“Oh, kiddo.” Frieda’s answering embrace was pure acceptance. Comfort and understanding without a single word spoken. “It’s just food. Not a big deal.”

“No,” Cassie murmured. Fighting back tears took everything in her. “Not for the food. Or the tequila. I could live on almost nothing if I had to, but having your support means a lot. A whole lot.”

Frieda gripped Cassie by her shoulders and urged her back for a good look at her face. “You’re always going to have that, Cassie. I may not always understand or agree with the things you do, but I’ll always be here when you need me.”

Tears blurred Cassie’s vision and a single one slipped free despite her best efforts. “I love you. You’re like the only real friend I’ve got in this world and you’re definitely the only person who gets me. Honest to God, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d probably still be clueless on clothes, makeup and highlights and possibly chasing a master’s in something you had zero interest in doing. But hey, what are aunts for?” She pulled Cassie in for another quick hug, then steered her back to the blender. “Now get to work, missy. Those margaritas aren’t going to make themselves.”

It was a classic Aunt Frieda move—take a desperate situation and somehow turn it into not just a moment Cassie could be grateful for, but would remember for a lifetime.

Cassie worked the blender.

Aunt Frieda worked the guac and queso.

Through it all, they bantered back and forth about everything from the gossip in Frieda’s neighborhood, to how Cassie might wedge some cute shelves into her closet of a bedroom. Within twenty minutes, they were splayed out next to each other on the couch with the five o’clock news playing in the background and the first round of drinks nearly polished off. Between the laughter and the tequila, she was breathing easier than she had been all day.

Or was until Lizbet popped up on the screen. In a short-sleeved ivory silk shirt, tan pencil skirt and matching heels, she was pure classic sophistication walking down one of the Seventh Ward’s more dangerous streets. Of course, she had not one single hair out of place and walked like she’d been born wearing those shoes. “Ugh. How can anyone look that fresh when the humidity’s at nearly ninety percent?”

“Oh, no,” Frieda grumbled. “Do we need another round already?”

“Shhh.” Cassie leaned in and thumbed up the volume. Beneath her nemesis the caption read, The Darker Side of New Orleans.

“Not so long ago, the success of a certain erotic romance series brought significant light and no small measure of interest to the practice of BDSM. Movies followed. The genre flourished with other stories quickly gobbled up by eager readers, and research indicates that adult toy sales surged as individuals explored practices they’d read about or seen in the movies.

“But what about the lifestyle itself? Is it accessible to the average person? And if so, what are the venues and the people like?