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There are only three things I take seriously—running, a well-tailored suit, and sex.
Ihaveto be serious about that last one; it’s my job. Nothavingsex, of course, but knowing everything about it in order to curate an enjoyable and arousing experience for those both doing it and those who want to watch others doing it. I have to know the minute details that turn people on, that make them feel safe, and that keep them coming back for more. The fine line between hot and creepy. Catering an encounter for menand womenalike.
Being an expert of the ins and outs, if you will.
And right now, I have my eyes on a delicious little couple in room seven, who are doing everything perfectly. The woman is cuffed to the bed, her golden skin catching the dim red light as the man behind her pounds at a perfect rhythm to make her go wild. The angle is sublime, but I make a mental note to pull the bed to the right about ten more degrees, so the spectators can see her face better. Believe it or not, that’s what the people really want to see anyway…her face. The look of need and hunger in her slightly pained and wanton expression.
I made a good choice in inviting these two back. I watched them together a few weeks ago, and it was my idea to incentivize the couples who draw a crowd into renting the voyeur rooms again. A little discount on their membership, a few added VIP perks, and in return, I offer them time together in the red-light room where, for one hour, she can feel like a first-class prostitute, selling her pleasure, and he can be the highest bidder.
They put on a hot show. He came strolling in, in an expensive-looking suit, gave her a devilish smile, while she tried to appear unaffected. It was impressive, and the crowd was into it. Completely.
Well, crowd is a bit of an overstatement. It’s only a handful of people. The curtain is drawn around the viewing area, creating an intimacy among the small group currently gathered. We can’t exactly let a mob back into the voyeur hall; it sort of ruins the experience if you’re trying to observe something private in the company of a hundred others, who are also trying to experience something private. This is a classy place, after all. Can’t have a horde of horny men stroking it in a crowd like it’s some sleazy backroom peep show in a dirty porn store.
And that’s where I come in. Knowing exactly what to regulate and how to let it all happen, so nothing gets out of control. It needs to appear natural, even though I’m covertly controlling everything behind the scenes.
So far, so good tonight. There’s one woman watching alone near the window, biting her lip as she witnesses the woman on the bed climax,again. There’s a couple standing so close to each other that I can’t tell if her hand is down his pants or his hand is up her short dress, or both. Which means it’s just dark enough in here; although, I might have them turn down the red light just a hair…it seems to be giving off a glare on all the metal in the room, and it’s distracting.
All in all, the energy in the room is spot on.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I don’t pull it out right away; it’s against the rules to have phones in here or any private areas of the club, even if I am one of the owners.
The red-light couple are wrapping up anyway, so I quietly slink out of the voyeur hall, through the private service door, and head toward the office. Once I’m safely in the brightly lit staff hallway, I fish out my phone.
The notification reads:You have a new message from Mom.
Oh, lovely. A message from my mother after watching people fuck like heathens. I’m willing to bet my left testicle, this is yet another invitation to join her and my stepdad at the lake house this week.
You should come up. The weather is beautiful this week.
Ha. I was right.
Every year, she and my stepdad stay at their lake house, three hours away, and every year, they invite me to come with them. I’d be more inclined to say yes if his twenty-three-year-old brat of a daughter wasn’t going too. So every year, I disappoint my mother with athanks, but no thanksresponse, and this year is no different.
Mia is the bane of my existence. The apple of not only her father’s eye, but my mother’s too; she’s spent the last fifteen years soaking up every ounce of their attention and being a serious pain in my ass, and while I’m far too old to complain about sibling rivalries now, I’m perfectly content just pretending she doesn’t exist.
“Who are you talking to?” Hunter asks over my shoulder as I linger by the door, staring down at my phone.
“My mom.”
He winces as he walks by. “Gross, dude. I can still hear people fucking behind this wall.”
“What? Is that weird?” I reply with a laugh.
“Not for you. Tell her I said hi,” he says as he disappears down the long hallway, turning toward the office.
“I can’t tell if you’re being nice or dirty,” I shout, my voice carrying down the corridor, and in the distance, I hear Hunter laugh.
The banter between me and the three people I run this company with is half the reason I love this job so damn much. We get along great. It’s always fun, sometimes a little stressful, but never too heavy or too serious.
Just how I like it.
I almost forget I’m in the middle of a conversation-via-text with my mother, but the buzzing of my phone in my hand reminds me.
You haven’t been up to the lake in years.
The sting of guilt actually gets me for a second, as I think about disappointing her once again. But I really am busy with work, and it’s not that easy for me to just leave the club for several days at a time. I risk losing my momentum, the energy I need to keep everything running smoothly. The fresh ideas, the creative projects, the new events, the incoming clients, and the all-important VIP incentives. There’s a lot on my shoulders, and I can’t risk letting anything fall. Not for a second
I’ll think about it,I reply to my mom
