Bad Girls by Brooke Stern Page A

slightly embarrassed that he had fallen for the auditory hallucination. He expected her to be later, but there she was. Suddenly it was real and not at all like getting an email. There was Ellen, in the flesh. It was happening.
    He recalled the script they’d written for that moment:
    At 10:54 PM 4/22/2004, [email protected] wrote:
    I arrive late. I thought I’d left early enough, but I hit traffic on the interstate. At this time of day you never know. Besides, I’m only a few minutes late. It’s nothing, really.
    But I know it’s not nothing to you. Even though part of you is inclined to forgive me – shit happens, right? – you’re quite taken aback by my lateness. You drove over 150 miles to meet me and I can’t even be on time? What’s worse, I don’t even mention it. No apology, no mea culpa, nothing. You don’t fall for the little charm act I give you. Everyone else lets me get away with murder because they just want to get in my panties. I usually let them, too, because it’s easier that way.
    For you, though, it’s just a reminder of why you need to do it to me. It’s because of shit like this. It’s because I act like I don’t care. If I let on how much I cared, I don’t think I could stand it. Caring hurts too much.
    Ellen
    At 11:22 PM 4/22/2004, [email protected] wrote:
    I’ll show you that not caring hurts, too. I’ll show you that not caring is a choice and you have to live with your choices. I know that if I don’t care how you treat me, you’ll learn you can disregard me like your other men. I’m following your lead now. I’m following your lead when I do what no man dares do to you: violate you, humiliate you, spank you.
    You’ll know what you’re in for the moment you come in the door. I won’t be swayed by your looks like your other boyfriends. Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re beautiful, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you get away with treating me like shit. You’ll find out that I won’t let you get the best of me like you do everyone else. You’ll know it by the way I grab your wrists and push you against the wall. You’ll know it by the way I reach up your skirt and…
    Tom
    At 11:30 PM 4/22/2004, [email protected] wrote:
    Oh, come off it, Tom. I’m just a little late. I can’t control the traffic, for Christ’s sake. You’re not some ridiculous hard-ass, are you? Whatever.
    Don’t make such a big deal about it. Don’t make it an issue between us. What are you, some oversensitive girl? Let’s go get a drink. Come on, it’ll put us at ease. Don’t be so serious, Tom. Can’t you have a little fun? What, did I say something wrong? Is Big Man Tom going to spank me? Hey, stop that. You can’t touch me there. I hardly even know you. I’m not ready, Tom. Go slower. I’m not kidding. I said, don’t. Please. No.
    Together, they had scripted an arrival fraught with tension and conflict. They had imagined it tinged with coercion and violence. The arrival in their emails had segued seamlessly into punishment, even rape. But when Tom opened the door and Ellen was actually there, it was different. They stood there for a moment, considering each other, their curiosity momentarily winning out over their nerves until she finally averted her gaze and dropped her head.
    Showtime, he thought. He reached out for her, though he did so sweetly, tenderly and reassuringly. She didn’t protest and he had no urge to force her, though he would if it came to that. He loved the script they had written and was committed to it, but it didn’t have to be mean. His momentary sweetness was meant to usher her in, to welcome her softly to the private stage where they would realize their fantasy.
    They were silent as she stepped across the threshold and he closed the door behind her. Even as he meant to