Chapter 3
Bianca
After a deliciously decadent meal of mac & cheese and chocolate cake in my room, I decide on a whim to go for a soak in the hot tub. Not always the best thing to do after eating, but I could use a massage on my shoulders, back, and neck.
Since I'm without an obedient, service-minded man to help me out, I’m left to rely on jet streams and water.
Which is fine since I’ll probably have the hot tub and surrounding spa to myself for the most part. It’s close to eleven, and that means most people are probably already up in their rooms or schmoozing with each other elsewhere.
Grabbing my pair of provided flip-flops and slipping them on, I head to the door. I’m in my leopard-patterned swimsuit. I have a pair of matching leopard ears to go with it, but I’ve decided not to wear the ears now. Role-play only, really. And only if I find myself a boy to play nicely with.
Which is probably not going to happen, I remind myself, stepping out my of door and closing it behind me. As I do, I wrap my personal towel around me more tightly. The baby soft Egyptian cotton has a pair of leopard eyes sewn into the fabric. Striking green ones, a perfect match for mine.
All ready for my evening soak—my bubbly, nonalcoholic nightcap—I head away from my room to where the signs point me to the hot tub/spa area. The walk is easy and uneventful until I see him. Greaser Boy from the bar, and by the looks of things he’s still buzzed. Fan-fucking-tastic. His gait is uneven, but his eyes are on the lookout.
For me, I think, deciding to stop immediately and switch directions. The last thing I want is to be bothered by him again. I quickly move into another hallway. An alternate pathway to the soaking pools.
Thankfully, it doesn’t look like he’s seen me. It also doesn’t look like he has plans to do any soaking.
I breathe deeply and move forward with confidence after that. There are more hotel rooms this way but that’s okay. Most of the doors are closed or have “do not disturb” signs on them. Meaning I’m not likely to have to deal with anyone else on my way.
But, just as I turn into the hallway directly connected to the pool and spa area, I hear footsteps behind me. Before I have time to do anything more than freeze up and hope it’s not Greaser Boy, a woman appears beside me.
“Hi there,” she says, looking somewhat out of breath and embarrassed. The woman has short gray hair. Spiky in places, like a pixie. Her makeup, as if to match her hair, is delicately bold.
“Can I help you?” I look at her, then behind me, thinking I’ve dropped something. Nope. Nothing but luxurious carpet behind me.
The woman lowers her head, smiling. The smile is a nervous one, but no less magnetic. Charming, in its way. “Help me? Well, no, not necessarily,” she says, blushing, “I was hoping I could help you.”
I relax my pose. Cross my arms. Lean back on my heels, being sure to keep the towel pinned firmly around me. “Help me? With what?” Maybe it’s just me, but I didn’t think I was walking around with a big sign on me that said, “In constant need of assistance and company, please come on up.”
For the first time since she caught up with me, the woman looks me directly in the eye. “I saw your exchange with Little Elvis in the bar earlier,” she says. “And I saw you dodge him just now.” Her eyes flash with something but I’m not sure what. Knowing? Exhaustion? Whatever the case, she’s focused on me with everything she has. “I can tell you from experience the action available for us women around here is — “ She looks furtively from side to side — “let’s be real. The real people. Men and women with real interesting desires, those can’t be found walking around here, okay?”
I nod, understanding on some level and yet not.
She continues, “Listen. You aren’t looking for ordinary, right?”
Intrigued, I nod again.
“You aren’t interested in Joe Schmo. You aren’t interested in what normal men have to offer you.” She steps closer. “I can see it. I can feel it.” She smiles again, and I’m not sure why, but my stomach and clit both react. They flinch under her intensity. Under the wildcat I can sense roving around in her. Used to hunting. “And I know how difficult it can be to get your needs met, you know?” The woman licks her lips. Not at me, but at something she’s thinking. “I know what it’s like to have different tastes. Exotic desires for things. Things not everybody is willing to give you.” She pauses, obviously hoping for a contribution from me. Some answer to everything she’s said.
So, I give it to her. “Yeah, you’d be right. What I want is not typically what men will loudly or proudly admit they like,” I say. “Most men don’t even like the kinds of things I have to offer them or expect in return.”
The woman chuckles, brushing a hand through her short silver-gray hair. “Definitely not sitting at a bar.” As she says this, she produces a small business card from her bra. From under the flowing fabric of her very hippie, New-Age tunic. “But lucky for you, I have just the place you can go to, to get those needs met. To find someone hungry for what you have to offer.” She hands me the card, and I look at it.
The Exchange Club, it reads, Aspen. Basement. Dinner starts promptly at 8 PM. Underneath this is an address.
“What I’ve just invited you to at the Exchange Club is by invitation only.” The woman says this as I meet her gaze after reading what’s on the card. “If you’re tired of vanilla, this is your chance to try a whole world of flavors.” She steps away. “If you decide to come, rest assured: there will be someone there who’ll be more than happy to take what you have to offer, whatever that is.”
With that, the woman takes her leave. Bows almost.
“Hope I see you there tomorrow night,” she says, heading back the way she came. “I guarantee you won’t see anything else quite like it here in Aspen.”
After that, I’m left alone in the hallway with only the business card to keep me company. I’m not sure what to do with it. What to make of the woman who gave it to me. But what I am sure of now, is that I really need a soak.