Turning out Bunny



It was a snowy Thanksgiving Night. Bunny and I shared a blunt as we stood together, looking out over our slice of the city. Some day, the third floor porch ( the porch railings had been cozily twined with colored lights by Bunny) was bound to break off the tilted house, like an ice floe. But for now we ignored the obvious and watched the flakes come down to cover the hushed roads. The cars were creeping cautiously down the narrow, sparkling streets, their head lights illuminating the way like a string of Christmas tree lights. We could hear the trains pulling in and out, over at Forrest Hills T stop. They squealed horribly, like tar caught dinosaurs. The night air smelled dry and cold as a delicious martini.

Bunny turned to me, her nose scrunched up and perplexed. She reminded me of a simple drawing in a children's book. She has coarse, curly hair that springs around her round face in a moving mass of peachiness. Her slow blinking eyes, behind round frames, belied a fierce, all encompassing but modest brilliance. She knows which way the wind blows.

"So pervy guys pay you an obnoxious sum of money to play with your feet? Is that all? I won't judge you. You know that." Bunny beamed her non judgment beneficence in my direction. She is a fabulous therapist and had heard worse than this.

"Well...yeah. But there is more to it than that. Believe it or not, despite all the props and oddities, the guys are really pretty cool. So far anyway. Seriously, I am not having sex with any of them. It's a great gig-all very theatrical and really quite psychological" Bunny looked at me askance for a moment as she drew on the blunt and then nodded quickly.

"I suppose I can see that. It actually makes sense. I bet there is lots of shame around these activities. They must have a deep need to act it out, especially if their early sexuality was imprinted and linked to some humiliating event." Bunny clenched the fragrant cigar in one bright red knit mitten.

"There does seem to be some of that. Sexy, older, stronger babysitters sitting on little boy faces...you know, lots of smothering, feet and tickling stuff. I don't know if it is quite that simple.Some subs might be born and not made."

"So how do I get in on this? I have really sweet feet." said Bunny proudly and abruptly.

"Really? You want me to pimp your feet mama?" I hooted at the thought of earnest, feminist, vegan, cat worshiping Bunny, whoring out her tootsies. She nodded her head sharply, her curls quivering

"Are you kidding? If what you say is true, then I basically get paid (bleep) to get a foot massage? If I did ten a month it would pay my rent. Where the hell do I sign up? I owe seventy thousand in student loans. I was thinking about begging for a job down at Starbucks,so I can stand on my feet for 20 more hours a week and bring home an embarrassing check. I'm exhausted." I nodded sympathetically.

"All right...let me think about it. I've just started myself. Let me see how I do.If I work it, then I'll include you." She nodded and put out the blunt, pulling up her faux fur collar around her face. She turned toward her apartment where she was cooking a vegan Thanksgiving feast. I knew I would have to choke down tofu flavored products so I could get at what Bunny makes best. She is a wonderful baker and concocts a peerless banana bread, as well as rich, vegan chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies

The scent of Tofu turkey wafted through the screen door. My stomach rumbled despite
myself.I am a animal loving carnivore who grapples with my meat eating, weak hypocritical self.If I had to, I would throw down on my own cats. Fuck it-they would do it to me. And I adore my cats. Each,guilt ridden morning, I start my day with a prosciutto and swiss cheese omelet and a pot of strong black coffee.

"Do you think what I am doing is wrong"? I was going to do it anyway, but her opinion did matter to me, so I was willing to look attentive and as though I was deeply considering her position.

"Absolutely not. I can't tell you why now, because I'm to messed up. I just want to eat. But later, I promise I will analyze this with you. Did you choose a name?"

"I've decided to call myself Mistress Ava, The Laughing Mistress". I explained to Bunny how I came by my previously, private moniker and my earlier bloody debacle back at the hotel. When she stopped giggling I went on.

"I chose Ava because I love the name and it is my tribute to the actress Ava Gardner,(Our generation's Angeline Jolie I believe)and alphabetically it starts with an A.Top of the list.It is hard to screw up and easy to spell and remember. Spare, sexy,elegant and vaguely European without being pretentious." I followed Bunny back inside her apartment, where we shed our winter gear. I shook out my perfectly broken in, quarter length black leather blazer, opera length black velvet gloves and a sea green, knitted fisher mans hat and a roughly woven scarf that matched. So cute. I bought them at a fair in Nova Scotia.

"I like it. I think it's going to work for you."

I nodded silently and we both changed the subject when the door bell began ringing with the arrival of our friends. We lived in the city so our families were elsewhere.

Already we were learning to keep secrets.