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What happens if once a month isn’t enough, and I want once a week? Or, if once a week is not enough, and I want one every day? Every time I close my eyes, I picture the party. In my mind, I can clearly see men and women pleasuring each other in various ways, and I know I want it again. I click the yes icon on the screen and take a drink of my coffee. I know I need to focus on work now because I have a long day ahead of me, but I’m squirming in my seat because I’m already wet, and I know that won’t change for at least the next twenty-four hours.
???
This house is smaller, but not by much. It’s also a little farther away from my house than the last place was, which, I decide, is a good thing. The farther away I am from home and people who might recognize me, the better. This time, I have a little more confidence as I hand my keys to the well-dressed valet. It’s a different guy than last time, but I pay that no mind and walk to the front door where the same woman from the previous event stands. She recognizes me, nods slightly, and without words, she reaches for the gold bracelet and places it on my wrist. The door opens, and I enter. A different man greets me, and I hand him both my purse and my coat that’s covering a red-and-black dress tonight. It’s slightly shorter than my first dress, but only by an inch or so. It’s also mainly black, but the hem of the dress and about two inches above that is red, along with about two inches at my waist. I feel confident when I wear this dress on dates, and it does give me confidence now.
It’s just after eleven, and the music is already playing softly. People are milling about. It appears more crowded here than the last event, but that’s likely due to this house being a little smaller. The man at the door tells me there are eight bedrooms and an indoor cinema along with other nooks and crannies. He repeats the rules, which, apparently, he’s required to do, and I turn from the left to the right. Straight ahead is the kitchen where they’ve laid out the floor. The bar is to the left, and to the right is the living room.
In the previous house, sex on the downstairs furniture had been against the rules, but the instructions for tonight had said it was permitted. This house was a rental and not owned by any members, which meant we could do whatever we wanted, and it would just be cleaned well afterward. We. That’s the first time I’ve used that word when referring to members. I am one of them; I’m part of this we now. It’s a strange feeling, but also a welcome one. I make my way to the bar, walking past several people. They’re all talking, laughing, and exchanging light touches, likely trying to find their partner or partners for the night, and I order myself a drink – something I can down quickly, something that will give me more courage than I had the last time I was here.
By the time I turn back around, after handing my now empty glass to the bartender, I see a woman kissing another woman, a man unzipping his pants, and two people walking hand in hand in the direction of the staircase. I think about watching the two women until the alcohol kicks in but decide to go to the other rooms downstairs first to see what I might be missing. I’m met with the sight of a woman climbing on top of someone I can’t see on a sofa and two men fondling one another through their pants.
“You came back,” a woman says, and I recognize the voice, smirk internally, and turn around to see her standing in front of me, wearing a pair of tight but not too tight black pants, a white button-down, and a tailored suit jacket. Her bow tie is undone. Her hair is a little longer than it had been last time, but it is still short and dark, and I want to run my hands through it. She looks me over, but not blatantly and not in a way that makes me feel like she’s a predator stalking her prey.
“I did,” I say, licking my lips.
She doesn’t say anything at first, and I wait because I want her to say something – I don’t exactly know how to start this myself. She started it before, but maybe that was only because I was new, and she knew that. I don’t know. What I do know is that I need her to start things this time as well because I can’t find the right words I want to say.
“I have a room,” she says. “It won’t be there forever.”
“Okay,” I say.
She holds out her hand, and I take it. It’s soft but, somehow, firm at the same time. She entwines our fingers, and I wonder if someone’s trained her to do that, to do all of this. Is there some school they send them to? Is there a training course they complete and get a certificate they can hang on their walls? She leads me up the stairs and around the corner. We proceed down the hallway, which is darker than I expected, but it also suits my mood. I’m in the mood for sex. I know what I want, and I’m ready to ask for it. I’m ready to have this woman touch me again.
We walk past two open doors, and I don’t stop to peer inside this time – I’m only interested in the woman holding my hand. She’s occupied my thoughts for the past month. When we arrive at a closed door, and she pushes it open, I nearly protest because that’s against the rules, but when we get inside, there’s no one in here. She must have somehow reserved the room. Had she done that for me? For us? No, I tell myself. She’s done this for the person or people she knew she’d end up with tonight. This is her job. No matter what, she’d be having sex with someone tonight.
The door gets closed behind me, and I snap back to attention. She walks back around me now, and I take the opportunity to stare at her lips as she licks them. Again, I need her help – I’m not ready to be the one to take the lead here yet. I know technically they’re supposed to respond to our cues, vibe from us, but I don’t know how to tell this woman what I want her to do to me. So, I don’t. I just bite my lower lip and run my hand through my hair that I left down. Thankfully, I didn’t put any product into it tonight because I was hoping someone else’s hands would run through it at some point. Hell… Who am I kidding? I was hoping her hands would be running through it tonight. God, I was hoping it would be her. I wasn’t sure if it were the same people at each event or if she’d even be back, but I was hoping it would be her.
“You look beautiful,” she says.
“You have to say that,” I say back.
“No, I don’t,” she replies.
“Don’t they tell you to–”
She moves into me, and I stop talking.
“We could stand here and debate this or…” She places her hand on the side of my neck and pushes my hair off of my shoulder. “We could do something else.”
I swallow, and she moves even closer. I can feel her belt buckle against my stomach. She’s not that much taller than me, but tall enough that I have to look up a little to meet her eyes now. There are no rules about what a member can or cannot do, but both or all parties have to consent to anything proposed or performed, and I want to kiss her. I don’t know if she even does that or if it’s too personal, but I want her lips on my own.
“Safeword?” she says, leaning in and placing her hand on my hip.
Oh, I forgot about that. Her intoxicating scent of something woodsy mixed with something floral has my brain all mixed up.
“Wall Street,” I say.
She lifts an eyebrow at me, and it’s sexy as hell.
“It’s definitely not something I’d say during sex,” I say.
She nods a little, and the hand on my neck moves down between my breasts over my dress and settles there.
“What do you want?” she asks, her eyes following her hand to where it settles.
“Whatever you want,” I reply because I can’t quite articulate what I want just yet. “I know you… I don’t mean it like–”
“I want to take this dress off of you,” she tells me.
