Authors's note: This piece is a work of fantasy fiction. In the same way that fantasy authors don't condone bloodshed and violence, I feel compelled to point out that what is depicted her is deplorable behavior- please read with the understanding that this is and should forever stay a work of fiction.
Anna's brow was beaded with sweat as her Uber pulled up the arced driveway of the resort. It was a hot day and the car's air conditioning was barely working, stifling her for the duration the ninety*-*minute drive south from SFO.
I bet he keeps it low to save money, the cheap bastard.
She had heard that some Uber drivers did that, desperate to scrape an extra fifty cents per hour out of their work driving people around, at a cost to their passengers' dignity. Based on the look of her driver, that was probably to be expected.
I wonder how long he's even been in America.
A sense of propriety returned as a dark-skinned attendant in a crisp white uniform came up smartly to meet the car. He gleamed a perfect white smile as he opened the trump and pulled her bags out as if they were packed with feathers. "Welcome to Sybaria, Anna. I'm Jerome. We're glad to have you with us and to help you explore your potential. How are you today?"
"I'm well, thanks." She answered with a curt nod, starting herself down the flagstoned path toward what she assumed was the main building. Jerome's smile disappeared as she strode past.
Anna had a habit of imagining herself from the third-person perspective whenever the environs were sufficiently aesthetic. Sybaria's lobby fit, albeit with a distinctly "West Coast" vibe. It was all white stucco, with arches soaring into a dome well overhead. It was painted with frescos that wouldn't have been out of place in a Roman bathhouse- nude men and women frolicking, but with the sort of asexual mundanity that resulted when nudity is culturally accepted rather than fetishized. She'd felt a twinge of awkwardness around nudity once, but not for some time, not after eight semesters at Princeton and eight years in New York.
As she envisioned her figure cutting across the lobby on her Louboutins and liked what she saw- she was thoroughly in her prime. Twenty-nine, five-seven, a body "made to wear fashion" in her seamstress's words. She was slender, with A-cup breasts and a surprising amount of ass considering she wasn't one for working out. A lifetime of leisure and studiousness had left her skin a sort of creamy, milky white, although she occasionally lamented the way her veins added streaks of green and blue to it at times. A mass of brown curls hung around her shoulders, fluffed almost like a pillow by the ringlets. Below that, a well-fit designer dress hugged her curves and left her collarbones exposed as they draw her skin taut. It almost might have been a vulnerable look- but her walk was anything but. She strutted like she knew she was beautiful, almost as if she had just walked away with $200m in a divorce case with a nasty ex-husband and was three months into a potentially lifelong journey toward "finding herself." Which, of course, she was.
The reception process at Sybaria was like any high-end hotel- obsequious, well-crafted, annoying. Why they had to trot some fresh-faced grad out to type her information into a computer was beyond her- especially given that she'd already entered it all online. "Clarissa" was pretty enough, though Anna felt distinctly as though she wasn't being treated with the proper deference. Thankfully, nothing grounded her quite like the silky swipe of an Amex Black Card. She instinctively turn her nose up slightly. No doubt, Clarissa had seen the card and been reminded of the differences between them.
"Okay, and just one last thing ma'am- please remind us how you heard about Sybaria?"
"My friend Catelyn recommended it- she was a guest last year. Is my room ready now?"
Catelyn was part of her support group of hedge fund wives who'd gather religiously for drinks, walks and charity events as they bided their time before succumbing to maternal domesticity entirely. Like Anna, her husband had done "the trade" and left her for a younger woman. To Anna's surprise, they were back together, at least socially, although Catelyn was hazy about the details. Regardless, she raved about the difference Sybaria had made in her own post-divorce period. "I really found myself there" she'd said, and with nothing but time and money, Anna had been begrudgingly receptive to the advice.
"Yes, ma'am. Mateo will see you to your room now. Our programming will begin tonight, you'll find more information on your bed."
Mateo was a diminutive little man in the same sharp white outfit as Jerome. Anna hardly acknowledged him as he led her down a set of long, dimly lit hallways and prattled on about the resort. If she'd listened, she would have heard him explain that she was part of a "cohort" of four guests hand-selected by management for having similar restorative goals. She'd also have heard him remind her that the resort's owner was a very wealthy, powerful man who'd spared no expense to make sure that the guests would receive the highest quality of care and discover their true selves.
Her room was evocative of the lobby- a single domed space, albeit without the frescos. On one wall was a gigantic, oval-shaped bed, nestled such that it fit perfectly against the curve of the wall. On the far wall was a gigantic TV that curved with the wall too- one of the largest TVs Anna had ever seen. It displayed a sort of vague, psychedelic art- flowers that rotated, grew and shrank in a way that seemed like it would be fun to see on drugs. As she gazed, the air almost seemed to carry a slight floral scent.
Maybe the residue from the cleaning.
She stared at it for a few seconds before Mateo directed her attention to the pamphlets placed carefully on the duvet.
"The instructions for the rest of your stay, ma'am."
She nodded and he shuffled off. She idly wondered who might ever want to have sex with a man like that- friendly, portly, short, obviously pulled from some village far to the south. She physically shuddered at the thought.
The world isn't fair sometimes, and thank goodness for that.
She plopped herself on the bed, weary from the long flight, and started flipping through the television with the slender, white remote from the bedside table. There were five channels, each carrying a sort of documentary about a couple. The channels showed them engaged in quiet moments and peaceful, normal communication.
Weird
she thought, until a pamphlet on the curved bedside table explained that the Sybaria's televisions carried only its own content, tailor-made to fit with the stages of the ten-day course and designed to create total dissociation from the outside world.
Well, that does sound relaxing.
She turned it off with a sigh and was struck suddenly by a different notion. Slipping gently out of her clothes, she laid herself back on her bed, closed her eyes, and for the first time in weeks made the small circular motions around her nipples she'd done ceremoniously since she was a teenager. Taking care to follow her curves, she moved her hands lower slowly, down through the second tuft of curls she kept neatly trimmed and into the gathering wetness.
The next day, she ate a breakfast of yogurt and fruit and eschewed the boring-ass TV channels in favor of staring at the spiraling flowers. There was no way to turn them off, though they did get dark enough at night not to disturb her sleep. She showed up, as instructed, after visiting the bathroom, at what Sybaria called "The Meditation Room" at 9am, and there she met her cohort mates. Anna wasn't one to be bashful, but even she found the three other women to be intimidatingly beautiful. Chloe was a curvaceous Asian with broad shoulders and an outrageously hourglassed figure, perhaps five inches shorter than Anna. Jackie was a platinum blonde who both looked and sounded as if she was straight from Sweden.
Hello, barbie
Anna thought acidly as she warmly hugged her with a fake smile. Katya was stocky and dark-skinned with an athlete's build, an angular face fit for the runway and a mass of curls that put even Anna's to shame. Anna wasn't particularly bi, but if she were, Katya would be her type. Each introduced themselves in turn and the resort clearly had them typecast- they were all in their late 20s, recently divorced from a man of some means and trying to sort out where to go from here. All had heard about the resort from a close friend.
The instructor was a tall Asian man named Matt who wore nothing besides a loose-fitting pair of pants. Anna wasn't one for Asian men but couldn't help but notice that he was extremely fit, muscles pulsing with each movement or pose. He settled each of the four into their assigned positions and began the class.
"Ladies, the Sybaria resort is, at its core, a process of deconstruction and rebirth. We teach you to see, feel comfortable, love then ultimately deny yourself, such that you can achieve a lightness few get to experience. Today, we'll focus on seeing and being aware of each part of ourselves, together. Please close your eyes, take some deep breaths, and focus your attention on the big toe of your right foot."