Monthly tryout night at the Cellar. Anyone could walk in. Last time, I’d been clothed in anger and disappointment and driven by a curiosity about what my husband had been seeing when he saw sex.

The second time I went to tryout night, I didn’t have that armor or that drive. I was curious about myself. I was curious about my trajectory. I wanted to feel what it was like to be single in that world. I wasn’t accepting defeat with Adam, but I was getting a feel for being single and I didn’t want to wait another month to go to the Meatpacking District to find my place.

This time, I heard every command, smelled the lubricant, tasted sex in the back of my throat as I got off the elevator onto the sixth floor. I withheld judgment on everything and everyone. Having been to Montauk, most of the activity in the room seemed tamer than I remembered. The clothing was outrageous on some and dowdy on others. Sitting at the bar, I noticed the ratio of observers to participants disproportionately favored the observers, who were usually huddled couples holding their drinks with two hands and sipping through stir sticks.

I sat with my knees pressed together and my hands resting on them. I’d worn a blouse and slacks for modesty. As a new submissive without a Master, I felt vulnerable. Beyond being there, I didn’t even know what I wanted out of my trip downtown.

The young Dom I’d seen paddling his sub in the observation room was on the other side of the bar, talking to a man and a woman in black. The young Dom wore a crisp white button-front and grey tie. They could have been talking about real estate.

Our eyes met, and he stopped, tilting his head. I flushed with prickly heat and looked away, hiding behind my ginger ale. I held the glass in two hands, sipping from the rim. Avoiding him. My fingers were cold and wet from condensation, but I didn’t let the glass go. His gaze held the promise of dirty feet buckling under the weight of his paddle. The sound of it hitting skin. The knowledge that someone was witnessing my domination and degradation. I wanted all of it, but not with him.

What do you see?

At two o’clock, a woman was cuffed to a big X. She was getting her bare ass whipped by two men. At ten o’clock, another woman was sucking off two men, alternating hand and mouth every few seconds. At one and four, collars and leashes, and at every minute in between were observers trying not to stare when staring was the point.

What are you feeling?

Lonely. Curious. Aroused in a non-specific-free-floating sort of way.

“What attracts you?”

The voice wasn’t in my head, but next to me. Bass-deep and accented in thick Ts and dropped hisses. He’d spoken to me the first time I’d come. Adam had called him Viktor.

I didn’t respond right away. All of it attracted me, and none of it.

“I don’t bite,” he said. “Bark a little, maybe.”

I smiled and tilted my glass. The ice had melted into smooth-shaped stones. I glanced at the young Dom. As if he knew I was looking, he turned, and seeing me, he nodded.

“I’m not sure what attracts me,” I said, looking squarely at Viktor.

“None of it?”

“None specifically, but in a general way… all of it.”

He tipped his drink at the woman on the X. “What do you like? The cuffs or the pain?”

I stayed silent, considering my options.

“This is only curiosity. I’m not in business to give you either. Just to talk.”

“I think,” I said, watching the woman’s behind flush pink, then red. The transformation was gorgeous. Like petals blossoming. “Both together. She needs the cuffs to stay still for the pain. To feel safe.”

I shook the ice. My wrung-out lime flopped like a dead fish on top.

“Your drink. You’d like another?”

“Ginger ale.”

The bartender was a woman with a long braid that twisted strands of blond, black, and red hair. She wore a corset and platform wedge sneakers. “This asshole bothering you?”

“No. He said he wouldn’t bite.”

“He barks.” She raised a penciled eyebrow.

“I’ve been warned.”

“Ginger ale?” She picked up my glass.

“On me,” Viktor said.

“On the house,” the bartender parried, filling my glass with fresh ice. “You’re Adam’s wife?”

“Hey,” Viktor said, “put the lid on it.”

Some kind of silent message passed between Viktor and the bartender. A conversation the woman with the soda gun won. She slid the glass to me.

“You’re being watched,” she said. “Protectively. But you’re not anonymous here.”

“Is this the only club in the city?” I asked, annoyed.

“Ten years ago, three clubs had to merge or the scene would die. Next nearest club is in Newark. Blame gentrification. Call your congressman.”

“Could also call your husband,” Viktor interjected.

“Someone did that already, I’m sure.” The bartender gave me an apologetic face and went to the other side of the bar to help a couple who looked as though they’d taken the train right from their law firm jobs.

“At least you know I’m not trying to pick you up,” Viktor said. “And I liked your answer very much.”

“So you’re watching me?”

“Making sure you don’t get into some trouble. We look out for each other and each other’s subs.”

“I’m not his sub.”

“This is between you and him. Ah, and here he is!” Viktor held out his hand and Adam appeared from behind me.

He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans with a coat. He looked as if he’d run the whole way from the gym.

Great.

He and Viktor shook hands. Adam thanked him. I flipped the red stirrer out of my drink and sipped from the rim. I was feeling furious and butch.

“It was nice to talk to you,” Viktor said then pointed at Adam. “You take care of this one.”

I hid my face behind the glass. My sneer was inappropriate. Viktor meant no harm.

When Viktor was out of earshot, Adam said, “Huntress.”

“Fuck off,” I said from behind the glass.

He put his hand on the bar and leaned on it, putting his body close to mine. “You know how I feel about you being here?”

“Tell me more about how you feel.”

The braided bartender smiled when she got to us and folded herself over the bar to kiss him on the cheek.

“The Glenallen,” he said. “No ice.”

The girl on the big X was taken down. She had a blindfold on, and she was smiling. Her Dom carried her away. I didn’t know what to make of it. I hadn’t decided how I felt about seeing other people do what I didn’t know if I wanted. With Adam, it was all fine. I could figure it out. Without him, I was afraid to experiment, and I was afraid not to.

“I have a right to be here,” I said. “I don’t need the whole tribe breathing down my neck.”

“This isn’t you.”

“Are you serious? You just spent two weeks showing me that it is. Then you left me hanging.”

“I mean it’s not you to stalk me.”

I almost poured my soda down his pants. “Were you always such a narcissist? I’m here for me. I’m trying to figure out who I am, what I like, and what I want.”

“You’ve always known what you wanted. This was never it.”

His chest rested against my shoulder, and his breath warmed my ear.

“I want something else. I think. I don’t know if I’m submissive or what type and I can’t decide from home. If you’re going to make me decide without you, I’m going to do what I have to. This place is the first stop for anyone working through this.” I faced him nose to nose. “Maybe you’re the one who’s stalking me.”

He put the whiskey to my lips and tipped it. I drank. It made my lips cold and my throat hot.

“Can I show you something?” he asked.

“Isn’t that what I’ve been asking?”

He helped me off the stool and guided me to the back hallway that was for members only, even on tryout nights. The hallway where I’d met Serena. He walked quickly, keeping me on his arm, nodding to a few people but not getting distracted. Leaning on the brass handle, he pushed through a frosted-glass door to a narrower hallway with doors on one side.

He took me down it until he hit an open door. A young man who looked as if he hadn’t seen a lick of sun in years furiously tapped a device in the dark room. When he looked up, the light from the device revealed a movie projector.

“Hey,” he said. “Looking for something?”

“Number nineteen,” Adam said.

“On it.” He kicked the door closed.

Adam pulled me to the next door to the left. It opened into a small theater with about two dozen red velvet seats with lights at the bases.

“There was this guy in Marine Park who collected vintage pornography. When he died, one of the clubs uptown took it and preserved it. When all the clubs merged, they reels moved here.”

“We’re going to watch porn together?”

He guided me down an aisle. “Yes.”

“How adventurous of us.” I smiled at him, flirting.

He smiled back a little, but was reserved in his enthusiasm. We sat in the center.

“Now I’m sorry I wore pants,” I said.

The lights dimmed to black. I took his hand, and he paused before dropping our entwined fingers in his lap.

“I’m trying to illustrate something. I want to talk. So I’m glad you wore pants.”

The bullseye countdown appeared. Adam leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and exhaled. They went back to the screen as if all necessary strength had been gathered.

She’s blindfolded, arms tied above her. He’s lashing her.

“These are from the late sixties,” he said as the picture flickered. There was no sound. “The stuff here is very real. There’s no retouching. It’s 16mm, so there’s none of the porny quality of video.”

He’s wrapping her tits in black tape.

“I see,” I said.

He was right. The frame was raw. The beauty of her submission wasn’t on the film. I didn’t feel as though I was watching something. I felt as though I was witnessing something.

He’s clamping her nipples until they’re elongated meat.

“This is called tit torture,” he said matter-of-factly. “Every step of this was worked out beforehand. You’re not seeing the dozen things he’s not doing.” He twisted in his seat to face me. He was backlit, so I couldn’t see his expression. “Give me an adjective. What do you think of it?”

“Is this your thing?”

“Answer me first.”

I loved him. I wanted him. I’d get on my knees and submit to him.

“It’s gruesome.”

“It’s not my thing.” He sat back and faced the screen. The light flickered on his face. “There’s so much more though.”

He’s putting the business end of a hairbrush in her anus.

I’ve never seen skin that shade of purple.

What is she eating?

In all of them, the submissive may have cried or screamed, but she always came back for more. She kissed the Dominant’s hand or looked at him admiringly. Her lips did a dance of gratitude.

Thank you.

Ten minutes in, I couldn’t hold my questions anymore. “Why are you showing me this? You don’t want to wrap me in duct tape.”

“Someone might. I want you to know what it looks like first.”

“Adam Steinbeck!” I stood and put my fists on my hips. “You fucking shit!”

He crossed his legs, shrugging as if it wasn’t his fault. He just worked here. “What?”

“You’re trying to scare me.”

“I’m trying to inform you.”

“To hell with this. I’m going out there right now and getting someone to fuck me with a wooden spoon.”

I stomped down the aisle. He grabbed my arm. I spun around to face him. Behind him, a woman was getting choked, and every time she breathed, the ecstasy on her face was unmistakable.

“Let go of me,” I growled.

“Look at it. You weren’t meant for this.”

But he was? But Serena was? Was I too good? Too weak? Too strong?

None of that mattered.

“You love me. Say it, Adam.”

“I’m keeping the love I have left.”

“Why can’t you love a submissive?”

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t love weakness?” I asked.

“I said I don’t know.”

“You’re unworthy of a woman who would kneel for you?”

“What do you want out of me?”

He was hurting me. I jerked my arm away, and he let go.

“I want you to leave me for a reason. A real reason. I left you because I was unhappy. I thought we were incompatible. You’re leaving me because you asked me to submit to you and I love it. You’re leaving me because you love me a little but not enough. What is all that? It’s not a reason.”

“I’m protecting you!”

“You’re protecting you.”

No snappy retort. No defense. Behind him, the clips continued.

She’s naked. Blindfolded. Hands tied behind her back and a high collar that forces her chin up. She’s stumbling across the room, following his touch.

“That looks like fun,” I said.

When he looked around to see what I was talking about, I slipped away.

“Diana!”

In addition to being easy to keep on, pants were good for running. Which I did at a respectful jog across the hall and into the club. Not too fast. I wanted him to catch me, but I wanted him to chase first.

I ran into Viktor, who kept me from falling on my face. Adam came behind at a slow trot, unfazed. I smoothed my hair and thanked Viktor the Russian for catching me. Adam took my arm without breaking his pace and led me to the elevator.

“I don’t want to go,” I said.

The doors closed, and we went down. When they opened, Charlie was standing there with his cane.

“Hello, there.”

“Hi!” I said, expecting a conversation, but Adam led me out, down a hall and to the street.

He put his finger up to me. “Hear me. I am not training you. Period. And you are not to come back here. Ever. I don’t care if it’s the only club in the city. It’s not open to you.”

“You can’t expect me to go back to the way I was.”

“I loved you the way you were.”

“Wake up, Mr. Steinbeck. Your heart’s not talking to your head. You still love me.”

Like a chariot from heaven, a cab pulled up. I didn’t wait for him to deny the truth. I opened the door myself and told the driver to go.

I was in the long game now.