by Alta Hensley
Knowing this little bit of information made me feel really good. I was pretty sure I had bombed it, and that Mr. Saxon hated me. But regardless, I had a job. I had a job in New Orleans on my first day. I couldn’t wait to tell Virgie all about it. She would be so proud of me. I’m not sure she would approve of The Tasting Room, though I wasn’t sure if I approved. I actually didn’t truly grasp what it was. Mr. Saxon seemed pretty tight-lipped about it, only telling me the very basics.
Tennessee held up another leotard to my chest with a satisfying nod. “Go ahead and try this on.”
I looked around for a door to a changing room, but there was only the one that Mr. Saxon and I entered.
“Girl, don’t be bashful now. You better get over that fast. And don’t you worry about me seeing that coochy of yours. Your juicys aren’t anything I want to sample. Your coochy and boobies are safe in my presence, I assure you.” When I didn’t move right away, he said, “Come on. I don’t have all day. We need to get you on the floor before Kenneth shits a brick.”
I loved the thickness of his accent. It gave him so much character and made even inappropriate words like boobies sound floral coming from his lips. I had a feeling I was really going to like this man, regardless if he was my supervisor or not. He seemed like he kept the energy up and added spice to life at Spiked Roses.
Stripping down, trying not to overthink that I was getting naked and putting on a leotard made out of leather, I quickly pulled on the fishnet stockings first and then the tight little one piece afterward. I couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of the path my life just took. One second I was walking along a dirty highway feeling as if my life was about as boring and lifeless as one could get, and the next minute I was in New Orleans pulling on a leather body suit as a gay man named after a state was staring at me so that I could go hand out cigars to men only in the hopes that I could someday be so lucky as to attend a sex party for money. What. The. Fuck.
My giggle turned to a full-blown laugh, and when I saw Tennessee look at me as if I were an alien, I said, “I’m sorry. I just am a little overwhelmed with everything. I have never done anything like this, and well…” I kept laughing. “I’m sorry.”
He patted my arm before he walked over to a shelf where black pumps were neatly lined up, and said, “Size?”
“Seven.” I had somehow contained my laughter, but it teetered on the surface, threatening to burst from me at any minute.
As Tennessee brought me the shoes and I stepped into them, the door to the room opened and Marlowe entered with two girls following behind. Marlowe was wearing one of the red lace gowns that was see through in many areas, but delicately covered her nipples and lower half, but was, by far, the sexiest dress I had ever seen on someone. The fabric went down to her ankles but was slit up to her upper thigh. Behind her, there were two other women also in Spiked Roses wear. One was wearing a black leather uniform like the one I now wore, and another had red lace like Marlowe, but a shorter version that rested right above her knees.
“You got the job!” Marlowe said excitedly. She stepped aside so the other women could see me and introduced us. “This is Anita Kyle. She just moved into Marie St. Claire’s and obviously landed the job today.” She pointed to the brunette in black leather and said, “This is Ivy,” she pointed to the woman in red, “and this is Kinsey. They also live at Marie’s.”
I stepped forward, shook both of their hands, and tried to give the warmest smile I could. I didn’t have friends my age in Muckaluk. I only had two friends and those were Virgie and Roy. One of which I worked for, and the other one I paid in beer to tattoo me. So, I’m not sure they really counted. But this was my chance to have somewhat of a normal social life with women. I just hoped I wouldn’t fuck it up.
“You look great in that,” Ivy said. “You are going to fit in perfectly at Spiked Roses.”
I hoped so. Even though I really didn’t know what fitting in really meant. I did really hope so.
7
Anita
Dear Virgie,
Sorry it has been a few days since I wrote you last. I have been so incredibly busy since arriving in New Orleans. You were right when you said I would love it here. I do. So much so. There are trees! I know how that might sound hearing me say that that is one of my favorite parts of this city, but it is. Muckaluk didn’t have trees. Nowhere around us had trees, and yet there are so many here. And they are huge, lush, and green. I’m in love with the surroundings, and it almost feels as if I can breathe better. The air is wet, soothing, and brings life to my dried up insides.
I really like living at Marie St. Claire’s. She is really nice, and so are all the other women who live here. They have even taken me out and showed me the town. I have friends. It’s odd, but I like it. They also have shown me the ropes around my new place of employment called Spiked Roses.
I don’t know how to accurately describe this place to you without giving you a heart attack and hopping on the next bus to come fetch me and take me home. It is a members-only club for wealthy men. They come to drink, smoke, conduct business, and look at the pretty ladies who serve them. I got hired as the cigar girl, so I basically bring the men their cigars from their own private keeps. I also walk around the room with a tray of cigars that cost more than my monthly rent and sell them. Though, no one pays in cash. They just write down their member number. It’s a whole new world here, but I actually enjoy it so far. I got my first paycheck which wasn’t a full one, and I was really happy. If I keep making this kind of money, then I will be able to afford a plane ticket for you to come see me soon. It will be my gift to you, which will be nothing compared to the gift you gave me.
I think I’m doing a good job. My direct supervisor Tennessee Charles—yes, that is his real name—tells me I am learning quickly and will be ready to move up to waitressing soon. That is where the real money is, they say. There are several owners of the club who are all my bosses, but the only one that I really ever see is Kenneth Saxon. I can’t tell if he likes me or not. I catch him staring at me, and I know he is watching, waiting for me to mess up. When his eyes are on me, I shake the tray of cigars no matter how steady I try to be. He rarely speaks to me, but every time I see him standing in the shadows, or sitting in a leather chair sipping on his ridiculously priced whiskeys, he is watching me. And the truth of the matter—which I will only confess to you—is that the man is so freakin’ handsome. The type of handsome that is like a punch to the gut every time you look at him. He has dark hair, dark eyes, and wears a suit. He always wears a suit! I can tell the suit is expensive, and I’ve been tempted to touch it just to see what it feels like. And when he looks at me, I almost feel as if he is undressing me with his eyes. I don’t think I will ever get used to it. The other girls say they don’t notice him doing that, but I do. I see it all the time. I just hope he doesn’t fire me.
There is one thing that may make you think I have lost my mind working at Spiked Roses. They have a room called The Tasting Room. I’ve never been in it… but I want to. I’m curious even though I know it killed the cat. I want to see what happens. The other girls told me that the wealthy men go into the room with the intent of leaving it with one of the staff by their side. A contract happens. A contract stating that the man owns the woman for a day, a weekend, or whatever time is dictated in the contract. The woman agrees to do whatever the man says and it is all spelled out in the contract. I don’t really know what that means. When I asked if it was sex, the girls told me sometimes but not always. One girl got bought for a night and had to dress up like a little girl and call the man Daddy. Another girl said she was tied up and flogged, bathed, then flogged again. I suppose it could be called prostitution, but many of the girls who have worked a tasting say it is not. They said it is sexual play. Sexual fantasies. And the payday is huge. Sometimes life altering huge. Some girls will do one night in The Tasting Room and never return to waitressing again. I mean… can you imagine making so much money in a day or two that you d
on’t have to work again?
Now before you stroke out, Virgie, I haven’t done a tasting, and not sure I will. I’m curious, but I’m not sure I have the balls. And if I do, I won’t have sex. I don’t know. I’m all over the place on my thoughts in regards to this. I guess this conversation is a “to be continued”.
But I am doing really good! I’m happy, healthy, and surviving a big new world. I miss you like crazy and will be calling you soon. I know you wanted letters, and that was part of the deal, but I still want to hear your voice.
Love you.
~Anita
P.S. You better be taking your medications and staying away from the popcorn and soda.
As I walked down the stairs to mail out the letter, Marie caught me in the hallway. “Anita,” she said with worry in her eyes. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“What’s wrong?” My heart stopped. I sensed bad news was coming.
“It’s Virgie.”
“What? What’s wrong with her?” Ringing banged in my ears, and my knees wobbled. I had a cell phone. Why didn’t I get a call on my cell phone? Something bad must have happened.
“I don’t know. I got a call from Elko Regency Nursing Home looking for you. They must have had this number from Virgie. They wouldn’t give me any information, but I took down their number to go find you. I didn’t know you were home yet.”
“Did they say if Virgie was okay?”
She shook her head. “No. They wouldn’t tell me a thing.” She handed me a piece of paper with a number on it. “But call this. They said Virgie put down your name as her daughter. So you better play along to get the information you want.”
I took the paper from her shaking hand, pulled my phone out of my pocket, and dialed the number without even going outside or upstairs. I knew Marie wanted to know the news just as much as I did. After several minutes of being on hold, lying that I was Virgie’s daughter to more than one person, and waiting for what felt like an ungodly amount of time, I finally heard the sweet voice of my dear friend.
“Hello?”
“Virgie! It’s Anita. What’s going on? Why are you at Elko Regency?”
“Oh, Anita! I’m so happy to hear from you. Can you believe these assholes put me here?”
“Are you all right? Did you fall? Are you sick?”
“No. That damn Pine-Sol smelling nurse made some report that I needed more care. She used the term 24hr care, and it landed me in this joint. I’ve been trying to break out, but the doctors tell me my insurance will only pay for part-time nursing. Not 24hr. So the only way I can get the amount of care needed is by living in a goddamn nursing home.”
I felt as if the wind had been knocked out of me. I knew this was Virgie’s worst nightmare. She wanted to die in her home. Her house was all that mattered to her anymore.
“Oh no. They can’t do this.”
“I’m working with a sweet social worker who is trying to help me. Or so she says,” Virgie said. “But I put down your name as my next of kin in the paperwork. I didn’t know they would call you. I didn’t want them to. The last thing you need is to worry about my old ass. I’ll get this taken care of one way or another.”
“Of course they should have called me!” I snapped between clenched teeth. “You should have called me the minute this happened. I’ll hop on the next bus and get you out of—”
“No, you will not!” Virgie shouted over the phone line. “Over my dead and wrinkled body will I allow that. You will not be my 24hr care no matter what. I would rather lose my house and eat applesauce through a straw wearing a bib in this hellhole before I would allow that to happen. Do you hear me, Anita Kyle? Don’t you dare come here and try to fix this. I have this under control.”
Virgie could be such a stubborn bitch sometimes. I loved her, but her stubbornness often infuriated me. “Fine. Then I will send you the money to hire a full time 24hour nurse.”
Virgie chuckled. “Child, I wish it was as simple as that. I’m not exactly poor, but the prices this social worker is quoting me. Who in the world can afford one without insurance?”
“So what are you planning to do?”
“Luckily my husband was a veteran. So the social worker is trying to get some vet assistance for the spouse through a program called Veteran’s Angels. It’s a ton of paperwork, and my guess is that’s the reason they called you. To ask some questions.”
“How long are you going to be there?” I asked, not liking any of this one bit. Not when I could be back in Muckaluk taking care of her so all this would go away.
“I’m not sure. But I haven’t given up hope. Just be patient and don’t panic. Can you do that for me, Anita? I really don’t want you to come and get me. I swear on the grave of my husband that it would crush me if you did. I don’t want you as my nurse. Can you understand that?”
Tears burned my eyes. “Yes. I understand.” But I didn’t. I didn’t fucking understand a thing. How could this happen? How could they pull a woman out of her own home?
“And where’s my letter?” she asked, and I wanted nothing more than to hug her.
“I just wrote you one. It will be in the mail today.”
“Good.” There was a long moment of silence. “I don’t want you worrying about me. I will get this all sorted out one way or the other. I might be old and frail, but my mind is still in one piece.”
For the first time since knowing Virgie, she was lying to me. I could tell. I could feel it.
“Okay. I will give you one week. But in one week, if you haven’t gotten answers that mean you returning to your home, then I am stepping in.”
Virgie didn’t say anything.
“Virgie? One week. Do you understand?”
“Fine. Give me one week.”
That was all I was going to give her. And in the meantime, I was going to figure out how to make enough money that Virgie would never have to worry about leaving her home again. I owed it to her.
“All right, ladies, gather around. Tonight’s The Tasting Room. I need to know who’s interested so I can adjust the floor accordingly.”
“What’s the theme?” Ivy asked while she carefully pulled black nylons up her slender legs.
Tennessee gave a sinister smile and chuckle. “We got a real whopper. The theme is Dark as Fuck.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Marlowe asked.
I was glad I wasn’t the only one who had no idea. I didn’t want to be the stupid girl who asked if that meant that we would have to fuck men in the dark. Was that really so bad? At least I wouldn’t have to see their face. Marlowe, Kinsey and Ivy had told me these Tasting Room parties were really kinky and dirty. This one sounded pretty tame in comparison to some of their stories.
“It means the money is going to be really fucking good,” Tennessee said. “Dark means money. Always does. But it isn’t going to be for everyone.” He looked down at the piece of paper. “No sex required on this contract. Just dark fantasies.” He paused to read, then added, “Some really fucking dark fantasies. Lordy, lordy.”
“Yeah, but how dark are we talking here?” Marlowe asked again. “Kidnap fantasy?”
Tennessee brought the paper closer to his face so he could read the description out loud. “Nonconsensual elements such as spanking, breath play, knife play, golden showers, pet play, and other sadomasochistic elements. No permanent physical harm, and no sexual intercourse. Tools of trade that could be used will include: butt plugs, anal dildos, anal beads, anal plugs with tails, ball gags, collars, leashes, cages, whips, chains, floggers, nipple and clit clamps, leather restraints,” he looked up from the contract and made eye contact with some of us, “shall I go on?” When no one said anything, he continued. “Participant must be willing to be humiliated, degraded, and treated as a pet or animal if the owner so chooses.”
I had no idea what Tennessee had just said, aside from the spanking part. I looked at Marlowe and then to Ivy to see if they were as confused by the description as I was.
�
��Oh hell no, that pet play shit is weird. They want to lock you in a cage and throw meat at you and other sick shit. That girl Char who used to work here said that the rich fucker who bought her for the week expected her to pee and poop on newspaper in a cage that she couldn’t even stand in. I kid you not.”
I’m sure my eyes had to be as wide as saucers and my mouth open in stunned silence. Was Ivy for real? Who does that? Who wants to do that?
“Well, the money’s good, girl. Really fucking good. Char doesn’t work here anymore for a reason. She’s one filthy rich bitch now. If those rich fuckers swung my way, I would put a damn collar around my neck and meow all the way until the sun came up. Meow motherfucker, meow,” Tennessee said with a completely serious face. Not even a hint of jest.
“I’m in,” Marlowe said. “You can put me on the list for The Tasting Room.”
Other girls in the room chimed in, with a few raising their hands volunteering. Others shook their heads or said ‘hell no’.
Without even thinking, I raised my hand to volunteer.
Marlowe walked over to me and whispered in my ear, “Honey, I think you should start off with something easier. This shouldn’t be your first Tasting Room experience.”
“I’m in,” I said, ignoring what Marlowe had just whispered in my ear. For some reason, her warning only fueled my curiosity and need to throw my name in. And I had Virgie to think of now. This could be the money that I needed to hire the 24hour care that Elder Protective Services was insisting on.
Tennessee started writing the names down of the five or six girls who’d volunteered and then stopped and looked at me. “I’m not sure, Anita. You just started, and I don’t think tonight should be the popping of your cherry. Dark can be a type of fuckery that takes a certain spine.”