“I’m thinking about it,” I say, unable to keep my chin from rising.
“You know him? The Primal?” Max asks.
“I might.” Glossy lips pursed, Lamé tilts her head, never looking away from me.
“Is it safe?” Max prods, ever the protector. And even if I’m way too old for this level of shielding, I love her for it. I’llalwayslove her for how much she cares about me. “I mean, is he trustworthy?”
“He’s the best man I know. Nobody safer.” Lamé finally breaks eye contact to glance at Max, before coming back to me. “And nobody more dangerous.” She’s deadly serious.
The shiver that rolls through me is big and delicious, inviting goosebumps and stiff nipples and a sigh I barely manage to cover up with a cough.
Lamé, I can tell, sees right through it. She knows I’m turned on by the idea of a stranger in the woods, the danger, the anonymity. The loss of power. “Wow,” is all I manage to say, but I guess it’s enough for her.
She smirks and leans forward to whisper above the music, “He’s so hot, honey. If I was into getting hunted down and fucked in the woods, this is the man I’d want to do it.” She shakes herself with a shimmy that sends her earrings rattling like wind chimes, and turns with a flourish to finish making our drinks.
I suck in a breath, look down at the ad again, and reread every single word, slowly. Carefully. Max is probably watching me, but I need a second to regroup.
This ad is so up my alley, it’s as if the man who wrote it pulled it straight from my brain. It’s absolutely, one hundred percent my fantasy and it has been for as long as I can remember, though I’ve never followed through on it before.
Well, maybe a little bit, when I was a kid. Like the time I begged Tommy Moore to tackle me in a game of tag during fourth grade recess and he did and then I thought my heart would explode from how his weight felt on me. Or the thing where Caroline from next door would come over and we’d play a version of hide-and-seek that culminated in torture sessions in my closet and somehow I was always the victim and she the eternal tormentor and I could never, ever get enough of that moment when she wrapped her hand around my arm and told me to lie down. Even now, the memory has me squeezing my thighs together, although it’s not so much the memory as the rough, slightly wrinkled feel of this paper between my fingers and the knowledge that the real thing’s right here, within reach.
My vision’s a little hazy when I turn to Max and say, “Okay,” in a voice that’s rough and out of breath. “I want to do it.”
“Yeah?” Max watches me so closely I have to wrap my arms around myself to keep her from seeing the effects this talk’s had on my body. “You sure?”
I nod just as Lamé sets our cups in front of us, the steam adding to the haze in my head.
“I’ve never had an orgasm.” For some reason, the words are out before I can catch them. At the look of complete shock on Lamé’s face, I go on. “With a partner, I mean. With a guy. A man. Anyone.”
Lamé exchanges a look with Max. “You’ve come to the right place.” She claps her hands, then spins and glides down to grab something at the other end of the counter. Only now do I realize she’s wearing roller skates. “Okay.” She slaps a couple forms down on the bar. “I need you to fill in this release, along with the other paper. This just gives you a chance to give us your hard and soft limits, and other things. Camp staff will set things up. It’s all very confidential. Especially given wh—” She shuts her mouth hard and covers up whatever she’d been about to let slip with a grin. “Here’s a pen, honey.”
We move to a table and I fill in the form as best I can, with answers like Yes for Oral and, after some hesitation, No for Anal. I jot down the camp’s safe words and end with a short paragraph describing my fantasy as completely as I can. It’s the first time I’ve written any of it down, which feels both wrong, after keeping it locked up for so long, and absolutely freeing.
The release form confirms that the camp staff is aware of the session and either person can tap out at any time. The play area will be safe and secure. Only the appropriate people will be allowed within the cordoned off zone, and security will remain near the scene, but out of the way. Under emergency number, I put Max, obviously, not my mom. The form’s reassuring and scary and it normalizes the whole thing in a way that brings me close to tears, after so many years of repression and shame at what my mind and body seem to want. By the time I’m done, I’m as drained as the cup of coffee beside me.
Finally, Max, who’s chatted with other people to give me privacy, walks me back up to the counter. Good thing, because Lamé’s next words almost knock my legs out from under me.
“You free tonight?”
Oh my God. This is happening.
I swallow and glance at Max. She nods.
“Yes. Yeah. I’m free tonight.”
“Good, honey.” Lamé hands me a handwritten note card, showing a time and place, along with a set of basic rules underscoring the other person’s desire for anonymity. I shove it in my pocket so the others can’t see how hard my hand’s shaking. “Better get ready,” she says with a grin and a wink and a little wave goodbye. “Cause it’s game on.”
2
Grace
You knowthose montages in movies, where people laughingly get a makeover or go on a picnic or fall in love in the space of one song? The day doesn’t go by like that—at all. In fact, my day’s probably the polar opposite of that. It’s endless and surreal, filled with jittery images of strangers doing strange things to each other. That’s just kink camp, I guess, but while it fascinated me when I arrived yesterday, right now, it’s just too much. Too much screaming and pain and pleasure. Too many easy smiles and naked bodies, too many sounds and sights and smells that remind me of what I’ve agreed to do tonight. I can barely eat at lunch or dinner, which means Max pushes food at me every time I head back to our fancy glamp site—otherwise known as the Thunderdome. She won’t let me drink, though.
“Camp Rules,” she says, plugging in the twinkle lights that make this spot the homiest.
The sun’s almost down and my nerves are so lit up I could scream. “I read the rules, Max. I’m allowed two drinks before a scene.” Ignoring her, I pull a hard cider from the cooler, take a couple long swallows and set it down. Yeah. That’s not the greatest idea. All it’s doing is making my belly feel wrong.
I should listen to Max. She’s the expert here. I’m just the childhood bestie she’s dragged to camp, after years of trying to get me to come with. See, Max is unabashedly kinky. She’s open and without shame or complex. I’ve always loved that about her. I, on the other hand, stuffed my fantasies so deep inside for so long that my libido’s been…I won’t say dormant. I have sex, I mean. I have relationships. And they’re…fine. But life’s been hard. My dreams have sort of dissipated. Pleasure doesn’t seem all that important when the day-to-day is such a struggle.
