Creative Nonfiction

The bass vibrating from the house nearly masks the timid knock on the door. Seconds later, a girl wielding a riding crop cracks the door open and peeks through. I pull at the edges of the vest that I’ve borrowed from a friend and wave awkwardly. “I, um, got an email. Here for the party.”

Throwing the door open, her eyes lazily trail up and down my ensemble (among other places.) I sigh with relief at remembering to wear black as per the invitation’s instructions. She breaks out into a grin and moves from the doorway. “Come on in and get yourself a drink.” As I shuffle past, she helpfully adds, “By the way, the toys stay in the house. Sorry, but you can’t take them home.”

It’s dim and dark, but I can discern the outlines of my fellow students in small groups off to the corners. Murmuring or laughing raucously, they clink their glasses, the flash of black leather winking at me from their clothes. I exhale slowly. I am here, at this party, on the last weekend of the school year before exams start next Monday. I am here, and I am not going back to my room to sit in front of my laptop and play games. A girl saunters by in fishnets and boots that climb up to her thighs. This is the strangest party I have ever been invited to.

Immediately, I gravitate to the open bar and request a gin and tonic. The bartender—wearing his studded black collar like an exquisite piece of jewelry—whips my drink together in no time at all and hands it to me with a flourish. I clutch the red cup to my chest, a port in the storm in the midst of these people I don’t know, but wish to know, but with whom I cannot strike up a conversation on a whim. I check my phone for the time. 11:45pm. Have I arrived too early? Did I really think Cat would be here tonight?

I had even made a feeble attempt to confirm her weekend plans. Earlier that week on the last day of class, I had approached her on our way out and asked point-black if she had received The Email, the Secret Invitation to the Secret Exclusive Underground BDSM Party. I had tripped over the last few words of my question and felt the curious stares of our classmates on my back as they passed me at this pivotal moment. She, of course, had simply laughed (when is she ever not laughing) and touched my arm.

“Definitely. You’ll see me there.”

I had blinked a few times before her reply had truly sunken in, and a ridiculous grin spread across my face. “Awesome,” I managed without sounding breathless. “I’m going too.”

She winked. “Coming out are we?”

I wasn’t sure if she was aware of the loaded question that she had just asked me. Throat locked, I could only smile. “I guess so.”