenty, with blonde hair styled to the side with gel, a smooth, boyish face, and full puckered lips. His eyes were light blue and heavily-lidded like he was aloof all the time.

  I splashed some water onto my face, feeling the cool sensation alleviate some of the hotness that had come into my cheeks.

  This was manageable. I was in control. I was always in control.

  At least, that’s what one of my past therapists told me. Whether I actually believed that deep down, I wasn’t so sure.

  Standing up straight, I tugged at my shirt from Zara — the one with all of the tiny flowers on it, picked up my book and dried my hands.

  There was a knock on the door.

  I froze and my heartbeat began to accelerate again.

  Another knock sounded throughout the small room, this time the staccato matching the rhythm of my panic.

  Deciding right then and there that I wouldn’t let my anxiety get the best of me, I took a few steps and opened the door.

  Standing before me was a big guy — burly is the word I’d use to describe him.

  My first impression of him was that of fear. He looked like he could knock me out if he just looked at me the wrong way. But when my eyes traveled up to meet his, I softened.

  There was kindness there.

  “S-sorry,” I said apologizing and looking down. “I took a while.”

  The giant man pushed past me with something that sounded like “S’alright!” Then he closed the door behind him.

  I was left out in the hallway feeling completely spent. It was as if I’d run a mile or two — the adrenaline was still surging through me.

  Carefully, I made sure that the cover of the BDSM book was obscured. Then I craned my head around to make sure the coast was clear.

  I expected there to be friends of my overprotective mother lurking around; they tended to appear around me whenever I left the house to do errands.

  Peeking left and right, I scanned the area for anyone that looked like they were on the hunt for me — on the hunt for any shred of gossip that they could share with the other vain housewives at their next PTA meeting.

  There were two middle-aged women in my view: One was studying the covers on a magazine rack, the other one was sitting in the nearby cafe, sipping on a creamy iced latte and scrolling through her phone.

  Both of them looked like carbon copies of all of my mom’s friends: A blonde bob, a perfect manicure, and a youthful face with a wrinkled neck.

  I knew they were spies. They had to be. If they weren’t I wasn’t willing to take the risk.

  I didn’t have that much money in my wallet, but I knew that I had to get this book. I needed some kind of release; some kind of escape from the prison of suburbia I was living in.

  “Luke!” Chimed a high-pitched voice from my left.

&nb
sp; I stopped in my tracks. I knew she would have had to have recognized me: My mother was the principal of the school district, and had her fingers in every single parent organization in this town.

  I turned to see Mrs. Carr beckoning to me from her seat in the cafe, her eyes crinkling up at the corners as a dazzling white smile bloomed on her face.

  Struggling to conceal the cover of the book against me, I crossed the store and went over to her, lingering next to her table.

  Mrs. Carr stood up and gave me a huge hug as if I was a second son to her. She smelled like she took a bath in an overly-expensive perfume.

  “H-hey Mrs. Carr…” I said, feeling the anxiety within me begin to slowly simmer.

  Would she tell my mother that she’d seen me here? Was there any way she was able to glimpse the book I was concealing in my arms?

  Worst case scenario, she would tell my mother that she’d seen it.

  If she’d seen it.

  “Luke, I haven’t seen you in ages! How have you been? What’s going on?”

  I gave her some standard, generic answers, trying to seem genial. If any word of anything interesting ever got around in this clique, I could be sure that it would be shared with my mother within minutes. Letting her prattle on for a few more seconds about her sons and how much more successful they were than I was, I nodded and bid her goodbye.

  Even though I knew that she was talking to me in that way to make me feel inadequate so that she could get a one-up on my mother and our family, I still couldn’t help but fall into her trap.

  I felt like I wasn’t enough. And my mother, behind closed doors and away from the prying eyes of our gossipy small community, made me feel that way too.

  When I got in line to check out, since I was still coming down from the wave of anxiety that was welling up within me from when I’d run into Mrs. Carr, I was acutely aware of my surroundings. And that’s one of the reasons why I noticed that guy from the bathroom get in line behind me.

  We pretended not to notice each other, of course.

  However, as I waited in line and inched forward, looking like I was lost in thought, I was really paying attention to the giant behind me. It was like I could sense him in my space, even though I couldn’t see him. It was like my skin was vibrating with this static of this stranger being close.

  Unlike when I had my anxiety attacks, this wasn’t an unpleasant tingling sensation. This was something good; something that felt comfortable and safe.

  Making it seem like I was glancing at the shelf of colorful candy bars next to me, I stole a look at this stranger.

  He quickly looked away.

  Was he… was he staring at me? Did he find me as odd as I found him?

  Now that I got a closer look at him, I got this distinct sense that this stranger didn’t belong here. This town was full of the image of perfection: Suburban moms resigned themselves to lives of leisure, shipping their kids off to soccer practice and spending their days inside their fortresses standing tall in these perfect, predictable little subdivisions. Their husbands would go to work in the nearby city all day and come home only when the daylight had waned. Lawns were manicured, bills were paid on time, and everybody had a Mercedes or a BMW or an Audi in their driveway. The conversation at the local bar was always about boats or stocks or how the market was doing. It was rare that something out of the ordinary ever happened here.

  But this stranger behind me was anything but ordinary. First of all, he simply seemed too tall to be allowed. Secondly, he had a beard that looked like it was wild as it took over his face. Thirdly, he had this air about him that came across like he didn’t have an agenda, which was in stark contrast to the usual type of person that lived in this town.

  The curiosity intensified within me, which made it feel like the static across my skin was increasing. I was hypervigilant; keenly attuned to any small movement this stranger made.

  If I wasn’t imagining things, it seemed like he was trying to study me in the same way I was studying him.

  A bead of sweat rolled down my temple, and I swallowed.

  Was he going to introduce himself to me? Because I was too shy to talk to him; that was for certain.

  For a moment, everything in me hoped that he would start talking to me. He had this commanding presence that I couldn’t put my finger on; something in my head blocked me from addressing him. Maybe it was the way he stood up with perfect posture, even when he was at ease and bored in line. Maybe it was the way his hands were huge, like small dinner plates. Or maybe, it was this undeniable air of authority that was coming off of him. Even being in this stranger’s presence made me feel like I was walking around someone who wielded a great deal of power.

  This unspoken authority that leaked from this man’s pores was in direct contrast to the authority that Mrs. Carr just tried to exercise over me, by making me feel like I was less. She was someone who tried to fight tooth and nail for any kind of scrap of respect; in the time I’d known her, that much was clear.

  But this stranger… he oozed authority. He’d earned it somehow.

  I had to know how.

  Butterflies were crawling around and fluttering in my stomach as I tried to muster up the courage to utter a word to him, but all I could do was avert my eyes.

  I clutched the book tighter to my body, as if I could use it as a shield.

  Then, just as the customer in front of me stepped up to check out, a deep voice behind me spoke.

  “What book have you got there?”

  I nearly jumped as the dulcet tone washed over me, and something about the way that the consonants melded in with the vowels made me want to tell him everything.

  His voice alone was like a truth serum.

  I turned to face him, and then looked up into his eyes meekly. I was startled to see that they were a wild dark green color.

  “I um…” I stammered out, looking up at this stranger. “It’s… it’s kind of private.”

  What the hell was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just talk to this guy? But then again, him wanting to see my book was pretty prying.

  “Private, huh?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Alright then…”

  There was a beat of silence as I waited for the stranger to continue the conversation. The silence stretched out awkwardly and I didn’t know what to say.

  Then right as the customer in front of me finished up checking out, the bright-eyed cashier looked over at me.

  “Uh… nice to meet you.” I said to the giant.

  I was kicking myself at coming across so awkward.

  Then to my surprise, the stranger chuckled. It was this hearty sound that seemed like grumbling at first, but then I realized he was laughing.

  He was… happy. He thought I was ridiculous. I was a joke to him.

  My face turning bright red, I pulled the book out from under my arm and stepped up to the cashier. I was grateful to get away from this guy; this guy with the powerful presence that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

  I set the book down on the counter with a quiet snap and scanned the cashier’s face for any kind of reaction. The front of the book was inscribed with a cursive red title called “Obey,” and had a whip visible on it, along with some leather-studded straps. Red rose petals peppered the edges of the image and the back.

  The cashier raised her sand-colored eyes to look at mine with what I interpreted to be a questioning look.

  But I was distracted by the stranger who’d been behind me in line; he walked up to the cashier next to me and began his check out process. He was slapping some magazines on the table in front of him, and then he stole a sideways look at me. Our eyes finally met.

  Even though I’d taken a quick glance at his eyes before, there was something about this time that cut through to me to my very core. It was like I was being pierced with some kind of arrow.

  “Credit or Debit?” chirped the cashier from in front of me.

  “Er… what?” I asked, shifting my gaze back to h
er.

  There was a little paper bag sitting neatly in front of me; she’d already gotten the book wrapped and bagged up for me.

  “Um. Credit.” I said, pulling out my card and blushing.

  I knew that my mother would see the charge for this on her account; I’d probably have to answer some questions. It was worth it.

  When I was done swiping the thick metal card and asking for the receipt in the bag, I turned to leave the store. To a wave of surprising disappointment, the stranger had already left.

  I hustled out of the store in the hopes that I might catch him; that I might be able to get any more clues about him like where he was going, what type of car did he drive, or anything. Anything that might give me a hint to finding him again.

  But there was nothing. He’d vanished into thin air.

  When I got into the driver’s seat of my mother’s Audi and closed the door, I sat the paper bag down in the passenger seat next to me. Placing my hands on the wheel, I used this moment to wallow in my regret.

  I could have talked to him like a normal person. Had some kind of pleasant conversation at least, gotten his number at best.

  Everything about him was a mystery.

  As I turned the key in the ignition, I resigned that I’d missed my chance. The chances of ever seeing him again were slim.

  Oh well, I thought to myself as I backed out of the neat little parking spot. At least I won’t have to figure out why he made me feel so…

  So small. But not in a bad way.

  As I turned the car onto the busy commercial street, I became acutely aware of a strange desire that had taken root within me:

  I wanted to please him.

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