Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

Brian Pozner calls me at eight the next morning. He's lucky I even answer. I usually have my phone set to silence unknown callers, but I'd turned it off for some reason. Probably hoping that hot bartender would call me.

"Miss Banks, this is Brian Pozner from the Pleasure Academy's outreach center. Is this a good time to talk?"

No. Yes. I don't know. "Uh. Sure." I sit up in bed and tuck a pillow behind my head.

"Great! I understand from your paperwork that you signed a contract two nights ago. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"There is a note here that you were under the influence when you signed."

He pauses, and my heart stutters. Was this my ticket out of it? Did I want a way out? Clearing my throat, I say, "Yeah. I was celebrating my twenty-first birthday."

Brian chuckles. "I completely understand. I still can't remember what I did the night I became legal." I can hear the scratching of a pen on paper before he asks, "We at the Pleasure Academy want to ensure that every applicant has willingly entered a contract before we move forward. In light of your mental state at the time of signing, do you wish to withdraw your application?"

Oh, shit. I've spent the last twenty-four hours arguing with myself about whether to renege or go through with it. Now that a pass to freedom is dangling before me, I don't know if I want to take it. Dallas' voice from The Outsiders runs through my mind. Let's do it for Johnny, man. We'll do it for Johnny. Only this time, we're doing it for me. We're doing it for Pages and Pastries.

I swallow hard and bite the bullet. "No. I… I want to move forward."

Scratch scratch goes the pen on the other end. "Very good. Blanche, the head of our transition team, will reach out to you within the hour. She'll explain the next steps in your application process. Before we end this call, do you have any questions for me?"

My mind goes blank. Of course, I have questions, a shit ton of questions, but damn me if I can remember a fucking one of them. "Um." My palms sweat, and I nearly drop my phone. "Not that I can think of."

"Very well. Thank you for your time today. I hope to see you on the island!"

"Thank… thank you."

"Good day, Miss Banks."

The line goes dead before I reply. I pull my phone away from my ear and look at it. "Bye."

I can't believe I'm going through with this. What the fuck is wrong with me? I pull the blankets up to my chin and sink into the pillow, wanting to bury myself in down and cotton. I try to imagine myself on the island, parading around a sea of half-naked, or completely naked, strangers, some led by leashes, others wielding soft leather whips. I've never been into kink unless you count the shit I read, which has definite dub-con vibes and lots of gratuitous sex. But I've never seen myself as someone who explores what's on the page in real life.

"Guess you're going to find out just how far you're willing to go," I mutter, bunching my hands in the comforter. My mind spins a dozen scenarios, and it doesn't take a genius to realize they're all from the books I read. Face it, Eden , I tell myself. You're a kinky bitch. You just haven't explored it yet.

My eyes drift to my nightstand, and I open the top drawer. I need a little magic. Whenever I feel wound up, it never fails to calm me down. I guess you could say my most intimate relationship is with my vibrator. It's my precious —cue Golem's voice.

Tugging my panties off, I spread my legs beneath the covers and press the button on my magic wand. It buzzes softly in my hand. I slip it under the covers and close my eyes.

Waves of vibrations race across my clit as battery-operated sorcery consumes me. I bite my lip and spread my legs wider, tilting the wand to work my favorite side. Once I get started, it never takes me long, and I can go multiple rounds if I'm really wound up. My hips buck as my clit swells, pleasure washing over me, wiping away the anxiety, fear, and tension. I twitch, rubbing the wand along my pussy as my orgasm fades, leaving my joints feeling like jelly. I could totally go for a second round, but I have to get to work by ten, and apparently, Blanche is calling soon.

Turning it off, I slip out of bed and head to the bathroom, rinsing off my vibrator before stepping into the shower. I spend too long under the warm spray of water, the echoes of my orgasm relaxing my muscles while my clit aches for round two. If I had a little bench in here and some time, I'd give it a go, but it's already been twenty minutes, and I'm paranoid about missing the call.

Wrapped in a towel, I stand in front of my tiny closet and look sourly at my uniform. It's bright orange and lime green—not a flattering combination for anyone. Especially me. The owner is a GenXer trying to revive a culture that died long before I was born. I swear, I look like I stepped out of an eighties commercial when I put on the uniform. Only I'm not cute and petite running around in a sea of neon-clad teenagers.

Grabbing the outfit, I finish getting ready and head to the kitchen. Lily is gone. She works at a tech company. She has a cubicle. My nose wrinkles at the thought of working at a place like Initech. I'd pull a Milton and burn it down.

I'm halfway into my second cup of coffee when Blanche calls.

"Hello?" Did my voice waver? I probably sound like I'm ten. Ew.

"Good morning. May I speak with Eden Banks?"

"This is she." This formality is about to send me over the edge. I know who it is. It's the same area code as Brian and a woman on the other end, but she sounds like a telemarketer, and I have to bite my lip to trap the nervous snort-laugh threatening to burst from my mouth .

"Eden, this is Blanche. I believe Brian informed you that I'd be calling."

I put on my game face. She can't see it, but I need to get my shit together and not come across as a giggling moron. "Yes, ma'am." Oh my fucking God! Who am I? Yes, ma'am? Jesus, I sound like a fucking prude.

Blanche chuckles. "Call me Blanche. As Brian explained, you'll meet with me and the transition team tomorrow. Think of it as an elimination round. We'll be evaluating each applicant and selecting those who'll move forward. If we feel you're a good candidate for the Pleasure Academy, things will move forward quickly. You must complete all of the requirements before leaving for the island."

There's a long pause. It's awkward, like I'm supposed to say something, but I know if I open my mouth, I'm going to sound like a jackass. So I mumble, "Uh, huh." Oh, yeah. Not jackasssish at all. I'm an idiot.

I swear I can hear her grin, but she moves on and poses a question I don't expect. "Have you scheduled an appointment with a gynecologist?"

"Um. Not yet."

"Do you have a gyno?"

"No. Is that bad?"

"Not at all. It's quite common, actually." I can hear papers rustling. "Most women don't bother going until their thirties. No one likes the idea of some guy shoving a metal probe up their cooter."

My jaw drops open. Holy shit! Did she just say cooter?

"I've got the name of a gynecologist in your area who'll fit you in this week. It's important you get the evaluation done sooner rather than later to ensure there are no roadblocks if you're selected. Every member of the Pleasure Academy has routine evaluations to ensure they are healthy and free of STDs. Don't worry. There's no virginity test. That's all a myth, anyway. A gyno generally can't tell, so we don't bother. In your contract, you indicated your sexual status, and we take your word on that. Believe me, when the time comes, your partner will know your virgin status."

I've never had a doctor check out my cooter before. It doesn't sound thrilling. Of course, if I'm selected, there will be a whole bunch of cooter checking! It'll just be of the dick variety, not a metal probe. Wait… will there be metal probes?

Blanche pulls me back into the conversation before my mind runs wild with salacious and cringy scenarios. She gives me the name of a gynecologist and then has me jot down the time and location for the appointment with the transition team the next day. I take it all down in my serial-killer scrawl, heart hammering with anxiety-tinged excitement.

"Do you have any questions, Eden?"

"Uh, not that I can think of."

"You're going to do great, hun. Have a good day, and I'll see you tomorrow."

I say goodbye and hang up. It's all happening so fast. I feel like Wile E. Coyote running from the giant boulder he pushed the wrong way down a hill when he set a trap for the Roadrunner. One day I'm turning twenty-one, and the next, I'm off to join a literal fuckfest. Life is strange.