"May I?" she asked, reaching for my cigar. Scotch in hand, my guests and I loosened our ties, and I asked a passing server for a box of wooden matches. I was disappointed to find myself seated with my back to her. Looking up from the fashion magazine on her lap, she treated me to a brilliant and very direct smile, as my friends and I sat at an adjacent table. She was alone, wearing a simple yet spectacular summer dress and open-toed heels. I'd noticed Leena, of course, the instant we walked in. I was in town for a few months, working on a project, and some colleagues decided to end the week by wasting our hard-earned money on unhealthy things shipped in from Scotland and Cuba. We'd met a month previously, at a cigar terrace in Belgravia. And apparently, Leena rather enjoyed her work. Apparently, there is surprisingly high demand for such services in the City. Apparently, there is a kind of therapeutic value to what she does for her clients. Instead, I asked her to please tell me more about her sideline business.Īpparently, it involved no actual sexual contact.
Still, I congratulated myself that, as Leena's warm brown eyes tracked my face, I displayed no sign of dismay, disorientation or disapproval. But I've never devoted any thought to the practice.
And I'm aware that there exists a widespread subculture of BDSM enthusiasts. I've administered a measured spank or two, when it seemed appropriate. I admit, the whole domination-submission thing is beyond my ken. So when Leena revealed that she had a part-time job outside her work at a London museum, I was struck dumb for only a moment. I'm young enough to be comfortable with novel things and old enough to have visited many of the world's odder nooks and crannies. I consider myself a thoroughly modern fellow.
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