Redemption

A short story by Alice Holm

This story contains: queer, threesome/group, contemporary romance, lovers reunited, strangers, BDSM/kink, impact, firsts, sub/dom, femdom, bondage, rough

When he walks into the studio, my heart starts racing. It takes a moment for my brain to catch up. He pauses right before me, blocking the exit, recognition written all over the smug smile on his face. I have no choice but to stand up tall and look him in the eye. 

“Ronnie, it’s been ages.” 

The timing is terrible with anxious mothers and children all around us. But he is alone. He must be the instructor, realization dawned on me. I had brought my nephew to the new karate studio in town. On the website it had just said “Ron” next to the 5pm class. Ron’s a common enough name. Besides, eight years ago, he was Ronnie. 

But Ronnie—Ron—doesn’t miss a beat. He stares right back at me, then lets his gaze drop below my chin, just long enough that I notice. 

“Hello, Clara,” he says, in English. And then he switches to German, because that was the language we had used when we lived in Berlin together. “You look exquisite.” 

Before I can respond, he heads towards the center of the room, calling the class to him. 

For the next hour, I abandon the errands I’d intended. I watch him teach, replaying his words. It’s been a long time since anyone has spoken to me in German; longer still since anyone has called me exquisite. 

I’d googled him on and off over the years, but never found much. I emailed him once, a year after we broke up. When he didn’t respond, I imagined he was still angry at me, and let him be. I could never have pictured him here, teaching blocks and strikes to kids in a swanky DC suburb. 

After class, Ronnie finds me amidst the throng of parents. “Clara,” he says. “The world is full of surprises.” 

He looks highly amused, as always. Nothing fazed Ronnie, not once in all the times I caught him cheating. He always had his excuses, so many that I started to believe his infidelities were reasonable and I was the crazy one.

Oh no, nothing fazed Ronnie. Until the day I let him catch me in bed with a girl.

I’d met her at a club. She’d been cute, but I hadn’t really cared about her. I’d wanted a reaction from him, but I hadn’t foreseen the raw fury that would rearrange his features like a grotesque carnival mask. Nor the way he would excise me from his life afterwards as if I were an unpleasant growth on his otherwise unblemished skin. 

There is none of that ugliness now, only the classic Ronnie smirk—the world is full of surprises reverberating in my skull.  

“The sea is deep, Ronnie,” I retort, trying not to look shaken. “And the world is wide.” Once I say it, I wish I could take it back. It’s a rhyme from a children’s book—I’ve been my nephew’s nanny since a year after I came back from Germany.  But Ronnie doesn’t seem to get the silly reference. 

“Would you like to have coffee with me?”

His question, in English no less, is brazen. Mothers surround us, waiting for the opportunity to fawn over the handsome and charismatic instructor. He ignores them, appraising only me. I appraise him right back. Still tall and handsome, with dark skin and a strong jawline. He is completely bald now, but it only adds to his appeal. 

“Why are you here?” I ask, switching to German. 

He raises a cavalier eyebrow at me. “I’d think it obvious, Clara. I teach karate.” 

Then he pulls something from the pocket of his gi. He slips it into my hand and turns away. It’s clear from the shape and weight of it that it’s his business card. The intent is clear too-–if I want to see him, I can call him. 

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