dontjudge06242014aRe by Unknown Page B

newbie and I’m not comfortable with that,
so I’d better just go.”
    She stopped her paperwork shuffling and looked over at me
with what appeared to be pity, and then just continued as if I hadn’t voiced my
opposition at all.  “It’s just a short read, and then you sign the NDA.”
    “NDA?”
    “Non-Disclosure Agreement.  Everyone has to sign… you know,
protect everyone’s anonymity.”
    With furrowed brow I looked down at the binder.  I feel like
spouting the blatantly obvious fact that maybe they should have chosen some
place other than the most popular bar in town, but I’ve never been able to grab
the nerve to be a bitch to children.
    Before I could protest any further she said, “You realize
nothing happens here.  We’re not all stripping down to our skivvies and
paddling each other on the pool table.”  She could sense my fear and it occurs
to me that she’d be a fantastic character for Stephen King.  “This is just a
place to meet and hang out.  No funny business here, I promise.”
    As an afterthought to her mind reading she added, “We just
like to get out of the dungeon’s once in a while like everyone else.”
    I’m sure that was supposed to be hilarious because she
laughed.  I did not.
    The waitress appeared with our drinks and with a cheerful
smile hands me a small blue, folded piece of paper.  “You’ve got an admirer,
and he’s very cute.”
    “What?”
    “The man over…” she waved her arm at the empty table in the
corner.  “Well, he was there a minute ago,” and she turns back to me with a
confused grin.  “Asked me to give you that.”
    I unfolded the paper and quickly realized it was a
prescription pad.
    Beautiful.  Please stay -
    I want to smile, but I suppress it.  On the whole I’ve never
been one of those mushy, gushy girls with more beanie babies than good sense. 
Still, the vague note spurs my confidence and I’m renewed in my volition to see
this through.  My new friend Molly seems to sense my decision to stay and
slides the binder under my nose.  “Good.  You look this over and sign it.  I’ll
be back.”
    I gulped half the Manhattan in two swallows, hoping to
desensitize myself to the situation and add needed courage.  The top of the card
was printed and I held it up to the light to read.
    Dr. Graham Winters of the East Lake Medical
Center, complete with numbers for fax and phone.  I shoved the note into my
purse imagining my tall, dark and handsome admirer.
     
    *-*-*-*-*
     
    It’s been over an hour and although I’ve met some
interesting people, I’m left with more questions than answers.  Unfortunately,
that’s not a good thing.  It’s as if they’ve gone out of their way to show me
this lifestyle was not about sex, but trust and service.  I’m even more
convinced now that this type of thing isn’t for me.  It probably isn’t their
fault; the entire scenario turned me off.  The evening held a tinge of
creepiness I just couldn’t shake.  The right words came out of their mouths but
I had the distinct feeling that they were a bunch of perverts only after their
own satisfaction.  If I leave now I can crack a bottle of wine, grab my ice
cream and cuddle up on the couch with a good movie and skip all the torture
part and just do it myself.  Here I felt cheap and on display.  Somehow I
expected these people to have the answer to my needs, yet it was clear they
were still working on their own.
    So much for my first adventure into the BDSM lifestyle, I thought as I reached into my purse and fingered my car keys.  The man who’d
sent me the note was the bright spot of the evening and I hadn’t even seen him,
though I had asked the waitress to point him out if she saw him again.  I
wanted to thank him for the vote of confidence.  Before I gave up on this
farce, I’d inquired again about him and the girl told me she hadn’t seen him
the rest of the night.
    My mind was made up, and there would be nothing from
stopping me