The colors from the street swirl around us, and I feel myself becoming lightheaded at the softest of touches.

I feel something else, too, and I don’t know what it is. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Looking down, I catch a glimpse of my cleavage. I’ve always tried to cover myself up. When I interviewed at the massage parlor, my prospective boss said I would be perfect for the position. He’d looked at my breasts. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. It felt lewd. I covered myself up from then on. It wasn’t the first time I’d been looked at like that, but it was the first time I’d been looked like that on a job interview.

It didn’t feel good. I felt like something was being taken from me, and nothing was being given to me in return.

It felt uneven. Uneasy. Unbalanced.

But now it’s different.

Now it feels new.

I feel fresh.

It feels balanced.

My eyes trail along the line at the top of the dress, pressing my breasts up, making my body feel hot beneath the sumptuous silk. Gabe looks at me, but he isn’t taking anything away from me. I feel like he is giving me something.

But it’s not enough.

When he looks into my eyes, it burns.

I feel my pussy clench up, needy and hungry and wanting more. Wanting him.

His cock against my folds was so exquisite. Painful, almost. Almost. I was desperate for him to sink himself into me, slice me in two, break me and put me back together.

He gives and he takes. I feel in balance. Grounded.

Darkness and power swirl around us. The inky black night is punctuated with the bright colors of the lights and neon and incandescence of the shops on the street. We pull over to the curb and the limo stops. I peer out the window. It’s stopped snowing. We are in front of a nondescript, plain building. It looks like an old factory. The first floor is dotted with large schoolhouse windows. The building is about six or seven stories high. The front door is large and wooden, old - it looks hundreds of years old, maybe. And there are men outside guarding the door.

Gabe gets out of the car and punctuates the cold night with the slamming of the door behind him, coming around to the other side to help me out.

In my stiletto sandals, the tips of my toes meet the fresh, powdery snow on the sidewalk.

“Stop, Avery,” Gabe says. He bends down and puts one arm easily around my back and the other under my knees, lifting me easily. I’m weightless in his arms.

I never thought I’d like this. I never thought I’d feel good giving myself over like this.

But I do. I can’t help it.

But what if he drops me?

What if he doesn’t? What if I allow myself to fall into his arms over and over, allow him to kiss me and touch me?

Let him fuck me?

Let him see all of me, the way I’ve never let anyone see before?

Gabe. He disarms me. He strips me. He makes me feel like I am wearing a new skin.

And I barely even know him.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, taking me in his arms. His broad chest anchors me. His features are perfection. His voice is like honey. And his scent makes me feel crazy. My pussy clenches, needy and hungry as he pushes a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

He deftly carries me across the sidewalk, just a few steps, but it feels like a serene, full lifetime passes in those few seconds. All time stands still.

And I feel weightless as he puts me down.

He says nothing, but on the inside I feel that he wants me. Just from his expression. Just from the way that he says nothing.

I’ve never been wanted like this. Not in this way. Not in the way that makes me feel the way I feel right now.

I feel that I’ve been infected with some brilliant and special elixir. It’s intoxicating. Like a drug. I feel in control and out of control, in equal measure, all at once.

And the door opens before us, and Gabe loops his arm through mine.

We pass the guards. These are the kinds of men they should have employed at the massage parlor. I wince when I think about how naive I was.

We should have had this kind of security at the whore house.

A wave of shame sweeps through me, but just as quickly, my breath is taken away.

We step through the doors and enter a small vestibule. The air smells like fresh cotton, cinnamon and patchouli oil. Lush green curtains cover the perimeter of the space. I don’t know if there are walls behind the curtains, or something else. A vast room, a small room, an expanse of people dancing and drinking, throwing their heads back and laughing at a joke. Maybe a beautiful woman with sun-kissed tanned skin and a man with bulging muscles and a ten-inch...you know…

Maybe it’s all behind those curtains. But I don’t look.

“What is this place?” I ask.

“We’re here. This is Club Skin, sweetheart.”

All the shame I felt before is melting away like an iceberg that’s floated into a jungle. It’s not where it belongs, but it’s changing - adapting.

Melting.

A woman hands us two masks. Black masks. Simple. Not like the one I wore for Halloween two years ago. I bought that one at the 99 cent store. No, this one feels like pure, heavy satin atop some steel-hard material. It’s soft and hard at the same time, like a stone at its core but covered with softness. Lusciousness.

“Come,” Gabe commands, guiding me. He slips his hands around my waist and walks behind me, his presence so imposing but so damn protective.

A large man in a black tuxedo awaits us just a few feet ahead. He begins to pull the green curtain aside, but nods to us first.

“You must wear your mask inside,” Gabe says to me gently, taking it from my hands. “It is for your own protection. For you to remain anonymous. It’s a condition of entry. You can only take off the mask in one of the private rooms. It is to ensure that everyone present is consenting to their identity being known. But even then, our membership rules dictate that no one may reveal the identity of those they see inside.”

He places the mask gently against my eyes. It covers my top portion of my face, ending at the tip of my nose. He ties the velvet panels around the back of my head and fastens the mask into place.

“Why is it called that?” I ask. I stand up a bit straighter, say my words a bit more solidly.

“Skin? You’ll see.”