Page 22 of Black Light: Cured

and act almost any way he wants with me, but in here, this is my turf. My domain.

“You know what? You do whatever it is you do best. I’m in pique physical health. There’s nothing

hurting or wrong with me. So just do what you do with clients like me.”

“Relaxation. Got it. Go ahead and get undressed to your comfort level. If you want to leave your

underwear on, it’s fine. If you want to take them off, it’s fine too. You’ll be covered the entire time.

Nothing will be exposed. The only areas I’ll undrape are the areas I’m working on. When I’m done,

I’ll cover those parts back up.”

Going through my normal spiel helps me get back into the therapist frame of mind. It’s just like

riding a bike. As the words flow, the healer in me comes back to the forefront, although I’m sure it

will disappear the moment I’m done for the day and step out into Black Light to play.

Motioning toward the table, I continue. “I want you to lie face down with your head here in the

cradle. On top of this linen, and underneath this one. I’m going to wash my hands and come back,

knocking on the frame before I enter. Do you have any questions for me?”

“So, about the underwear?”

Rolling my eyes, I step toward the door. It’s just harmless flirting. No doubt he’s uncomfortable

not being in charge of this situation. “Well, if you’re worried about me stealing them along with your

cufflinks, don’t worry about it. I’m sure they won’t look nearly as good on me as I’m sure they do on

you.”

His eyes turn molten for a moment, and that’s when I decide to leave. I can’t let him get under my

skin like this. Why in the hell did I even bring up wearing his underwear? What was that? It’s times

like these that I detest having issues with impulse control. One of these days, it’s going to get me in a

lot of trouble.

Walking from the aftercare room, I make my way across the club to the women's locker room, my

pulse beating loudly in my ears. Thankfully, the club is still practically bare, with mostly just workers

milling about, making sure everything is ready to go. It’s far easier to allow my mind this space and

time to collect itself without gaggles of noisy people intruding.

Unfortunately though, the music is playing, pulsing, begging for me to give in and let my body

sway with the beat—far more distracting than people. It’s certainly far different from the music where

I work. Sometimes I miss it. It’s far easier to get lulled into a sleepy frame of mind when it’s nice and

warm with soft music playing in the background.