'Am I a horrible person if I say that I am glad he's dead?' Isla looks at her friends guiltily.
'Of course not,' Fiona responds immediately, and Sarah, Helen and Betty nod in agreement. They all know what she means. Fred was ill, a slow deterioration process, with the "bonus" of Alzheimer's in the final stages of his illness, which meant that he often did not even recognise her. It had been an ordeal, and Isla had done her utmost to make the last part as pleasant as possible for her husband, but it had taken its toll. His death had been a relief for both Fred and herself, even though the subsequent grieving process had not been a walk in the park either. But after a year she starts to get back on her feet, mentally and emotionally, and at the moment the loneliness, now that Fred is no longer there, and her libido, which is slowly returning, are playing tricks on her.
However, she's not ready for serious dating yet, and going to a bar or a dance hall or something like that for a one-night stand (does that still work that way? she wonders) does not appeal to her either, she's not quite desperate enough for that, she jokes regularly.
And a new man, after everything that happened with Fred in recent years, she's not even sure if she will ever dare or be able to handle that! What if he also... jeez, she does not want to think about it.
But that she misses sex is beyond doubt, her vibrator has been working overtime in recent weeks. She can hardly remember what it was like with a man, Fred's illness had gradually reduced his sex drive to zero. Not that he could help it, he found it bad enough, they were always very active in that department.
'Man, I wish you could just order a man, via a menu. Like a mail-order bride, but a nice, goodlooking guy, just for one night, or more often if you really like him.'
This is not the first time she has complained about the lack of sex to her friends, and they all sympathize with her enormously. Three of the four are married, to extremely virile gentlemen according to themselves, and convinced bachelor Fiona is happily fooling around, a different cutie every week, it sometimes seems.
'Isn't that already a thing?' Sarah asks in surprise, she looks at Fiona, as if she would know.
'Maybe,' she responds hesitantly, 'like an escort service?'
'Hahaha,' laughs Isla, 'that's going a bit too far for me, I think.'
'Just google it?' suggests Betty, with an innocent grin.
A little later, the ladies are happily scrolling away, having the greatest fun with the results that appear, but they can't really find what they are actually looking for.
***
'Congratulations girl, forty-seven already, and still gorgeous!'
'Yeah, yeah,' laughs Isla, as she lets her four friends hug her, 'you mean gorgeous wrinkles.'
'Nonsense, you still look fabulous, not a single grey hair to be seen-'
'Hair dye,' Isla interrupts her with a chuckle.
'Amazing pair of tits, which are very real,' Helen announces.
'And just as slim as when you were eighteen,' Sarah, who is always struggling with excess weight, adds with a slightly envious look.
'Well,' sighs Isla, 'but what good it does you if you've been on a dry spell for ages. And the guys who seem interesting enough are either married or think you're still too deep in your grieving process to be open to a relationship. While a good fuck would be enough for me right now,' she adds with a grin.
'Uh, well...' Fiona begins hesitantly.
'What!' Isla calls suspiciously, 'what have you cooked up now! I'm not going out with your brother-in-law, he's still too upset about his divorce. Besides, he's not my type.'
Fiona laughs, 'no, not Bert, don't worry, we've come up with something completely different for you.'
'Oh?' A slightly worried look appears on Isla's face, she doesn't trust it at all, the ladies are giving each other such furtive glances.
Then Betty takes a large oblong envelope from her handbag, gold-coloured, with an exuberant fuchsia bow around it. She holds it out to her, just out of reach. 'Your birthday present, honey, from all of us.'
'Okay, let's get to it,' she says, half-grumbling, as she snatches the envelope from Betty's hands in an unexpected movement, 'what is it.'
She looks at the envelope from all sides, there's even an official-looking wax seal on the back, but no text anywhere, not even a logo.
Then, overcome by an uncontrollable curiosity, she carefully tears it open.
'What?! What is this... No! Jesus, girls, what have you done to me now!' Her face turns like a buoy and her friends start giggling. 'Or is this a joke?'
'You wish,' Sarah grins, looking at her defiantly.
'You can bare your breast, girl, literally,' Helen giggles and everyone starts laughing, except Isla, who looks rather nervous from one to the other.
'This is exactly what you want, believe me,' Fiona says with certainty, 'take a look at it at your leisure, there's a folder with a link to an online questionnaire, and you can decide for yourself when you want to schedule the appointment. I would get a bikini wax or a Brazilian beforehand,' she adds with a giggle.
Isla looks in amazement at the voucher that entitles her to the most extensive package deal of sex club Jade Temple, namely the very expensive Super-de-luxe VIP Arrangement.
'Coffee and cake for everyone, or should we rather go straight to the wine?' she asks when she has recovered a bit from the shock and remembers her duties as hostess. Wine and cake are the unusual but unanimous choice, and while her friends are chatting and especially gossiping away, Isla's gaze regularly falls on the voucher.
Does she dare? she wonders, does she dare to use it? It is very sweet of her friends, even though it's a rather unusual and daring gift. It would be a shame not to take full advantage of it...
***
During the previous evening, while enjoying litres of wine accompanied by tasty snacks, the special gift had been discussed regularly, her friends told her that, following Isla's complaint about the lack of sex, they had decided that something had to be done, they had put money together to be able to offer her the Super-de-luxe VIP package at the sex club, because that is what best friends do for a friend who is so down in the dumps. At first Isla had protested a bit, especially when she heard how expensive it was, she felt guilty, and moreover she didn't know if she could do something like that at all. But her friends had managed to convince her, and she can opt out at any time, she's totally in charge of what will happen, they assured her. That had convinced her, and now she actually finds it exciting, a new experience, and a personal challenge.
Now she is sitting behind her laptop to fill in the extensive questionnaire that should show what her sexual preferences are, both in terms of gender and activities. It's cleverly done, she thinks, not only are you asked to tick boxes which activities you would like to have included in the program, but there is also a second questionnaire where you can indicate what you definitely do not want. This way there is a kind of double check, on her boundaries, so to speak. And then there's the segment with "no-go's", in which she has already filled in that she's put off by bad breath, and in particular smoker's breath, she finds that so utterly disgusting!
Isla is definitely not bi, but has had a threesome occasionally, and sex with another woman involved can be a lot of fun, in her experience. Isla herself is now forty-seven, but she doesn't want to set an age limit for a bed partner for this experience, younger men tend to be eager and energetic, older men have more control, experience and technique. At least they should. But she trusts that such an elite club only employs the very best employees, who know where Abraham gets the mustard from.
And she's not exactly a prudish, and is open to almost any sexual experience, so in the end she has ticked almost everything in the first part of the questionnaire, except for a few things that are too extreme for her taste, such as nipple clamps and whips and stuff.
***
The day arrives of her appointment, at two o'clock she hesitantly enters the lobby of the sex club, stiff with nerves. A young woman behind a modern-looking desk looks at her welcomingly and gestures for her to come further.
'Mrs Stone, a warm welcome! I will let them know that you are here.'
She presses a button on a panel on the left side of her desk and the next moment another young woman enters, dressed in a green silk kimono and silver open-toe stilettos, she's beautiful to look at, just like the interior of the club, Isla notes as the woman leads her through a corridor decorated in Art Nouveau style and then into a dimly lit bar, where music sounds in a non-disturbing way, classical jazz by the sound of it.
Warm colours everywhere, beautifully shaped shiny polished furniture, colourful paintings on the walls with rather naughty images, wide oak planks on the floors, covered here and there with luxurious carpets. Actually, exactly what she had imagined such a luxurious club to be. She feels a little out of place among all that beauty, as a simple mortal. Even the people who are spread out over the bar area and the bartenders and waitresses are all without exception "beautiful": attractive to look at and well dressed. She's glad that she made an effort herself, the new dark red wrap dress fits her like a glove, accentuates her ample bosom and shows quite a bit of her shapely, long legs. She has been easy on the make-up, in her experience there will not be much of it left after a tough romp between the sheets. For extra self-confidence she's chosen her sexiest, but still decent lingerie and the highest heels she owns.
The clientele is predominantly male, she sees, she's not surprised, there probably are not that many women who go to a sex club, without the generous gift from her friends it would never have occurred to her to do something like that.
