“I’m here for a few more days, so if we can close everything before I leave, nothing like it.”
“I’ll swing by tomorrow and get her to approve what we discussed today.” He scribbles down everything in his notebook and smiles.
I flash him my sweetest smile and say, “Then she becomes your problem until my next trip.”
“So generous,” he teases and I laugh as I head towards the car waiting for me.
Whenever I travel out of Chennai for work, I hire a car service the whole time I’m in town. Since I do this quite often, there are certain drivers I prefer to work with. Biju is one of them. It never surprises me how many Malayalis I run into on a daily basis. We’re everywhere. Biju is an older man who worked for years with a newspaper and was laid off when things went under. In order to keep earning money, he started driving taxis in Mumbai, then graduated into working for a car service. He was able to save up enough money to buy a Mercedes Benz he takes such good care of. And whenever I’m in Mumbai, he and I end up spending lots of time together.
He’s also a grandfather who takes extra care of me. When I slide into the backseat, he frowns and in Malayalam says, “You’re looking pale.”
“Lots of dust in there, nothing to worry about.”
He will continue to worry irrespective of what I say. “Hotel?”
“Juhu?1. Remember the big house near the beach?”
“Okay, but after this you must go back to the hotel and sleep.”
I smile and nod, grabbing the water bottle he passes me. “I promise.”
“Miss Chandy, it’s so good to see you again!”
I smile as Mrs. DeMello pulls me in for a hug. Her very strong perfume tickles my nose and triggers my gag reflex, but I press my lips together to tamp it down. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve thrown up today and I’m exhausted enough without doing it again. Extracting myself out of her arms, I wait until she leads me into the house before I breathe. My stomach twists and I press a hand to it, hoping whatever is going on will stay down for the remainder of this visit.
When I first saw this gorgeous old Mumbai home, I wished for enough money to own a place like this. Then I realised maintenance would probably cost me even more and I like my flat just fine. The DeMellos reached out to Bold Lines a year ago to renovate their entire home. I was in the middle of building a sex dungeon for an actor in Chennai and didn’t think I’d be able to take on another job at the time. But Aishani Kumar, founder, CEO and my personal hero, insisted I be part of the team that worked on the colonial house. Initially I thought it was thanks to my experience with restoring old homes. After my first visit, I discovered it was on account of my pleasure room knowledge.
Mrs. DeMello stops in the dining room where I meet her husband and Pavan, my counterpart from Bold Lines. While I have full control over the enormous sex room, he’s doing most of the main house work. When we signed the contract to work with them, he asked if I’d help with the kitchen and primary bedroom. I should have turned him down because of how much work is already on my plate, but Pavan and I have been flirting and hinting at something more for a few weeks. By working closely with him, maybe something will come of it.
Nothing can happen if I’m still throwing up in barf bags I stole from the airplane.
As I follow Mrs. DeMello to the back of the house, I stop to check in with all the workers and staff. While Bold Lines employs architects and interior designers, we also work closely with the same contractors and workers. It allows for smoother progress and the familiarity helps us perform faster. I’ve worked with these folks since my first solo house assignment and have learned their names and familial details. I make it a point to ask about kids and spouses in my broken Hindi-Tamil-Malayalam combination.
Then I step into the room. Mrs. DeMello is a proper Mumbai socialite and will never call it a sex room. She’s the one who introduced me to the Pleasure Room term. I’ve been tempted to put it on my business card, but reprinting the set sounds like way too much work.
“All of our permissions are in place for this room, so now it’s in your hands. I gave you Henry’s and my requirements, right?”
“Yes. I’m waiting on a few suppliers to get back to me before we confirm any orders.”
“That’s fine. We’re still looking at a few parties a month, but nothing too elaborate.” She offers me a playful smile and adds, “Your suggestion to soundproof is a good one. Don’t want to scandalise our staff with what goes on here.”
“We’ll tint the windows so you can see out, but they can’t see in from the garden. The tinting will also prevent the heat and sun, just not the light.”
“Yes, of course. We don’t want it to be a dark room.” I nod and she squeezes my arm. “Thank you, Miss Chandy. I’ll leave you to it. Please let me know if you need anything.”
She leaves and I exhale loudly as I look around. It stretches the length of the house and one wall is entirely windows. Tucked away into the back, it gives them the privacy they need, but doesn’t take away from the excitement that comes with having a sex room. At the top of my list is soundproofing, adding a false ceiling for the wiring and hooks to be hidden away and of course, the window tinting. Most of the other things are façade items like painting, lighting fixtures and carpeting.
Part of my job in building sex rooms is to understand the purpose. When I did my first one, I was flying by the seat of my pants. There was no planning or real thought that went into it. The client and I fumbled our way through it, but we made it work. Since then, I put together a questionnaire to understand requirements and needs, to fully immerse myself in their world of kink. It’s been absolutely fascinating.
The DeMellos, for example, are part of a swingers club made up of the rich and famous in Mumbai. The group has been experimenting with BDSM and wants to explore it further. One of their friends has a basic room that allows for the swingers part of their agenda, but with them renovating this house, they want to make this a safe space. So we laid out a plan for everything to be done, including secret entrances, a special kitchen to service the room and what kind of equipment they’d need.
We settled on the regular bondage items, a couple of benches, a few beds and maybe even a St. Andrew’s Cross. A lot of these things are unfortunately not available for purchase through retail stores in India. Thanks to my network of speciality partners, I have a guy who can make whatever tickles a person’s sexual desires.
After a slow walk through, measuring the windows and carpet area, I pack up my things and walk out to where Pavan’s waiting for me. I smile when our eyes meet, but my stomach chooses that moment to twist like her life depends on it and I bend over to vomit. Biju’s at my side as I straighten up with a wince. Pavan’s vanished out of sight and laugh to myself. Must not like girls who projectile vomit at the sight of their pretty smiles.
“You’re working too hard,” Biju reprimands as he helps me into the car. He hands me another bottle of cold water and then slips behind the wheel. “Hotel?”
“Hotel.” I smile sadly, terrified to drink the water, and pull out my phone instead.
