Teach Me Something (Something Series Book 4) Read online

  Teach Me Something

  By Aubrey Bondurant

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is for mature audiences only.

  Cover by: coversbykaren.com

  Text copyright © 2017 by Aubrey Bondurant

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  EPILOGUE

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER ONE

  I once read that a woman has a better chance of being hit by a car than finding love as a thirty-something-year-old divorcée in Manhattan. I wasn’t sure if it was true, but it was amazing how easily I believed it could be, now that I was card-carrying member of that group. For that reason, plus countless others, I was currently sitting in a chair and ready to part with a thousand dollars in cash in the very last place anyone would ever expect me to be: a sex club.

  Closing my eyes as I waited for the hostess to greet me, I exhaled heavily and tried not to freak the hell out. I reminded myself this wasn’t my first time here, and I shouldn’t be so nervous. Relax Catherine, I told myself, but I ended up jumping when a familiar female voice greeted me.

  The tiny woman greeted me using my alias, sporting pink and silver hair despite appearing to be in her fifties. She was outfitted to the nines in a knockout dress that looked to be Chanel, flattered by the signature red-bottomed Louboutin shoes. It was on the tip of my tongue to compliment her, but I couldn’t take a chance on giving away my ties to the fashion world.

  “I was pleasantly surprised to hear from you again, Kat.”

  Yeah, so creativity had eluded me when it came to making up my fake name, and I’d gone with a derivative of my real one.

  When I’d first contacted the private club months ago, I’d given them a fictitious profile along with the bogus email address I’d set up to match it. The reason was simple: I didn’t want to risk anyone here finding out my true identity. Paying in cash helped ensure there was no trace to me. Plus, I’d signed a contract that assured they would keep my profile confidential so long as I kept the club activities secret in turn. Since I wasn’t partaking in most of those activities, this wasn’t a problem for me.

  And if that wasn’t enough, I now sat with a mask covering the upper half of my face and a dark-haired wig disguising my ordinarily straight, blonde hair normally styled in a long bob. If all else failed and it was ever discovered that the editor of Cosmo Life magazine was here at a sex club, I’d use the excuse of going undercover to do a story.

  “Hello, Mavis. Yes, well, I’ve been busy the last few months.” It had been five, and it wasn’t exactly true. After my initial session, I just hadn’t gotten up the nerve to return. The first time I’d come here, I’d dragged my friend Sasha along to stay at the bar and wait for me, but for a variety of reasons I couldn’t use that strategy again.

  The older woman smiled at me with reassuring eyes. It was only the two of us in the small lounge area, which was posh and stylish in hues of soothing purple.

  “It’s okay, Kat. You don’t owe anyone an explanation, whether it was you being busy or simply not feeling comfortable. Now then, you mentioned in your email last week that you’d rather see someone other than Derek this time. I believe I have just the guy. His name is Calvin. Although all of our staff are terrific, he has become one of our most requested. Unfortunately, he was away the last time you visited, but he has your file and is more than ready to get started.”

  Although Derek had been nice, I couldn’t say there’d been a connection that had me anxious to see him again. His attitude had struck me as though he was working on commission and wanted me to upgrade to the, uh, more physical classes. That’s why I’d hoped someone new might be a better fit for me.

  “That sounds good.”

  Sure, there were less extreme options than visiting a sex club for working through my insecurities regarding the dating world and sex. But there was something about the anonymity and the ability to reinvent myself as an alternate character that had appealed to me immediately when my colleague, who’d also gone through a painful breakup, had confided in me about this place. She’d called it her ‘secret’ for getting beyond it.

  So I did something very un-Catherine-like, going to an extreme—cue the sex club, in which, ironically, I didn’t actually plan on having sex. My real hope was that it would enable me to climb out of my rut and breathe new life into my self-esteem.

  Mavis’s sincere smile helped to put me more at ease in my decision to give it a second chance. I imagined she probably had to employ this technique quite regularly to ensure no one felt judged.

  “As we discussed the first time, Kat, you’ve signed up for a starter package, which is all about talking and has no physical aspects. That means no touching or taking off your clothes. The goal is to give you the confidence to get back out there in the dating world.”

  That’s what I needed. Someone to build up the confidence that my ex-husband had shredded. I hadn’t had sex in almost two years, and all attempts at self-pleasure had failed miserably. It was some shit when you couldn’t get yourself off at thirty-four years old, but refusing to bash myself a moment longer, I plunked down the money, re-signed the confidentiality agreement, and squared my shoulders. Time to do this before I chickened out.

  ***

  Mavis led me down the hall and opened a door. When I entered the room, I was once again taken aback with the simple elegance of the setting. It was decorated much like a comfortable living room, with two chairs at a center point of the space, tastefully done in burgundy and crème. The first time I’d come, I’d imagined I’d find the stereotype of leather and sex toys, but clearly Club Travesty’s reputation of being classy was merited.

  I hadn’t expected the gentleman named Calvin, which I assumed wasn’t his real name, would already be in the room, greeting me the moment I arrived. As Derek had, Calvin wore a black mask which hid the top half of his face. He was easily six foot tall, sexual self-assurance clinging to him with perfection, as did his tailored, white, button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up and the black trousers showing off his well-built physique. There was something about seeing a man in dress trousers and being able to make out muscular thighs that had me staring. Maybe it was because, in the professional world, I didn’t see it often. Then again, if I did, I wasn’t sure I’d be very productive.

  His stunning smile, revealing perfectly white teeth, was only eclipsed by his gorgeous blue eyes as he moved closer to greet me. “Hello, Kat. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Holy hell. What a voice. Husky and sincere in his welcome. His warm hand took my ice-cold one in greeting.

  I nearly erupted into a nervous giggle when the tingle traveled all the way through my body down to my toes. A spark some people called it. I dubbed it the: I haven’t been laid in so long that a handshake is making me desperate effect.

  Probably a good thing Calvin was wearing a mask because if his fac
e was half as attractive as his body or voice, I was certain I wouldn’t have been able to get out an actual coherent word. You would have thought I was sixteen with the way I was acting. Pulling my hand away, I reminded myself I was in fact a grown woman who happened to be paying for his time and had an agenda in coming here that didn’t include standing here ogling him.

  His voice broke me away from my thoughts as he motioned towards a chair. “Please have a seat. Can I offer you a beverage?”

  I shook my head, realizing Mavis had quietly backed out of the room, leaving us alone. “No, thank you.” Sitting down, I took a deep breath, trying to quiet my nerves and keep puking off the list of my accomplishments for this evening.

  He poured some water and took a sip and then sat across from me. “So, it’s been a few months since you’ve been here.”

  “Right, I was pretty busy and…” I sighed, thinking if I couldn’t be candid regarding my actual reason for staying away, there’d be no hope I could be honest about anything else. “The truth is this place overwhelmed me the first time. Add to that, my friend who accompanied me that night as my safety net—by sitting in the bar to wait for me—ended up in a fight with her boyfriend over her coming here. Anyhow, I started to think it might not be worth it.”

  “And now?”

  It wasn’t as though I hadn’t given the dating world some effort on my own, although I doubted speed dating in order to find Mr. Right really counted. “It turns out nothing has changed with regard to my dating life or lack thereof, so I came back. I guess you probably get that a lot here, people second-guessing themselves about coming to a, well, a—”

  He smiled slightly. “A sex club.”

  I winced at his bluntness.

  “It’s more than that; otherwise, we wouldn’t be doing what we’re doing, which is talking, but I get it. And to answer your question, people come and go with or without notice. Some find love, others decide they don’t want to come to a club like this again, or still others ‘graduate’ and feel they’ve received all they can from this experience. I know you saw Derek originally, so I won’t take offense if you prefer to return to him next time. It’s all about finding someone you’re comfortable with.”

  “No offense to Derek, but I’m already more at ease with you. I think he wanted to upsell me to the other packages, which I believe he takes part in. But I’m told you don’t, which, frankly, takes some of the pressure off.”

  Under no circumstances was I interested in paying for sex. Yeah, yeah, fine line when you go to a ‘sex club,’ and I wasn’t being judgy. I mean, to each their own, but it wasn’t something I could ever see myself doing. Although, talk to me after another year of celibacy and put someone like Calvin in front of me and see if I wasn’t throwing more cash down in a hurry.

  “Good, I’m glad to hear it. According to the notes and your original email, it appears there are two reasons you’re here. One is to navigate the world of dating post-divorce and the other is to feel sexually confident. We’ll work on both, but as far as your history is concerned, you have exactly three minutes to tell me about your ex-husband, and then all talk of him ceases. This is about your future, which means you’re here to move on.”

  I appreciated his approach. Five months ago, I honestly hadn’t been ready not to dwell on my ex and everything about my divorce. “Okay, I don’t think it’ll even take that long. We were together ten years, having met in grad school. We dated for two years, engaged for one, and were married for seven. Divorce was final—God, I can’t believe it—almost two years ago.”

  And suddenly I was embarrassed that I’d been in a rut of eat, work, sleep for that many months while my life virtually passed me. Calvin’s voice pulled me out of my depressing thoughts.

  “What would you say is the single thing that contributed the most to the split?”

  “His desire for a different life, which he’s made clear he wants with a twenty-something-year-old replacement.”

  “Ah. Any signs up until then?”

  How about the fact that he was always too tired for sex, that he seemed to resent me for making more money, and that he thought my career in fashion was frivolous compared to his in finance? Or the ultimate reason, which was far too personal to share. So I settled on the generic version of the truth, not willing to bare my soul to a stranger.

  “Sure, hindsight is always handy that way, I suppose. But to answer your question, I’d simply say we grew apart, and he needed more attention than I could give him.” He maintained he’d never cheated on me, but he’d moved on so quickly that I wasn’t positive I believed him. Either way, it was a moot point now as he was happily out of our marriage and, the last I heard, planning his second wedding.

  Calvin’s eyes appeared sympathetic. “And what would he say if you were to ask him why it ended?”

  Interesting way of voicing the question. “He’d probably say I loved my career more than I loved him.”

  “And did you?”

  I shifted uncomfortably while he mitigated his question with an explanation.

  “If your job is your number one priority, then it’s important for me to know that when it comes to giving you dating advice. I’m not judging you for it, Kat. I’m only trying to understand what’s important to you when it comes to this process.”

  I sighed, thinking about how to explain. “I don’t believe that was the real reason, but it was a convenient poke at the way he saw my prioritization of our marriage. At the end, I didn’t chase after him or beg him to stay, instead opting to throw myself into work. But if I’d given up my career, I have no doubt I’d have ended up in the same situation, and a fool to boot. My job is what tells me that, although my marriage failed, I am not, in fact, a failure.” Shit, I didn’t mean to get defensive, and yet there it was in my tone. I softened it immediately. “I’m sorry. Obviously, it’s still a sore subject, but you should know I have no regrets about my choices.”

  “You were in a relationship for quite some time and returned to a dating world where things have changed in the last decade. Talk to me about how that’s been going.”

  “Like I said, I’ve thrown myself into work since the divorce, which isn’t hard given what I do. And, well, I’ve kind of put dating on the back burner. I go out for quite a few social functions and travel as part of my job, so it’s not as though I’m a recluse, but I have a hard time meeting any dating prospects. I realize two years is a long time, but I think for the first year I was sort of reeling from it all, not yet ready to actively search for someone new. Then in this last year, I’ve kind of floundered.” The thing about the fashion world was I was surrounded by women. There weren’t a lot of straight men unless you counted the models, but I was about ten years too late for that ship.

  He leaned forward. “Sometimes it’s a good thing to spend time by yourself. People deal with breakups in all sorts of ways, but my opinion is that going through the motions of moving on when you’re not ready, or rebounding, if you will, is only masking the grieving process of getting over a relationship. You were with him for ten years, and that’s a long time.”

  I knew women who threw a divorce party or went into dating like it was the Olympics and they were trying to win a gold medal, but I’d needed time to lick my wounds. It was nice to hear someone appreciate that. “Thanks.”

  “Do you have anxiety about a first date and meeting someone new?”

  I shook my head. People weren’t intimidating to me in the least. For the most part, I enjoyed getting to know someone. “No, not at all. But something happens during my date which ensures there isn’t a second one.”

  “Like what?”

  I shrugged, reluctant to reveal my actual thoughts on the matter.

  “Do you sense something off during the course of it?”

  “Not really. Conversation, at least with my last two, flowed really well. One even texted me afterward to say he’d really enjoyed himself.”

  “Okay, that’s good. How did you respond?”
/>   “Uh, I can’t recall, but I do confess flirting via text message isn’t my forte. It’s a convenient way to communicate with people to tell someone you’re running late, but I find I much prefer having conversations in person or on the phone. I guess you could say I’m old-fashioned that way.”

  He made some notes before smiling. “As I said, and you’ve noticed, dating has changed over the last ten years. What used to be a flirty phone conversation is now being done over texting or via social media. What was once a blind date is now meeting someone for coffee based on an online profile and a few prior messages back and forth.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s why I suck at it. My assistant thinks I should join an online dating service, but, uh, it’s not really feasible.” I’d been about to say I couldn’t go and put myself out there because of my job and well-known status here in New York City. Hell, I didn’t even have a Facebook or Twitter account for the same reason.

  He seemed to clue in anyhow. “We get a number of individuals who prefer anonymity for obvious reasons. For those same reasons, I’m assuming you can’t go and put a profile up online.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Have you considered a professional matchmaker? Matter of fact, I have a rather good one I could recommend. She’s exclusive and very discreet.”

  “What would I have to do?”

  “You’d fill out a list of the traits you’re searching for in a man and answer some questions about your personality. From there she tries to make the best match. I have the profile sheet if you want to take it with you this evening to have a look. We can even go over it together.”

  He walked over to a small desk and returned with a piece of paper, handing it over.

  “Thanks.” I skimmed the contents, appreciating that they wanted a list of the attributes for which I was looking as the first item. Lists were something I could embrace. Lists were a source of comfort to me. They kept the world in order and allowed me to organize my thoughts. But, unfortunately, they likewise reminded me of the true reason I thought my dates weren’t working.