Page 140 of Unexpected Hero

After working at Bask for a month, the level of nudity that I’ve grown accustomed to is nothing short of awe-inspiring. Each time I stroll through the main room, I’m bombarded with a parade of tits, ass, cock, and balls. It’s like a flesh festival.

It doesn’t even faze me anymore. I barely blink.

In fact, when I’m at the club before it opens, I’ve found myself slightly bothered by the lack of saggy ball sacks. Turns out, I miss those wrinkled dangly bits.

It’s not naked bodies that trip me up. It’s the lewd sounds that I’m still adjusting to. Some of the things I hear have me blushing so much I look like I fell asleep on the beach without sunscreen.

I expected sex to have an odor, especially with all the sweaty bodies and other fluids. But the erotic symphony of bodies in motion, pleasure-filled cries, skin slapping, moans, grunts, and screams makes me realize how much I still don’t know.

Especially the screams.

Apparently, I’m partial to vocal men. Their grunts interspersed with praise and profanity make me as wet as a Slip ‘N Slide. When there’s a particularly loud Dom doing a scene in the main room, I’ve been known to make an excuse to breeze through for a better listen. And yes, I have my favorites.

Surprisingly enough, I no longer feel ashamed of enjoying the views and sounds of the club.

Well, not between the hours of six p.m. and three a.m. when I’m on duty. This place is my free pass to be a freak. A shame-free zone. The opposite of what I had growing up.

“Hey, roomie,” Freya chirps as she saunters in with a large stack of flyers, plopping them on the front desk.

Turns out, Freya’s new job at the club isn’t designated sex slave or glory hole attendant like I’d imagined. She’s in charge of events and promotion. Yes, kink clubs have mundane jobs like that. Crazy, right? The things you learn out in the real world.

Well, this version of the real world.

I peruse one of the flyers. “What’s this?”

She ties up her long, silky black hair into a ponytail. “New activities schedule.”

Scanning the calendar, my eyes catch on two events. Kinky Karaoke and Shibari Demonstration.

Visions of the two separate activities merge in my mind, presenting me with a mental image of a naked woman, bound in an intricate pattern of rope, twirling from the ceiling while singing a song about rope burn.

That can’t be right. Can it?

“Can you explain Kinky Karaoke? What’s that entail?”

Same as always, she scoots onto my desk, fishes out a lollipop, and begins to make sweet love to it. “Well, it’s where we have a music system with speakers and the whole shebang up on stage. There are microphones and a little monitor where people can see the lyrics to a song of their choice. And then...” She pauses and leans forward dramatically. Holding my gaze, she looks as serious as a heart attack. “They sing.”

With a giggle, she resumes sucking her sucker, obviously proud of her little joke.

“Very funny. I know what karaoke is. But what makes it kinky?”

She tugs the candy vigorously from her mouth, making a popping sound. “It’s in a kink club.”

“Freya, I’m serious. I love singing, but I also don’t want to be traumatized if I go in there and someone is being fucked with a microphone stand.”

“Hey, miss thing, we don’t kink shame here.” She points that red sucker at me, waving it around to emphasize her sentence. “But more importantly, you love singing, huh? So is that you I hear howling like a dying coyote in the shower?”

“I won’t be baited into defending my musical talent. It just so happens you’re looking at the three-time Climax Cabaret champ at the DeKalb County Peach Pie Festival. And it would have been four times, but Amanda Dotson stole it from me when it came out that her husband’s dick was shot off in a huntin’ accident. Naturally, she got the sympathy vote.”

Freya’s eyes fling open as her mouth gapes so much she almost loses her sucker. “Please tell me I heard you wrong. You did not just say a man had his penis shot off. How does that even happen?”

I cross my arms and nod in a big, sweeping movement. “Sure did. Shot it clean off his body. Stella’s friend Jill Garrett works at the hospital registration desk, and she was there when Kris with a K Dotson came in. Said he was cupping his crotch, bleeding like a stuck pig, and his huntin’ partner Wade Bird was holding the flaccid penis in a bag of ice.” I lean forward, cupping my mouth to whisper, “She said there was still hair on it. Pubic hair.”

Freya taps the side of her head with her palm like she’s trying to get water out of her ears. “Get it out. Get it out. I can’t let those words remain in my head.”

“So yeah, Mrs. Dotson got the sympathy vote that year. Otherwise, I’d be undefeated.”

With raucous laughter, Freya kicks her dangling feet back and forth like a toddler sitting at the big people’s table. “And I thought Florida Man was something. But the more stories you tell, the more I’m thinking your hometown should be a meme.”

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