But if I can do this carefully, if I can maintain my anonymity, I can have one night that's mine. One night where I choose. Where I experience what it feels like to want someone and act on it, to feel passion instead of duty, to give myself to someone because I want to, not because I have to.
One night of freedom before the cage door locks forever.
I sign the contract with my fake name, my hand steady despite the fear coursing through me. Within an hour, I receive a confirmation and instructions. The club operates on Friday and Saturday nights. Discretion is absolute. What happens there stays there.
I have one week until the next Saturday session to prepare and plan—to either commit to this completely or back out while I still can.
I close my laptop and sit in the silence of my room, feeling a fragile bloom of hope open up in my chest.
—
The shopping triprequires more careful planning than any excursion I’ve ever taken for myself.
I tell my father I'm going to Manhattan with friends. He barely looks up from his paperwork when I ask, just nods, and reminds me to take security.
"Just for lunch and shopping," I tell him. "Nothing dangerous." He waves me off, already distracted by whatever deal he's working on.
The driver takes me into the city, and I make him drop me off somewhere respectable, somewhere my father would expect me to shop. I tell him I'll text when I'm ready to be picked up, that my friends and I will be a few hours. My security waits outside and just inside the store, and I head back toward the dressing rooms, then slip right back out through a different entrance.
The first boutique I find is nothing like the places I usually shop. There are no tasteful neutrals or classic cuts, no timeless elegance. This place is all edge and attitude, the kind of store I've walked past a hundred times but never dared to enter.
"Can I help you?" The salesgirl looks me up and down, taking in my conservative silk wrap dress and pearls. I can see her trying to figure out if I'm lost.
"I need something different," I say, and my voice sounds stronger than I feel. "Something... not me."
She grins, understanding immediately. "Reinvention shopping. My favorite. What's the occasion?"
"I'm going to a party. I want to look like someone else."
"Say no more." She starts pulling things off racks—a black leather skirt that's shorter than anything I've ever worn, a silk top with a plunging neckline, a dress that looks as if even I might struggle to squeeze into it, it’s so tight, a pair of shiny black pants and a corset top. "Try these."
I take the clothes into the dressing room, my hands shaking slightly.
The girl I see in the mirror when I put on the leather skirt and silk top is a stranger. My legs look longer, my body more dangerous. The neckline shows the curve of my breasts in a way that would make my father lock me in my room. I look like someone who makes her own choices. Someone who takes what she wants.
I look like someone who could walk into that club and own it.
"How's it going in there?" the salesgirl calls.
I open the door, and her eyes widen. "Holy shit. You look incredible."
"It's not too much?"
"Honey, there's no such thing as too much. You look like you could make men lick the floor you walk on." She tilts her head, studying me. "Is this for a guy?"
"No," I say firmly. "It's for me."
I buy the leather skirt, the silk top, the incredibly tight dress, and three other outfits that make me look like someone I've never been allowed to be. The salesgirl helps me find shoes as well—a pair of stiletto heels and thigh-high boots.
"Go break some hearts," she says as I leave. It almost makes me believe I could.
I go to a specialty wig shop next, and pick out an insanely expensive dark auburn option, with thick waves that look natural, and the saleslady helps fit it to me. She shows me how to secure it properly and make it look like it’s my real hair, and when I look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself.
The next step is a mask. I find two—one that’s black with pearl and gold detailing, and another that’s plain black lace, both of them large enough to obscure a decent amount of the upper half of my face. I go back to the first store and buy the first dress I see, requesting a larger bag. Then I put all my purchases in it, so that no one will realize where I’ve been. By the time I text my driver to pick me up, I have everything I need—except courage.
—
I almost back outa dozen times before Saturday arrives. I lie in bed every night thinking about what I'm actually planning to do. Sneak away from my security. Go to a sex club. Sleep with a stranger. The words sound insane even in my own head.
