That sounds like the beginning of some sort of dirty joke, doesn’t it? But this “good girl” did walk into a sex club not too long ago—and enjoyed herself immensely.

It wasn’t anything like the books I read would have you believe (if you haven’t read the Salacious Players Club series, you should go do that now. I’ll wait). If that world was real, all the furniture would be sleek, the floors polished, the people glamorous. There would be carefully put together theme rooms and lots of gyrating bodies everywhere you look.

This wasn’t like that at all. The building was old and kind of grimy. The furniture was haphazard at best. There were some themed rooms, but only in the loosest of all possible senses. And the people? They were pretty ordinary folks. Some better dressed than others. Some not dressed at all. But no one eye-poppingly gorgeous (except the guys I was with, of course).

Our tour guide showed the four of us where everything was, pointing out the couples-only area, the sex machine room, the dungeon, and the theater, with a giant bed in the middle. Most of the rooms had doors you could lock, and to access them, you had to ask the front desk for the key.  As our guide went through her spiel, I kept waiting for that still conservative part of me to freak out. But she stayed silent. Instead, I started keeping track of all the places I’d like to check out (the theater was high on the list).

I had dressed carefully for the evening in my favorite little black dress. Makeup done. Hair blown out. Even a bit of heel. I looked good. And there were a fair number of gentlemen who seemed to appreciate it, if the looks they sent my way were any indication.

But looking around at all the casually attired (or not attired at all) folks, I felt a little overdressed.
You know how you solve that, internet? By taking off your clothes. Which I did pretty quickly, changing into my favorite bodysuit featuring a lot of mesh, some strategically placed flames, and very little else.

And here’s how you know I’m not such a good girl anymore. When I went to get changed, I went downstairs with Andre and proceeded to get naked in the middle of the room, where anyone could walk in. In the middle of the room, internet. You might not think that sounds like a big deal, but I spent decades hiding my body. Decades.

Did I mention this bodysuit has a thong back, so my butt was hanging out for all to see?

Yep. We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

Eventually, the four of us went up to the front desk to get the keys to the motor bunny room. I stood there, sorting through baggies of dildos, trying to find just the right one. It didn’t even occur to me to be embarrassed.

Side note: really not a fan of the motor bunny. I don’t need a vibration I can feel in my teeth to get off. In fact, it makes it decidedly more difficult.

Later, after a couple of really nice human-generated orgasms in a private room, I stepped out to use the restroom. When I came back there were a few single guys hanging out in the hallway, all of whom looked me up and down. Did I mention I was naked? The single guys are… a lot. Anyway, one dude told me how very much he would love to get back on that bed with me and I didn’t even blink. I just smiled, thanked him, and closed the door.

So what’s my point? I’m not sure. I’m just pretty damn proud of this fearless babe I’m sometimes becoming. While Bruce is getting into his emotions (in the best possible way), I’m having a heck of a lot of fun.

Last weekend or so, we saw some old friends who we hadn’t managed to connect with in a long, long while. At one point, the Mr and I were chatting and he said, “I wasn’t sure what to expect from you after all this time, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.”

“Really. And what is this?”

He shrugged helplessly, letting his eyes travel over my mostly naked body. “I don’t know. But it’s pretty great.”

He was right. It is.

I think it might be time to retire the good girl label.