Edging Obsession

17

M y parents and Miles have come to a mild understanding, which is they’re both a part of my life and must learn to get along. I’m in love and fixated on Miles, tainting my perception or stance regarding his secrets. When he’s around, my senses go into overdrive, battling to endure his overpowering presence. Mom and Dad’s main focus is me and my health. They don’t see beyond Miles’ secrets. But we all have secrets. Things we shouldn’t or wouldn’t tell another soul. The kind Hades chews on to satisfy his hunger.

We’ve landed at Dusseldorf Airport, and another hour is tacked on to get to Miles’ home. I’m buckled in next to him in the backseat of the limousine, and my parents are seated perpendicular to us. Pumped up on adrenaline, I’m excited to have my first stamp in my passport, and the fact it’s Miles’ homeland is all the more special. I’ve been wearing a grin pretty much since we left the States.

Mom, Dad, and I crane our necks to get a better look at the scenery. It’s a dreary day, rain pelting the windows, distorting our views. Still, we scope out concrete ornate buildings and statues on the streets and in the middle of roundabouts. Miles explains that this is the North Rhine-Westphalia area, situated in Northwest Germany. While he talks, the car veers away from a large city, crossing into hilly farmland. The gloom doesn’t ruin my appreciation of the green meadows and valleys. Trees align the outskirts of fields. Where farmland ends, forests coat a sizeable portion until the next farm or village.

There’s a two-lane road carved into a hillside, winding along its perimeter as it climbs upward until we reach the top. A massive wrought-iron gate connected to a stone wall, which I’m guessing is twenty feet high, slowly swings open. The road continues ahead, squeezed between a huge expanse of land, overlain with trees, bushes, and flower beds. From a distance, I can see a house to the far right, and one to the left. We reach a circular section, embellished by a large fountain, where you can turn right, left, or go straight. The car circles and heads left. In front of us is a beautiful two-story, stone-built house, lavished in colorful vines attached to the left side.

When the limousine stops, we gradually get out of the car, and stare upward in wonder. On the right and left side of the stone slated aligned mahogany door are picture windows. I’ve never seen such enormous windows to where you can somewhat see right through to the backyard. Hedges outline the front, right below the window ledges, holding the last of summer’s blooms.

Miles’ arms circle my waist, and he hauls me against him and whispers, “Close your mouth, Schatzi, or I’ll give you a reason to keep it open.”

My face flushes even after the countless hours naked and in unceremonious positions with Miles. He approaches the door, unlocks it, and gestures for us to enter. The inside is as magnificent as the outside. Standing in the foyer, a beautiful chandelier hangs in the center, light glinting off the crystals, and reflecting onto the whitewashed walls. A wood door to the left of the foyer leads into a den. Aside from a rounded entranceway leading into the rest of the house, the living room, dining room, and kitchen are open concept. Evenly spaced, distressed wood beams run across the white ceiling, and atop a granite fireplace that takes up half the wall in the living room.

My parents’ mouths along with mine hang open, transfixed on all the detail.

Mom’s hand glides over the kitchen island countertop, and she says, “Miles, this house should be in Architectural Digest.”

He lets out a soft laugh, and says, “Thanks, Elise. I worked with an architect to get it the way I wanted it.”

Dad walks to one of the two picture windows in the living room and sighs out, “Gorgeous.” He turns to Miles. “Do you mind if I go out there?”

“No. Go ahead.”

My dad is giddy, opening the back door, and says over his shoulder, “I’ve never seen a deer up close.”

I gasp and skip outside with my dad. Miles’ backyard is a menagerie of small to medium sized animals roaming around the plethora of vegetation. They even make their way to the colossal patio, half covered by an overhanging roof. Miles has bird feeders and a small area where he tosses old vegetables for the animals. It’s a place caught between modern and frontier times. At the far back of the property is a forest, where the animals must come from.

We join my mom and Miles, who are discussing where my parents will be staying. Miles places bottled water and juices on the counter and asks what we’d like to drink. My parents and I shout out, “Coffee!”

While the coffee brews, he says to my parents, “You’ll be staying in the guesthouse down the hill. It’s in walking distance. Of course, the house isn’t as big as this one, but there’s more than enough room for both of you.”

Mom touches his forearm and says, “We’ll be happy in a hut. Thanks so much for inviting us.”

Miles retrieves the coffee, pouring four cups, and suggests we sit in the living room or outside. My dad declares outside. Tossing blankets over our legs, we sink into bloated gray couches, snuggling our mugs of coffee near our faces. We talk about the tour, but before we walk to the guesthouse, Miles receives a phone call. He excuses himself while we remain snuggled under the blankets.

Dad lowers his voice and asks, “Do you think his band popularity could afford all of this?”

Mom tsks him. “Elliott, forget it. Let’s not assume or worry until there’s a reason.”

He sits back, letting out a breath, and says, “I’m just saying…this place is nothing like anything I could imagine. The land alone has got to cost a fortune.”

“Dad.” My face squishes into a plea. “Please.”

“Fine, I’ll drop it for now. But I’m not letting my guard down.”

Mom and I exchange smiles and shake our heads.

Miles returns and he shows us the moderate sized guesthouse, decorated in ocean colors: whites, teals, blues, and greens. It’s big enough for a family of six. From there, he walks us down the road to some buildings spread out over another gigantic stretch of land, with the forest separating the houses from this area. Miles and his brother own this portion, too. He points out an exercise building, a dining hall for employees, and the last building is for group sex.

Except for Miles, the rest of us stop in our tracks, and I repeat, “Group sex?”

Miles realizes we stopped following him, and backtracks when he says, “Yeah. It’s for our employees and guests. They take place a couple times a week. A group sex and swingers’ warehouse, including beds, couches, mats, blankets, and anything else you can think of.”

My parents gasp, and my mom asks, “Why? That’s so…”

“Natural, Elise. Europeans aren’t as taboo about nudity and sex as Americans. We’re open to many things, and there are plenty of people who enjoy group sex.”

“But that’s…”

“Obviously not your thing.”

He walks back up the road, and we all shuffle behind, whispering.

Mom says, “Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to stay here.” Dad agrees.

I stop them to prevent the conversation from getting out of control. “Wait! We’re in a different country. They have their own culture.” My arm extends back to the place. “It’s a building, and no one is forcing us to join.”

“He said it so casually.” My mom shivers. “Don’t you think that’s odd…to be in a room naked with a bunch of other people having all kinds of sex?” She covers her mouth for a moment then leans forward and asks, “Do you think Miles has participated?”

I flinch at her words. The thought of Miles being with other women, engaging in sex, clenches my heart. We both had a life before meeting, but it doesn’t mean I’m comfortable knowing about his sexual liaisons.

My head shakes to erase the pictures like an Etch A Sketch. “Mom, we’re not going there. Maybe having sex in a roomful of people isn’t for you, but it doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

Bondage and all the deviant ways Miles has taken me come to the forefront. My parents already think I’m sick in the head, and if they found out about our D/s relationship, they’d probably put me in a psych ward and throw away the key.

Mom throws me off-guard when she asks, “Have you had sex in front of others?”

“Elise! Jesus!”

“What, Elliott?” She gestures to me. “She doesn’t seem too affected by a group sex room.”

“She’s young. And I don’t want to hear sex and Jules in the same sentence. Got it?”

I purse my lips together to stop from laughing. Mom huffs and begins to follow Miles’ disappearing form. We all jog to catch up and drop the subject. Miles informs us he’s meeting his brother, and suggests we return to the houses or take a walk. We’re somewhat jet-lagged, so my parents go to the guesthouse and I return to his.

Ever since my mother mentioned it, I can’t get Miles and other women out of my mind. Has Miles had group sex? Did women give him blowjobs, or did he fuck one while the other sat on his face? My stomach hurts, and I press my fist into it. Tears spring into my eyes. I love him so much. He’s mine. He said so, and I own him. No one else does, yet it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. I’ve relinquished my control to him by choice. Now, I’m worried how vulnerable I’ve left myself. In a snap, Miles can tire of me and leave. I’d be devastated and crippled by his loss. It would be more catastrophic than when I lost my job and people attacked me on social media. By the fireplace, I burrow under a blanket and cry.