The decline stung, but I would go with or without her. I had to. By the time I went home for the day, I had a plan of action. Wear black to the Afterglow, find Dr. Evans, and beg him, one last time, to do the contest with me. If not, on Monday, I would secure another professor for next year. I called Jessica. Maybe she would go with me.
“What up,” she said.
“I’m going to The Afterglow. Have you ever heard of it?”
“Heard of what?”
“The Afterglow. I guess it used to be called Club Hades.”
“Oh! Isn’t that a swinger’s club, or something? Why? What’s up?”
“Apparently Dr. Evans goes there.”
“No way. Shit, that’s unreal.”
But it was real. “I’m going to ask him again. Tonight. Catch him off guard in the club. That sort of thing.”
“Tonight? Really?” she asked. “Even on the weekend, you’re scheming on how to make this program your slave.”
Jessica was referencing the fact that every time she saw me in the office, I always had my head buried in a book, or wouldn’t go out on weeknights because I had other work to catch up on, turning down yet another invitation to hang out with the other grad students. It was easier to bury myself in schoolwork. Because this is what Dad had always wanted, and if he couldn’t do it, then I had to do it for him. There was no excuse. And it helped drown out the grief.
Don’t think. Do. Read. Analyze. Break down the text.Before you break down too.
“I’m trying to get ahead,” I explained, and she laughed.
“At this rate, you’ll graduate before me,” she said.
Jessica was kind to me, and I wanted to prove to her that I was worthy of that respect. Which, in a way, meant actually competing in the Crossing Collaborations Contest. “Would you want to go to the club with me?” I asked. “I can go by myself, but I figure—”
“Absolutely,” she said. “I was going to come whether or not you invited me.”
But when the time came, Jessica was nowhere to be seen.
The building was tall with a gray exterior and no signage. According to GPS, I was in the right spot, but it wasn’t until I saw people in trenchcoats carrying large duffle bags that I actually believed that I was there. I dialed Jessica.
“I’m not gonna make it,” she said. Her voice sounded low and miserable. “I swear, I’ll make it one day, but I ate some bad seafood and I’m calling it a night.”
“You’re going to miss Dr. Evans in latex,” I joked.
“Believe me, if it weren’t for my current date with the toilet, I’d be there with a camera in hand.”
If that was her intention, to have photographic dirt on Dr. Evans, part of me was okay with Jessica not being there. It was one thing to know someone’s personal proclivities, but another to use that against them as evidence. I knew she was joking. At least, I hoped she was. But I also didn’t know why I cared about Dr. Evan’s privacy. He had been a jerk to me, hadn’t he? And now, he was likely going to reject me again.
The other part of me was nervous as hell to go into a place where I had no reason to be there. The only link that I had, was Dr. Evans.
I said the password, smiling up at the bouncer, playing up the innocence, but he didn’t even ask for my ID, or anything else, just ushered me through. The front lobby was covered in black lockers, and a few people were changing clothes. I kept my eyes to myself. A door was in the back corner, and since there was no way in hell I was going to lock away my messenger bag, I went for it.
From reading books and watching their adaptations, I had always imagined a BDSM dungeon to have dark walls. Perhaps they’d be painted red or black, and there’d be leather-covered furniture, and lots of people dressed up like works of art: lingerie, masks, voluptuous and toned bodies, the like. Inside of the Afterglow, a real-life dungeon, part of that was true. There was leather-covered furniture spread throughout, but the walls were concrete, giving it an industrial vibe. Beams hung across the ceiling, with various rope displays entangling men and women like victims in a spider’s web. A rack with a topless woman bound to it, her mouth stretched wide by her partner’s strap on, hair pulled tight in their grip. A bench with a spread male ass, a dominatrix in point-toe heels penetrating him with her thumb. A couple making out in a cage. A woman dancing in front of a masturbating audience.
And a woman kneeling in front of a man, a collar on her neck, a leash strung from it. It was hardly anything compared to the rest, and yet I couldn’t look away. The woman crawled on her hands and knees, the leash guiding her, following him. Pure desire in her expression, each forward step his,and her ownmove. It was a lot to take in.
To the side, there was a lounge with people chatting, some with collars and canes, others dressed in lingerie. I thought about ordering a drink at the bar, but decided against it. I had consumed alcohol before, but not more than a sip or two from my parents, and never at an actual bar. I knew I was a lightweight. I needed to keep my head on straight if I was going to convince Dr. Evans to take me on.
A weird choice of words. Take me on. Take me on what?
The contest, I thought. Focus on the contest. Not on the strange, intriguing depravity unfolding around you.
Two women sat at a circular, high table. One was curvy, with almost black hair in an elegant bun, and the other had short orange hair. When they saw me staring, the curvy one waved at me.
