Quentin lay on his mattress, counting the paint dribbles on the wall.

(Drip. Drip. Drip.)

His apartment was a crappy box, and he suspected that the thick landlord special of white paint had been slathered on so heavily to hide something worse. (Cigarette smoke? Mold? Blood?)

Regardless of the source, he had nothing better to do with his evening. He’d convinced himself that independent lodging would be better than a dorm, but now the matchbox he’d rented out felt more like a trap. He never heard about parties, he never bumped into friends on the way to class, he just went home and laid in bed.

His pity party was interrupted by a buzz on his phone. An email about an assignment, maybe, or a class update. Nobody ever messaged him just to hang out or talk, and…

He blinked as he saw the little flame icon next to the notification. A connection on Matchbox had replied.

Quentin sat up. He didn’t get replies. His attempts at online dating were, almost exclusively, an exercise in window shopping, nobody ever actually connected with him. Tabbing to the app, he pulled up the message, heart leaping as he read it.

MagicMelody: ‘You’re cute.’

(Holy crap.)

Heart racing and fingers buzzing, Quentin hurried to type his reply.

QuizzicallyQuentin: ‘You’re cute too.’

MagicMelody: ‘Got any good pickup lines?’

He thought for a moment, but he felt unprepared to put on any charm. Paralyzed for half a minute, he finally thought of something clever.

QuizzicallyQuentin: ‘They must call you Melody because it’s easy for you to get stuck in my head.’

After hitting send, he winced. It felt a little obvious, and the phrasing was a little awkward. Would she even get the joke?

MagicMelody: LOL! That’s great.

Quentin beamed, but before he could even reply, his connection sent another message.

MagicMelody: ‘Want to get coffee?’

QuizzicallyQuentin: ‘It’s kinda late, coffee would mean I couldn’t sleep.’

MagicMelody: ‘Well, I wasn’t planning on sleeping afterwards.’

He stared, eyes widening as though he’d just read off the numbers for a winning lottery ticket.

How–

Why him?

He hurried to reply.

QuizzicallyQuentin: ‘Coffee sounds great.’

Any fatigue or boredom left him completely as he rolled out of bed, scrambling to clean himself up. A date. A date. A girl was interested in him.

He took a hasty shower and got dressed in his finest–or his cleanest–clothes, already feeling a lump in his throat as he tried to think what he’d say.

Thirty minutes later, he found himself sitting in front of one of the prettiest girls he’d ever met, waiting at a cafe table for their far-too-late-evening caffeine boost.

He had to admit that his judgment of her appearance might be biased, but beauty was in the eye of the beholder after all. Her strawberry blonde hair fell in graceful curls, and when she smiled at him, he knew it was genuine from the way her eyes sparkled.

“So are you enrolled?” he asked.

“No, I just live locally and work in the area,” Melody explained. “But you’re a student, right? What’re you studying?”

“Geology,” he explained. “I’m setting myself up for a career staring at rocks–the ‘watching paint dry’ industry just seemed too overcrowded.”

She laughed. (God she’s got a pretty laugh.) “That’s fascinating, though–studying the Earth.”

“Honestly, I’ll probably just get a job doing geologic surveys,” he admitted. “It’s about the only way to make money with this degree unless you win the grant lottery. There’s some pretty fascinating stuff being done with the mining industry, figuring out ways to dig that won’t leave the environment trashed once the mine runs dry–I’d love to work on that, if I can, but…you probably don’t want to hear a lecture on sustainable mining practice, do you?”

She giggled, covering her hand with her mouth. “It’s interesting, really. And it’s important work, too–I think too many people take geologists for granite.”

He blinked, taking a moment to process the pun, then snorted. Immediately he worried that the awkward laugh would turn her off, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Even if she was interested in his studies, he knew better than to just talk about himself. Things were going well–Quentin wouldn’t spoil it by being selfish. “So what do you do?”

“I’m paying the bills doing food delivery,” she explained, “But really, I’m a writer.”

“Oh yeah?” He grinned, taking the obvious opportunity to let Melody talk about herself. “What do you write?”

She returned the smile. “Well–I’m working on an educational book, sort of a self-help thing.”

“Oh yeah?” Quentin began, before wincing at his own lack of charm. Asking the same question back-to-back, he may as well have replaced himself with a chatbot. “I mean–please, tell me more.”

Her warm smile soothed his concern. Melody hadn’t noticed, or she didn’t mind. Before she could answer, the barista called out their order, and Quentin glanced to the side to see two paper cups waiting for them.

“Hold that thought?” he asked, getting to his feet.

“Of course.”

(Don’t blow this. It’s going well. She likes you.) Quentin repeated the mantra to himself as he got the drinks–his anxiety was spiking, fear that he’d blow the one good opportunity he’d had lately at a bit of companionship.

Melody was scowling at her phone when he got back, and his heart sank.

“Something wrong?” he asked, knowing that something had come up.

“No,” she replied, shaking her head and returning the phone to her purse.

He hesitated. It didn’t seem wise to press if Melody didn’t want to talk about it, but he also didn’t want to just ignore her feelings. Leaving it up to her, he offered the drink she’d ordered and left things opened ended. “Alright. If something came up, I get it though, you don’t need to protect my feelings.”

She accepted her drink, sipping the dirty chai. “I’m really fine, Quentin, don’t worry about it.”

“Alright.” He took a long pull of his own drink, an extra-pump mocha, covering up the bitter espresso taste with sweetness, bolstering his courage. “Well–you were telling me about your book?”

Melody grinned. “Why don’t I just show you?”

…

“Are you familiar with safe words?”

Melody stood over Quentin, whose heart hammered in his chest as he tried to remember how to speak. Her room contrasted sharply with his own lame apartment–it was lived in, decorated. Band T-shirts were hung against one wall like posters, and while a overhead bulb light was attached to the ceiling, it stayed off, with the room’s lighting instead coming from an eclectic collection of lamps with RGB-bulbs, casting the walls in pink light.

Sitting on the edge of her plush queen bed, he found his tongue well enough to say, “Like…I say ‘banana’ and we stop, right?”

The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. “You’ve got the basics, but it’s more than that. We’re going to use the stoplight system, okay?”

“Okay.” He paused, then added, “I mean–I don’t know what that means. I’m colorblind, so, does that matter?”

“That’s fine, Quentin. It’s just words. If I ask for a safe word, and you’re okay, you say, ‘Green’,” Melody explained. “Green is ‘All good.’ At any point, you can also say ‘Yellow’, which means, ‘Slow down and let’s talk’, or ‘Red’, which means ‘Stop immediately’.”

“Got it, okay. Stoplights. That makes sense.” Quentin nodded, then looked down.

“You’ve got a question,” Melody said. Not a question, a statement. “Quentin, I need you to communicate clearly with me, okay? If you’re confused, tell me.

He felt like an idiot–needing basic concepts explained to him, but Melody’s firm insistence gave him the courage to speak up, though he kept his eyes downcast. “What if I want to…keep doing stuff, but I need to stop right away? Do I say ‘Red’ or ‘Yellow’?”

“Good boy.” Melody took a half step closer so that she was right above him, and his heart leapt into his throat at the praise. Reaching out, she touched his chin, directing him to look in her eyes. “If you need me to stop, say Red. It doesn’t have to end the night, just what we’re doing. Yellow is okay too, but I’d rather you use the stronger word if you’re not sure. Okay?”

He nodded, feeling safe enough to reply honestly. “Okay.”

“Good boy.” She smiled. “But if you do want to stop, that’s okay too.”

“Okay.” Quentin was repeating himself, and he knew it, but Melody didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m going to tie you up,” Melody continued, moving her hand to rest on his shoulder. “Have you been blindfolded before?”

“Eh…no. I mean, yes. But not–” he cleared his throat, blushing. “Only when playing ‘Pin the Tail on the Donkey’.”

Melody’s smile spread. “Well, if you feel comfortable with that, I’d like to.”

He nodded. “I can do that. Are you going to gag me?”

She shook her head. “You haven’t had any practice with nonverbal safe words. I want you to be able to speak easily.”

“Okay.” He nodded, breath catching a little.

“Once you’re tied up, I’ve got a couple toys I’m going to use,” Melody continued. “I don’t think you’ve used a plug before, have you?”

Quentin shook his head, blushing. “I’m sorry, I–I’m just not very–”

“Shh.” Putting a finger over his lips, Melody shook her head. “Just answer my questions. You don’t need to feel bad for being new.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “No I haven’t.”

“I think you’d enjoy it. Can we try with a small one?”

Quentin would have agreed to be flogged with chains, for how her smile made him swell up inside. “Yes.”

She smiled down at him one more time. “Good boy. Now, take off your clothes, and I’ll get the toys, okay?”

Quentin didn’t need to be told twice. Fingers shaking, he moved to unbutton his shirt, pulling it off hastily while Melody moved to the closet.

He watched her as she opened the door, curiosity mounting, wanting to see just how many toys she had. As Melody stepped into her closet, he saw her shoulders slump ever so slightly, and he frowned.

(Is something wrong?)

He hesitated, halfway through slipping off his pants. When she turned to glance back at him, though, she wore a broad smile, and he realized he’d misread her body language.

“Well?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

Quentin looked down at himself, then back at her. “Yes, absolutely.”

She smirked. “Then do as you’re told–and once you’re naked, lie down. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good boy.”

…

Quentin stared at the ceiling, chest heaving.

“That was…”

“Good, right?” Melody asked.

He was sweaty and delirious, warmth and bliss radiating off him as he lay on her bed.

There was no question about it. That had been the best sex of his life.

Heck, it might have been the best night of his life.

Melody sat up in the bed next to him, stretching.

Even her back was beautiful.

“If you want, you’re welcome to use our shower,” she said, leaning to pick up her shirt from the floor. “There’s lots of clean towels, just put yours in the hamper.”

“Oh, sure,” Quentin said, nodding. “Melody…you’re fucking incredible, you know that?”

She smirked over her shoulder and nodded. “I’ve heard it a couple times.”

After a few heartbeats passed, he asked, “Did I do good?”

Half dressed, she got to her feet, looking down on him. “You were just fine, Quentin.”

“Really?” He sat up on his elbows. His heart was still hammering, he felt a spike of concern–he’d kind of just laid there for most of it. Sure, it’s because he couldn’t move, but still.

“Really,” she replied as she slipped on her panties. Looking up for just a moment, she gave him a quick smile. “Really, Quentin. Don’t worry about it.”

“Alright.” Lying back down, he asked, “Do you want to do this again?”

Exhaling through her nose in what could almost be a laugh, Melody shrugged. “Sure. I’ll call you sometime.”

Sighing in relief, Quentin smiled.

(I think I’m in love.)

...