CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
2000- Making My Rounds
My apartment felt back under control now that Biz had been reprimanded and Luciano was officially cut out of the loop. Biz was now up at the crib three days a week only, as had initially been promised, and at more or less set hours. The number of random passers through hadn’t died out completely, but foot traffic had been severely curtailed. And now that the situation was on ‘Brón’s radar, it was in Biz’s best interest to keep it that way.
And now that ‘Brón had Luciano’s key, our method of communication had evolved. No more shouting up at my window from the street or hitting me up on the old-ass Motorola Doe had given me. ‘Brón would just show up and let himself in, unannounced. A few days after he cleared out the house ‘Brón handed me a brand-new Nokia, told me not to give the number out to anyone and made me give him the Motorola. Mundo was officially out of the picture.
By March, I was in full entrepreneur mode- building up clientele for my revived dominatrix services and fully ensconced in my new role as designated white girl courier.
To be honest, jump-starting my special side hustle was far less fulfilling than I’d expected. I thought it was gonna all my favorites, asking me to pinch their nipples while I read out loud from the New Testament but it wound up being a bunch of cry babies who wanted me to lick their feet!
I’d started my career in non-penetrative sex work shortly after I first moved to Brooklyn and linked back up with Doe. I’d been nervous that I wouldn’t be able to get in too tight with him and figured it couldn’t hurt to have a back-up plan.
So, I put my ear to the street and asked around to see if anyone knew of a semi-reputable dungeon or S&M club, preferably in Manhattan, that would be willing to take on an apprentice. An acquaintance of an acquaintance turned me on to Sticky Fingers, a mid-sized bar/dungeon located on the top floor of a nondescript commercial usage building tucked into the garment district.
The place had a semi-corporate feel to it- like, you’d describe it to your friend as “the TGI Friday’s of sex clubs but dark and crusty if you look too closely.” This was mainly due to its location so close to Penn Station- we catered to business guys on their way back to the suburbs. We’d constantly have to remind them to remove their wedding rings before engaging in any scenes involving hooks, trusses and pulleys.
My six months as an apprentice at Sticky’s left me with decent, middle-of the road skills in all of the light dominatrixing basics. Spanking, sissy training, foot worship, face sitting- that type of vanilla shit. Rope play was my favorite, and I actually made some headway trying to teach myself shibari- but for the most part, that shit was of no interest to the boring white boys who frequented the club. I grew up with tons of guys like this, and always hated them. My parents were all hot for me to marry one of them in particular- Jake Fuckin' Shinman. My mom and his mom grew up together in Park Slope and both had married good guys who’d moved them out to Westchester, to live the good life. I called bullshit on that one.
Once I got in heavy with the HQ crew, I removed myself from the regular Sticky Fingers rotation, but stayed tight with about a dozen regulars- I was able to convert several of them to private clients, out-call only. Even though I’d kept up with my appointments, I still had to put in a bit of an effort to get back up to where I needed to be, roster-wise, once I figured out that 2000 was shaping up to be my year of making my rounds.
Whatever they were.
Wherever they took me.
