Page 50 of His Turn

But I’m not worried. Twisted is my default setting.

The parking at the old tire factory is disorderly and comes with no instructions. In my head I’m thinking, Don’t leave your car here. When you come back it will be on blocks, tires gone, parts stripped.

But it’s either this or turn back, and I’m not turning back. I never turn back. So I park the car on the street, the thumping of music already in my ears, even though we’re two blocks away.

I look around as we start walking towards the party. Nadia’s hand is there, so I grab it. Partly to make her feel safe in this run-down, dangerous neighborhood. But mostly to make her feel owned.

She’s mine. No matter what happens tonight, she’s mine. It’s not a claim, just the facts. Cold as they are.

There are some people walking up to the impromptu club with us, but not many. A few more lingering at the massive garage door that’s acting as an entrance.

I’m curious more than anything. What is this place? What kind of people come here? What do they do? How will the night end?

I crane my neck a little as we approach. There is no one taking names or stamping the backs of hands. No bouncer, no authority.

So different than Turning Point Club where the door is always open but access is usually denied.

We pass through the door of the industrial version of my own secret sex palace and find the party.

The dance floor—though it’s not a real one, just bare concrete—is filled with half-naked bodies glistening with sweat, even though it’s a cold night. We came with coats, but I don’t see a coat check. The thought almost makes me laugh. This place is so far away from coat checks, it might as well be Mars.

Nadia’s body begins to sway with the music as she heads towards a table on the far side of the warehouse, leading me, since I’m still holding her hand. We get to a booth upholstered in green or tan crushed velvet. It’s hard to tell in the blinking multicolored strobe lights. There are a lot of booths, mostly empty, all lined up against the back wall like a restaurant, but not. How they got here, and who is paying for all this, is beyond my comprehension.

Nadia sheds her coat and drapes it over the side of the booth, the glow from a portable heater enough to keep us warm. I do the same, mostly out of habit, and then she slides into the half-moon curve of the seat, giving me room to slide in beside her, and raises her arm in the air, just as I settle.

It’s not as cold back here at all. Almost too warm. Like the bodies on the dance floor are generating heat and forming a wall of insulation against the outside world.

A server—dressed in a strategically ripped leather corset that bares her nipples to me, and nothing but garter straps and fishnet stockings down below—appears, presumably from Nadia’s waving arm, but I’m not sure about that. A bottle of Louis XIII in a limited-edition decanter and two snifters are placed in front of us.

“Who’s paying for this?” I yell over the music.

Nadia smiles at me, leans into my ear, and whispers, “You are.”

OK.

This is not my kind of place. At all. But I can’t help but take it in. Everyone is young. Young men—boys, really. And girls, not women. Even the server looks too young to be serving.

Nadia’s age, I realize, suddenly feeling old and out of place in my five-thousand-dollar suit. They are holding red Solo cups in their hands, splashing beer and whatever else onto the bare concrete floor that will quickly become sticky.

Nadia pours the drinks. About five hundred dollars’ worth of alcohol goes into each snifter. I take it from her offering hand out of habit and sip. It’s good. Good. Something I’d find waiting for me on the top shelf of Smith’s bar.

I’m not missing the dichotomy of the illusion. We are separate from the crowd. Wholly and utterly separate.

Nadia’s hand is on my thigh, caressing her way towards my cock. She grabs it, holds it in her hand. Squeezes as I grow from her touch. Her body is pressed to mine and I realize—she’s got power over me right now. She’s taken me out of my world and flung me into hers. This is her kingdom, not mine.

So I let her touch me. She is, after all, in charge, I guess.

“How long?” Nadia says, leaning into my ear. Purring the words. I can smell the fruity brandy on her breath. I turn my head and kiss her, unable to stop myself.

“How long what?” I ask back, my tongue reluctant to leave her mouth as I speak.

“How long since you’ve been to a party like this?”

I pull back and look into her warm brown eyes. The flickering strobe effect of the lights makes them green, then yellow, then brown again. “College, probably.”

“Hmmm,” she says, leaning in for a final kiss before turning her head to watch the crowd.

College parties with Smith and Quin. We were just beginning to play our game back then. Smith wasn’t even in college, but was, at the same time. I envied him back then—and still do now—because he never had any responsibilities he didn’t ask for.