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Resurrection
They’d drawn blood, but Tara Prince had managed to get an invitation to join The Club.
She’d arrived at this point simply enough.
When her girlfriend, Nakia, finally got fed up with Tara’s whining about everything—including the lack of a good man--she’d told her to shut up and get laid. She had then proceeded to laud some secretive den of sin and, almost reluctantly, had given her an ebony card which had The Club scrawled in ivory cursive across the front and an address printed on the back.
Normally, Tara would’ve been insulted by anyone else, but Nakia knew what a hard time she had, and she hadn’t meant it in a bad way—just a ‘get up off your ass’ kind of way. Besides, she was intrigued. She hadn’t thought Nakia needed any help in that area, so she was definitely surprised by the admission that her friend had actually ‘hired’ a lay.
Reassured this was for real, she went to the address and suffered more background checks and tests than a visit with the Prez would take. She hadn’t quite known exactly what she was getting herself into, but by the time they were done and had approved her for membership, she hadn’t wanted to waste all that expended energy and time for nothing. So here she was.
She’d paid her dues, which included a pint of blood, to be paid out every three months if she wanted to remain a member. That seemed strange to her until she thought about the blood shortage the nation suffered every month (so it was obviously for charity purposes)—that and the fact that she’d need to be tested for STDs regularly for safety’s sake.
That wasn’t a problem either. She didn’t do drugs, and she hadn’t so much as played tongue hockey in over a year … or three … but she did appreciate the fact that they were so thorough here.
The address she’d finally ended up at didn’t look at all like she’d expected. Apparently, they’d moved the red light district out to the boonies. The Club was in a renovated antebellum mansion. She hadn’t seen much of it or the surrounding grounds, since it was past dusk by the time she arrived for her appointment.
Once inside, she was surprised, although she shouldn’t have been. For some wild ass reason, she’d expected scarlet drapery everywhere, lace covered lamps, naked men lounging on chaises for women’s viewing pleasure…. Instead, it was a study of understated, modern elegance that bespoke a thriving business. Apparently, it paid to cater to women, at least in New Orleans.
Tara was actually early for her appointment, so she had to wait until they were ready for her. She’d wanted to avoid that, to keep from looking over eager and too much like a horny teenager.
She’d arrived at this point simply enough.
When her girlfriend, Nakia, finally got fed up with Tara’s whining about everything—including the lack of a good man--she’d told her to shut up and get laid. She had then proceeded to laud some secretive den of sin and, almost reluctantly, had given her an ebony card which had The Club scrawled in ivory cursive across the front and an address printed on the back.
Normally, Tara would’ve been insulted by anyone else, but Nakia knew what a hard time she had, and she hadn’t meant it in a bad way—just a ‘get up off your ass’ kind of way. Besides, she was intrigued. She hadn’t thought Nakia needed any help in that area, so she was definitely surprised by the admission that her friend had actually ‘hired’ a lay.
Reassured this was for real, she went to the address and suffered more background checks and tests than a visit with the Prez would take. She hadn’t quite known exactly what she was getting herself into, but by the time they were done and had approved her for membership, she hadn’t wanted to waste all that expended energy and time for nothing. So here she was.
She’d paid her dues, which included a pint of blood, to be paid out every three months if she wanted to remain a member. That seemed strange to her until she thought about the blood shortage the nation suffered every month (so it was obviously for charity purposes)—that and the fact that she’d need to be tested for STDs regularly for safety’s sake.
That wasn’t a problem either. She didn’t do drugs, and she hadn’t so much as played tongue hockey in over a year … or three … but she did appreciate the fact that they were so thorough here.
The address she’d finally ended up at didn’t look at all like she’d expected. Apparently, they’d moved the red light district out to the boonies. The Club was in a renovated antebellum mansion. She hadn’t seen much of it or the surrounding grounds, since it was past dusk by the time she arrived for her appointment.
Once inside, she was surprised, although she shouldn’t have been. For some wild ass reason, she’d expected scarlet drapery everywhere, lace covered lamps, naked men lounging on chaises for women’s viewing pleasure…. Instead, it was a study of understated, modern elegance that bespoke a thriving business. Apparently, it paid to cater to women, at least in New Orleans.
Tara was actually early for her appointment, so she had to wait until they were ready for her. She’d wanted to avoid that, to keep from looking over eager and too much like a horny teenager.
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First published January 1, 2005
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About the author
Celeste Anwar
48 books39 followersCeleste Anwar AKA Julia Keaton AKA Jaide Fox
A love of the dark and mysterious spurred Celeste's imagination through her teens and into adulthood. She was always reading a horror book well into the night. It was only natural that she captured those stories swirling in her head down on "paper." And she's been loving every minute of her new writing career.
Born and bred in Louisiana, she loves setting books on her native soil and most especially loves writing about those sexy Cajun men.
Celeste loves hearing from fans. Readers can email her at celesteanwar@yahoo.com.
A love of the dark and mysterious spurred Celeste's imagination through her teens and into adulthood. She was always reading a horror book well into the night. It was only natural that she captured those stories swirling in her head down on "paper." And she's been loving every minute of her new writing career.
Born and bred in Louisiana, she loves setting books on her native soil and most especially loves writing about those sexy Cajun men.
Celeste loves hearing from fans. Readers can email her at celesteanwar@yahoo.com.
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
January 10, 2014
1st reads by this author and I must say 'Fantasy Island' watch out for the fantasy club. Fantasies provided in the night and may end with more than one bargains for. Quick, yet satisfying.
Displaying 1 of 1 review