I manage a smile.
“I am happy, Harlow. You don’t need to worry about me.”
With another smile, we chat a bit more. Then I pick up my purse and say my goodbyes before heading out, happy to have spent time with my best friend again. Now that Harlow’s a mom, her life is really hectic so I’ve had to make-do with my own company a lot more. But that’s natural because everything changes.
As I walk into my one-bedroom apartment, I toss my keys into the basket and sardonically say, “Maria, I’m home,” to my jade succulent plant. It’s a tip I read in some women’s magazine. Name your houseplant, so you have someone to talk to. It’s also supposed to head off potential burglars because if someone follows you to your place and hears voices, they’ll think you’re not alone. But much good that would do for me; anyone who watches me for even five minutes knows I’m single.
Between the drive-thru cups in my car and the excessive ice cream pints in my shopping cart, I practically scream single. I don’t have a cat yet, but it could happen. I could become that old lady knitting afghans with fifteen felines strolling about the place. God. So depressing.
I enter my bedroom and strip. It’s time for a long, hot shower so I can contemplate my evening. What should I do?
It’s Friday night, I think as I shampoo my hair. I could call the girls from work and see if they want to meet for drinks. Or I could ring up Alina, Dave, and Bella because Friday is their usual karaoke night. That could be fun, and I know they’d love to have me along.
But there’s a tingling in my breasts and a soft looseness between my thighs. My body is telling me to go elsewhere tonight, and that elsewhere is the Cube.2Jane* * *The Cube is my deepest, darkest secret. Sex clubs are something where only depraved people go, but for the last year, I find myself in their ranks. I was freaked out that I would stick out like a sore thumb, but now that I know what to look out for, they’re a place to meet new people, maybe join in the fun, and go home with a hell of a grin on my face. To be clear, I don’t go to find love; I go to have a good time. Which is why I can never tell Harlow. My best friend would never understand my desire to engage in something so dirty and salacious.
It’s my filthy once-a-month secret.
I pin my curly brown hair into a high ponytail and apply special makeup as I stare in the foggy mirror. I keep wiping the mirror clean and cursing myself for splurging on makeup instead of a can of defogger. But quality cosmetics won’t run, and after researching the varieties of makeup porn stars use, I only use the good stuff. No one wants to fuck a girl with raccoon eyes and lipstick halfway up her cheek. I line my eyes in jet and my pout is viciously red. I’m not going to the Cube to be invisible, after all.
As much as I bitch about bills and all that, if I’m honest with myself, some of my money issues stem from the Cube. It’s not the price of membership though because for a single woman, membership is free.
The issue is that I dress to impress, and for a girl my size with large tits and a big ass, that gets expensive fast. I slide on my crotchless panties, carefully tug my fishnets up, and fasten them to the garter belt. Then, I wriggle myself into the corset. It’s a tricky one, with lacing down the back, but a secret side zipper for easy on/off capabilities. It cost a fortune, which is why I’m eating ramen for the next two weeks. Hopefully, it’ll be worth it.
Then, I step into my heels and get cozy in my trench coat. Every piece is black, and when I look in the mirror, I feel powerful and sexy. Even though I don’t pay for admission to the club, the cost of my outfit is the price of admission to this version of myself, and it’s worth it. Like this, I’m ready for the night.
I drive out to the club obeying all the speed limits, stoplights, and other road rules. I do not want a run-in with the cops while wearing this outfit. Of course, if the officer is cute, that could lead to all sorts of interesting fun with handcuffs, but that’s me getting ahead of myself. First things first, and that means arriving in one piece.
The Cube is on the outskirts of Denver, so it’s almost an hour’s drive from my apartment. The scenery changes as I leave the city, with fewer and fewer lights. It’s more of an industrial area now, and sure enough, I pull into a dark parking lot surrounded by drafty-looking warehouses. I check my phone, and then leave it in my car. No phones are allowed in the club because they don’t want candid photos finding their way to the web. Who has time for pictures when you’re at the Cube anyways?