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consideration, that made my lover count about two per year. I had always thought I’d been
adventurous, but two men a year suddenly didn’t sound like that many.
A few minutes later, Cassie poked her head into the room.
“How are you doing? Ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said, handing her my marked-up booklet.
I followed her across the main foyer, through two high white doors. We were now in a boardroom
filled with women, and the chatter stopped instantly the moment we entered. Meeting new people
wasn’t my forte, and these were people to whom I would have to be vulnerable. This is simply not a
good idea.
But before I could turn on my heels, Cassie pulled out a chair for me. As I sank into it, I slowly
glanced around the all-white boardroom, a perfect backdrop for the ten women of various ages,
colors and sizes who were all decked out in their vivid outfits, looking like the United Nations
Commission on Perfect Accessories and Hair. I was dying to take in all their faces and at the same
time half afraid to make direct eye contact.
“Ladies,” Cassie said. “Thank you for meeting with us today. I’d like to introduce you to Dauphine.
She is our next S.E.C.R.E.T. candidate, I hope. If she’ll have us.”
This sent a cheery applause through the room. There was a pause, and everyone was looking at me.
That’s when I realized I was supposed to speak. And say what? Oh no, I haven’t prepared properly
for this! I’ve wrecked everything. Trust and control.
“Hi. Thank you. I’m still … well, I have a lot of questions. And I’m not completely … It’s just all
so … new.”
Despite my inarticulate introduction, the women all seemed reassuring, kind, and I began to relax
into my chair. Cassie pointed and named each member of the Committee: Bernice, Kit, Michelle,
Brenda, Angela, Pauline, Maria, Marta, Amani and Matilda.
“Don’t worry, the only name you really have to remember is mine,” Cassie said. “I, of course, will
be your Guide, while they, the Committee”—she indicated the whole room—“will guide me.”
“You’ll both need the help,” Angela said, winking at me. She was also ribbing Cassie.
Maybe because some of their faces were vaguely familiar—they ate, worked and shopped on
Magazine Street, after all. Maybe because I recognized the painting of Carolina Mendoza on the far
wall and decided to make her my private guardian angel. Or maybe because I knew they were women
who, like me, had lost some of their confidence and were helping each other get it back. Regardless
of why, it suddenly seemed normal to sign up for what they were offering: a sexual rebirth.
Danica placed a folder in front of me. It was burgundy, soft to the touch, embossed with the words
My S.E.C.R.E.T.
“This is your fantasy folder. There is one page per fantasy. You can fill this out at home,” Cassie
said. “When you’re done, Danica will courier it back to us.”
On the right side were several sheets of cream-colored parchment. On the left, S.E.C.R.E.T.’s
mandate was spelled out.
“Each fantasy must be:
Safe, in that the participant feels no danger.
Erotic, in that the fantasy is sexual in nature, not just imaginary.
Compelling, in that the participant truly wants to complete the fantasy.
Romantic, in that the participant feels wanted and desired.
Ecstatic, in that the participant experiences joy in the act.
Transformative, in that something in the participant changes in a fundamental way.”