S.E.C.R.E.T.: An Erotic Novel (8 page)

Tucked into the right side of the folder was a small journal, exactly like Pauline’s,
also with my initials.

“Cassie, would you read the Steps aloud for us?”

“Now?” I looked around the table and couldn’t see a single face that frightened me,
and I knew that I could walk out the door at any time—but I didn’t want to. I stood
up, but my legs felt frozen. “I’m scared.”

“Every one of the women around this table has felt the same thing you’re feeling right
now,” Matilda said, and the women nodded. “Cassie, we
are
our sexual lives.”

The tears were flowing now. It felt, at long last, as though all the grief I’d stored
up in me was finally finding its way out.

Amani leaned closer to me and said, “The ability to heal ourselves has made it possible
for us to help others. That’s why we’re here. That’s the
only
reason we’re here.”

I stared down at the diary. I gathered every ounce of strength and courage I could
muster. I wanted to come alive like these women. I wanted to feel pleasure, and to
live in my body again. I wanted all of it. I wanted everything. I opened to the Steps
and read all ten, the same words I had read in Pauline’s diary. When I finished, I
sat down and a great sense of relief moved from my feet, through my body, and out
my arms.

“Thank you, Cassie,” Matilda said. “Now I have three important questions for you.
One, do you want what we have?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Two, within the boundaries of complete safety and security and the guidance we offer
you, are you willing to take these Steps?”

I looked back down at the Steps. I wanted this. I really did. “Yes. I think so.”

“And three, Cassie Robichaud, do you accept me as your guide?”

“Yes. I do,” I said.

The room burst into more applause.

Matilda squeezed my hands in hers. “Cassie, I promise you that you’ll be safe, you’ll
be cared for, you’ll be cherished. You have total autonomy over your body and what
you want to do with it. You can decide how to proceed at all times. You will never
be coerced. That’s not to say you won’t be afraid, but that’s what we’re here for.
What I’m here for. Now I have one more thing to give you.”

She walked over to the console, above which hung the portrait of Carolina. She opened
the slender top drawer and carefully removed a small purple box. She carried it to
me like it was the most fragile thing on earth. But when she placed it in my hands,
the box felt surprisingly heavy.

“Open it. It’s for you.”

I lifted the velvet top, and under a downy bit of fluff lay a pale gold chain nestled
in silk. It was identical to the one everyone else in the room was wearing. But this
was only a bare chain—no charms were attached.

“It’s mine?”

Matilda lifted it out of the box and fastened it around my trembling wrist.

“For every Step you complete, Cassie, you will receive a gold charm from me commemorating
its completion.
This will continue until you have received all nine charms. The tenth charm comes
after you make your choice to stay in S.E.C.R.E.T. or to leave. Are you ready to begin
your adventure?”

The bracelet made it all feel real, its very weight grounding me, making me conscious
of the magnitude of what had just occurred, and what was about to.

“I’m ready.”

I
was vibrating from head to toe on my way home, thinking about the task ahead of me.
Matilda had sent me away with the folder and told me it included nine pages, one page
per fantasy. I was supposed to fill these out right away and call Danica as soon as
I was done, presumably so she could send a courier to fetch the papers. The last thing
Matilda said to me was, “As soon as we get those papers, it will all begin. You and
I will speak after every fantasy. But don’t hesitate to call me, for anything, in
between, okay?”

In my apartment I scooped up Dixie and gave her kisses all over her belly. Then I
lit a lot of candles, undressed and soaked in a sweet-smelling bath. All of this was
supposed to help me conjure the best possible fantasy list. I found my favorite pen
and whipped out the first page from my alligator folder. I felt a stirring in me that
I hadn’t felt in years. Matilda had instructed me to lay it bare, to lay out all my
sexual longings. Everything I’d ever wanted to do or try. She told me not to judge,
not to question.

“Don’t get too descriptive, don’t think too much. Just write.” There weren’t rules
for the fantasies, she explained, but the letters in
S.E.C.R.E.T
. represented their criteria, which they took great pains to adhere to. Matilda said
each fantasy must feel:

I looked at the acronym again and absently wrote a word beneath each of the first
few letters, something so apt that it made me laugh out loud:
S
exual
E
mancipation of
C
assie
R
obichaud. For the final
E
and
T
all I could think to write was
E
xciting
T
imes. This really was happening. To me!

With Dixie circling my ankles and candles flickering on the table, I began by ticking
off the box next to the sentence:
I want to be serviced
. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but I ticked it anyhow. Could it be something about
oral sex? I suggested it once to Scott and he crinkled his nose in a way that shut
down the request forever. I had put away that
longing in a high drawer, never to be seen again. Or so I thought. There were many
other kinds of sex I’d never had too. I had a college friend who raved about doing
it “the other way,” and it always left me curious. I could never have asked Scott
to try something like that. And I wasn’t even sure if it was something I wanted.

I want to have secret sex, in public
. Another check.

I want to be taken by surprise
. This thrilled me a little, even though, again, I wasn’t sure what it meant. I had
been assured I’d be safe, that I could stop anything whenever I wanted. I ticked the
box.

I want to be with someone famous
. What? How could they pull that off? This seemed impossible, interesting. Tick.

I want to be rescued
. Rescued from what? I put a checkmark in the box.

I want to be picked to be the princess
. Oh God, what woman didn’t want that? I was always considered the nice one, the smart
one, maybe even the funny one. But I had never been the pretty one, the princess,
never in my whole life. So yes to this. Sure. Even though it sounded childish. I wanted
to feel that. Just once.

I want to be blindfolded
. I imagined being in the dark might be liberating, so I checked the box.

I want to have sex in an exotic place with an exotic stranger
. Technically weren’t they all strangers, these men I’d be with, who I’d never see
again? With no talking, no speaking, just bodies brushing past each other, and then … maybe
he’d grasp my wrist … Keep writing.

I want to role-play
. Could I do that? Be someone else, not me? Would I have the guts? I could always
back out if I had to.

So this became my list: nine fantasies that would be followed by a final decision.
And, as instructed, I wrote them in the order in which I thought I could handle them.

I looked at them one last time. My head filled with all the wonder and worry and joy
and fear that these fantasies would release. Imagine getting everything you ever wanted
and more. Imagine being what other people want and desire—every inch of you—exactly
as you are. This was happening. This was happening
to me
. I had thought my life was winding down, but it was about to change forever.

When I was done, I called Danica.

“Hello, Cassie,” she said.

“How did you know it was me?” I asked, glancing uneasily out my front window.

“Er, call display?”

“Right. So I know it’s late, but Matilda told me to call as soon as I was done. So
I’m done—I have them … selected.”

“What?”

“You know … the list.”

There was silence.

“List?” she prodded.

“My … 
fantasies
,” I whispered.

“Oh, Cassie. We definitely found the right candidate in you. You can’t even say the
word!” She giggled. “I’ll send
someone right over, sweetie. And hold tight. Things are about to get
very
interesting.”

Fifteen minutes later, my front doorbell rang. I whipped it open expecting to see
a scraggly teenage courier, but a lanky, good-looking man leaned against the doorjamb.
He had puppy-dog brown eyes, and wore a hoodie, white T-shirt and jeans. He looked
about thirty years old.

He smiled. “I’m here to fetch your folder. And I’m also instructed to give you this.
You must open it now.”

I couldn’t make out his accent. Was it Spanish? He passed me a small cream-colored
envelope. It had the letter
C
on the outside.

I slid my finger under the flap and ripped it open. Inside was a card that read:
Step One
. My heart sped up. “What does the card say?” he asked.

I looked up at this impossibly handsome man, this courier, or whatever he was, in
front of me. “You want me to read it?”

“Yes, you must.”

“It says … 
‘Surrender.’
 ” My voice was barely audible.

“You will be asked at the beginning of every fantasy if you accept this Step. Do you
accept this Step?”

I gulped.

“Which Step?”

“Step One, of course.
Surrender
. You must surrender to the fact that you need help.
Sexually
.”

My God, he practically purred the word. He placed a hand under his T-shirt and touched
his stomach while he leaned on the doorjamb and took me in with his eyes.

“Do you?” he asked.

I didn’t know it would all begin
this
quickly.

“I … with you? Now?”

“Do you accept the Step?” he asked, moving ever so slightly towards me.

I could hardly speak. “What … what will happen?”

“Nothing, unless you accept the Step.”

His eyes, the way he was leaning …

“I … yes. I do.”

“Why don’t you clear a space for me right there,” he said, making a big circle with
his hand and indicating the area between my living room and dining room. “I’ll be
right back.” Then he turned around and left.

I ran to my living room window and saw him heading to a limo that was parked outside.

I placed my hand on my chest and glanced around my spotless living room, candles flickering
everywhere. I was showered and scented. I was wearing a silk nightgown. They
knew
! I kicked the ottoman to the wall and shoved the couch closer to the coffee table.

The young man returned a minute or two later with what looked like a portable massage
table.

“Please go into the bedroom and take everything off, Cassie. Put this towel around
you. I will call you when I’m ready.”

I gathered Dixie on the way in. This was something my cat didn’t need to see. In my
room I let my robe drop to the floor and took a last glance in my dresser mirror.
My internal critic kicked in immediately. But this time I did something I had
never done before. I shut it off. I waited, clenching and unclenching my fists.
This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. But it is!

“Please come in,” I heard from behind the closed door.

I entered as timid as a mouse to a transformed room. The blinds had been shut. The
candles were placed on my end tables on either side of a massage table. It was equipped
with stirrups and the bottom half had a split down the middle. I reflexively pulled
the towel tight around me as I tiptoed over to the table towards this impossibly handsome
young man standing in the middle of my living room. He was just shy of six feet tall.
His hair was shiny and wavy, long enough to tuck some of it behind his ears. His forearms
were sinewy and tanned, and his hands looked muscular. Maybe he really was a massage
therapist! When he rested one of his hands under his T-shirt, I caught a glimpse of
his flat stomach, also tanned. He wore a knowing smile that made him look a little
older, and a lot sexier. Brown eyes. Did I mention his eyes? They were almond-shaped,
with a bit of mischief in them. How could a guy be both kind-looking and hot? I’d
never experienced that combination before, but it was potent.