She opened one side and stood out of my way for me to precede her.

I walked into the social viewing chamber and heard it immediately, the hall and reception being soundproofed, but the viewing rooms absolutely not.

I looked to the floor to ceiling one-way window and felt my mouth tighten.

Ms. Ross got close, read my look and gave her expert opinion. “It looks like this scene won’t last much longer.”

I stared at the women through the window. Considering the cost of membership…hell, considering I was even there, I did not judge what people did, what they liked.

But a woman performing cunnilingus on another woman didn’t do anything for me.

Man on man, absolutely.

I just was not turned on by same-sex play if they were my sex.

I looked from the window to the chamber, which I’d been in only once, when I’d taken a tour after being cleared for VIP membership two and a half years ago.

Again intimately lit, there were five segmented seating sections with low walls separating them, the flooring theater-style. The front four sections on two rises having two comfortable chairs in each section for relaxed viewing and a table for drinks and snacks. The seating section at the top rise sat six.

My drink was at the bottom level, closest to the window and the right wall.

“We surprisingly had another booking come in after yours,” Ms. Ross informed me.

I looked her way, not thrilled at this news.

“A new member, I’m afraid,” she carried on. “He’s been notified of the rules, of course. He’s also been here more than once and behaved accordingly so you both should be able to enjoy your viewings without concern and with minimal interruption.”

“When is he due to arrive?” I asked.

“Sometime between now and midnight,” she answered.

A vague arrival. Something else I didn’t like.

“He orders his drinks when he’s here,” she continued. “So I’m afraid unless you want us to interrupt you to inform you of his arrival, you’ll have no warning prior.”

I nodded, offering no reply, and made a move to the steps that led down to my seat.

“Enjoy,” she murmured to my back.

“Thank you,” I returned, not glancing at her when I did.

I moved to my seat, stowed my clutch, took a sip of my drink and then pulled out my phone to check email and otherwise kill time while the women finished their scene.

The club, obviously, was a sex club. Intensely private and relatively secret (“relatively” because they had to be known to attract members), it was independently owned.

All players in all scenes were freelance, auditioned and paid well.