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“He’s not a baby. He’s a big boy now. I heard you say so yourself. The other day…on the bed, remember? I listen to everything you say, doll. Don’t forget that.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Children need discipline, Vanessa. Spare the rod, spoil the child. Everyone knows that.”
It’s just flesh, I tell myself as my husband positions himself in front of me. He slides his zipper down, and I watch as his pants drop to his ankles. It’s just flesh, I’m thinking as he thrusts his hips forward, pinning my head to the wall. I go over the morning in my mind. “Open your eyes and look at me,” he says, and I do.
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you,” I choke out when he pulls backward. Drool drips down my face. He thrusts forward once, twice—I don’t know how many times. He likes to watch me gag.
“Good girl,” he calls and I can see where he is coming from. I have swept and dusted and mopped. I am wearing the Dior dress he left for me laid out on the bed.
But I do not feel good. I feel dead inside. I feel nothing at all. A mother shouldn’t feel this way; I should be fighting, not performing sexual favors like they’re my duty. But they are my duty, and there’s no way out of this. It’s not like I can run. Where would I go? How would I hide?
To understand why I stay, you’d have to understand the mechanics of this church. I thought what I grew up in was confining, but I was wrong. It has nothing on this. I could run, but I wouldn’t get far. I have no money, a child, nothing to my name, little formal education, and prostitution doesn’t exactly look great on a resume. Plus, they’d never let me go. They’d never stop looking. They’ve invested too much. I’m a commodity to them— something to be traded, consumed.
Aside from the church itself, Sean would never let me take his son. He’d never be okay with losing, he’d never give up the perks he enjoys from keeping me around. And I’ll be the first to admit, it isn’t always this bad.
The sleeping with strangers…that I don’t even mind so much. In fact, I find sex therapeutic. I’m a young twenty-something, and as my husband likes to remind me, all of my basic needs are taken care of. What else is there?
I don’t know. But whatever is in those capsules has knocked any fight right out of me. I can barely keep my eyes open, much less make elaborate plans to escape. Real life is not like the movies. Sean says that a lot. Thankfully, for me, my training and my knowledge of my husband’s body takes over.
It’s just flesh. In training, we learned how to disassociate the act of a thing with the emotion of it. Sex is like driving a car, we were taught. The experience can be enjoyable or not. It’s up to the driver to decide. We had to learn to be the driver.
We learned about erogenous zones, areas of the body which have heightened sensitivity thanks to the concentration of nerve endings there. There are specific zones and non-specific zones, and often the key is variation, but not always. We learned common fellatio and cunnilingus techniques. We learned the art of varying pressure, fetish practice, manners, and perhaps most importantly, how to be discreet.
There were other things too—important details to understand when you’re dealing with something as sensitive as seduction. We learned how to make sure you aren’t being followed, and how to deal when and if a client’s spouse finds out. It’s always when, not if. People aren’t so good about lying about the things that really matter.
Then there was the basic stuff like how to use aliases and exit strategies. We were drilled on techniques like sticking phones and other valuable materials in inconspicuous places so as to smuggle them to and from the situation. We learned how to lift data from hard drives. With a time limit. They taught us to keep secrets, and what it takes to morph into something you’re not. We learned how to give and receive pain—how to be cold and hot—and the art of detaching all the while pretending otherwise.
This knowledge makes a person a very valuable asset, and also, a dangerous one.
By early evening, when Matthew still isn’t back, I panic. The moment Sean arrives home from golfing, I corner him in the kitchen. “Where is he?” I demand.
“Relax,” he says. “Is it so much to want an evening alone with my wife?”
“No,” I answer cautiously. “But when will Matthew be home?”
He glances at the clock on the mantle. “Within the hour. I hear he’s had a big day.”
“What—”
“And you,” he says cutting me off. “How was your afternoon? Busy, I presume.”
“Yes.” I kick off my heels. He insists on them.
“Good, get comfortable. I’ve ordered dinner to be delivered.”
He ushers me toward the dining room. “But first, your next dose.” He hands me two pills.
I set them on the table. “I need a drink.”
He watches closely. “You must be starving.”
“Yes,” I say. “But first, I need to send Adam an email. I’ve just remembered something he will want to know.”
“Use your phone.”
