Prologue

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Prologue

JASMIN

I THINK WE SHOULD BREAK UP.

Those were the words that changed everything. First, Thomas sat me down at his apartment to talk. Next came a burdened sigh. His hazel eyes, which had inspired my love for a decade, were everywhere but on me. Those lips, which had caressed and danced with mine a thousand times, made the frown of a defeated man.

With the silence in the room pressed tight against my temples, and the wall clock tick, tick, ticking in my skull, I was left staring down an abyss, which had a sign that read: ‘Your Thirties. Alone.’

“Jaz. Say something.”

In truth, we had been dancing near that abyss for too long. Years of long distance only drove us closer to the edge. Me in my dream city, Amsterdam, and Thomas in Stockholm living his own Scandinavian dream. Until that moment, I would have immediately folded. Would have come over to him, kissed his head, and asked how he could say such a thing. Sure, things were not perfect, but we could work through it. We had always found a solution before.

Instead, an invisible finger tapped the crown of my head. The ticking of the clock faded, and my vision brightened. My perception expanded beyond Thomas’ tiny living room into infinity, and I saw it all. Stunning landscapes which emptied my brain and swelled my heart with joy. Majestic cities which inspired the best in me. I witnessed charming men with the heart to contain my wildness and wounds, and the ruggedness to penetrate me in ways inconceivable. The sun gently radiated my skin from the clear blue sky above, and the wet sand cooled my feet from beneath as I strolled along a turquoise beach in a flowing white dress.

The trap door leading to the dungeon of my fantasies flung open. I descended into shadowy crannies, where my temptations could explore without the guilt from Thomas’ judgement. I came across beefy, brash men with no hesitation to take me, with a might immovable against my gushing feminine flood.

I shot through exploding stars and dove into unfathomable depths. I gazed out with crystal clarity and awe over the expanses of a life without Thomas. It had no arguments over the phone until three in the morning. No second-guessing my choices in fear of what he might think or say. No more aches of sadness or burning frustration from feeling unloved and unwanted. This path before me had no eggshells covering it. For a brief space in time, the fog shrouding my relationship with Thomas dissipated.

I remained suspended in this enchanted, infinite moment, before I suddenly dropped out with a snap and landed back on Thomas’ sofa, where the clock resumed ticking. And as I quietly looked over this man I adored, the ice of a decade-long relationship began to melt, revealing the warm, inviting glow of something I never expected to feel in such a situation…

1 - The Day She Died

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1

The Day She Died

JASMIN

“Relief!?” said Michaela, putting her cocktail down and shifting her entire body in my direction, giving me her full attention.

“Aha,” I said after sipping on my old fashioned, the two of us deep in our breakup discussion bubble.

“Listen, I’m glad you’re not devastated,” said Michaela. “But you have to admit, the timing is—”

“Better now than later,” I cut in with a shrug.

The surrounding chatter barely registered while I fought off that same unsettling feeling I had when I turned twenty-nine. My friends were gathered around me for my early thirtieth birthday drinks at my favourite rooftop bar. Behind us, the lights of Amsterdam-Noord speckled the night sky. In the corner were my work colleagues, busy with office gossip. Meanwhile, I found myself again faced with a life without Thomas. I took another sip of my drink to wash the lingering anxiety away.

“It was a long time coming,” said Michaela.

“Yes,” I said, seeing Thomas in my mind’s eye, standing in his doorway as we said farewell. “So where's Kate?”

Michaela was on it, knowing when I needed to get off a topic. She scanned the congregation.

“There,” she said, sitting up. “Kate!” she commanded over the chatter.

Kate turned her head suddenly to catch who called her, then walked over to us looking like a vision with her flowing blonde locks and catwalk legs.

“Hello, my gorgeous ones,” she said in her sweet voice.

Kate was stunning. She had men constantly throwing themselves at her, but never blinked. She was happily married to her high school sweetheart. Her life was seemingly perfect, as was she, which made me feel the exact opposite. Compared to Kate, who was an hourglass-shaped bombshell, I felt mediocre with my dry, dirty-blonde hair, average height and pear body shape.

“So babe, Jaz is relieved about the breakup,” Michaela said.

“I guess that’s better than being devastated,” said Kate.

“That’s what I said,” replied Michaela with a twinkle in her eyes.

There was nothing more reassuring than seeing my girls on matching wavelengths. My anxiety faded, and I sat up straight again. It was because I was turning thirty that I was relieved. At least I still had time to make the most of the situation. Europe was on the cusp of spring, and I had avoided the winter phase of the breakup. No nostalgia when hearing certain songs. No stuffing my face with salted caramel ice cream. No makeovers or soul-searching trips to India. Only my own company, and me open for anything. I counted myself lucky.

Michaela shifted in her chair and leaned her head to the side, her shoulder-length straight brown hair dropping with it. Her dark features and defined eyebrows accentuated the intensity of her sharpened stare.

“So when you say you’re relieved,” she began. “Does that mean you’re ready to date, or do you want something physical only?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m off work until the end of next week. I want to get out of Amsterdam and figure everything out before going to Mum’s place.”

“That’s good,” said Kate. “Take your time. You could always pop into Vondel Cafe for some eye candy when you’re back. All the hot guys in Amsterdam go there.”

I observed Kate’s bright, innocent gaze and royal posture, her hands carefully placed on her lap. The thought of her lusting over some random guy popped up in my head. Did she ever stray from her perfect life into naughtier places? Even in her imagination?

“I guess I could,” I said, not moved by the idea of window shopping.

Kate’s smile turned into a satisfied grin.

“You totally should,” said Michaela, piggy-backing on the idea. “Use next week as an opportunity before getting back into the dating game.”

My Michi-radar went off.

“Opportunity, huh?” I said, taking the bait as she had clearly been hoping. “For what?”

“I don’t know,” said Michaela with a lift of her eyebrows. “Something… risqué?”

“Oh, spill it!” I said. “What’s up your sleeve?”

Kate rolled her eyes and shook her head with a chuckle. Like me, she knew Michaela too well.

“Right, guys,” said Michaela, flicking her hair back, her chest coming forward.

Here we go. I braced myself for another of Michaela’s wild and wonderful ideas. The woman was the life of every room for a reason. My mind went to her annual bottomless house party — no pants, skirts or underwear allowed. Thomas had flipped when I suggested going.

“Hear me out,” continued Michaela. “I’ve got the perfect palette cleanser to prepare you for single life, Jaz.”

My vision brightened as Michaela handed me her phone. On the screen was an image of a party invitation. Two intersecting handcuffs decorated a black canvas, with the following text underneath:

Passion Parade
Sex-positive dance party in Berlin
Midnight until late
(Un)dress to impress
Lingerie // shirt but naked // black leather // NO streetwear

The event was on Saturday. In two days. I scoffed and shook my head, handing the phone back to Michaela.

“A sex party?” I said.

“Why not?” she replied. “You loved my stories about Berlin. All the kinky stuff I got up to.”

“Sure,” I said, twirling my straw. “I liked hearing about it. I never saw myself doing it.”

“Never? All I know is that—” Michaela leaned forward and lowered her voice. “We all know about your sex life with Thomas. Mr. Ninety Seconds, always in his head, leaving you wanting more.”

Yep. The sex with Thomas had been bothering me for years. I missed what we had. My reflection in his pupils as he thrust into me with fiery eyes. His mouth paying careful attention to the entirety of my body. The feeling that I was the only woman on the planet.

As the fights piled up, and the insults and accusations grew harsher, something withered within me. I lost my sense of curiosity and passion. When I met Thomas, the vibrant seed of my sexuality was tingling with potential. I felt raw and ready to become any woman I wanted. I was hungry to experience life through all senses. The taste of food, the delight of new places, the eruption of an orgasm, the musky smell of the man I desired more than life itself.

As each anniversary with Thomas piled up, it all became a hollow memory. Eventually, this goddess within me went missing for good, leaving no trace of her existence. The pain of her absence hurt like nothing else. Her silence was ear-splintering, until it merged into a status quo of routine and resentment. Without the fuel of youthful devotion, without her coursing through me, the sex grew empty. We went from pure, unbridled love-making, to something bordering on mechanical, soulless sex, all in a couple of years. We had been spluttering on fumes since. We went from missionary to doggy style and back, and when we had been drinking, I sometimes got to ride on top — when he could keep it up. Joy.

“I do want more,” I said. “But not more dicks. Just better sex.”

“You’ll get both in Berlin,” said Michaela, steepling her fingers, her sales persona emerging.

“Michi, she’s just come out of a nine-year relationship,” said Kate. “Give the girl a break. Maybe a date or two in a few months, not a sex party this weekend.”

“It’s a sex-positive party,” said Michaela. “Kinky dress and dancing. Sex is optional. The underground parties are something else entirely. I wouldn’t do that to her. She’s not ready.”

“Don’t do it, Jaz,” said Kate, sensing my temptation. “I wouldn’t.”

Good old Kate. Of course it made sense to get back in the dating game the ‘right’ way. Yet to my surprise, nine years of festering butterflies formed in my lower belly and quivered between my legs. Michaela’s devilish stare was unrelenting. She had waited until my third cocktail before bringing up her plan. Now she was going in, knowing how much of a push-over I was when tipsy. The girl was good. She was also my best friend for a reason. I considered the idea further.

“That’s where I check out,” said Kate finally.

She walked off, looking me dead in the eye as she passed. She finished with a wink and floated off to grace the others with her presence. It seemed she had better things to do than getting involved in sex adventures.

“She’s a terrible help,” said Michaela.

“Maybe in this case,” I said, straightening up. “So. Are you going to this thing?”

Michaela sighed and shook her head.

“I wish,” she said. “Hendrick and I are driving to his parent’s place in Rotterdam. We haven’t been to a kink party in ages. I didn’t tell anyone this, so keep it between you and me. We’re thinking of starting a family.”

I twitched and leaned forward suddenly.

“Michi, that’s wonderf—”

“Shh,” she cut in, her eyes swelling open.

“That’s so exciting,” I whispered.

“To be honest, I’m terrified,” said Michaela with vulnerable eyes.

I felt her slipping, and held her up with a reassuring smile.

“But we’re ready,” she said. “I think.” She blinked and shook her head. “Anyway, we’re not talking about me.”

This was not part of her strategy to sell me the party, I realised. It was real. My best friend was trying for a baby. The same teenage girl who would drag me to the shops to get a look at her latest crush. The same woman who at one stage was attending weekly sex orgies, and who once had an open relationship with a fifty-year-old painter, was looking to be a mother. How times had changed. What had I done in my twenties? What reckless abandon had I experienced during my relationship with Thomas? A lot less than I wanted. Was I ready to be a mother now like Michaela, and accept the regrets of a life barely lived? It was something I needed to put some thought into. And soon.

“Jaz, this is perfect for you,” said Michaela. “I wasn’t going to say anything until you were ready, but clearly you’re fine.”

“This weekend is too soon,” I said. “Plus, I would want to go with you.”

“You moved to Amsterdam with a suitcase and no friends,” said Michaela. “You can handle this.”

“I had you,” I said.

“You still do,” said Michaela. “But you’ve also got yourself. Don’t forget that.”

Alone. In the city of debauchery and sin. The thought had my insides in a spin cycle. No way.

Michaela studied my hesitation. What would a salesperson do in such a situation? Go for the kill. Naturally. She reached into her handbag and took out a present wrapped in shiny gold paper, with a card on top that read her nickname for me: Jazzy Jaz.

“For you, my darling,” she said.

I received my early birthday present without a word. Opened the gift carefully from the sides and slid the cardboard box out without creasing the paper, then lifted the flap to reveal two items. The first was an erotic novel called ‘Lover of Prey’. I caught myself lingering on the cover. It showed a tanned, muscle-bound man with perfect abs stalking a dreamy-eyed woman through her bedroom door as she lay on her bed, reading in red lingerie with the light reflecting off her curvaceous body. I turned to the back and caught the first lines of the blurb. I never read romance, let alone erotica. Cheesy. And worse still — written by a man.

I turned my eye to the other present. A black ‘vibrating bullet’. I shook my head, looking up at Michaela with a bemused smile. She was something else, that girl.

“This was supposed to help you cope,” she said. “Obviously you don’t need that. But read the book on the train, and the vibr—” She lowered her voice. “Take it with you to Passion Parade.”

“I don’t know,” I said with a sigh. “Thank you. Really. This is great. But I can’t do this.”

Michaela placed her eternally warm hand over my eternally cold fingers.

“You can,” she said, holding me in her worldly eyes, giving me the melting feeling that everything would be fine. “There’s no right time.”

I shook my head to break her spell, but could still feel its pull inside me. I thought back on all the times Thomas had dangled the breakup stick over me. I could have taken the untraveled road many times, risking losing a flawed love for something more fulfilling. Instead, I looked down what felt like a dark path and chickened out, staying with the same boyfriend and cushy job because it felt safer. Now I was standing out in the open again, with only a party invitation for a map, and an overwhelming sense that the clock was ticking. Michaela’s sharp, watchful eyes encouraged me to peek down that dark path again.

“Ok,” I said. “Maybe I’ll go.”

“That’s my Jazzy Jaz!” yelled Michaela too loudly, forcing me to instantly regret opening my mouth.

“I said maybe!” I hissed.

“Let’s say you do go,” said Michaela, lowering her voice again. “You need to be clear about a couple of things. What space do you want to play in?”

I broke eye contact, caught off-guard by the question. Sub. Brat. Dom. Switch. Michaela had experimented with all of the BDSM roles. She even had sex with a guy who let her slap his face and who called her ‘mistress’. So ultimately, she was a switch. I had zero experience and zero idea what I was.

“Uh...” I said. “A sub, I guess?”

“Babe,” said Michaela bluntly. “Most women assume they’re submissive. It feels great to let the dom control things. But I know you. There’s more. The least you can do is make him work for it.”

Teasing and provoking a man did sound fun. But was I a brat?

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “I don’t know yet.”

“Fine,” said Michaela. “Next thing. Do you know your hard boundaries? Do you want to do group stuff? If so, guys or girls, or both?”

Uh, what? I had no clue what to do with one guy, let alone two, let alone a girl. I had tickled the idea of a three-way once before shutting it down. Too out there.

I rubbed my wrist for a second, then stopped myself. To be fair, Michaela’s wild stories over the years had widened my sexual lens. Lately I had even contemplated an open relationship with Thomas; an idea I labelled insane and never uttered to anyone. Hidden even further down in my vault were the fantasies which left me questioning my morality, the scenarios which involved things like having two dicks simultaneously inside me.

I crossed my legs to the other side to move the energy out from between them.

“I’ve never done anything like that,” I said. “How am I supposed to know what I like?”

Don’t worry, you’ll know, came a woman’s voice from within, sending shivers through me. I shifted in my seat.

“You’ll know when the time comes,” said Michaela, echoing the voice. “Go easy. One step at a time, and always trust your body. You’ve got this.” She smirked suddenly. “Basically my advice for anyone trying anal for the first time.”

Jesus.

“Oh,” she added, sitting up suddenly. “I never told you that story, did I?”

“Michi!” I said with a slap of her hand.

Michaela could barely keep it together. That woman loved to take things too far. I watched my best friend laughing herself silly. She was really getting into the idea of me going to this party. She was also making me feel a little more comfortable with the whole thing. God. I needed to give her something.

“Do you think Thomas could have handled an open relationship?” I said.

Michaela lowered her glass and stared at me incredulously, holding her sip before swallowing.

“Thomas?” she said.

“It could’ve worked. A relationship with a nice guy, and exploring the other stuff with someone more ‘capable’.”

“The right guy will give you both,” said Michaela. “Thomas was never it.”

I nodded, but could not stomach her words. Thomas was the right and wrong guy rolled into one. During our early years, it seemed like we were a sexual fit. But after the honeymoon period, everything changed. More and more I found myself standing in front of the mirror, analysing every inch of my body, convinced that it was my fault for being unattractive. I found myself longing to be as beautiful as Kate, or to have Michaela’s sex appeal. Too many times I stood naked in front of Thomas with that tight longing in my chest, wishing he would come up to me with an open heart and a raging penis and just... well... fuck me open! How else could I have put it?

The thought of it caused a quiver between my legs while I watched Michaela plotting my hypothetical orgy. If only Thomas could have found a way to overpower the pain. Eventually, I lost hope in that. But not in my desire for the kind of passion that would break me out of my prison. The fantasies drifted out of our relationship and into the public realm. Musicians. Yoga instructors. Married men. Being caught between Thomas and my repressed yearning was suffocating me — until he set me free last week.

“Right, everyone,” I heard Kate say to our friends, Michaela and I turning our attention outwards. “As Jasmin won’t be around, we need to sing loud enough for her to still hear us on her big day. So get your singing voices ready.”

She began with the first words of Happy Birthday, and was joined by a chorus of our friends, followed by the strangers drinking around us.

My face exploded with embarrassment, and I had to resist the urge to cover it with both hands. A big applause broke out at the end, and I was forced to look up and smile at my beaming friends. If I was in denial about it before, I had to let that go: I was turning thirty next weekend. Single. And alone.

Two cocktails later, everyone had left except for Michaela and me. Michaela was busy typing a long text, before she looked up at me with the same crazed expression from high school before we went off on another adventure.

“Hendrick wanted to leave early for Rotterdam tomorrow,” said Michaela. “But I told him I had important business to take care of. Let’s go back to yours and get you packed and ready.”

“What? I didn’t say yes, Mich-”

“Your face did,” she cut in, getting to her feet. “Come on, bitch. Let’s go.”

Her resolve was matched only by the sudden panic gripping my throat.

Someone help me.

2 - Meet Me In Berlin

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2

Meet Me In Berlin

JASMIN

Michaela paid our tab and we left the bar, wandering along the narrow, charmingly-lit Amsterdam streets. With doubts nibbling at me like termites, we crossed over one of the city’s many canals, leaving behind the warm orange hue and entering the red-light district. Michaela’s attention was straight ahead, while mine drifted to the side. I locked eyes with one of the beautiful women in the windows, who was wearing a bright-white bikini. She puckered her lips and blew me a kiss, putting me on a cloud that carried me all the way home and through my doorway.

As Michaela started tearing into my wardrobe, rejecting anything that was not remarkably sexy, the whole thing started to feel real. Too real.

“Michi,” I said, pressing my thumb hard into my wrist. “Seriously, I don’t know about this.”

Michaela’s expression darkened.

“You’re playing with your wrist again,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said with a frown, letting go of my arm.

Michaela sighed.

“Do you remember our trip to Barcelona when we were seventeen?” she said. “Juan Jose and Roberto?”

I thought back before a weary smile found its way to the corners of my mouth. Of course. The two middle-aged men we met at the beach while on holiday, which our parents somehow agreed to let us go on alone. The pair took us to some random apartment. With the Spanish music on blast and wine flowing, the tension quickly swelled. The age difference made Michaela and me conscious of acting ‘grown up’, so we started making out in front of them. Surprise, surprise, they loved it. Roberto grabbed Michaela’s hand and they disappeared inside. Juan Jose put his sights on me, and eventually had me on the sofa with two fingers curled inside my pussy, his thumb rubbing my engorged clit while he sucked on my neck. I opened my eyes briefly and looked at his free hand, freaking out when I caught the bright-white tan mark where his wedding ring should have been. I shot up immediately and stormed in on Roberto’s bare-white butt in my face while he penetrated Michaela in missionary, the sound of grunts, moans and slapping skin filling the room.

At first, she was furious with me for dragging her out like that. Later, we laughed about it. Our bond as sisters was forged in the fires of young, reckless passion. A fire that continued for Michaela, and stopped for me when Thomas came into my life.

“What about it?” I said.

“I want you to remember who you were before Thomas.”

“A silly teenager?”

Michaela made a disappointed face.

“A wild woman ready for anything,” she said.

The windows were closed, but I felt a cool breeze pass over me. Michaela’s words had stirred up the spirit of the past, but that was all it was — the past. The weight of the breakup collapsed suddenly onto me, and left me with a swelling sorrow, showing me all the time I had lost, all the experiences I had missed out on. I pressed my mouth shut and tried holding back the tears filling my eyes.

“Oh, babe,” said Michaela, walking over to me. “What’s wrong?”

A sob broke out through my resistance.

“What am I going to do, Michi?” I said, pushing my face into Michaela’s shoulder as she hugged me. “I wasted so much time, and now I’ve got nothing to show for it.”

“Jaz,” said Michaela, holding me tighter. “You said it yourself: Better now than later. You have a perfect opportunity. Don’t waste it as well.”

Michaela’s firm shoulder and strong words lifted me out of my pit of wallowing. I took a deep breath and straightened up. Michaela looked into my eyes and nodded resolutely

“Okay?” she said.

I nodded and wiped the tears off my cheek, finally understanding what she was getting at. The breakup had left an enormous emptiness inside me. I had no choice but to fill it. For that, I needed a new adventure. I sniffled, then went over to the drawer and fetched my white, see-through ‘datenight string’. Stood in front of the full-body mirror, pulled off my jeans and underwear, and slid it on. Michaela seemed unable to process what was happening. Her eyes darted up and down, and her mouth slowly went slack. I pushed my butt in her direction.

“How do I look?” I said.

“Are you serious?” she responded, finally meeting my eyes. “Sexy as hell. What else?”

“Good,” I said. “So let’s do this.”

Her face brightened.

“We’re doing this?” she said.

“We’re doing this,” I said with a firm nod.

“That’s my girl!” she yelled with a broad smile.

A rush shot through me, bringing with it the returning whisper of the woman I had left behind all those years ago. The memory of Barcelona had awakened her from her slumber. I had a week before I turned thirty, and nine years to catch up on. No matter what, I was going to make it the time of my life. Then I would worry about finding the ‘right’ guy.

“Okay,” said Michaela, rubbing her hands together and beginning what in sales would be called the paperwork. “Outfit.”

I shrugged slowly with a pout while changing back into my usual underwear.

“Leather pants?” I said. “Whip?”

“Hey, don’t joke around,” said Michaela. “If you bring a whip, be prepared to use it. Do you have something sexy and black? Like a lingerie set you put on for a special date?”

“I have this,” I said, pulling on the lace thread of my datenight string. “But I only wore it for Thomas.”

“Not anymore,” said Michaela, taking it from me and tossing it into my luggage.

I put on an electronic set from some Berlin DJ to set the mood, and we continued scouring my stuff for more clothes to pack. We rocked our heads to the beat while creating a pile of discarded clothes in the middle of my bedroom floor. I started dancing over the mess, and got a bewildered stare from Michaela.

“Look at you!” she said. “Little Miss Clean Freak’s lost her mind.”

“Your fault,” I said, swaying my hips sensually from side to side.

“Man, I wish I was going with you,” she said, joining me above the pile of clothes and play-grinding her hip against me.

“If only,” I said, practising a little twerk in the mirror.

The two of us collapsed onto my bed and lay side by side, looking up at the ceiling while my drunken head spun in circles.

“Did you ever get judged for the things you did in Berlin?” I said.

“Sure,” said Michaela. “Most people didn’t say anything, but there was always this underlying look. Like their brains were ticking. Not that I ever hid it. I’m sick of the taboo, you know?”

“I get it,” I said. “I just want to see a guy I like and have him fuck me then and there. No guilt, no questions asked.”

“Jaz!” yelled out Michaela with a deafening cackle that trembled the mattress beneath us and probably woke the neighbours.

“I don’t care anymore,” I said with a shrug. “It’s been a rough nine years.”

“Not rough enough, apparently,” said Michaela, spanking the side of my ass. “Oh, that gives me an idea. Get your laptop out.”

I did as I was told, lifting the lid and entering my password. Michaela took over immediately and opened a website for a luxury hotel resort in Berlin.

“What’s this?” I said.

“Äden,” said Michaela with a squint, engrossed by the screen’s contents. “You’ll love it. Gorgeous place with gorgeous people in the centre of Berlin. Perfect for you.”

I scanned the photos. It looked like it belonged in a movie.

“And it’s got the darkrooms,” said Michaela, looking up at me again with that scheming smile.

“Darkrooms?” I said, freezing up.

“It’s a hidden maze inside the resort. Absolute darkness for anything you want to do. Anything. You get total discretion. Hendrick and I had a four-way there with a couple who we never met — or saw.”

“You did what?” I said with a gasp. “I still can’t believe mama orgy wants a baby,” I added, shaking my head.

“Don’t remind me,” said Michaela. “Shit,” she blurted. “It’s almost 4. I have to go, babe. I promised Hendrick. Practising being good mother material.”

Hello, reality. Michaela’s demeanour changed instantly, one moment living vicariously through me, the next fretting over her trip to see the in-laws. She looked me once over.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” she said. “Go have your fun. After that we can worry about that double date with our husbands,” she added, referring to our dream of having the fathers of our children together, the four of us chatting and laughing for hours over wine and dinner.

I nodded, washed over by a warm feeling of hope.

“Thanks, Michi,” I said.

One long, last hug and she was gone, leaving me with terror in my veins and gratitude in my heart. A tornado had torn through my apartment and blown out all my doubts. With fun time over, I switched my phone from aeroplane mode to normal, and a text from my mother immediately came through:

What time do you land next Friday, sweetie? Looking forward to seeing you!

At the end was a flirt emoji. Why could she not be normal? No matter how many times I told her, she kept using it. I checked my flight booking and texted her the time. It had been six months since my last trip home to London, so naturally she was excited I would be there for my birthday. I was too. Even though I was fine with the breakup, I still needed the love and attention that I only got at home. Having my clothes washed, ironed and folded. The sweet meringue and strawberry taste of the Eaton Mess awaiting me when I arrived. My mother and I dressing up on Sunday for afternoon tea at the Huxley Grand Hotel. The morning cuppa and chats on the terrace.

Then there would probably be that awkward conversation with ‘James’ — if he decided to call me on my birthday. My father and I had not spoken in months. Not since I called him by his first name over dinner when visiting his house in Manchester. Why did I do that? I had insisted it was a joke, but there was more to it than that.

“You call me Dad,” he had said with the same sharpness from my childhood when I misbehaved. Back then, it was always the same game. If we were in public, I would pull away angrily and start walking behind him, and he would drag me along by my wrist until it hurt.

Things had changed since then. I had survived without him after he and Mum divorced when I was ten. I could do it again now. We had been on so-so terms for the last few years. Not that it was ever good. Visiting him always felt like an effort. The ride there was heavy, the way back was a relief. Immediately after the ‘James’ incident, being in the same room as him felt unbearable. So I got on the next train home, replaying the whole thing in my mind.

Had I wished to challenge him? Provoke him, maybe? He was such a raging perfectionist. Maybe I wanted to shake his cage a bit. Hugging a tree felt softer and warmer than his stiff attempts at connection. A lifetime of being told the ‘correct’ way to do things. Being held at bay when all I wanted was for him to cuddle or wrestle with me just once.

A lot came up on that train ride back to Mum’s. But when I arrived at Paddington, I tossed it all back into a mental box, snapped the lid shut, and got on with it.

Opening the lid now even a crack had left me with a terrible ache in my chest. So I shut the box again and focussed on the party instead. I made an online reservation at Äden and set my alarm for 9:30 am. Booked the 11:00 am fast train, which would get me to Berlin by the late afternoon. Then I got into my PJs, brushed my teeth and washed off my makeup.

I was wiped, but the excitement kept me awake. I flicked through the pages of Lover of Prey and tested my new bullet vibrator against my cheek before stuffing them both into my handbag. Slipping into bed, I stole another look at the party invitation. (Un)dress to impress. My skin crawled at the thought of having sex in front of other people.

The phone vibrated again. Michi, probably.

My heart clamped up and skipped a beat when I saw the message:

Jaz, I’m sorry. I made a terrible mistake. Can we talk?

I remained momentarily mesmerised before lowering the phone. Dammit, Thomas. Why did he have to text now? Could he not have waited until Monday? Let me have my fun and then pull on my heartstrings? I left it. I could write him on Monday after the party.

With that I put the phone down on the bedside table and stared at the ceiling, my mind circling. Michaela, and a week of space from Thomas, had shown me that I was hungry to explore, to reach dizzying heights before even thinking of settling down. That need was not going anywhere now. The horny genie was out of the bottle.

But I could not deny the impact that Thomas’ message was having on me. I lay there powerless as the familiar shadow of the past descended. Was one text all it took? I let my body sink into the mattress and grew acutely conscious of the paint colour of the wall. My only company now was Amsterdam’s night sounds and an empty apartment. I could hear and feel my breath rise and fall, my chest following its rhythm. And for the first time since he left me, I felt it. I was alone. The harrowing truth filled me with a panicked dread. Relief was not going to save me now. I should have known it was too good to be true. Michaela had seen it all over my face.

At that second a strange idea hit me, bringing with it a shooting star which immediately soothed my panic. A compromise. An olive branch. I sat up and fetched my phone. It was too late to go back. But that did not mean all hope between us was lost, right? I thought about my earlier idea, having Thomas by my side, and the ‘right’ guy behind me, satisfying me the way Thomas never could. Was it crazy to ask such a thing? Definitely. Was it right? Questionable. But if Thomas wanted me back, he would need to deal with a new reality. It was time to roll the dice, all the way down into the Berlin underground, and see where they landed. The deeper they travelled, the better. Thomas swore he would never return to Berlin. I knew that. But my instinct told me to do it anyway. I hit reply:

Meet me in Berlin.

3 - The Dutchman

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3

The Dutchman

JASMIN

Forty-five minutes late and counting. All I had done the last nine years was wait on Thomas to show up. Sitting in a Berlin cafe with him on the way felt ominous, considering his history in this city. The tables around me had the odd person focussed on their laptop screen, while others chatted excitedly over a colourful brunch. Meanwhile, I chewed on my nail, my mind going back to those three months Thomas spent in Berlin. The constant drinking and partying. The cocaine-and-ecstasy-fueled binge that stretched out to forty-eight hours and left him in the hospital with a chronic stabbing pain in his stomach.

Berlin had tested him, and he had failed. Years of Michaela’s underground stories had painted an intriguing picture of a city that promised severe punishment if you hurried its madness. When Michaela paced herself, she found an intrinsic sense of self on its erotic carousel. Berlin favoured those who tossed aside their agendas and prejudices. It had its own plan for you. When its infinite nights lulled you in and spat you out, the purple clouds at sunrise would be there to greet you and cushion your fall. In any other place it would be a nightmare. Where a city like Paris inspired romance and sophistication, Berlin exuded hedonism and grime. It commanded an innocent darkness, the purest form of freedom. But if you lost yourself in the high, it became a meat grinder. Berlin had turned Thomas to mince, taking him months to recover. Now I had invited him here for a sex party, of all things.

I stopped biting my nails and sat up straight. No, this was exactly what Thomas needed. He had to face his demons and get back on the carousel if he was to have another chance with me. I was not getting any younger.

Last night’s birthday binge in Amsterdam had me feeling raw and testy. I put on my headphones and played some jazz to soothe myself, and started scrolling through our photo history. Reminiscing, trying to make sense of how we got here. First came the photos from Thailand the previous year. I opened the selfie he took of us at the beach in Koh Samui. He was beaming cheek to cheek. I was a pale, premenstrual grump. Sometimes he just had no clue.

I flicked further back in time. There was that photo of me at brunch in Stockholm. I had just given in my thesis after months of high-level stress and then flown in late. I was a wreck that morning. God, my skin. And that deathly stare I gave him and the camera. At least the food was delicious, I thought, looking at a perfectly angled, succulent photo of my meal — smashed mint, pea and avocado on sourdough with the perfect poached egg, topped off with a drizzle of chimichurri. That was the picture which got me to a hundred thousand followers on my food blog. My love of cuisine could save any miserable day.

Maybe I was being too harsh on Thomas. It had not all been bad. There was that naked photo I took of him fresh out of the sauna. He was raising his arms and yelling over the snowy Alps like a victorious conqueror. So embarrassing. At least his little round butt looked sexy.

I played a morning video he shot for me from his apartment in Stockholm, and grinned at the beautiful and witty things he said. I scrolled further and seized up when ‘the’ dick pic came up, checking around instinctively to make sure nobody was behind me. I lingered on the photo of our torsos. We had just finished a so-so session of sex. My leg was crossed over the other, his upright penis was in my hand. He did have a great cock. Straight and proud with a smooth head. If only he used it the right way.

There was a photo of us from a few years back at a Halloween party. We went together as Gomez and Morticia Addams. Him in that pinstripe suit and fake moustache, me in that sexy black dress with the slit across the leg. The scary makeup. I smiled and melted as I remembered the moment he told me I would make a good wife, scary or otherwise. That had been such a fun night.

I went back another few years. To university in London, where Thomas and I met. I cringed at the sight of my fringe. Horrid mistake. It was the longest year of my life waiting for it to grow out. For Thomas and me, it was our first and best year. I placed my hand over my mouth while recalling the first time I saw him. The infamous elevator incident. He came in staring at his phone, barely noticing me and Michaela standing in the corner. He glanced at the buttons then left them, apparently also going to the top floor. Then he lowered his phone and turned towards us.

His eyes widened when he saw me. My heart swelled at the sight of him too. We both froze, entering into an enchanted bubble, until he burst it by moving to the button panel. He glanced back at me with a cheeky grin, and did something that changed our fates forever, pressing all the buttons for the elevator. I thought he was insane. My skin crawled at what he might do next. But then, with a shrug and a cheeky smile, he saved it.

“More time with you,” he said.

Amazing how fine the line between creepy and charming was. His gaze was so magnetic, I was hooked. Well, almost.

“What makes you think I want to spend time with you?” I hit back.

“Because you’re smiling,” he said.

My smile widened more. He had me.

Now here we were. In Berlin. I was no longer hooked. He had lured me, and spent nine years reeling me in, until abruptly letting me go. Things had changed. It was time for him to jump into the deep end. He had to choose if he wanted to swim alongside me — or with other fish, for that matter.

A text message from him popped up:

The train still hasn’t moved, babe. It’s driving me crazy x

I sighed and tossed my phone onto the table. Was I really still his babe? I fetched Lover Of Prey out of my handbag. It took little for me to get back into the story. The warm feeling between my legs came quickly as Lorenzo made his move on Larissa at the gym. He had on his short shorts. His dark, curly locks were glistening. After a hundred pages of tension-building drama, they finally broke through, going into an empty exercise room and locking the door. Their sexual eruption escalated rapidly. Lorenzo took charge of Larissa while she was on all fours on a bench press. He gripped her hair tight and drove all the way inside her while she watched his beastly presence in the mirror. Finally, he threw her back-first onto the mat and penetrated her with a tight grip around her neck.

Larissa, stubborn to the end, pulled his arm away and spat on his chest. A statement. That was the moment I really started liking her. Yet Lorenzo held firm, cementing his domination. Larissa knew the gym-goers outside could probably hear, and made sure of it by groaning at the top of her lungs as Lorenzo pinned her arms down and ravished her into submission. So damn hot.

I noticed my leg was tightly crossed over the other. My skin was simmering, and I quickly looked up to check if anybody had seen me.

Someone had. The man at the counter who had just placed his order was smiling with amusement in his gentle eyes. I flinched when I saw him and lowered my head, finding him again from the corner of my eye. He was a handsome, middle-aged silver fox with tanned, leathery skin. Dressed in a white hemp shirt, hemp loafers and chino shorts. A Dutchman, if my guess was correct, which after years of living in Amsterdam, likely was.

His attention shifted suddenly, as a young girl no older than ten embraced him around the hip. Their matching opal blue eyes told me it was his daughter, the knowledge of which sent an uncomfortable shudder through me. After he thanked the cashier and received his two cups of coffee and juice, he smiled again at me in goodwill and joined his wife at their table.

A lightning bolt struck me. The father, comfortable in his role as a family man, had easily noticed my aroused state. Not only that, he managed to make me feel good about it. He was secure enough in his sexuality to acknowledge me and flirt with ease. He had no agenda, posed no threat. I had enjoyed his presence, had been comfortable in it, and at once knew that Thomas could never measure up to him. Not even close.

I began picturing what sex with the Dutchman would be like. I saw myself going to the bathroom. Him stealing a look at me while his wife was busy with their daughter, me flicking my hair and holding his eye contact for an extra second as I strolled by. I got inside the empty ladies’ bathroom and started touching up my lipstick. A minute later the door opened, and there he was with a dark hunger in his eyes. No more Mr. Nice Guy. The lipstick fell out of my hand, and he looked towards the cubicle. I walked into my trap, turned to him, and stared deeply into his eyes. As he calmly joined me inside and locked the door, my pulse spiked and drove me into a frenzy of claustrophobic excitement. His musky scent intoxicated me, and gave me a high which spun my head backwards. He pushed me up against the wall, taking me by the throat and biting my lip. Pulled my top up and thrust my bra out of the way. Grasped my breast in his powerful grip and sucked hungrily on my neck while I moaned from the spike of adrenaline coming through his mouth. He ordered me to get on my knees and unbutton his trousers. His pleasure became mine, and his breathing turned erratic from what I was doing to him.

Mmm. How I loved the hot stranger in the bathroom fantasy. But that was what it would remain. As I looked over at the Dutchman lovingly hugging his daughter, the uncomfortable feeling from before returned.

I checked the time. One and a half hours late. I read a couple more pages of Lover of Prey before a shadow appeared over the book. I looked up, and met with Thomas’ weary, hesitant eyes.

4 - Same Old

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4

SAME OLD

JASMIN

“Sorry I’m late,” said Thomas.

He reached over and hugged me, holding me close for a long time as though filling up his empty tank, taking from what little I still had in mine. When he was satisfied, he took a seat beside me, where I managed to see him clearly. His face appeared ten years older. He was definitely sleep-deprived. His mouth was turned down, and wrinkles had shown up on his forehead. Maybe not the brightest idea inviting him after all.

He spent a moment studying the cafe, then gazed out at the street, his eyes tracking the passers-by.

“I can’t believe I’m in Berlin,” he said with a reluctant smile, shaking his head. “Jesus.”

I watched him without saying a word. We both knew what it meant for him to be back. I allowed him the chance to absorb the situation, before he turned to me.

“How are you?” he said.

The question twisted my heart like a sponge, but only anger came out.

“I’m fine,” was all I could manage. “You?”

“I’m okay,” he said.

The pain of the breakup had arrived with Thomas, and was sitting beside us in the room like a fat, stinky elephant. I was not ready to look at it.

“Where the hell do I start?” he said, throwing up his hands.

“With a coffee?” I said.

“Right,” he said. “Can you get me a flat white with soy milk?”

“They don’t do soy here,” I said.

“Who doesn’t do soy?” said Thomas, squeezing his nose up.

My jaw tightened at hearing his whiney voice. Two minutes and he had already gotten on my nerves. I was hungover. I did not need this.

“I’ll get us espressos,” I said abruptly and marched to the counter before he could answer.

As I ordered, I could have waited like that ten times over. Thomas smiled at me from his seat, and I reciprocated as warmly as I could. I returned, and we drank in silence. After a long sigh, he opened up.

“Jaz, that was the hardest week of my life.”

Wow. You would think he would at least see it from my side. Nope. It was always about him. I was curious to know what he had gone through. But even more, I wanted to see him grovel for what he had done. So I said nothing, and waited for the apology. He cleared his throat and looked expectantly back at me. We remained in that tense, confusing space which had dominated our relationship. Suddenly, plates smashed somewhere in the kitchen and stole our attention. I turned immediately back to Thomas. He was busying himself looking towards the source of the sound, as though that mattered more than our conversation.

“Was it then?” I said with a firm voice, leaning back.

“Was what?” he replied, turning his head back towards me slowly and deliberately.

“The hardest week of your life.”

He sniffled and shrugged while looking down.

“Of course,” he said. “I had this horrible ache in my chest the whole time.”

I exhaled my frustration and looked outside to the street for some reprieve. He had a uniquely maddening way of sidestepping the point.

“But you were right,” I said, not giving him a millimetre. “Things weren’t working between us.”

He started scratching above his heart.

“Never?” he said, suddenly grinning. “I remember a lot of good stuff.”

His defiance nibbled at my resolve and had me second-guessing. He picked up his spoon, and began mindlessly rubbing it against the tip of his espresso cup. The squeal of porcelain and metal scraping together became sandpaper against my hangover. I grabbed his hand.

“Stop that,” I said.

He reached over with his other arm and took my hand in his, and began to stroke it.

“Jaz, you’re my soulmate,” he said.

How original.

“And I know I’m yours,” he continued. “The fire went out between us, that’s all. We just need to work out how to light it again.”

His beautiful use of imagery lit a spark in me, which I blew out immediately like a birthday candle. I pulled away, tidied up our cups and stacked them together.

“You broke up with me, Thomas,” I said. “We need to face that.”

“I know, ” he said. “It was a mistake”.

I slumped back in my chair. So much for grovelling. Did he think because he had an ouchy in his heart and a sudden change of mind he could have it his way?

“Why was it a mistake?” I said.

“Because I never got the chance to tell you why I wanted to break it off.”

“That’s not a reason, Thomas,” I said, folding my arms. “Answer my question.”

He cleared his throat.

“I was surprised you didn’t ask at the time,” he said. “You just went cold and agreed straight away.”

Pressure closed in on me from all sides. I could feel every droplet of oxygen struggling to work its way in and out of my throat.

“You wanted to break up, and I believed you,” I said, shifting impatiently in my chair. “So I walked.”

“It wasn’t just me. We both did things wrong.”

This time a calming breath only amplified my irritation. He was pinning this on me? The pressure had nowhere to vent.

“So why was it a mistake then?!” I yelled.

My outburst heralded silence in the cafe. Thomas smirked at me with a wide-eyed, satisfied stare. My face burnt bright with embarrassment. Dammit. He got me.

“Calm down, babe,” he said.

“Don’t tell me to cal—”

“At the time I wasn’t sure,” he cut in, forcing me to squeeze my jaw shut to avoid snapping again. “But you inviting me here proved it was a mistake.”

I blinked hard. What?

“But you texted me first, wanting me back before I invited you.”

Why was I falling for his game, when it was him who needed to prove himself? This time I knew better. I shook my head and looked away, thinking of the coming storm I was about to pitch to him. Whatever he was playing, I wanted nothing to do with it. I let go and let him stew in the stink of his creation. He waited, and I gave him nothing. He looked deeper into my eyes. I glared back.

“I...” he finally said, scratching the top of his head. “It’s just that...” He hesitated.

“What, Thomas?” I said with force.

“That,” he shot back. “What you’re doing now. It’s hard to deal with. It makes me feel... inadequate.”

A sadness appeared in his eyes, powerful enough to soften me. His act was losing steam. There was that defeated frown again. His shoulders slowly hunched before my eyes. I sensed us going into heavy territory. It was going to prematurely spoil the entire weekend if he slipped into that place. And it would have — if I finished the moment off by telling him about wanting to open our relationship.

No way I was going to let that happen. At least not for the next couple of hours. It was best to keep him on point, otherwise I would never convince him of my plan. I was going to give him this battle so I could win the war. How sad that we needed to play these games.

“I don’t want to dwell on the past,” I said, touching his hand. “Let’s use this as an opportunity.”

“For what?” he said, another two wrinkles appearing between his brows.

“To start fresh.”

Hope found its way to his face, then leapt into me. God, that look. That innocent smirk of his, paired with the sparkling squint. It made everything feel right, even when it was clearly not. We were so messed up.

“I’d like that,” he said, leaning forward and resting his hand on my hip.

In truth, I had so much else I wanted to say. The week off had given me incredible clarity on our relationship. How the relationship had left me feeling ugly and undesirable. How guilty he made me feel anytime I wanted to travel without him, or have a drink with a guy friend. How every time I wanted to change something with us, he convinced me it could not be done. That since the moment we broke up, I was hell-bent on leaving all of that behind. There was something, or someone, deep inside me who could never come out. That he had held her back. Had extinguished her fire with his negativity and cynicism. He might have been my soulmate, but he would not use that to control me anymore. I was not going to let him.

I clocked one last look at the Dutchman. He caught me yet again, gifting me another of his handsome smiles. An anxious emptiness came over me when he left with his family. All I had was Thomas; full of potential, but unable to use it to save his life.

I needed a distraction from it all. Reading Lover of Prey the entire morning had me feeling unsettled in inappropriate places. Plus I had to soften Thomas up to the idea of an open relationship. I rubbed the inside of his thigh and kissed him, softly biting his lip for a second.

“Let’s check into our room,” I whispered into his ear before stuffing Lover of Prey into my handbag. “Get these clothes off.”

We left the cafe with our bags and walked the short distance to Äden. The hotel resort was directly by the Spree River. The dark timber facade and Japanese-style gable roofs were at once striking and inviting in their elegance. We entered the lobby, and with that left the ‘real’ Berlin behind. In a city that was always going somewhere but never quite arriving, Äden gave the impression that you had reached your destination. Orange hues lit the space from the corners, while the brown and velvet-purple interior was a sophisticated slap in the face to Berlin’s concrete-grey socialist past.

A man in a black suit at reception gave us a pleasant greeting as we approached. I put on my civilised, good-girl act, wondering if the guy could sense the situation between my legs. I took possession of our room cards, and we caught the elevator upstairs. We left our stuff by the door, our clothes by the bed, and our problems in the past. Collapsed onto the plush king-size mattress while kissing. There was an urgency to our foreplay, a sense of rebirth in our eye gazing. The hurried touch of Thomas’ hands reminded me of our first months at university, both of us equally infatuated, experimenting with our imagination and our senses. Back then we possessed a willingness to submit to and learn from each other. The energy between us was magnetic. I had been enthusiastic about the future, idealistic even. Thomas was pragmatic and steady, with a boyish charm. It was the perfect fusion. Every caress of his breath over my body transmitted the entire realm of possibility between us.

Soon after, Thomas’ charm began to wear off. The fights began, and the sex was the first casualty. I had tried to talk to him about it, but he blew up each time. We never spoke about sex again. I accepted my role in the status quo.

That same shadow descended now over our furious exchange. I was on top, until he abruptly turned me over and around. Fumbled with the condom for a full minute, hesitated, then entered. I felt something inside me, but nothing from him. Where are you, Thomas? Something left me. She left. I accepted my place again. He put his thumb over my anus, and I seized up.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

“Sorry,” he said, and continued to pump away, his energy retreating even further into his head.

Where did he get that move from? Another idea from a porn video? Like that time he had wanted to finish on my face?

Nothing had changed. Why did I assume it would? After some minutes he began to convulse and groan, before the room fell into a haunting stillness. He pulled out and collapsed next to me, inviting me with a hand on my shoulder to lie with him. My duty done, that same old feeling arrived. Emptiness. He had taken what he needed, and left me nothing but my unfulfilled desires.

He kissed me passionately and disappeared into the bathroom. All I could taste was the bitterness of the lingering coffee in his mouth. I lay there the way I always had, unsatisfied, pressing my face into the pillow. Every affirmation I had made since the breakup was rendered zero. I had let him back in. I was the only one to blame. The same me that let him lead me down that miserable nine-year path was the one with her face buried.

I looked ahead to the party tomorrow. Some flickers of hope returned, sending bright ripples through the dark, deep waters of my sadness. Coming here was a good idea. Maybe we would find what we needed at Passion Parade. Maybe, just maybe, tomorrow would bring something into my life that would save me from this misery — if I could convince Thomas to come.

I kept that hope alive until after we had ordered room service and were done binge-watching some series about American football. Eventually, Thomas dozed off. His heavy breathing came like clockwork, followed by snoring. He seemed to be sleeping well. Not me. I was wide awake.

I found myself thinking about the next phase of my life. Turning thirty. Quitting my job and monetising my blog. Travelling the world, then getting married and having children. I wanted those things. But what would that look like with Thomas? Who knew. The road ahead was as dark as the room, and in that darkness, I landed somewhere in my imagination. The darkrooms of Äden. I nibbled on my fingertip while wondering about Michaela’s four-way. I was only half sure that I could handle going inside this maze of filthy deeds. I went there anyway, taking one cautious step after the other. Then I came out abruptly, having forgotten something important. I reached over to my handbag and took out my lubricant and bullet vibrator.

I had been playing with myself since I was sixteen, but it was my first time with a toy. Late to the game again. What have you done to me, Michaela? The thing was compact and solid in my hand. I rubbed on a tiny bit of lubricant and switched it on, hoping it would be quiet enough. No luck. The thing needed a silencer. But whatever. Thomas was a heavy sleeper. Besides, if he had done his job right, there would be no need to do it myself. I took a deep breath and touched the tip against my— Oh. What’s going on? It felt like my electric toothbrush. Except this thing was making my thighs tremble and toes curl.

Thomas shuffled and turned to his side, his dead, half-open eyes directed at me. I gasped and held my breath. Pulled the vibrator away while carefully watching him. Some part of me wanted him to wake up and see. But I let that go, and went where the vibrator took me instead.

I closed my eyes and dove headfirst back in. Beyond the surface were the darkrooms, where I could only sense with my ears, nose and skin — and tongue. Thomas was with me, his soft hands grasping my ass, his tongue caressing my nipple. He took me by the waist and pulled me in, the excitement in his breath oozing onto me. Our tongues danced, before his dick pushed into my wet pussy.

As the fire between my legs built up from the constant vibration, I sensed someone else’s presence. Suddenly, I was unsure if Thomas was there at all. Was he the one penetrating me, or had he been standing behind me the whole time? Was he even in the room? The swelling of mechanical pleasure peaked, and I tossed Thomas out of the fantasy altogether. The Dutchman took his place inside me instead, spiking my excitement tenfold. I moaned while my head fell back. His hips collided with mine like a wrecking ball, pushing harder inside than I knew was possible.

A stranger’s hand then touched my shoulder from behind, and his foreign lips kissed my neck. I spread my legs all the way, and the Dutchman’s thrusting grew harder and deeper. The man fondling my breasts from behind steadied my body against the force of the Dutchman, his hard chest pressed against my back while my mind ceded to the pleasure high coursing through me. I rolled over quickly and bit down on the pillow, suffocating my moan while shaking from the immensity of my orgasm, which spread through my entire body.

“Fuck. Oh fuck,” I whispered.

It was like nothing I had experienced before, making my fingers seem like a horse-drawn carriage compared to this compact, dick-shaped Ferrari. Gasping for air and sweating, I checked up quickly on Thomas, and found him dead asleep before sighing and melting back into the mattress. Eventually I stuffed the lubricant and my trusty bullet vibrator back into my handbag, making a mental note to clean it when I had the chance.

Yes, tomorrow would bring something wonderful. I was sure of it. With that, I rolled onto my side and drifted to sleep, filled with the tingles of the afterglow. It seemed the optimistic Jasmin never said die. And for that, I was glad.

5 - J&A

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5

J&A

JASMIN

I felt safe underwater. The tranquillity within the depths brought my senses alive. The world went on pause, and I was free to roam the abyss. Each stroke took me further from reality, and deeper into my spirit, until the pressure in my lungs reminded me that I was on borrowed time. I turned upwards to the surface, where my problems awaited me. My doubts. My regrets. My past and future.

I emerged into the sunlight, sucking in a huge breath. Äden resumed its flow, and the chatter of the nudists at our hotel resort filled my water-logged ears.

In the middle of it all was a grumpy Thomas, staring into the distance. I watched him through the steam rising from the heated pool. He was reclined on his sun lounger, one leg crossed over the other and a cigarette in hand. I raised my head slowly, stalking him and that stinking death stick like a lioness. Hands on the edge of the pool, I lifted myself out with a mouthful of water. Just as he took another puff, I spat on his face, making sure to hit the smoke as well.

“Jaz!” he yelled, twisting his body away in shock, the cigarette falling out of his hand. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I giggled and brought my tiny frame over him, placing a hand on his chest and moving to kiss him.

“You’re wet,” he said, frowning and turning his face away.

His reaction was a blunt reminder that the old days were over. The shadow of the breakup loomed over us, even when we lay in paradise. I kissed his shoulder instead and shifted over to my chair. It was not the smartest way to get him out of his funk. He had been in a state since breakfast, after I had brought up the party, along with the idea of opening our relationship.

“Are we going to talk about this?” I said.

“About what?” snapped Thomas. “Me being a loser in bed who can’t satisfy you? Or you being in an orgy of guys while I watch on?”

I sighed and shook my head.

“Jesus, Thomas. It’s not like that.”

“What happened to you last week?” he said with an unsightly look.

“Nothing,” I said.

His heavy breathing continued.

“Anyway,” I added. “Even if there was an orgy tonight, you’d be among those guys.”

Thomas’ face turned bright red. His legs hit the ground suddenly, and he almost knocked the side table over as he marched off.

Whoops. The hot knife cutting through my chest told me I had gone too far, and that I should go after him. Her voice inside told me to relax and order a bottle of Rheingau Riesling; my and Thomas’ favourite white wine and go-to celebration drink. He might not have been in the mood, but I sure was. We were here for a party, after all.

The wine eventually arrived, and Thomas came back soon after and retook his position beside me. He poured himself a glass, and seemed to have calmed down. I melted into my chair and enjoyed a moment of reprieve. It was so surreal. We were attending a sex party. Well, sex-positive. It was a chance to dress down, dance, and see where things led. Dip our toes in the kink scene. Let our inhibitions free and see what happened. I was not going to join an orgy of guys, thank you very much.

Well, actually... Why hold myself back for him? He was the one who broke it off. If he wanted to be a child about it, he would get no say in the matter. So what did I want exactly? An orgy, or not? I looked around at the surroundings. It was nice to be in a gorgeous resort, but if asked to blow the candles on my birthday cake, I would not be wishing for paradise. I had no fixed expectations for this weekend — except one. It had to be hot as hell. I wanted passion. Wild, indescribable experiences. I wanted to melt into an ocean of bliss, to be devoured by a wild beast.

Wild beast. I looked at Thomas again, with his dishevelled brown locks, tense shoulders and lanky frame. He had lit another cigarette and was biting his nails while staring into space with his sad eyes, his baby-smooth body limp on the sun lounger. I sighed and finished my glass. For once I wanted him to let go and enjoy the moment. Maybe even forget himself in it like during our university days. There was no sign of the cheeky, vibrant Thomas who pressed all the buttons on the elevator and made his move. In his place was a pale and anxious shell of a man, lost in his head. Seeing him that way made me nervous. Not to mention my worry about how he would act at Passion Parade. Now I was overthinking.

“Babe,” I said. “Do you know what you’re wearing tonight?”

Thomas maintained his gaze into the distance. For a time it seemed he had not heard me, until he shrugged.

“Have we decided we’re going?” he said.

My fingers and shoulders tightened.

“I’ve decided,” I said with force.

“I heard there are better sex parties in Berlin. Classier ones.”

“And where did you hear that?” I shot back. “The internet?”

He seemed hurt by my remark, and turned away while sucking in what remained of his cigarette.

My jaw was stiff, and I was barely breathing. It was happening again. The Thomas effect. I shook my head and focussed elsewhere. I was not going to let him ruin this weekend.

The outdoor heaters at Äden were burning bright. Berlin had been blessed with one of the few clear, sunny April days. April does what it wants, the Germans would say about the unpredictable weather this time of year. Äden had a sophisticated blend of white leather upholstery, dark timber facades and lush trees. The vibe was dream-like. Nobody was rushing or causing a fuss. Looking good and passing time were the only priorities. There were no clocks. The surfaces were spotless, the lighting impeccable. Nudity was compulsory in all areas, but the mood remained civilised. There was the odd raised voice or muffled laughter, otherwise people politely made way with charming smiles and floated by. It was like someone had incensed the air with opium, establishing a womb that nurtured you as you went about your pleasure.

I felt like a carefree child on the beach; I loved having an excuse to be naked. On the other hand, there was nowhere to hide from prying eyes. Thomas had no issues with it at all. Being from East Germany, he was a natural nudist. I turned my head to check on him and found an empty chair.

The surrounding area showed nothing. He was gone. I paused, then found myself drawn to his towel, where I spotted a business card poking out from underneath. I looked around first, then pulled it out. ‘J&A’ was embossed on the top in black. In the middle was the name ‘Ana Nemati’. Her mobile number was on the bottom. Nothing else. Strange, I thought, feeling a paper cut of jealousy. Thomas had disappeared twice now. Where the hell had he gone? The darkrooms? No way. Panic forced me to my feet. After another glance at Thomas’ empty chair, I was overcome by an unsettling urge to go find him.

I strolled along the pool, made self-conscious by the many curious glimpses. My sight, however, was drawn towards a calm, steady presence sitting by the edge of the pool with his legs dangling in the shimmering water. From my position I could see he was a big guy who took care of himself. The rest I learned from the people around him. He was typing something into his phone, and only paused to wave back to the random, passing person greeting him. An athletic-looking guy crouched next to him and fist-bumped him with a wide smile, exchanging some pleasantries before humbly leaving him to it. Women wandered by, flicking their hair and stealing a look. One of them playfully caressed his neck as she passed, exaggerating her hip movements and looking back. He must have been interrupted a half dozen times while I stood there, but gave every single person his attention, appearing unfazed by the whole situation.

It took me some time to remember the man I was looking for. I blinked twice and moved to the indoor pool, the sight of which immediately consumed me. The domed ceiling above was a portal to elsewhere, the shimmering blue beneath an invitation into the deep. The building was three stories high, with pathways on each level lined by arches overlooking the water, covered by see-through white curtains that ran from the ceiling to the floor. I found yet more people lounging with their skin on display. There was no Thomas among them, so I went inside the sauna area.

Upon approaching the floor-to-ceiling pane of glass, the light reflected off the surface and revealed my exposed body. I focussed on my breasts, which hung too far to the sides for my liking, and my oversized, pink-brown nipples, which covered way too much of the surface. My lips and mouth were too small. People constantly told me my blue eyes and high cheekbones looked elegant, but I thought they only made me look like a little girl. No wonder Thomas lost his passion for me.

I turned away, towards a separation wall offset by a human-sized gap. Intrigued, I left my hideous reflection behind to take a closer look. There was no sign to indicate what it was. I could easily slip inside, but it was pitch black. I looked around nervously. Everyone seemed content in their own world. A woman got off her chair and entered the sauna, closing the door behind her. I focussed again into the black, took a breath, and slipped through. It was deeper than I expected. Then it hit me. The darkrooms.

The light from outside illuminated a corridor which bent right. I followed it, taking slow, cautious steps until I reached the corner. Rhythmic, hot-blooded breathing came from inside, each exhalation more urgent than the last. I hugged the wall, barely breathing. The sudden sound of a spank ricocheted off the walls and made me jump. I froze like a statue, my naked skin pushed up against the cold concrete, my lips parted, my ears like radars. I stared intently behind me, where only dim orange light shone through from the sauna area.

The rasping seized my attention again. It grew louder. Faster. Like a runner on the final stretch. My pulse quickened to match, and I momentarily forgot where I was. A moan slipped out from the black. Then a grunt, as though a wild animal had joined in on the action. The pace accelerated, forcing me out of my body. Grunt after grunt was paired with an ecstatic moan, before another hard smack almost made me yell out. The man cursed something in German. I pushed off the wall, half my body urging me to flee, the other half compelled to continue, my heart banging like a jackhammer.

No chickening out, I told myself, stepping forward while placing my feet stealthily on the floor one at a time. I hugged the wall and stretched my neck around the next corner, hoping to get close for the moment of climax.

The thrusting stopped. I froze again, holding my breath and listening into the black.

“Don’t be shy,” came a high-pitched, playful voice from inside.

My head spun, and I stumbled backwards. I stopped again at the corner and listened, hearing the laughter of the two men. Then came a pause, before the heavy panting resumed at a slower pace. I pressed my palm to my heart and exhaled heavily. I tip-toed towards the exit, slipping out of the darkness and back to the safety of civilisation.

A woman on a deck chair looked up from her book and directed her judging eyes at me while I hurried through the dimly-lit brown-and-gold room. Yes, look at the naughty girl. At the same time, a hairy-chested older man emerged from the sauna. His cheeks were flushed red, and he rubbed a hand over his face while looking me up and down with serious eyes.

His stare was like dozens of spiders crawling on me, and it forced me out of the room and through the locker area. Outside I squeezed my eyes shut to protect them from the sting of the sunlight reflecting off the bright blue water. It took a moment to acclimatise, and to remember that I was at a hotel resort, not some seedy sex dungeon.

I stood at the corner of the pool, looking out at the people lounging, sipping and laughing. The creepy man walked by me and stole another look, giving me a final, unwanted shiver.

Thomas’ sun lounger was still empty. I turned and found him in the distance, gliding through the water with his head up. He reached the end and turned back, kicking off and veering to the edge before lifting himself out. He ran a hand through his soaking hair and walked towards our spot. His boyish glow and cold expression created a picture of a male model owning the runway.

The unpleasant feelings from our fight instantly ceded. There was the man I invited to Berlin. I smiled to myself, wanting to feel the sensation of his body close to mine. To pull my head into his chest and let him fondle my back the way he always did; with the gentle strokes of a harp player creating music inside me. This time he would also be wet, so he had nothing to moan about. I stepped forward to reclaim him.

“He’s such a dish,” I overheard a woman’s voice from the right, causing me to stop. “Darling, if you’re the main course, he’s dessert. I’m going to lick him clean.”

I turned and found a couple in their mid-thirties on a pair of sun loungers. The woman salivating over Thomas struck me immediately, appearing like a vixen goddess. She had a tall, shapely body, lush firm breasts and glowing pale skin. Her sharp, intense eyes, hawkish nose and dark features matched her predatory words. Her face was porcelain, and her rose-coloured lips were plump, giving her a pout. Jet-black, dead-straight hair gleamed while running down to her waist.

“I didn’t know you were into teenagers,” said the boyfriend with a gravelly voice that reverberated inside me.

My face immediately burned up at the sight of him. The guy by the pool. I could see every detail now. He was a hulk; brutish and chiselled. His trained chest protruded through the thick brown hair covering it. His abs were cut, and his shoulders were like pillows. His jawline drew me to his torso, which was angled with perfect symmetry. Rough, well-groomed brown hair gave him a movie-star look of quiet dominance. There was a force behind his presence which told me he could handle himself in a crowd, in business, and especially in bed. He was smiling proudly at his own joke, his teeth sparkling, his lips like candy, his ocean-grey eyes cunningly beautiful.

Then those eyes looked at me.

I twitched, and my skin lit up. His smile faded, and his eyes sharpened. His stare incinerated my breath like a wildfire raging through a fragile village, wiping out everything it touched. His eyes sharpened further and cut deeper, unwavering in their intensity. Then he smiled that gorgeous, devious smile again, and my power returned to me. I remembered what he had said about Thomas. I crossed my arms and pursed my lips, looking him up and down.

“That little thing looks like it belongs on a teenager,” I said, signalling between his legs and waving my pinky finger.

Oh, God. Where did that come from?

His mouth fell open, and I could see his face go slowly red. Even his demeanour changed, and for a second I thought I was looking at a young boy.

“Excuse me?” said the vixen goddess, sitting up and looking at me.

There was a split moment where I was sure she recognised me. Yet I had no idea who this woman was.

“Thomas isn’t a teenager,” I said, my heart pounding.

“Of course,” said the woman, now smiling. “Thomas is your boyfriend.”

I did a double take.

“You know Thomas?” I said.

She looked over at Thomas, who was staring curiously in our direction. She twinkled her fingers seductively at him, to which he lifted his head even further to get a better look.

“Yes,” she said. “We met earlier. He didn’t tell you?”

Ana Nemati. The paper cut of jealousy became a knife.

“No,” I said, looking at the hulk again, still radiating from his stare. The little boy was gone, and the man smirked, having collected himself. My vision followed his massive arms hanging at the side.

“What’s your name?” he demanded to know with his booming voice while lying comfortably on his sun lounger.

“Jasmin,” I said, my eyes snapping up when I realised I had lingered too long.

“Jasmin,” he repeated, trying my name on for size. It fit him perfectly.

I shifted my weight from one leg to the other. I could barely feel my body now, the tension too much. I blushed, putting a hand over my mouth.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to say that. It just came out.”

“No, it’s fine, sweetie,” said Ana. “You had a right to speak up. Jordan can be juvenile sometimes,” she added while turning to her boyfriend, who ignored her.

“Jordan,” I said, trying him on as well.

“Do you live in Berlin, Jasmin?” said Ana.

“No, I’m only here for the weekend. It’s kind of a celebration for my thirtieth.”

“How lovely,” Ana said with a warm, feminine smile.

Wow. Did Thomas tell them anything about me?

“You’re Ana,” I said.

“Yes,” she replied, bending forward and shaking my hand with a firm grip. “I thought you said Thomas didn’t mention me?”

“I found your card,” I said.

“I see,” said Ana, appearing to be thinking before relaxing again. “So, how do you two plan to celebrate?”

“Um,” I said, hesitating, wondering if I should admit where Thomas and I were going. They seemed like they could handle it. “Well... We’re going to a party. It’s called ‘Passion Parade’.”

Ana and Jordan locked eyes briefly.

“We know it,” she said. “It’s a kink party.”

“That’s right,” I said.

“Fetish dress code. Dance floor, and a private area for whoever wants to do naughty stuff.”

“Right. How do you know about it?”

“We know the couple who run it. Good friends of ours. It’s tonight, right?”

I stole a glance at Jordan, who was quietly taking me in like a lemonade on a warm day.

“Yes,” I said, blinking twice and turning back to Ana.

“Are you a regular in the scene?” said Ana. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at any of the parties.”

“No, it’s our first time,” I said.

“Aha,” said Ana, smiling smugly. “I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun,” she added with a hint of sarcasm.

“What?” I said, scrunching my face, which began to burn up.

“It’s just that...” Ana shook her head dismissively. “It’s probably not for you.”

“What’s not for me?”

“I’m just thinking. If it’s your first time, you might want to do something more memorable.”

“Tonight’s going to be memorable,” I said, straightening up.

“Passion Parade is fun. But your thirtieth only happens once. You might want to go to a real party.”

I stepped back and crossed my arms.

“And which party is that exactly?”

“Do you have experience with group stuff?” said Ana.

“You mean...”

“Orgies, dear. Underground parties.”

“Oh,” I said, flinching when I realised what she was talking about. I heard Michaela’s words again. She’s not ready. I brushed it off. Maybe I am. “Well, I’ve done threesomes,” I lied.

Ana smiled amusedly and looked towards Jordan. The tension hung thick as she seemed to be waiting on him. He studied me carefully, lingering for a long time. My throat hardened into a rock. Finally, he shrugged.

“We host ours once a month,” said Ana. “At a secret location. You’ll find most of the Äden regulars there, among others. The vibe will blow you away. Lucky for you, the next one is tonight.”

“Hey, babe,” said Thomas, appearing from nowhere and placing a hand on my back. “Hey, Ana,” he said with a lift of his chin as though she were an old friend. He ignored Jordan.

“Hello again, handsome,” said Ana with a sparkle in her eyes.

Jordan looked Thomas up and down with a blank expression.

“Are you talking about tonight?” said Thomas, looking at me.

“Yes,” said Ana. “We were just discussing it.”

“I was going to tell you about it,” said Thomas.

Were you? I thought, giving him a long stare.

“We can’t change our plans,” I blurted, turning back to Ana. “But thanks anyway.”

Ana reached over and handed me the same business card she had given Thomas.

“This one’s for you. If you change your mind, give me a call,” she said. “I can share the details with you then. It starts at midnight.”

“Sure,” I said, now feeling uncomfortable having the four of us together. “Nice to meet you both,” I said.

“It was an absolute pleasure, Jasmin,” said Ana, smiling courteously.

“Bye,” I said, giving Jordan one last look.

“See you, Thomas,” said Ana with music in her voice.

Thomas jutted his chin at her again and put his arm around me as we walked off. I could not shake the feeling that he was acting differently in front of Ana, so I shook his arm off instead.

“What did you guys talk about?” said Thomas as we made it back to our sun loungers.

I looked across at Jordan and Ana again, and caught Jordan staring in my direction. Ana then stood and got on his lap. She wrapped her arms around him and stole his attention with a long kiss.

The idea of going to Ana’s party made my hands grow clammy. I could never compare to her. Their picture-perfect naked bodies looked stunning merged like that. Plus it was an underground party. Neither Thomas nor I were ready for hardcore orgies.

“Babe?” said Thomas.

Something about finding Ana’s card hidden under Thomas’ towel felt off.

“Jaz.”

And she wanted to lick him clean? What did that mean?

“Are you listening?”

“I heard you!” I said, scowling at him. “Why didn’t you tell me you met them?”

“I don’t know,” he replied with a shrug. “I was going to.”

I glared at him like an angry mother. It was his fault for being so thick-headed. I turned away and fell back onto my lounger, staring into the distance.

“I want to go to Ana’s party,” said Thomas.

I froze, disoriented by his statement. I turned towards him.

“No,” I said slowly. “We’re going to Passion Parade.”

“If we’re going ahead with this open thing, I want to go to J&A.”

“Well, go by yourself,” I said reflexively.

“Fine,” he shot back.

I paused, waiting for him to crack. He lit up a cigarette instead. Meanwhile, Jordan’s ocean-grey eyes remained burnt in my imagination, and just the thought of them made my skin glow warm again. Sure, he was incredibly hot. But there was something else about him I could not put my finger on. Something to do with those boyish vibes fused with a grown man’s presence. I had seen only a glimpse of his vulnerable side, but it was enough. His gaze penetrated me like no one before. With others, I felt confident in my natural boundaries. I had an inner space free of outer influence. Jordan stepped right through as though no door existed. Thomas’ nonchalance combined with Jordan’s fire eroded what little resistance I could put up. I huffed. If Thomas wanted hardcore, he would get it.

“Suit yourself,” I said. “Let’s go to J&A.”

6 - Underground

« Contents

6

UNDERGROUND

JASMIN

I tossed my bullet vibrator onto the mattress for packing, along with a box of condoms and lubricant, all on Ana’s advice. The party had supplies, but it was best to use what you preferred. The ‘right fit and feel’ were her words.

Thomas stared at the items for a long time before going off to the mirror to put on his tie. After a while, I noticed him struggling and came over. Already in his thirties and still could not manage.

“Here,” I said. “Let me.”

“I’m good,” he said firmly, not letting me pull his arms away from the tie.

“Suit yourself,” I said, shaking my head.

I left him to it and continued getting ready. Thomas had not been himself since meeting Ana. He was standoffish. His mind was in other places. The questions and doubts about opening our relationship had dried up. I wanted to be relieved that he had cooled off, but that business card continued to cut at me. The way he turned so suddenly did not sit well. Shut up, Jasmin. This is what you wanted. Jordan’s ocean-grey eyes then stole my imagination. His meaty frame hovered over me, his shadow menaced me.

I wondered what was going on in Thomas’ mind. Was he in panic mode? Was he fantasising about what we could do together at the J&A party? Or was he thinking about Ana? We had to lay out the ground rules for the evening. Instead, he was in his world, and I was in mine. But whatever. Better than him grumbling and moping.

We finished getting packed and ready and left our room. Inside the elevator, Thomas pushed the ground floor button then adjusted his cuffs in the mirror. His Windsor knot was sharp. His shoes were spotless. Good job, babe. Maybe I had been too harsh before. I looked him up and down and melted at the sight of the man before me. He looked dramatically different in his grey tweed suit. Its slim fit together with his textured locks of hair and soft features gave him a quiet confidence, with the wandering eyes of the blonde standing next to us in the elevator confirming it. How could I stay mad at those charms? I moved closer to my man and rested a hand on his shoulder while admiring our reflection, blocking the blonde’s line of sight in the process. My slinky, long-sleeved ribbed dress and stilettos gave us an air of prominence, with my hair loosely curled to complete the transformation. The elevator opened to the lobby, and we walked through the rolling glass door and came out of Äden like a power couple.

Not that I felt the part. I had been trying to shake off my impostor syndrome since meeting Ana and Jordan. Judging by their appearance, there were going to be some exquisite people attending. After just one look, they would probably laugh us out of the party. Or me, at least. I held Thomas’ hand tighter while standing on the sidewalk waiting for the taxi. He kissed my neck and pulled me close, the warmth of his body and scent of his skin pacifying me.

A chill in the air gave me goosebumps. The cold front had arrived in Berlin. Snow was forecast. April doing what it wanted. The taxi arrived, and we slid into the warmth of the backseat, where I found the time and space to settle my nerves as I watched the Berlin streets flick by. I imagined the possibilities which going to Ana’s party might bring. The conversations I might have, the things I would see. My only bother was Ana. I was sure I disliked her. The way she acted all sweet towards Thomas got under my skin. But then again, so did Jordan’s gaze. I wanted him, and I wished Ana would back off from Thomas. I wanted Ana’s cake but did not want to share mine. The hypocrisy of it did not escape me; I just did not care. I felt how I felt.

We reached the intersection where Ana had advised us to stand and wait. The city felt like it would eat us up and spit us out without even noticing something in its teeth. The grey cobblestone path was ugly and harsh, cruel even, and I almost tripped when the tip of my stiletto cracked into the corner of an uneven stone. Passersby barely glanced at us. The ordinary world remained in relative harmony. All was as it should be. I clutched my handbag tight with a wildfire in my stomach. The normality was killing me. I wanted to dive in already.

A tram crossed the intersection and stopped in front of us. The doors opened, and a crowd poured out. I was distracted trying to recognise any party people among the new arrivals, when a hand touched my shoulder. I turned to find a fake-tanned guy with blonde hair, black jeans and sweater. His face melted like ice cream in the sun when he smiled, and I liked him instantly.

“J&A?” he said.

“That’s right,” I said, glancing at Thomas.

“This way,” said the guy, and marched off.

We followed him down the road through the crowd of pedestrians before he turned left at the first street. As we came around the corner, we stopped at an inconspicuous door with a pin pad next to it. While our chaperone punched in the code, cars whooshed by behind us. He pulled the door open.

Thomas walked in first, and I followed him, leaving the common world behind. We entered a musky-smelling cellar entrance with little headspace and only a dim light against the wall.

“Down the stairs,” came our chaperone’s voice. “Get changed in the foyer, hand over your stuff in the cloakroom, and have fun.”

“Thanks,” said Thomas, and the guy’s face again melted into that smile before he closed the door after us.

With doubt in his eyes, Thomas inspected the stairs which led into the dim underground. I nudged his shoulder to go ahead of me, and we descended with slow steps, careful not to hit our heads on the concrete above. In the distance came the muted sound of jazz, which grew louder when we entered the foyer, finding it congested with naked skin. While the entrance above was left neglected, downstairs was polished and clean. Luxurious carpet covered the floor, and crystal light fittings warmed the space.

The air was infused with pheromones and anticipation. People were undressing while chatting amongst each other. The look on Thomas’ face said it all. He seemed to be struggling to soak it all up. I, for one, had never seen anything like it. I immediately scanned the women in the room and compared myself to them. I seemed to be the only one. Everyone else looked content, standing around in their naughty outfits as though it were the most normal thing in the world. I felt the tension of the drive over dissipate into the electrified space. Soon after, a surge of possibility came shooting out of me.

“What the hell?” whispered Thomas into my ear before walking forward.

What the hell indeed.

A guy wearing only a bow tie and black thong placed a gentle hand on my shoulder to encourage me to move as he reached to give his bag over to the cloakroom. A long-legged girl with an impressive afro rocked up and down in her white kicks, looking stunning in a pink and orange one-piece bathing suit. She seemed to be waiting for her boyfriend to finish his conversation with a topless guy in latex pants. When our eyes met, I smiled, to which her face softened.

“Hey, I’m Mimi,” she said.

“Jasmin,” I replied, reaching my hand out. She ignored it and hugged me instead.

Mimi looked at me with hunger and blushing cheeks. I smiled back, revelling in her spotlight, before remembering that Thomas was there.

“Oh, this is my boyfr—“

A girl with a head of fiery auburn hair suddenly stormed in from inside, cackling loudly.

“I knew he was all talk!” she said, catching the room’s attention.

She pushed by me and leaned over the cloakroom counter, spreading her arms and fingers while pushing her ass out.

“Sweetie, can I have my bag again? I forgot my butt plug,” she said to the cloakroom girl.

“I’ll be in the massage room, April!” came a voice from the doorway.

“Ok!” yelled April with a wave of the hand.

I marvelled at the new arrival. It was more than her abrasiveness which stole the limelight. April’s energy oozed out like a thick perfume. Her breasts put a strain on her silver, bedazzled bra, her voluptuous frame was a warning to any feeble-bodied man — or woman — who might dare step to her.

With a slack expression, Thomas admired April’s round, tanned backside separated through the middle by her matching silver thong. I could barely blame him. April finally received her bag, and with butt plug in hand, marched out the way she had entered.

Thomas and I exchanged a knowing look, almost giggling to each other. Mimi’s boyfriend had taken her by the hand and was leading her into the party while she gave me a parting wave. I waved back then moved aside to strip down with everyone else.

The communal undressing added to the buzz of anticipation. People smiled and laughed in their outfits, ready to get frisky, impatient even. Or maybe that was just my feeling. I neatly folded my dress, and stood waiting in my black lingerie set; a see-through bra with floral lace and matching g-string. The material revealed my nipples, and the way it held my breasts in place made them look firm and luscious for a change.

In minutes we had handed over our bags and clothes and were standing in the middle of the foyer like the first day of school. We were ready to follow April’s blazing trail into the party. Thomas approached the doorway in his white Calvin Klein boxer shorts and scruffy hair. He stretched his hand behind him without looking back, and I quickly grasped it while reaching around and clutching his arm. As we entered the bar my senses flared, being inundated by colour and vibration. I breathed deeply. I had arrived.

The doorway was only wide enough for Thomas and me. I left the imposter in the foyer.

“Woah,” said Thomas. Apparently he too had arrived.

The bar spanned the length of the room. There were two male bartenders wearing nothing but bow ties, and a female bartender wearing a black bra and nothing underneath. A collection of burgundy leather sofas housed over fifty people scattered throughout, holding drinks and cocktail glasses. There were doorways on both sides. The bare concrete walls had various erotic art deco paintings, with close-ups of genitalia and people performing sexual acts. There was girl on girl, man on man, animal on animal. One piece in particular caught my eye. It had a smiling monkey sitting back with its face raised and arms spread across the sofa like a human, with the top of another monkey’s head at the bottom of the canvas.

“Do you want a drink, babe?” said Thomas.

“In a minute,” I said, my voice trailing off as I let his arm go and made for the left doorway.

I felt Thomas’ presence behind me in the hall. The music transitioned seamlessly from jazz to house, and the sound of giggling came from the first room. I approached and found a king-size bed with no blankets and two naked girls on it; a petite, ruby-haired bundle of joy, and a sharp-eyed, olive-skinned brunette.

I watched in awe as the scene unfolded and Thomas pulled up beside me. The plush mattress supported the two girls like a cloud. Surrounding them were a dozen people watching the show from the floor. The ruby-haired girl’s curves were like the mattress, inviting in their softness. The antique bed frame matched the brunette’s drum-tight figure, and could have come from the Victorian era. It had a rusted-gold frame with vertical bars, and a charm that demanded good manners and civility.

There was nothing civil about what was taking place.

The brunette had invaded paradise and taken the ruby-haired girl hostage. Hands tied firmly to the bars with pink rope, the ruby girl lay at the brunette’s mercy with her legs spread. The brunette had on a black bodysuit and was covered in tattoos. Her ponytail was as tight as her outfit. She had her fingers curled inside the ruby girl’s pussy and mouth on one of her nipples. She moved her hand as though playing the accordion, tilting her wrist in various directions, with the ruby girl moving and adapting in response, her moans becoming a melody. The ruby girl’s body was like the surface of the ocean, rising and falling and rising again, suspended for a time before crashing in a state of bliss. As another wave came, she let out an ear-piercing shriek. Muffled laughter broke out among the audience.

“Do it again,” said the ruby girl, lifting her head to reveal a cheeky grin.

The cunning brunette invader drove her hand deeper between the ruby girl’s legs and licked her nipple while letting the ruby girl suck on the fingers of her other hand. She then took the nipple between her teeth. The two girls exchanged gorgeous, knowing smiles, the kind that revealed synchronicity and connection. Meanwhile, the ruby girl watched on in anticipation, then squealed when the brunette clenched her teeth.

“Ah!” she yelled and giggled as she squirmed.

The brunette swiftly moved her head down between her victim’s legs, and the ruby girl’s giggle turned into a deep, resonant moan as the brunette’s tongue went to work on her pussy.

Thomas went a long time without blinking. His lips were parted, his face twitched in random places. His chest and stomach were barely moving. He watched the scene intently, his gaze unfamiliar to me. He swallowed to clear his throat, and his pupils dilated as the brunette feasted on the ruby-haired girl.

Thomas’ pleasure suddenly became mine, and I wondered what it would be like to invite another woman to join us. The touch of her lips on mine, the arousal in Thomas’ eyes while he watched. It seemed my hypocrisy went a step even further. The idea of Ana lathering her charms on Thomas the same way made my knuckles turn white.

A naked guy inside the room rose from the floor and came onto the cloud while holding his penis, watching the two girls intently. The sharp-eyed brunette was quick to notice. She lifted her head and scowled at him, before pushing him away. The crowd broke out in laughter, and the guy sheepishly resumed his position on the sidelines with a good-natured laugh. Meanwhile, the brunette went back to her business.

I felt the impact of every ripple of the ruby girl’s pleasure. My thighs, my belly, even my throat had been inundated. I wrung my wrist with a hard twist and stole a look down the hallway, where the promise of more indecency awaited. Thomas remained utterly entranced. Seeing him so taken by the girls, I sensed relief, as though the leash binding us together now had limitless length. Feeling the slack, I slipped away to explore, sure to be back in no time.

I ambled through the bare concrete hallway. The slow beat and harmonies from above accompanied me, lulling me deeper down the bunny hole.

It was oddly quiet in the first room, but not for a lack of people. Six massage beds contained six oiled-up bodies. Everyone was naked, including the people massaging. Raindrops and Indian sitar melodies vibrated from the speakers above, creating an oasis effect. The masseuses and masseurs were sensual in their movements, as though spirits were working through them. The quietness of the space created a blissful tension.

My eyes tracked to the back. There was a shadow on the wall, a silhouette of a man holding some kind of rope, purposely measuring it between his hands. I tip-toed inside, imagining myself in an invisibility cloak, watching to see if anyone noticed. One of the masseurs glanced at me, smiled warmly, then closed his eyes and fed his energy back into his partner. I reached the wall, and found the room bent into an L-shape hidden from the doorway.

Her bright pupils struck me immediately like two massive diamonds. She was on her knees with her hands tied behind her back. The rest of the room then stole me away, the surreality of it causing my vision to blur. Two gorgeous, naked women were suspended from above by an intricate patchwork of rope covering their bodies. One woman was facing the ceiling with her torso and legs raised, while her head and arms curled back towards the floor. Her man admired her with fragility and focus, spinning her slowly in a circle. He seemed honoured by this woman presented to him in goddess form.

The other woman was hung facing the floor, her limbs all tied together with knees bent, her legs spread and pussy on show. Her man slowly pried her legs further open, and gently penetrated her with his fingers while she hung there in absolute surrender, moaning and heavily breathing.

I returned to the woman on her knees. The shadow on the wall was her male partner, admiring the intricate star shape he had drawn around her breasts with rope. How beautiful.

Now that I was seeing Shibari up close for the first time, my throbbing pussy confirmed it. To be infinitely surrendered, and then brought to climactic oblivion, was my ultimate fantasy. A sigh of relief escaped me, unloading with it a decade-long burden. Just to allow myself to admit it felt damn good. The expression on this woman’s face was pure serenity, like looking out over the sea on a summer day. The look in her eyes spoke to me. She was blissed out, having finally unburdened herself. Her captor was her saviour — and I wanted to be her more than anything.

By now the guy was looking at me. He had a gentle presence embodied by a masculine build, and held himself well. One of those guys that you want to get to know. He held the rope out, inviting me to do just that — get to know him. I smiled and extended my arm, rubbing my finger over the threads before grasping on. The tension in the rope felt safe, as he transmitted his energy into me through the fabric.

“How does it feel?” he said with rigour in his voice, keeping the rope tight.

I froze. There was something in his eyes that made me want to try it.

But only with the right man.

“Not this time,” I said, letting the rope go.

He smiled warmly and nodded, and I got out of there, rushing out of the massage room.

Wow, was all I could think as I came out of my hypnosis and continued down the hallway. The scent of perfume summoned me to the next room, and I took a second to focus on the floor, searching for reality.

No chance of that, I realised, as I peered inside. Two more Victorian-looking king-size beds were squeaking from the movement caused by a pretzel of body parts. A mouth devoured a dick, while another penis entered from behind. Two women embraced, then turned their bodies around in a sixty-nine position to eat each other out. The last free woman had climbed onto her man, while two more ready cocks awaited her on each side. One remaining man lay grinning with penis in hand, seemingly satisfied with his own company, before the female couple invited him out of his solitude.

One of the girls looked in my direction while being taken from behind. She smiled at me and licked her lip, her body rocking back and forth from the penetration. I held her gaze, allowing her to transmit her pleasure into me, causing my cheeks to flush. Finally, she could no longer hold on. I lost her as her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she moaned to the ceiling.

I turned my attention outside for some reprieve. A butt-naked guy came out of the next room covered in sweat and walked in my direction. I turned towards him, but he only paused for a split second, looked me up and down, then walked by me into the room.

“May I join?” he asked the group.

One of the women looked up briefly, then held her hand out with a mischievous smile. Their lips met before I continued to the room he had come from, shaking my head in disbelief.

Heavy breathing foreshadowed the solitary couple lying in missionary, with the woman’s nails dug into her partner’s back, her legs fully open. I welcomed seeing some normality. Rested in it. Took solace in the bubble of monogamy within the chaos, before a wild scream came from the previous room and made me flinch. The couple carried on happily with their vanilla love-making, and I watched on while resting my head on the door frame. The guy was attuned and purposeful with his love-making, mixing deep and shallow thrusts, slowing to a grind then accelerating to a feverish pace. After some time, I began to feel like a foreigner on intimate soil, and left the pair to their bliss.

The hallway circled right. The dance floor in the next room was warming up. Electronic music blasted inside, and flashing lights revealed a dozen or so dancing bodies. I now felt I was at the limit of my leash, and longed for Thomas. It was high time to reel him back in. What if some ditsy girl had gotten her hands on him? Worse still, what if Ana had dug her manicured nails into him? I recalled his facial expression while watching the girl-on-girl action. He might be open to inviting someone to join us.

But first, I had one room left to explore.

It was behind me. It had its own narrow hallway with a low ceiling. Candlelight flickered inside, where the lighting was dimmer than in the other rooms. I felt a knot developing in my chest as I approached, getting tighter with each step. The hard techno behind me made it impossible to hear what was going on. A shadow flickered inside. I neared the doorway, and my throat closed up. When I saw it, I seized up like an antelope that had run into a pack of lions.

I looked on. Mesmerised. Numb. Jordan choreographed the act like a dance, directing his three girls with ease using various moves. A hand on top of a head, a rotation of the hips, a whisper, a nudge. He knew where, when and how he wanted them. At one stage he had one of the girls bent forward while he thrust in and out of her with an athletic, natural rhythm. Another girl was on her knees at his side french kissing him. The third was on her back with her legs spread while the girl Jordan was penetrating sucked on her pussy. All three women looked to be in their late twenties. Any of them could have been me.

Jordan, his hair soaking wet, sweat dripping from his face, clutched his partner’s hip and continued to pump away. Meanwhile, he choked the girl at his side, and her eyes rolled back. She croaked and groaned before he sucked on her tongue, the rhythm of his fucking remaining unaffected. He then pulled out and revealed his condom-covered dick. Now that I saw it fully erect, I noticed how abnormally thick and long it was. Not a teenager’s. He released the girl’s neck and grabbed a handful of her hair instead. Ripped off the condom and guided her down, pushing deep inside her mouth. She gladly received him, placing both hands on his ass cheeks and taking him deeper still. Without Jordan’s penis in the mix, the other two girls lost interest in each other. They rose and went immediately to his side. One of them moved to share in the sucking of Jordan’s cock. The other began kissing his nipple.

He looked up.

I gasped and pulled my head back behind the door. It was pointless. I might as well have been an ostrich with its head in the sand. When I leaned forward again, he was waiting. His grin, at first barely perceptible, grew sinister as his eyes narrowed. My breathing was erratic, close to hyperventilation. The three girls eventually stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to me. They were possessed. Their eyes glowed with an intensity I had never seen. Jordan stared deeper into me. My skin radiated with terror yet again, and now I understood why. I needed him. All of me did. I needed him from the second we met. It was not his muscles, or his arrogant charm. His handsome features and angular frame had nothing to do with it. It went far deeper, as though life itself were somehow conspiring to bring us together. I was terrified of my desire for him, and I had zero choice in the matter. For one reason or another, we were destined to meet. I knew it.

But he was not getting me.

Not tonight. Not like this. Even as his erotic mastery had me quivering, I was not going to be his plaything. Not like those girls. I left, going back by the dance floor and returning the way I had come while exhaling slowly, trying to shake off his spell. I felt my lust for Thomas flicker, fighting to stay alight like a candle above an ocean cliff. I wandered into the first room to see if he was still going gaga over the two girls. More people were watching now, but Thomas was gone. The ruby-haired girl had broken free, and was on her knees on the mattress with a black strap-on penis around her waist. The tattooed brunette waited on all fours. The ruby girl was giggling and spinning her silicon dick in circles, to which I quietly approved. It would be the first thing I would do if I could be a man for a day. I pulled my head back out of the room and entered the bar area.

The absurdity of it finally hit me. I was in my lingerie among dozens of near-naked people. A woman was being eaten out metres away from me on the sofa. Jordan was inside having his way with three girls. Three! What the hell was this place? Glances came at me from all directions. Some had an unsettling thirst in their eyes, others seemed curious. I took a deep calming breath, and reminded myself that this was what I wanted. Anything was possible.

Then I saw Ana and Thomas, and my temperature rose.