Winter Plans

It was an innocent chat message, the kind Em and I send to one another often as we coordinate our schedules (neither of our jobs allow us to share our work calendar and both of our jobs involve juggling different commitments, so maintaining a family calendar sometimes involves negotiation.)

"Can you check some dates for me?" her text read.

"Sure," I responded, "I have a few myself." I sent her the dates in December I needed to clear with her schedule. She sent hers, a few days in December as well, and a couple in January. None presented us with any conflicts.

"All good on my end," I texted her.

"Same," she said. 

"Forgot, there are a few in February, too. Will you check Feb. 23 to 27?"

I looked at the month. Friday, February 23 to Tuesday, February 27. That is, over a weekend. This wasn't a work request.

"What are those for?" I asked, suspecting what they were for.

"They good?" she responded.

She wanted an answer before she confirmed what were for. Typical, a small control thing, one of the myriad of ways she exerted dominance and control; one of the many ways I acknowledged submission and obedience. "Yes," I texted back, "those are clear on my schedule, why?"

"Just making sure..."

"Emily..."

"Evan asked me to check those dates for our winter getaway."

"You're planning it already?" I immediately texted back, knowing the ramifications of that. 

"Just checking dates," she replied. "I'm running into a meeting, we'll talk about it tonight."

"We promised that we'd..." I paused, not sure I wanted to type it. "send them back when you planned something."

"We'll talk tonight, I promise."

"Em..."

"Tonight."

**********

I was kind of on pins and needles the rest of the day, through dinner, through B's bedtime as she, of course, put off the discussion until we were alone.

"Emily," I said coming into the bedroom after B was asleep (we take turns putting her to bed and it was my night). Emily was sitting on the bed in a robe; she still had nylons on.

"You wanted to talk about something?" she asked.

"You...you're planning your trip already?"

She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, her robe opened partially exposing her breasts. "He was talking ideas," she said, "checking dates."

I frowned. "Em..."

"What?"

"We...we promised...I mean...we promised to...to send them back when...when you planned your trip. We...we promised he'd be in control for that time."

"Like he isn't in control now," she said.

"Em..."

"Like he isn't the man in our lives now," she said.

"Emily, you know what I mean," I said.

"I know," she said.

"We...you...you just got them back."

"I know that, too," she said. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs again; her robe opened more, exposed more of her breasts, her stomach, the top to of her pantyhose; the sound of nylon rubbing against nylon sang through my mind.

"Em..."

"I thought you like having a man in our lives. A man in control."

"I...I do," I said.

"I thought you liked when my boyfriend was in charge," she said.

"Em," I blushed.

"I thought you liked Evan's expanded role."

"I do," I said, voice a whisper. "I just..."

"What?"

"You...you said he wanted you to promise not to unlock it," I said.

She shrugged. "If you're going to be feminine, you should be feminine. I told you I wouldn't promise that, though. Just like I won't promise to unlock it."

"Are...are you sending the keys back when you plan your trip?"

"Yes, as w promised," she said. "To be honest, I think he liked holding them."

"He likes to be in control."

"He's a man," she said. "It's funny, isn't it? All those years ago I picked you, but now here we are. I wonder who won? Probably both of you."

"He...he gets to..."

"Fuck me?" she laughed. "Hon, we weren't doing that even before he came back in our lives."

"This is different," I said, "we still...sometimes...played."

"We still play," she said. Her eyes darted to her nightstand.

"That's different," I said.

"Don't lie to yourself, Sara, if you could only pick one, we both know what you'd pick." My downcast eyes gave away my feelings.

"I just..."

"Do you like having a man in our lives?

"Yes, but..."

"Do you like him being in control?"

I hesitated before answering. "Yes," I said. "I just...I like it when you're in control, too."

"Either way, you're locked and soft," she shrugged.

"When...when he has them, that's decided; when you have them...there's a chance...plus it's you."

"I know," she said. "We're just planning dates, not booking things yet. He picked a place and tentative dates, but I'm not committing yet, not until after the holidays."

"Really?" I asked, perking up.

"I'm keeping them through at least Christmas," she said. "I'm sure part of the reason he wants to plan something now is because of our promise, but I'll wait a bit."

I did some math in my head, six weeks until Christmas, eight weeks from Christmas until the end of February. And some undetermined time between the end of February until Em and I had a getaway. If she planned her trip by the end of the year, I was looking at three months of Evan holding the keys, of Evan in charge, of Evan in control; three months of a daily reminder of his presence in her life, in our lives. 

The keys with Emily for two months, the keys with Evan for three. 

"Em..."

"Do you want me to say no?"

"To the trip?"

She shrugged. "To the trip, to sending them back; is it too much?"

I looked down.

"Sara..."

"N...no," I said, voice giving everything away. "I just..."

"I know," she said, "I know."

"He..."

"He's the man in our lives, the man in my life. You're something different, so very different."

"I just..."

"I wonder if it even swells anymore?" she asked.

"I can feel it," I said. "I mean, sometimes it's tighter than other times."

"I mean all the way," she corrected herself. "Even with low dose E. It was never, like, big, but I wonder if it even swells like it used to."

"I don't know," I said.

"How could you?"

I shrugged. 'It's been...so long. I used to keep track, but now I can't remember."

"That's how you like it," she said, "even if you don't always want to admit it."

"I know," I said.

"Would it bother you?" she asked. "If I unlocked it and it didn't swell?"

I looked down, torn. "No," I whispered, "it...it's more feminine when it's soft."

"My girl, not my man. Put the dates on your calendar," she said, "tentative."

"I did," I said.

She smiled. "You're a doll."

"I try," I said.

"Why don't you change," she said, "I could use a massage."

"Just a massage?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Depends," she smiled. "But don't think I'm getting the keys because I'm not."

"That's not what I was thinking," I lied.

"Yes it is," she said. 

**********

So there are tentative dates in February and a "soft" (pun intended) deadline of when Evan will be in control again (as if he isn't now). 

I'll admit to tossing and turning that night, thinking about it over and over. Evan in control. A man in control. Emily's boyfriend in control. It's obvious he prefers it; she likes it both ways.

But it's a balance. I like it, too. But it's a balance. Evan's control vs. Emily's control; me, the locked sissy, under control of one or the other. 

Day to day it's just part of life, it's just water, but there are moments I think of it, one or the other in control and I have to close my eyes and just catch my breath.