My boyfriend turns to me, his blue eyes gleaming.
“What do you think?” he asks, his tone deceptively casual as we come to a stop outside one of the private rooms.
I pause for a moment.
“It’s different,” I reply, my cheeks growing hot, “but not as bad as I was expecting.” I hesitate for a moment before adding shyly, “I could actually maybe see myself trying something like this sometime.” With the confession out, I balk, my face heating up again. “I-I mean, maybe,” I stammer.
Frisco’s laugh comes out more like a bark, and the sound makes me squeeze my legs together in need. “That’s normal, Libby,” he growls as he pulls back the curtains to the private room. I see that it’s empty inside, and my boyfriend ushers me inside. There are all sorts of weird contraptions scattered about, but Frisco instead leads me over to one of the couches near the back, where I sit down and relax a little. He takes a seat beside me, his hand gently caressing my curves, but there’s no judgment or pressure in his eyes.
“Is it really normal?” I ask, hardly daring to believe it. “Are you sure?”
The handsome CEO nods. “It’s understandable to be scared at first,” he says, “because that’s how human beings are. People are naturally frightened of what they don’t know, especially after a religious upbringing. But it’s like anything else that you don’t understand,” he goes on, rubbing his hand persuasively over my thigh. “Once you experience the taboo in real time, you see that it isn’t something to be afraid of or disgusted by. It’s just another facet of sexuality, and anyone should be allowed to enjoy it, if that’s what they want.”
“I guess you’re right,” I reply wonderingly. It’s not something I’ve ever thought about before, or even let myself think about. Seeing it from this perspective is different, though, like one of those optical illusions that only makes sense when you look at it from a certain angle.
Not scary, I remind myself firmly, purring a bit under Frisco’s touch. Just different.
“So?” my boyfriend growls, eyeing me. “Not so bad, right?”
“Right,” I reply, and mean it. I turn to face him, and when I speak again, I’m painfully honest - not just with him, but with myself, too. “I get it now. It’s still new, but I get it.” Then, I smile up at him. “Thank you for bringing me here, Frisco. I needed to see this more than I ever realized.”
“I hope this has helped you make some sense of your feelings,” Frisco replies. “You’re special to me, Libby.”
“So are you,” I whisper back, and reach up to touch his face with my hand. It’s funny. We’re in the middle of a darkened sex club with loud techno pounding around us. Wails, moans and shouts rise up from unseen couples, and yet this is one of the most intimate moments of our relationship. As I caress his cheek, he looks at me with glowing blue eyes, and I can’t resist anymore. I straighten up to press a kiss to his lips before whispering, “I love you, Frisco.”
That does it. The alpha male’s lips come crashing down on mine, his strong arms wrapping around my torso like steel bands. Yet he feels so perfect against me, like we were made for each other, and in spite of the sexual chaos going on around us, I haven’t felt this comfortable in a long time. Everything is finally starting to make sense. There’s no guilt, no anxiety, and no shame to cloud my thoughts. This is what the beginnings of closure feel like in the arms of a man who cares deeply for me.
10
Libby
* * *
My experience at Club Om plays over and over again in my mind over the next few days. Part of me still can’t believe I actually did it! Not only did I go to the club, but I enjoyed my time there. Sure, Frisco and I didn’t “perform” for other people, the way exhibitionists do. In fact, we kept to ourselves, and yet our lovemaking was more intense and more passionate that night than it’s ever been. I felt cleansed, like a phoenix rising from the ashes as my lover came hard in me. The low growl of his release mixed with my moans of pleasure, and now, I am reborn.
After all, the BDSM thing no longer disgusts me. Maybe Patrick’s walk on the wild side was too much for my personal tastes because I know I’ll never be interested in blood or asphyxiation edge play. Yet, I understand better where my ex is coming from now. Different strokes for different folks, as my gram used to say.
But there’s still one outstanding problem: Patrick himself. In the aftermath of our visit to the club, I feel even worse about what I did to him. His tastes are normal, even if he was cheating on me at the time. Even more, I feel like such a hypocrite for actually getting turned on by what I saw at Club Om. As a result, it feels wrong to let things stay the way they are between us, and I know that there’s more to closure than just seeing it from his perspective.