When He Asked Her to Lead

Ronald had rehearsed the conversation four times on the drive home.

The first version sounded like a presentation he might give at work. The second was so vague that Susan would have spent the evening wondering what he was trying to tell her. By the third, he had managed to convince himself that bringing it up at all was a terrible idea.

The fourth had ended when his phone rang at a red light, and he had spent the rest of the drive discussing a problem that should have been solved before lunch.

Now he stood in the kitchen with his tie loosened and his phone facedown on the counter, watching his wife stir a pot of sauce.

“You’re staring,” Susan said.

“I’m admiring my wife.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “You can do both.”

He smiled, though it took more effort than it should have. “Do you need help?”

“Could you take the bread out of the oven?”

He reached for the oven mitt, grateful for something useful to do. The familiar rhythm of their kitchen usually helped him leave work behind. Susan cooked; he set the table or chopped vegetables or stood close enough to steal a taste when she wasn’t looking.

Tonight, even the warmth of the room couldn’t quiet his thoughts.

Susan noticed. Of course she noticed.

They had been married long enough for her to recognize the difference between his ordinary end-of-day fatigue and the tension that followed him home when something was weighing on him.

She turned off the burner. “How bad was it?”

He set the bread on the counter. “The usual.”

“That bad?”

Ronald leaned against the cabinets. “Three meetings that should have been emails, one problem that became my problem because nobody else wanted to make a decision, and a phone call on the way home.”

Susan gave him a sympathetic look. “Did you solve everything?”

“Apparently well enough that they can find new problems for me tomorrow.”

She stepped close and put her arms around his waist. Ronald lowered his head, resting his cheek against her hair. For a moment, he let himself stand there with his wife holding him.

Then his mind supplied a list of things he needed to remember in the morning.

He closed his eyes.

“Still at work?” Susan asked.

“A little.”

“Stay here with me for a minute.”

He tightened his arms around her and tried to do exactly that.

They ate at the kitchen table, with Susan telling him about an encounter at the grocery store involving a runaway shopping cart and a very determined toddler. Ronald laughed in the right places and asked questions, but he could feel the conversation waiting beneath everything else.

When they finished, he carried their plates to the sink.

Susan brought over the glasses. “You’ve checked your phone twice.”

“Only twice?”

“Twice that I saw.”

He reached for the faucet. She laid a hand over his.

“Ronald.”

There was no accusation in her voice. That somehow made it harder.

He dried his hands on the towel. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about.”

Her expression changed, concern replacing amusement. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes.” He hesitated. “I mean, I think so. It’s just something I want to talk to you about.”

Susan looked toward the table. “Do you want to sit down?”

He nodded.

She took the chair beside his instead of the one across from him. It was such a small thing, but he appreciated not having the width of the table between them.

Ronald folded his hands, unfolded them, and finally rested them on his knees.

“I’ve been having a hard time leaving work at work,” he said. “You know that.”

“I do.”

“I spend all day making decisions. People come to me with questions, problems, things they want me to fix. Even when I get home, I’m still running through everything in my head.”

“You’ve been carrying a lot.”

“I know everyone has stressful days. I don’t want to make it sound as if I’m the only person who does.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t talk about yours.”

He looked at her. “I’ve been reading about ways people handle that pressure.”

“Have you found anything helpful?”

“Maybe.” He drew a breath. “I came across some things about BDSM.

Specifically, people who find comfort in giving up control to someone they trust.”

Susan didn’t speak immediately. Her eyebrows lifted, and Ronald felt heat creep up his neck.

“I know that might sound like it came out of nowhere,” he said.

“It’s not what I expected you to say.” She paused. “Are you talking about being tied up?”

“Possibly, eventually. I don’t know.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I’m not doing a very good job explaining this.”

“You’re doing fine. I’m listening.”

He looked down at his hands. “Some of what I read was about people choosing to let their partner take the lead. They talked about trust, and having a chance to set down some of the responsibility they carry all day. That part stayed with me.”

Susan considered him. “You want me to tell you what to do?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds a little strange.”

“It is a little strange.” Her mouth curved. “I’ve spent years trying to get you to let me pick the restaurant.”

He laughed, grateful for it. “I do let you pick.”

“You offer me two choices you’ve already approved.”

“That’s efficient.”

“That’s exactly what you say at work, isn’t it?”

“Probably.”

Her hand found his. “Tell me what you’re imagining.”

He turned his hand over and laced their fingers together.

“I’m still figuring that out. Maybe coming home and letting you decide what happens for a while. Maybe doing something for you because you asked me to, and not having to be the one organizing everything.” He hesitated. “And yes, some of what I read was intimate. I thought about that, too.”

Susan’s thumb moved slowly across his knuckles. “Intimate how?”

The question made him look at her. She seemed curious rather than uncomfortable, though he knew better than to assume.

“I imagined you taking the lead in the bedroom,” he said. “Telling me what you wanted. Perhaps asking me to wait while you touched me.” He swallowed. “I thought about what it would feel like to trust you enough to let you decide.”

Color rose in Susan’s cheeks, but she didn’t pull her hand away.

“I’ve never heard you talk about wanting that.”

“I’ve never said it out loud before.”

“Not to anyone?”

He shook his head.

She squeezed his hand. “Thank you for telling me.”

Relief loosened something in his chest. He hadn’t realized how tightly he had been holding himself together until that moment.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured,” he said. “I’m asking whether you’d be interested in learning about it with me. You can tell me no.”

“I know.” Susan tilted her head. “Can I ask you something that might sound uncomfortable?”

“Of course.”

“Are you unhappy with us?”

The question hurt because he understood why she would ask it.

“No.” He shifted his chair closer. “Susan, I love our life. I love being with you. This isn’t because you’re doing something wrong or because what we have isn’t enough.”

“Then why now?”

He thought about the past few weeks: the calls he had answered during dinner, the nights he had lain awake thinking about work, the way Susan had stopped asking whether he was coming to bed and had simply kissed his forehead before going upstairs alone.

“Because I don’t like how much of me my job gets,” he said. “I come home, and I’m here, but sometimes I’m still thinking about what everyone needs from me tomorrow. I read those articles and wondered what it might be like to put that down for a little while.”

Susan’s expression softened.

“I don’t know if this would help,” he added. “I just know the idea appealed to me. And the person I imagined trusting with it was you.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then she leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder.

“I’ve missed you lately,” she said.

“I’ve been right here.”

“Your body has.” Her tone was gentle. “The rest of you has been in meetings.”

He put his arm around her. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you don’t mean to do it.” She lifted her head. “But if we explore this, I don’t want it to become another thing I have to manage while you check out.”

“That’s fair.”

“I mean it. If I’m taking the lead, I need to know you’re paying attention to me, too. What I enjoy. What I’m comfortable with. Whether I’m tired after my own day.”

Ronald nodded. “I want that. I don’t want to hand you another job.”

“Good, because I already have a list.” She gave him a pointed look. “The hall closet is still waiting to be painted.”

He groaned. “I had a feeling that might come up.”

“You said you wanted to do things I asked.”

“I walked into that one.”

“You did.”

He kissed her temple. She smelled faintly of the soap she kept by the kitchen sink, and he lingered there, enjoying the warmth of her against him.

“So,” he said, “does that mean you’re willing to think about it?”

“I’m willing to talk about it. And I’m curious enough to learn more.”

His heart gave a hopeful thump.

“But I have questions,” she continued. “A lot of them.”

“I do, too.”

“What happens if we try something and one of us doesn’t like it?”

“We stop.”

“Even if we’ve already agreed to it?”

“Especially then.” He brushed his thumb over her hand. “I read that people talk about limits beforehand and agree on a way to stop or pause. We’d have to figure out what works for both of us.”

Susan studied him. “You’ve done more than a little reading.”

“Enough to know I have a lot more to learn.”

“And if I don’t enjoy being in charge?”

“Then we don’t do it.” He wanted her to believe him, so he waited until she met his eyes. “I mean that. I’d rather have an honest answer than have you agree because you think it will make me happy.”

She leaned forward and kissed him, softly at first. When he touched her cheek, she kissed him again, taking her time.

When they parted, she rested her forehead against his.

“I’m not agreeing to anything tonight,” she said.

“I know.”

“But I might like seeing you a little less certain of what’s going to happen next.”

The warmth that moved through him surprised him in its intensity. Susan saw his reaction and smiled.

“Oh,” she said. “You really do like that idea.”

“I do.”

She kissed him once more, then stood and reached for the plates still waiting in the sink.

Ronald rose beside her. “I can finish those.”

“I know you can.”

There was something in her voice that made him pause.

Susan handed him the towel. “I’ll wash. You dry.”

He looked at the towel, then at her.

“This isn’t a scene,” she said, amusement dancing in her eyes. “The dishes just need doing.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said before he could stop himself.

She turned toward him slowly. “Was that necessary?”

“Probably not.”

“Did you enjoy saying it?”

Ronald smiled. “Maybe.”

Susan shook her head, but she was smiling too. She passed him the first plate, and he dried it while she washed the next.

Later, when the kitchen was clean and his phone was still facedown on the counter, Susan took his hand and led him into the living room. She curled up beside him on the sofa, and he reached for the remote.

“Leave it off for a little while,” she said.

He set it down.

She tucked herself against him. “Tell me what you read.”

Ronald drew the blanket over both of them and began. This time, he didn’t need to rehearse.