Cowboy Casanova(7)
“It’s more confusion than revulsion. I don’t know why some of this appeals to me so much.” She glanced away with embarrassment.
“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Layla asked.
Yes. “I’m relieved your story has a happy ending. I never understood why you just quit your job so abruptly.”
“Maybe it seemed fast on the outside, but things hadn’t been going well at the bank for awhile. I was more than ready to walk away and start my life over with Murphy. Our relationship might not be the norm, but it works for us. What is normal? And who the hell has the right to define what it is anyway?” Layla smiled slyly. “And yes, I am happy. And I want you to be happy too.”
Ainsley doubted she’d ever find happiness in a man whipping her on a regular basis.
Judgmental much? You’re just scared of the unknown.
“Let’s go. You’re driving.” At the door, Layla said, “Oops, I forgot one thing.” She handed Ainsley a gold wristband. “Since you’re still on the fence about what you want, at least try and act like you deserve to wear this tonight.”
Ainsley squinted through the windshield at the building across the street. Rawhide Bar was burned into a gigantic wooden sign and outlined with rope-like neon tubing. “This is just a bar.”
Layla sighed. “What were you expecting?”
“A buzzing neon sign with an arrow pointing the way to a dark and dirty sex club, hidden in an alley. Scantily clad, red-lipped women smoking cigarettes and eyeing their next sexual conquest while the greasy bouncer swigged from a flask.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but the Rawhide Bar has been here for over a hundred years.”
“It has? How’s that possible?”
“The Rawhide is two separate entities. The club portion harkens back to the days when a brothel operated out of the hotel side. Of course, they couldn’t call it a brothel, so they called it a gentleman’s club. The owners charged a membership fee, and the city provided the Rawhide with its own charter that’s still in effect today.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Cody and Trace’s great-grandfather was the founder. So when the boys of this generation decided to bring back the club aspect in a discreet and exclusive manner, it was all perfectly legal because the charter never expires as long as an original family member owns the building and business inside.”
“I wondered how a place like this survived in a smaller town like Gillette without rousing local suspicions. So neither their father nor their grandfather ran any type of club from here when they were in charge?”
“The Depression hit them pretty hard. Then the country went to war. I guess they had a bi-weekly poker club for a few years in the 50s and 60s, complete with cocktail servers who dressed like Playboy Bunnies. Who knows what else went on in the private rooms? They turned the hotel side into a flophouse in the 70s and 80s during the oil boom. Then after the energy bust, that side sat idle until Cody and Trace’s dad retired and moved to Arizona.”
“And yet the Rawhide Bar survived?”
“Mostly because it is a regular local bar that anyone can wander into and buy a drink. The club part is completely separate.”
Ainsley pulled her coat around her skimpy clothes. “And who makes up the majority of the members?”
“A few locals. Most are from out of town. Some from out of state.”
“How do potential new members hear about this place?”
“It’s not easy, since members have to sign a bunch of privacy and nondisclosure forms. Clientele recommendations come from managers of clubs like this in other parts of the country. Some members will talk to Murphy about someone they think might be a good fit for the club. Then Murphy investigates them. If he has enough interested parties, we host a guest night. In the last two years we’ve gained thirty new members.”
“No problems with Jim Bob blabbing at the town diner that he saw Betty Sue getting screwed silly by a man who wasn’t her husband?”
Layla laughed. “Not in the six years we’ve been here. But there are stringent rules, because a place like this is so hard to find, especially in rural America. The members are very protective of this place and the people they’ve connected with here. I know several female members who trust a Dom with a flogger or a whip, but they haven’t exchanged last names. First names only. No sharing of personal information unless it’s mutually agreed upon. And then only if Murphy is aware they’ll be meeting outside the club. There isn’t a lot of bullshit because all the members are here for the same thing.”