Queen Takes King

A short story by Jane Boon

This story contains: her and him, contemporary romance, friends to lovers, BDSM/kink, sub/dom, femdom, shower/bath, blow job, cunnilingus

There are things I’d do to get on a G5 that I’d never consider for a Learjet. A blow job, for instance, and maybe some bondage. OK, not maybe bondage, definitely bondage. Does that make me shallow and calculating? 

I wasn’t always like this. I used to fly commercial to Aspen, with all its delays and middle-seat indignities. Until last year, I was a private-jet virgin, but that changed when I ran into an old classmate of mine at the Raines Law Room, a swanky cocktail bar in Chelsea. I had no business being there, but my girlfriend Carla      insisted. “We’ll meet lawyers and bankers. You know, guys with money.”

I tried to explain to Carla that lawyers were boring and bankers were worse, but she would hear none of it. I was proud of my decision to go into human rights work, even if it meant living with three roommates. 

As usual, Carla was late, so I wound up at the bar alone, sipping water. I hardly noticed when an athletic, dark-haired guy in a navy blazer squeezed in beside me and ordered a bourbon. “Zara, is that you? I’d recognize that red hair anywhere!”

I looked up, startled, and found myself gazing into the eyes of someone vaguely familiar. I cocked my head and gave a slight smile. “Oh hi.” 

“It’s me, Gary.” I gave him a blank look. “Remember, Gary Bianchi?” 

Despite his sharp suit and the oversize Panerai watch, I recognized the brainy upperclassman from my dorm in college. He’d once spent a whole weekend tutoring me in statistics, and he always seemed excited when I waved at him on campus.

“Oh my gosh…Gary! It’s been a few years! How’ve you been? Where’s your chessboard?” I sat up straighter on my stool, excited by the possibility of extracting a cocktail or two out of him.

“No board and no complaints. Markets are down and I’m shorting them. Ha-ha.” 

Gloating as he profited off the misery of others? His sartorial skills had improved, but his social skills had not. “Good for you! So, I guess you work on the Street?”

“Yeah. I’ve got my own firm now. It was just profiled in Bloomberg Markets.”

“Bloomberg Markets? Don’t know it.” I took a sip of water.

Gary pointed to my glass. “Whatcha drinking? That looks too plain. Let me get you something better.” He waved a hundred-dollar bill at the bartender. “What would you like?”

“I’ll take a Sazerac, please.” I patted the seat next to mine. “I was waiting for a girlfriend, but she’s late. Will you keep me company?”

Gary hopped up on the stool, and we got caught up on his life, his business, and all his adventures. I was about to bail on both him and my girlfriend when he mentioned he was heading to Aspen. “You go to Aspen? I love the place. That’s where I learned to ski!”

“I’ve got a place there now. I fucking love the powder on the back of Ajax.”

“You’ve skied the back of Aspen Mountain?” 

Gary nodded. 

“Don’t you need a snowcat to get there?”      

I’d been desperate to try that pristine powder but to rent a seat on a snowcat was a thousand bucks. I had to budget all year to cover my skiing addiction. While my colleagues were enjoying their Starbucks lattes, I was drinking tap water out of my reusable polycarbonate bottle.

“Sure, I just book one for the day and then a few of us go crazy. You should join us some time.” He made it sound so simple.

“Oh, I’d love to. But saving the world doesn’t pay well.”

Gary turned his body toward mine as he pulled my barstool closer to his. “Oh? Just come with me. There’s room on the plane—it’s a Hawker—at my place and in the cat.”

“I don’t know. . .” And I didn’t. I hadn’t seen Gary in almost a decade, and he wasn’t the timid little geek I remembered.

“You can even have your own room at my place. It’ll be cool.” 

I nodded, though I wondered what he meant by even. 

“There will be a few of us at the house. We all like to ski and have a good time. You’ll fit right in.” Gary shoved his business card at me. “I gotta go, but if you wanna come, I’m flying out next Friday afternoon, returning Sunday night. It’s a quickie, but we should get two full days.”

I sat at the bar, sipping my Sazerac as slowly as possible. I was in no hurry to get back to my crowded apartment. Carla texted me with a lame, “Sorry. Got tied up at work. CU next weekend for my b-day.”

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