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Emily
I shimmy out of my cab as gracefully as I can manage in a dress and heels. It’s a freezing February night, so I pull my fur hood tighter around my face before I whip my phone out to text my best friend, Drea.
Emily: Okay,I just got here. Sharing my location. It’s a no phones policy but you’ll be hidden smack in the middle of my tits all night under my bra. Congratulations.
Drea:It’s kind of nice to know that while I’m reading Mama Llama Red Pajama for the 100th time tonight, there’s a version of me that’s instead wedged between your tits at a sex club.
I chuckle. Drea and I have been friends since our first day as the only two female interns at Vine Capital, where we both went on to work for years. She went and fell in love though, and now she’s making a pretty penny investing their money from the comfort of her Westchester County home while raising her threegorgeous kids. While my only baby is my business idea. But it’s a demanding baby of mine and a risky one. I’m using all my life's savings and all my extra time to pursue this dream. Which usually means in the evenings, I’m curled up in front of my laptop late into the night. Butnottonight.
Tonight, my research has brought me to one of the world’s most exclusive sex clubs. The product I want to create revolves around empowering women to communicate openly with their partners about their sexual desires. What better place to learn about that than a sex club full of empowered sex? Even though I’ve done nothing remotely like this before, it’s only in New York City once a year, so I just had to put on my big girl pants and come. It doesn’t hurt that it’s on Valentine’s Day either. I don’t usually care about being alone for Valentine’s Day, but I can certainly appreciate a holiday-themed activity, which I would argue this is.
I tuck my phone under my jacket and into my bra and straighten my shoulders.
No turning back now.
The event provided me with a code which I now press into a silver metal keypad. When the green light turns on, I push open the giant oak door into a dim hallway. A woman dressed all in black with a plain golden mask covering her eyes ushers me immediately into one of the private curtained spaces lining the entrance. The club is very strict about anonymity and provided me with a scheduled entry time so that the guests don’t all pile in at the same time. I imagine that waiting in line would take away some of your will to screw the same strangers later on. I make a mental note to write this observation down later.
She smiles sweetly as she asks for my ID and my phone. I hand over an old decoy phone of mine while my actual phone is lodged safely under the wire of my bra. Once she confirms I’mon the list, she encourages me to choose a mask from the table behind me.
I scan the options. The entry fee for this event was exorbitant but already the quality is evident in the masks. They’re all colored gold or black. There is quite a variety, ranging from feminine beaded options that only cover the eyes to a full-head BDSM black latex mask with a zipper on the mouth. I actually let myself consider the full latex mask because not only is it good for anonymity, but as a bonus, I won’t have to talk to anyone when I don’t want to. I stifle a chuckle. Did I just find out that peace and quiet is my kink? This has already been illuminating. Instead, I choose an option that falls in the middle of the spectrum. It’s plain gold and from the nose up it resembles a fox, with pointed ears and everything. It makes sense, as I’m here for my sly reasons.
The woman helps me get it on and then holds up a mirror so I can see myself. Only my bright red lips and my dark brown eyes stare back at me, my usually wild curly hair is pinned back in a loose bun. I’m wearing a silky oxblood-colored dress with thin straps and a draped neckline. It goes perfectly. A nervous smile breaks my composure.
I’m here for practical purposes, but I’m not opposed to taking part if I feel comfortable. My biggest mantra over the last few years has been to honor what I want. Not long after I left my twenties, I realized people stop giving a crap about what a woman is up to in her thirties and beyond. I felt desperate in my twenties to prove to everyone that I was what they wanted me to be. So much so that I barely did anything for myself. Then I finally realized I’m the only person who actually needs to be happy with who I am, so I need to prioritize what works for me. Hence, quitting my job, dumping my asshole boyfriend, and setting myself up to start my own company after I graduate.
The one department I have not progressed in though is getting laid. In some ways, I guess I have, as my sex toy collection has grown extremely thorough. But it turns out that doing what I want has meant staying the hell away from men while I learn what get me going. But now I’m at a sexual standstill and my late-night study sessions with the Sweets have left me surprised by some things I’ve been craving. So tonight, there is nothing specific I am going to seek, but I’m also not going to deny myself if something catches my interest.
After all, it’s simply good research to be open to all possibilities.
CHAPTER THREE
Deacon
What does it say about me that I find a sex club boring? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. When you grow up with eccentric billionaires for parents, you’ve pretty much seen it all. The only reason I’m here is because it’s our buddy Ted’s birthday and he’s a horny motherfucker. He’s been talking about this event for the past 6 months.
I glance past the blowjobs and pumping asses to read the expressions on Ben and Graham. The same indifference is written all over their body language, and I’m sure their faces, too, if they weren’t blocked by these damn masks.
I almost envy the guys we’re with who are obviously getting something from being here. They must not have grown up with a father who thought that bonding was bringing his sons to wait around high-end brothels while he and his business buddies disappeared for an hour. Graham, Ben, and I are well-versed in depravity. Graham tried to protect Ben and me as much as he could, but he’s only one year older than us. The good thing that came out of such a fucked up childhood is that we’re not as defenseless against the shit that drives our friends to become damn hormonal animals. A beautiful naked woman? We’ve seen a million. A sex club? I’ll keep my dick in my pants, thanks though. It’s other types of intimacy we’re less versed in. That’sprobably why good banter turns me on more than tits in my face. Blame our father for that fucked up kink of mine.
Graham catches my eye and waves me over to chat with him and Ben.
“I think they’re drunk enough that they won’t notice if we go to a private room to talk about something other than strangers’ asses?” Graham suggests.
“Yeah,” Ben nods. “I really don’t feel like seeing Ted’s cock tonight.”
“Let’s go before this becomes a dick-measuring contest,” I agree. “Don’t want to ruin their night by embarrassing them.”
We head toward the private lounges, past rows of flat velvet couches where people splay out in all sorts of creative arrangements to get off. Graham leads the way and begins opening doors to see if the rooms are occupied, closing one black door after another with no luck. Finally, he seems to find one and just as he’s about to usher us in, I notice a woman bee-lining toward us. I had seen her before a few meters down the hall when she was talking to two other women. In a sex club where everyone is writhing or stripping, casual conversation sticks out like a sore thumb. But another thought went through my mind that I immediately shot down. Something about the way she was hunched over a notebook made me think of Emily Miller. But of course, I’m fucking thinking her. Probably because it’s been driving me insane all night thinking that she’s out celebrating Valentine’s Day with someone. My twisted brain just wants to think she’s here instead, ripe for the taking. See? Weird kinks. Of all the women here, only the idea of our goody two-shoes study buddy can get me excited.
As she gets closer, I realize she’s coming to talk to us. We’ve already had about two dozen propositions from both men and women, so we’ll just have to add her to the list of refusals. Even though she is wearing a fucking cool fox mask.
“Um, excuse me. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?” She says as she gets closer.
“Is that what you get off on?” I ask meeting her brown eyes. That pang of familiarity is more intense now that I’m looking at her straight on.
“Uh, is what?” She bites her lip nervously.
“Asking questions? You get turned on by talking to people?”
