Ropes and Lace | MM Romance PREVIEW

Chapter 2 - Know Me

"Okay, let me get this straight..." my best friend pauses dramatically, processing everything I told her from the instant she set foot in my house and I hurried her into the dining room.

I met Chloe Prescott in my second year of college. She sat next to me during a Journalistic Photography lesson and the first impression I got of her, stealing quick glances when she was distracted because I was too shy to dare make a direct assessment, was that she was a girl obsessed with cosplays and that most likely her Spotify playlist was full of depressing emo band songs. Her curly hair was fluorescent green, so long it brushed her hips, with tiny white flowers evenly distributed through the delicate strands. Her makeup was fierce: eyes dusted with shiny black shading, almost reaching her abundant, but defined eyebrows, full lips in a blood-red shade, and four pink stars drawn perfectly from her left cheekbone to her temple.

She wore an opaque blue shirt with yellow stripes and a knee-length leather skirt, the rest of her fleshy legs hugged by plaid tights. What especially caught my attention was her headband with big, furry cat ears, because it made me question what character she was trying to portray. I'm not going to lie, the excess of colors hurt my retinas at first, but Chloe was an enigma I had to decipher. I don't remember who took the lead, who initiated the conversation, but we became close comrades immediately. She was animated, quirky, outgoing, funny and her pure, crystalline aura attracted me like a magnet to metal. I regretted my original presumption, of locking her in a box constructed of stereotypes, prejudices and preconceived social notions from a superficial analysis, because it was far from the truth. She was and continues to be a glowing sphere, illuminating any environment with her playful and energetic attitude.

Sure, she can also be unreservedly honest, ignoring your feelings being crushed in the process and when she gets angry, she leaves material destruction in her wake. But I love her and that means accepting her completely, virtues and flaws included.

"You're going to photograph a dude with his balls hanging out and, as if that's not enough, it'll be while wiggling his sausage," Chloe finishes her earlier comment and I nod, the heat in my cheeks and neck indicating that I'm blushing.

Since I don't have the confidence to meet her gaze, I focus on absorbing the elements of her current look. Her style has varied greatly over time, but she has never conformed to a particular fashion, as she creates her own trends and models her own confections because, yes, Chloe makes each of her outfits. Currently, her thick hair is dyed in two tones; one half a deep purple, the other a vibrant indigo, divided into twin pigtails that hang behind her ears filled with earrings of different shapes and sizes. She wears a pale orange dress that falls to her thighs, with short translucent sleeves and a wide collar, exposing the sandy tan skin of her shoulders. Platform boots of a faint beige to her ankles, adorned with sturdy chains and buckles. Her makeup is as meticulous and flawless as usual; thick gold eyeliner, contoured with a faded lavender hue, lipstick of the same color and false eyelashes with tiny pearls at the ends.

She looks magnificent.

"And using toys," I whisper after a few seconds of heavy silence, uncomfortable and uneasy.

"And using toys," she repeats, her expression becoming thoughtful and I tense up like a violin string. Chloe has no qualms about speaking her mind and sometimes I fear what will come out of her mouth. "What kind?" She asks, suddenly getting excited. "And be specific, because I'll subscribe to his OnlyFans right now if he has dragon dildos."

"Oh, God," I bury my face in my hands, laughing despite her blatant statement. I'm not a virgin, nor am I a prude or anything similar, but discussing topics of this nature with Chloe somehow feels scandalous to me. It's like chatting about sex with my mother, for fuck's sake. "What the hell is a... You know what? I don't want to know. But, I don't know. None of the... items he'll be using are reflected in the contract," I growl, taking a sip of my coffee, which has grown cold from the lengthy explanation of my new (and terrifying) job.