“Sure you did. Because you didn’t ‘give up’ shit. I’ve known you since you were pissing and moaning about delivering yetanother baby when all you wanted to do was use amniotic fluids to paint your next great masterpiece.”
“I’ll pretend that made sense, and then further pretend I didn’t hear that.” Zara loved to speak without thinking. Somehow, it endeared women to her.If I did that, I’d get slapped.She could get any woman she wanted if she played her cards right. Like being rich. An angsty artist. The fact that she knew her way around another woman’s body.The one good thing to come from my education.Lots and lots and lots of anatomical experience.
Yet she quickly became bored with whatever woman she was with. They were either well below her intelligence level, only interested in what she could give them, or… well, she couldn’t put her finger on it. She blamed her artistic mind, which often argued with the more logical, doctoral side. Women were beautiful. The way they moved, laughed, and made love. Except that magic quickly wore off once Sette got to know them. She’d say it was the type of women she dated, but they came from all sorts of backgrounds. Medical women. Socialites. The waitress at the corner café… oh, wait, Zara had dibs on that one this week. The way they traded winks when she walked by said as much.
“I’ve fired my muse,” Sette said. “I need to find a new one. Something to get me out of this funk.”
Zara was distracted by the waitress again. What was it? Her casual clothes, even though she and her family were worth a collective billion dollars? The shaggy cut of her hair? Oh, it was probably the most expensive thing about her – the perfume, which she swore could get any woman wet between the legs. Sette wasn’t sure about that, not that she had extensively tested it. Then again, her education had rather destroyed the romantic notion of women and “getting wet.”
Besides, it’s never worked on me.Part of the reason these sorority sisters were still friends was because they never gotfarther than changing clothes in front of each other. From the moment they met while rushing their sorority, they were fast friends.Like sisters, all right.Sette was the slightly older and more curmudgeonly one, while Zara was the slightly younger, friskier kid who got into trouble more times than she liked to admit. They had both known they were gay when they met, but it was a cudgel for what the sorority called “true sisterhood” and nothing more.Honestly, the thought of dating her makes me want to scream.They didn’t even have the same tastes in women!
“You need to loosen up, that's what you need to do.” As soon as she had a round of cool beers ordered, Zara turned her full attention to her friend. “You’ve been in this so-called funk for months now. It’s amazing I even got you out of your house, you fucking introvert.”
Ah, yes, the introvert and extrovert, such great best friends. “I haven’t been really inspired to do much of anything lately.”
“That’s why we need to get out of here, woman. I don’t know how much you care, but I’m thinking about heading up to the mountains in a couple of days.”
“The mountains?” That was not like Zara at all. Sette could not imagine her friend hiking, camping, or doing anything that would require that kind of grit. To be fair, it wasn’t Sette’s bag, either. She loved the views, though. In fact, that may be what she needed to get out of her funk.I need to see some real views. A sunset. A valley. Anything. Perhaps her next phase would be scenes. Those were big right now, right? “I could be game for that. My cousin has a lodge we could stay in.”
“Hell no, I’m not talking about shacking up in some underused ski lodge and wearing sweaters around the fireplace. You didn’t let me finish.”
Their beers arrived. Sette had to refocus her attention from her work to the conversation at hand, which was not easy whena million other conversations were going on around them that fine spring day. Traffic noise. Birds. The clatter of utensils and plates. Sette hated such cacophonies. This was the woman who couldn’t even listen to music while she worked. Absolute silence. It was a necessity.
“All right. So finish.”
“I’m talking about going to that brothel.”
Sette barely had beer on her lips before she was prompted to spit it out.
“Calm down. It’s not a real brothel. That’s what everyone calls it. You’ve heard of the Manoir, right?”
Sette couldn’t believe they were having this conversation in public. She sat back in her seat, crossing her legs and her arms in the hopes that nobody around them would think she was actually a part of this conversation. “I’ve heard about it in passing.” Anyone with enough money and the right connections heard of all sorts of things. Like that one BDSM club right beneath their feet that catered to every depraved taste a rich enough bitch had.I don’t think I’m depraved. Others may beg to differ.
“Basically, it’s this ‘house of pleasure,’ or whatever they call it. My friend Brianna went a month ago and said she had a blast. The girls there are really hot and know their stuff, if you know what I mean.” What a stupid grin. Too bad it was infectious.
“Not sure how I feel about paying for sex.” Especially one that might not even be sapphic, since nothing killed Sette’s desires more than knowing her partner wasn’t there forher.
“You don’t technically, you pay for their ‘time.’ They’ll hang out with you, wait on you, let you see their tits…”
“I’m failing to see the difference here.” She may not be talking about red light districts around the world, but Zara was definitely close to saying,“Tickle your pussy, lick your pussy, and make your pussy scream.”Sette tightened her legs. Been awhile since she went out looking for some pussy licking. “Sounds like a brothel to me.”
“Brianna called it a courtesan house. Does that sound better?”
“Courtesans, hm?” That did sound better. Paying for sex was tasteless. Some people who could have any woman they wanted still paid for escorts and sugar babies because it was a display of their wealth and power. Sette was too careful with her money to care about that. She still lived in the same townhouse she bought ten years ago when she originally started her practice.Worth a good few mil, though. “Do they perform?”
“With their tits, yeah.”
Sette rolled her eyes, not that Zara could see it between their pairs of sunglasses. “I see. I was hoping for something… more. Like artistry.”
“Woman, have you ever seen a pro? That is artistry!”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Come on, I’ll treat you. You obviously don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do there. We’re getting away for a day or two.” Zara chuckled. “Who knows? Maybe it will help jar that brain of yours. Get you out of this art funk. I know it will work for me.” Zara perched her chin upon her hand and watched that waitress go by again. Her eyes were absolutely entranced by that ass. “I’m going to sculpt this woman right here, for instance.”
“Fine. I’ll go, but only to shut you up and to get away from this city.”
“Girl, you are such a whiner.”
