The Agreement – Part 1: The Conversation

"I need to tell you something," said Tom. "And I need you not to laugh."

"I won't laugh."

"You might."

"Tom." Helena put down her wine glass. "Eighteen years. Whatever it is, say it."

It was a Thursday night, the kids were at their grandmother's, and the candle on the dining table had burned halfway down. Tom, forty-five, a civil engineer, turned the stem of his glass between two fingers. "I've had a fantasy," he said, "for a long time. About you being in charge. Not in life. Just in the bedroom. About following your lead and doing exactly what you want."

Helena looked at him for a long moment. She was forty-three, a barrister, in a wooden-boxed world where she told people what to do for a living. She did not laugh.

"Thank you for telling me," she said.

"You're not shocked?"

"I'm intrigued." She tilted her head. "I'd like to know more. What does it mean to you? What appeals? What doesn't?"

They talked for two hours. It was the best conversation they'd had in years. Helena asked careful questions and Tom answered honestly, and she took notes on a legal pad like a client brief. They agreed on limits, nothing that hurt, nothing humiliating, nothing in front of anyone. They agreed that either of them could stop anything at any moment with a single word.

"Pick one," said Helena. "A word we'd never use in a normal conversation."

"Pomegranate."

"Pomegranate. Good." She smiled. "And I'd like to be clear. This is play. You're my husband. I love you, and I respect you completely, and nothing that happens changes that."

"I know," said Tom, eyes shining. "That's why I could tell you."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Her Rules.