Chapter Twenty

“No, no, darling, hold the knife like this,” Vivian corrected gently as she stood behind me and watched over me as I diced a section of onion for tonight’s dinner. As she spoke, she reached around and adjusted my grip on the knife, “and hold the onion like this,” she continued as she corrected my grip there. “And elbow out and up, there you go! Try now.”

“This feels so awkward though,” I whined as I tried to hold the onion steady with my fingers curled under my hand.

Vivian chuckled, “I know, darling, but its for your own safety. You wouldn’t want to cut yourself, would you?”

“No,” I conceded with a pout, but it quickly dissipated into a grin. I couldn’t help it; Vivian was being so nice as she was teaching me to cook. It made me feel a little giddy and filled my belly with butterflies.

“Is it too uncomfortable? Maybe you’re not quite ready, would you like me to do it?” Vivian offered without a hint of condescension or judgement in her voice.

The thing was, I was familiar with Vivian as an educator. Sure, teaching doctoral level literary theory classes was a bit different from teaching basic cooking skills, but I was still surprised to see this was a whole new side of Vivian. Well, not entirely new; her confidence and grace were still very much intact, after all. But as a professor she was very cool and witty—more so, she was brilliant in a way that was sometimes intimidating but always made you want to aspire to her level. Professor Vivian Devereux constantly challenged you to grow and learn as a student, not because she was mean but because she wanted you to be the best you could be. It was, in no small part, what attracted me to her in the first place.

But this Vivian, the Vivian who gently placed my fingers in the right places on the knife, was warm and patient. She was, dare I say, almost motherly. She was encouraging but let me set the pace. She was content to let me learn little by little, never pushing me out of my comfort zone. Maybe the difference was that you couldn’t chop off a finger while studying literary theory—though I had certainly received more than my fair share of paper cuts—but in this setting, Vivian was more the type to hold your hand (literally and figuratively) and force you to keep a slow pace.

I had fallen for Vivian the brilliant professor, but I adored this side of Vivian just as much. She made me feel…like I was being taken care of. She made me feel safe; as uncomfortable as it was to hold the knife and potato like she had shown me, I trusted that Vivian would never let me hurt myself.

Gee, it’s a real mystery why you like this side of Vivian so much.

Shush.

“Nu uh, I got this,” I shook my head and focused on the knife and the onion.

“Okay, darling, just remember how to cut, all right? Back and forth, just like that, good!”

Vivian continued to cheer me on as I slowly diced the onion. It wasn’t like this was the first time I’d ever diced a vegetable, but it was the first time I had done so with the ‘proper’ grip, which felt so unnatural to me that it may as well have been my first time cutting anything at all. I grinned and blushed at Vivian’s encouragement, but kept my focus, oblivious to the way I was biting my lip in concentration. I held the flat of the knife against my knuckles like Vivian had told me, despite how counter-intuitive that had seemed to me, and slowly worked my way down the length of the section of onion.

“There!” I exclaimed as I got to the end. “I did it!”

“Good job, darling!” Vivian laughed as she lightly applauded me. I couldn’t help but grin; I felt genuinely proud of myself. “Why don’t you take a break and let me finish the rest of the onions?”

“Okay!” I agreed and handed the knife to Vivian—handle first, just like she had taught me earlier that evening. “Thank you for teaching me to cook,” I said as I took a seat on one of the stools around the kitchen island.

“Oh, darling, you’re quite welcome; I’m having a blast doing it. You seem like you’re having fun, too?” She half-said/half-asked.

“I am,” I confirmed. “I’ve always meant to try learning to cook, but…well, you know, grad school has kept me pretty busy.”

“I understand that perfectly,” Vivian empathized as she chopped the onions. Her hands moved confidently and swiftly—I absolutely would have chopped a finger off if I had tried to chop them as quickly and efficiently as she was. “I’m surprised your mother didn’t teach you when you were younger though.”

I shrugged and took a sip of my water—Vivian had said absolutely no alcohol until I was done handling knives. “To be honest, my mom wasn’t much of a cook either,” I said, kicking my legs back and forth as they dangled off the stool. “We ate a lot of frozen food…and fast food…and stuff that came out of boxes…”

“Sadly, being able to have homecooked meal is quite a privilege,” Vivian said. “I like to say that everyone should know at least the basics of how to cook, but the truth is that many people simply don’t have the time or means to learn. And then the reality of life is that cooking truly is an investment of time and energy that many families simply can’t afford these days.” She said, then looked back over her shoulder at me with an apologetic smile, “but I’m rambling. Sorry, I think I went into professorial mode for a second there.”

“You’re cute when you get all professorial,” I’d seen Vivian blush a few times, but I always felt a little accomplished when I managed to bring red to her cheeks. “And you’re right,” I added before taking a long drink from my water.

“Why don’t,” she began speaking as she wiped her hands on her black apron, “you go make yourself a glass of wine while I pop into the restroom for a moment?”

“Are we done cutting things?”

“No,” Vivian replied, “but I think you’ve learned enough for one night, I can finish up while you watch. Sound nice?”

I nodded, “but I’m not in the mood for wine tonight.”

“No wine?” Vivian’s heels clicked on the tile as she walked over to me and stroked my cheek with a single finger, “well, what are you in the mood for, poppet? I have a full liquor cabinet if you want something harder and some soda and juices if you’d prefer something softer.”

“Something harder, for sure,” I said with a breathy laugh.

“Harder?” Vivian laughed, “all right, my dear, what will it be then?”

I grabbed her apron and pulled her down and into a long kiss. “Surprise me?” I said quietly when I finally broke the kiss off. “But something strong.”

“Certainly,” Vivian said, “how could I say no to such a strong request?” Vivian grinned, then turned and left the room, her heels clicking the whole way.

Her ass looks great in the skirt.

It really does. It’s making me feel self-conscious, to be honest.

Up until tonight, I had always gotten dressed up for Vivian and mine’s nights together, but I had dressed much more casually tonight. I figured we were at that point in our relationship, especially since we were about to spend a full week together and it wasn’t like I was going to be dressed up the whole time. In fact, I was pretty sure I would look like a hot mess some of that time. And so I had shown up in a plain black t-shirt under a pair of denim shortalls with a pair of high top sneakers. Vivian, meanwhile, had answered the door in a black pencil skirt, low cut blouse, sheer pantyhouse, and black heels.

Maybe that is casual for her.

And the thing was, I would believe it.

I untied the apron Vivian had given me—like hers, it was black, but unlike hers, it was lined with a pink ruffle—and hung it back up. Then I chugged the rest of my glass of water and went to the fridge to refill it.

Still going through with this?

Yes. I think so. Definitely. Probably.

My stomach flipped.

After my phone call earlier that day with Vivian, I had sat down at my desk and spent a long time lost in thought. There was a lot to think about: things that, to be truthful, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for weeks, but had never come to a conclusion on despite that. But after that phone call, I knew it was time to do just that. I had to once and for all decide how far I was going to take this whole charade I had gotten myself tied up in. I sat at my desk for hours and agonized over it, weighing the options, predicting how Vivian would react to certain scenarios, and considering what my life would be like in those scenarios.

The thing was, I knew I should call it off entirely. Anything else was dishonest. But the truth was, I simply couldn’t. I had come too far, and now that I’d had a taste of my fantasy, I couldn’t give it up. Continuing the charade might have been dishonest, but ending it felt like giving up on something that I had been coveting for years and made me happy.

And it’s not like the lie hurts Vivian, right?

Right.

So, the decision came down not to whether or not I would end the charade, but to what my endgame was. I could stop having accidents during the day entirely and just stay a bedwetter, or I could keep having the occasional accident whenever I had a few too many drinks. Either option would have made me happy. But I could also up the ante and start having accidents more frequently during the day. I could make Vivian think I needed to be in pull-ups all the time—that is, of course, except at night when I would be in diapers. Finally, and speaking of, I could go even further and…

Absolutely not.

Right. That option was quickly dismissed as being hot but impractical.

Truthfully, I don’t think I would have made the decision I did if I hadn’t spent almost the entire week prior in pull-ups and diapers, but I did, and it had been glorious. So I chose to take it as far as I dared, which meant I had come to Vivian’s that night prepared to once again humiliate myself.