Zosia stretched her arms up and over her head. “I don’t know about you guys, but I slept great last night. I was up at six, went for a swim in the ocean, and then joined one of the morning meditation classes. What about you two?”
“Bikram Yoga,” Emmy said.
They both glanced over in my direction. I set my coffee down. “I slept in, but tomorrow, I’m definitely signing up for the surf school. I’ve always wanted to learn,” I said.
Louisa swept by our table. “Ladies, when you’re finished, you can start making your way to the Grand Oaks ballroom for your first seminar, Discovering Your Inner Dominatrix.”
Zosia leaned into the table after Louisa was out of earshot. “I googled Mistress Monica last night. She has quite the reputation in the porn industry.”
I felt my face flush. I wasn’t a prude, exactly, but I wouldn’t call myself sexually adventurous, either. Sam and I had what I thought was a healthy sex life, even if we’d been in a bit of a dry spell lately. But I figured, when you dated someone as long as I had dated Sam, it was only natural things would eventually start to cool down.
As we walked to the ballroom, my mind drifted back to a few months ago, when Sam surprised me with a romantic weekend at a small bed and breakfast in Mystic, Connecticut, just a block from the Mystic River. The trip was exactly what we needed, a chance to unplug and reconnect. The B & B he chose was picture perfect, complete with a wraparound porch, rocking chairs, and hanging swing.
The first night we walked hand in hand around the Olde Mystick Village with its quaint shops and Colonial period buildings. Having grown up in Southern California, we both loved the history and charm of New England towns. That night, we got back to the hotel and had drinks at the small mahogany bar adjacent to the dining room. We ordered our favorite Napa red, and Sam drank maybe half a glass, while I ended up polishing off the entire bottle, as had become a habit in the months after my mom died. After I was good and hammered, Sam helped me upstairs, where I proceeded to pick a huge fight with him, something that had also become a habit in the months after my mom died.
When I woke up in the morning, Sam was gone. I found a note on the nightstand saying he was taking a taxi back to the city and had left the keys to our car, so I could get myself home. When I got back to our apartment, I showered and changed into Sam’s favorite piece of lingerie, a sexy yet demure La Perla black-and-nude nightie trimmed with tulle ruffles and Leaver lace. I assumed Sam had gone into his office for the day and would be back around dinnertime, but he never came home that night. The next morning, he called to tell me he crashed at Evan’s, but now, I could only wonder if my antics had driven him straight to Lena’s bed instead?
The first thing Louisa had us do when we entered the Grand Oaks ballroom was make our way to the large metal rack of clothing in the back of the room.
“Ladies,” she said, “we have a large selection of outfits you can choose from for this seminar. It’s not a requirement, but it does add to the overall experience.”
I thought back to what Merritt said about not holding back, and I walked over to the rack of hangers filled with black, red, and pink latex bodysuits, leather chaps, bustiers, lacy bras, garters, and hand-studded motorcycle jackets.
Zosia and Emmy were already giddily trying on different items from the collection. I ran my hand down the hangers and stopped at a pleated silver pleather mini skirt and matching bandeau top, snatching it off the rack. If I thought the black sequined dress I bought for dinner with Sam a few weeks ago was out of character, this outfit was a complete departure from anything I’d ever worn before.
I went behind the folding room divider and changed out of my jean shorts and T-shirt, into the silver getup. It fit like a second skin, hugging every square inch of my figure. Immediately, I understood why superheroes liked to run around in Spandex and Lycra. Your body felt freer, more athletic, and yes, even powerful.
There was a light knock on the divider. I peeked my head out from the side. Emmy was holding out a pair of silver knee-high lace-up boots.
“Here, these will complete the look. Size seven, right?”
I nodded, and she passed me the shoes. I strapped myself into them and came out from behind the partition to join the rest of the class already seated in rows facing the large bay window. After the last of the stragglers found chairs, Louisa walked over to the podium and tapped the microphone twice to make sure it was on.
“Some of you may know her from her recent films, “A Star is Porn, Mamma Mia Here We Blow Again, and Mistress Monica Breaks the Internet, but I know her as one of the best lecturers at the Retreat House Breakup Boot Camp. Please help me welcome my very good friend, Mistress Monica,” Louisa said, clapping into the mic.
Moments later, a strikingly tall woman with long, platinum-blonde extensions came into the ballroom. She strutted to the center of the floor, slowly unfurling a whip as she walked. When she got to the podium, she cracked the whip on the ground, and every eye in the place shot in her direction.
“Thank you, Louisa,” Mistress Monica said. The body mic skimmed her latex jumpsuit, crackling as it moved. She reached her hand down to adjust its placement.
“Hard to believe, but fourteen years ago, I was a very different woman. My marriage had just ended, and I was absolutely devastated. A friend, trying to pull me out of my slump, took me out for a night on the town, and we accidentally stumbled into a fetish club in Soho. We paid our entrance fee, hiked up the narrow staircase, parted some dark velvet curtains… and my life changed forever. As we made our way through the fog of dry ice and lights, I saw something that blew my mind, women embracing their power and control. You see, being a dominatrix isn’t about sex. Being a dominatrix, embracing your inner dominatrix, is about taking hold of your authority and influence. You are a force to be reckoned with. You are the master of your fate and the captain of your soul.”
Zosia leaned into me. “Profound words from a porn star.”
Emmy slapped Zosia’s leg playfully. “Shhh, I’m listening.”
Zosia turned to me. “This is total BS, right?”
I shrugged my shoulders. Porn star or not, Mistress Monica at least appeared to have it all together, projecting an enviable air of confidence.
“What is it about dominant women that make men go ga-ga?” Mistress Monica asked. “I’ll tell you. It’s confidence that they’re attracted to. Ordinary men just love to see a woman who knows she’s in control and feels good about herself. It’s a high like nothing I’ve ever experienced, and believe me, I’ve experienced a lot of highs in my life. Here, let me show you how it’s done.”
Mistress Monica walked to the back of the room, where a busboy was setting a table for lunch. She snapped her whip, and the busboy froze in place. He turned to her, and she motioned him forward with her fingers. The busboy took two steps, so he was practically nose-to-nose with her. She leaned in as if she was going to kiss him and then, just as quickly, pulled away, laughing.
“Now, can I get a volunteer?” She squinted her eyes and peered into the crowd. “You, in the silver top.”
I looked down. “Me?”
She waved me over. “Come on, join me up here.”
Emmy patted my left shoulder. “Go on, join her up there.”