Chapter 1 - Nicole Olsen
My heart felt like it was about to burst through my chest. I thought I was about to have a panic attack. Oscar and I had spent so much time planning for this night, just for my nerves to betray me when I needed them most. This morning he was telling me how proud he was of us for the grace and understanding we afforded each other through all the difficult conversations, crying, and arguing that led us here. Spending the last few weeks outside ourselves and our normal routines helped us grow closer to each other in a way I hadn't felt since our wedding night six years ago. Tonight, we were finally going to put all our hard work to the test. All the roleplaying scenes and acting out scenarios we had read about in Google reviews and stories on Reddit would finally pay off. We were prepared for The Parade.
But at the very last moment, just as we pulled into the parking lot, my courage started to falter and my eagerness was subsumed by fear. Logically, I knew The Parade was a safe space. The mission statement on their website the impression that the owners and staff were genuine people with a real passion for what they did. Everything we read about online completely soothed any fears we had about the place. We came prepared, too. Oscar bought plenty of protection, the fancy expensive stuff, so we wouldn't have to worry about any condoms breaking, and I bought some masks on Amazon in the unlikely case we ran into anyone we knew.
But none of it helped stop my mind from inventing worst-case scenarios for our night at The Parade. My brain felt like it was on fire, and I just wanted to drive back to the apartment, back to the safe glow of the TV and the familiarity of our boring routines.
Oscar let the car engine run. He knows me well enough to anticipate that this could quickly devolve into a full-blown meltdown. He wanted to be able to make a quick escape. The air in the car was charged with a nervous energy, but Oscar only maintained his usual cool demeanor. He's such a compassionate man, though I sometimes think he is overprotective of me. I forgive him because I'm dislocating his pinky finger with my iron grip.
"We can go home if you'd like," Oscar whispered. He didn't want to go home and waste another night surfing Netflix's entire catalog of movies only to decide there was nothing worth watching. But he wanted to deal with a panic attack in the middle of The Parade even less. We deserve to have a good time, and I don't want to let my anxiety reign me back into old, comfortable habits.
"No. We're here, and I want to see inside," I was also eager to avoid another night of listlessly perusing Netflix. The whole point of these last few weeks was to try something new and adventurous. Being a homebody had been comforting for a long time, but it was beginning to dull my edges.
I was about to be on the wrong side of thirty and hadn't been to a real party since college. After graduation, I worked tirelessly to attempt to burn through my student loans. Teaching in this state barely pays enough to live comfortably and it will never provide me financial freedom. Plus, it robs you of more than a living wage and the emotional toll of chronic exposure to teenage angst whittles you down to your basic elements. Now, an exciting night just means not worrying about doing the dishes. Or grading. Or DoorDashing for a bit of extra cash. Being tired all the time is exhausting. And I was so tired. I didn't want to just survive anymore. I wanted to live.
I didn't want to spend the rest of my thirties feeling like this. I tried the box breathing technique I learned about from a professional development about de-escalating situations with dysregulated students. At the time, we joked that the staff needed assistants of their own to help regulate us whenever we got too bent out of shape. It was helping immensely now, and I felt a bit bad for being so sarcastic at the training. I pushed the memory down and focused on my breath. After a few moments, I loosened my grip on Oscar's mangled hand. "I'm ready."
The building was an unassuming warehouse behind an abandoned furniture store and caddy corner from the Food Lion. It looked like an extension of the furniture store from the main road. What I couldn't see from the main road was the small metal sign with bold red lettering: "THE PARADE." According to our Google research, it was the largest swingers club in the state. When I first read about it, I was shocked that such a place could exist in plain sight. I'd driven past it on my way to work every day for the past four years without so much as glancing in its direction. It called no attention to itself. A clandestine little fetish club for people like us, people who wanted to experience the taboo fantasies they had only enjoyed through the safety of incognito mode.
Oscar reached into his coat pocket, removed the two black domino masks, and handed one to me. Though Oscar works from home, I have a public-facing job. Despite being an amateur recluse, many parents in town know my face. My face is plastered all over the school website and Facebook page. Being voted Teacher of the Year didn't aid in my desire for anonymity, either. But I had to protect myself from having a publicly recognized sex life. Mrs. Dellinger had had an OnlyFans page, and despite only showing pictures of her feet, the cute little dolphin tattoo on her ankle betrayed her identity to a student. The outrage was swift and harsh. She was fired immediately to keep the school's name out of any major newspapers. I wanted to avoid a similar fate, so I snapped on the mask. Oscar followed suit. I must have looked as ridiculous as he did because he began to laugh.
"All you're missing is a sack with a dollar sign on it," Oscar joked.
"We look like a pair of kinky raccoons," I felt the tension start to wash away. Oscar reached an arm around my waist and pulled me in tight, leaned over, and pressed his lips up to mine. We stepped out of the car and into the night.
Inside the club, I immediately noticed that no one else had taken the precaution of wearing a mask. Given that the town had only recently surpassed a six-figure population, it struck me as incredibly cavalier that no one had bothered to hide their face. Maybe we were the last ones in town to learn about the existence of The Parade. Maybe The Parade had taken out an ad in the neighborhood newsletter that I routinely trashed with junk mail. I had insulated myself from the world for so long that I felt like a time traveler. Whenever I drive out to the Wegmans it seems as though another row of townhouses have sprouted up overnight. The world was growing, and it was about time I did the same.
