Page 43 of Watch Me

Everything about my life changed six months ago, starting when the love of my life left me, sneaking out like a thief in the night.

“I’ve decided to take a contract in Dubai,” he texted me, “and I’ll be gone for at least a year. I know it’s sudden, but I think it’s what’s best. I hope in time we can talk everything through. Please stay in the house as long as you need to. xx”

Two weeks later, I blew my audition for the Regency Ballet Company, an audition I’d hinged my entire future on.

When David came into the Paradise Lounge a week after that, my whole world was turned upside down. He had come to check in on me, to see how I was doing after Nick’s departure, and we sat down and had a drink and ended up talking about everything. How I was weirdly living in Nick’s house all alone, and how I was coming to realize that maybe ballet wasn’t even what I wanted to do, after all.

We stayed in touch, and eventually, I accepted his offer to crash at his place for a little while. It was better than the strange desolation of living alone in the Rivera household. A little while turned into months, and now David’s basement TV room has almost completely morphed from an orderly man cave to a messy girl’s room—his oversized sectional now a full-time bed, makeup overflowing in the basement bathroom, and my clothes everywhere.

And then we started talking about what I really wanted to do, and last month, we finally launched the stage show at the Ball & Chain. A sexy, cabaret-style strip show, choreographed and stage-managed by me, and funded by David.

I always knew that I wanted to dance in that middle space between stripping and ballet. Something sexier than ballet but more theatrical than stripping. David immediately saw my vision and has been an amazing source of support. I recruited Rachel from the club, and Andre and Tomas from dance class, and in the four weeks we’ve been running, news of our show has been spreading by word of mouth and drawing new crowds into the club. The show, David tells me proudly, is giving the club credibility and appeal.

It’s so much more than stripping. It’s a celebration of sexuality through dance, although David, of all people, won’t allow us to engage in any sex acts on stage. I think it could heighten the show; he says it’s a matter of zoning. Personally, I don’t believe that’s the only reason.

Despite the fact that we were once pretty intimate, David sees his role in my life as a kind of father figure. Not only would he never lay a hand on me himself, but he actively protects me from sex as if I have a virtue to save.

But I haven’t wanted to be with anyone anyway. The chunk torn out of my heart by Nick is still bleeding.

I let myself into David’s office with my key and take a quick shower in the washroom at the back. It’s only used by the two of us, and the counter is cluttered with our toiletries. After I get out of the shower and towel off, I push David’s aftershave and hair gel out of the way and set my bag down, pulling out the costume I’ve tucked away, deep in the bottom of my bag: a black bikini and a full, black vinyl hood that zips up at the back and will cover my entire face except for my mouth.

Once a year, the Ball & Chain hosts a gala event called Locked & Loaded. It’s a fetish-themed masquerade ball that draws hundreds of people to the club, including many people who wouldn’t normally frequent a sex club. It’s so popular that it’s always listed on the events pages of the major local papers, despite the need to include the caveat that This event is for adults only at a location that permits on-premise sex.

It’s so notorious that I’ve known about Locked & Loaded since long before I moved to the city, and there is no way I am going to miss the opportunity to check it out.

No way. Even if I can’t tell Daddy David about it.

David’s convinced that I’m not ready for the sex club. He doesn’t want me going alone, yet there is no one he would trust enough to go with me. He doesn’t want to take me himself because he thinks it would be inappropriate. Meanwhile, I can hear the man having sex in his room more nights than I can count… not to mention that I know what his cum tastes like.

But with this mask on, I think, carefully tucking up my hair and pulling the zipper down the back of my head, he’ll never recognize me.

The mask is slightly claustrophobic, but the effect, when I look at myself in the mirror, is surprisingly erotic. Tiny holes in the vinyl create a mesh across my eyes and below my nose, allowing me to see and breathe, so that only my mouth is uncovered. Dressed in my bikini, and black heels to complete the look, the hood reduces me to an object—nothing but a body and a mouth.

I check myself out in the full-length mirror, and I like what I see. I’ve gained a bit of weight since I stopped dancing six days a week but I’m not mad about it. The extra weight has rounded out my curves and made me a little softer—and my boobs bigger. I think I look more feminine than I did before. I take one last look and then swipe a tinted lip gloss over my exposed lips before stashing my bag under the counter. I push it right back against the wall to hide it, although I doubt David will be anywhere near his office tonight.

I lock the office door and tuck the key into my shoe, under the ball of my foot—a little stripper trick—and then use the staff door to head out onto the main floor.

A former factory, the club is very large, and divided into two separate and distinct areas: the main bar, and the on-premise sex space. The main bar is kind of a warm-up area for guests. On weekend nights, there’s a live DJ, and on afternoons and evenings, David runs a variety of different shows on the main stage—like mine. A lot of people don’t go any further than this room. They come for the novelty of checking out the Ball & Chain without daring to push their sexual boundaries. They come to stare and gawk and forever wonder what happens beyond the back door—the on-premise sex space, the forbidden zone that is my destination tonight.

I cannot believe that people actually have sex just out in the open in front of everyone, no matter how many times David has wholeheartedly assured me that that is precisely the case. The idea itself turns me on. To actually be in such a room… I can’t imagine how I’d feel.

So I shoulder my way through the crowd of masked patrons that’s already forming, even though it’s only ten-thirty, and head directly for the back door. I have no interest in lingering in this room, which I’ve seen a thousand times from the stage, and I especially don’t want to get caught by David before I ever make it to the on-premise area.

The guests around me are elaborately dressed for a change. On a typical night, the men wear jeans and a lot of black. The women wear short skirts and maybe go so far as to strip down to their bras. But tonight, great care has been taken. Leather and latex dominate. Men wear straps across their chests instead of shirts, and the women wear stripper heels. Faces are half-covered by feathered and sequined masks—some affixed around the hair, others held up on a stick. I don’t see anyone else in a full hood, and heads turn to eye me with interest as I pass—mostly the men.

Next to the door to the on-premise area, two women stand at a desk collecting cover fees.

“Couple or single?” asks one, and I blink for a moment, not understanding the question.

“Oh! Single,” I answer.

“Good,” she says with a wink. She wraps a fluorescent paper bracelet around my wrist. “Single women get in free.”

She gestures at a chubby bouncer in a black shirt beside her, and he nods, holding the door open for me.

“Have fun,” he says as I pass over the threshold, and then I’m there, in David’s dark underworld at last.

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