It started as a bet. My friend Jenna had been teasing me, just a little, about breaking off a relationship with another guy. “I don’t think you like them nice,” she said. “I think you want some big caveman to sweep you off your feet”
I laughed. “Not exactly, But I am tired of men who don’t know what they want. I wish I’d meet someone who would invite me to do something in particular. Not this “would you like to do something — what would you like to do??” stuff. Or they’ll say, ‘I was thinking, maybe, if you might be interested, we could possibly…’ Please. Just spit it out.”
Jenna laughed and shook her head. “But you’ve got strong ideas about everything. It’s not like you can’t come up with great suggestions. I think it’s sweet that they want to look to you for input.”
I sighed, “Not input, Jenna. They want me to do all the work. Come up with all the plans. Make frigging arrangements. I’d just like to meet someone who has his own ideas and plans and isn’t afraid to share them.”
“Well,” Jenna was always hopeful, “It could happen eventually.”
“Seems unlikely.” I shrugged. “That’s ok. It’s not like I’m miserable with my life now. It would just be nice to have – to have someone to spend time with.”
And that was the end of that.
But a week later, Jenna came back ~ with a brochure.
“Olivia,” she said, and there was a strange tone in her voice. “Look at this.”
I took the brochure. “Meet your fantasy…” I read. And I laughed. “What on earth?”
“Keep reading,” Jenna said.
I read, opened the trifold and read some more. “Well, it’s certainly interesting…” I looked up, wondering if my face looked as red as it felt.
“I know, right? I like that part about how you can describe what you’re looking for and what your ~ how do they put it? define what your limits are. You get to pick what happens and it’s completely confidential. I think it would be perfect for you.”
“Perfect for me? It seems kind of silly. I don’t know. I mean, how is living out a fantasy going to help in the long run? It seems like it would just be more depressing when it was over.”
Jenna shook her head, “No, look at this part. See right here, it says they offer a “life coaching aspect of the experience.” They have a professional talk to you about whether you really liked it – liked your fantasy experience – and how to make it come true if you want to.”
I just shook my head. Jenna had no idea. How likely was it that they could help me find a loving, gentle, sensitive man who wanted to spank my ass and tell me what to do? No way.
She was still talking, “In fact, I’ll bet you – I bet you’d have a great time if you went. Bet you five bucks.”
“Oh, no,” I laughed. This was an old game of ours, going back to high school, but we hadn’t used it in years. Worse than a dare, only a real chicken turned down the ‘bet you five bucks’ challenge. “Really, Jenna? You’re doing the five bucks bet? To get me to go? Why do you care if I go or not?”
Jenna looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “Um, well. It would be good for you. You wouldn’t be complaining about the too-nice wishy-washy men you know. And besides,” she grinned, “I figure if you go, you can tell me if it’s any fun or not. You don’t mind doing new things.”
“Bet me five bucks, huh?” I pondered, turning the brochure over and over in my hand. What did I have to lose?
“You’re on!” I said. “I’ll call them tonight.”
That was how it began…