Damsel in Distress

by George Monk
2013
ebook available from Amazon

Megan, a professional bondage model, specializes as a damsel in distress. In real life she hopes a knight, one with darker impulses, will ride over the horizon and rescue her. When she rescues Ryan, a homeless man, she isn’t thinking of herself. Or is she?

This is an erotic romance short story (about 11,500 words long) but is very toned down (not at all like Fifty Shades books).

Here's how the story begins:
“But, I’m a good girl.”

Usually when I say that, it’s silently and to myself. Looking in the mirror, I said this aloud since no one else was in the restroom. “Really, I’m a good girl.”

I looked the part, glossy hair to my shoulders with bangs cut straight across. My hair is auburn so dark some think it’s black. My best feature is green eyes that can be woeful and beseeching. Without the eyes I don’t think I could be a good damsel in distress. No words, the eyes have to carry the message. No lipstick at the moment, but when I wear it I go for scarlet, applied with a brush. Another good feature is a great jawline. In photographs the outlines are as important as what they contain.

I dried my hands and left the restroom. My Starbucks pal was watching the laptop so it wouldn’t wander off. Ryan and I started to converse a couple of weeks ago. Just coffee shop friends at first, then a little more than that.

I came to Starbucks because I’m a cheapskate entrepreneur. High speed costs money and, while it would be tax deductible, an expense was money out of my pocket. I wasn’t wildly successful but I was getting there. So I came to Starbucks and used the WiFi to upload content to my website and photos to my blog. I got the cheapest coffee I could and nursed it. There’s lots of content, and I tried to update my site every four days, or about seven times a month, give or take.

I sat next to Ryan. “Thanks for watching Igor.”

“Not a bother.”

“Something to eat?” This was a delicate matter. Ryan was homeless and touchy about it.

“I have sandwich makings in the car.”

“A refill?”

“I’m really okay.”

“Want to use Igor to surf the web?”

“Not really.”

Ryan was a reader. He usually had a library book with him.

“So what do you want to talk about?”

“Raymond Chandler’s LA?”

Ryan knew I had one foot stuck in the 1940s and 1950s. “Red Wind?”

“I’m reading The Little Sister.”

“I’m not that good about the details, Ryan.”

“Everybody drives to get places. Mostly people live in apartments, even those who have money. There is a multiple layering of subcultures: criminal and drug, mob, film industry.”

Ryan was a construction worker out of a job since the downturn. Just because he was homeless didn’t mean he was dumb.

“Hard-boiled usually has the criminal element in it.”

“In Chandler’s Bay City, it is so pervasive that it’d be impossible to do anything and not be breaking the law. The law itself is corrupt.”

“And Marlowe navigates through these subcultures and saves the maiden?”

“He does; he loves her but can never say the words. He loves her, and although he puts his neck on the line, he knows she might be playing him for a patsy. Probably is.” Ryan has a hard time sometimes keeping his hands still. Now his fingers made endless circles on the table top.

“Are you one of those men, Ryan, who can’t resist a damsel in distress?”

“Megan,” he said, “it’s one of the saving graces of the male of the species.”

“But what if Marlowe puts his sweetie in jeopardy just so he can rescue her? Not because he wants to impress her with his daring do, but because he has to do it. He has to tie her to the railroad tracks and watch the train come closer and try to save her at the last minute.”

“Marlowe’s not like that.”

“I know that. I’m just being hypothetical. Could you appreciate a hero who does that?”

“A hero or a villain?” Ryan’s hands switched from making circles to tapping.

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”

“And with Marlowe, it’s easy to tell he’s a hero. He’s not overly complicated.”

“He’s the white knight but his armor has gotten rusty.”

I switched to an old subject for us. “Ryan, winter’s coming. Are you going to be okay in your car?”

He nodded and looked away. “It’s not that bad.”

“I can’t believe that. Even your peanut butter will freeze.”

“I’ll have a job by then.”

“I know you will, but what if you don’t?”

“I’ll be okay. Really.”