I stared at the screen, reading through the different Club Delco membership tiers again.
Silver Membership: $100/month, 4 visits per month, one free alcoholic drink per visit (tip not included), Monthly invite to a special event.
Gold: $200/month
8 visits, one drink per visit, two special event invites per month.
Platinum: $300/month
Unlimited visits, one free drink each time, 50% off the rest, access to all events, plus some exclusive ones, priority room booking
I swallowed hard. Honestly, I could afford any of them. That's what was messing with my head.
The Platinum one made my savings account twitch, but it wasn't impossible. A year ago, I wouldn't have even considered it. Growing up in the West End teaches you to pinch every damn penny like it's your last. Even after I moved out, that mindset stuck. But lately? Things were different.
Steady job. Good pay. My bills weren't crushing me. I had a real savings cushion. That security allows me to start doing little things for myself—buying clothes that fit me right, and don't fall apart after three washes, actual skincare products instead of whatever cheap soap I used to lather head to toe, fresh food instead of frozen everything.
I even let myself enjoy a decent coffee or a pair of sneakers now and then.
Still, $300 a month felt like overkill. Especially for a place I hadn't even been to yet.
But a hundred bucks? That I could swing without losing sleep. Four visits a month sounded fair—especially since I wouldn't be going on weekdays anyway. And as much as I missed the kind of hot, no-strings kink I used to get off on, I wasn't trying to live in a scene every night anymore.
Not unless it was with someone I cared about.
I scrolled through the FAQ.
"Is sex allowed at the club?" — Yes.
"Dress code?" — Nope, but people usually lean cocktail attire unless they're playing.
Then I hit the rules section. Some of them were obvious:
Clean all equipment after use.
No sex in bathrooms or locker rooms.
No bringing outside food or drinks.
Then others made my brow lift:
No scenes longer than four hours.
No bloodplay, cutting, or breath play.
That last one hit a nerve. I remembered the guy Maddy and I had helped once—he'd ignored that exact rule and nearly ended up in the ER.
I've dabbled in breath play myself, gotten off on it more times than I can count.
But I always knew the risks, never took it lightly.
The rules were strict—two strikes for minor stuff, and you're out. Big rule broken? Gone immediately. No second chances. No appeal. Permanent.
Honestly, I respected that. BDSM only works if people feel safe, and that only happens when the community enforces the boundaries.
My phone blared an alarm: You're gonna be late.
"Shit," I muttered, scrambling to shut the screen and toss my phone aside so I could finish getting ready for work.
By the time lunch rolled around, I was dying to pull the application back up.
I zoomed in, skimming the first page.
Pretty standard—name, contact info, that kind of thing. The second half, though, got intense. Dozens of questions, most of them with space for long answers.
Felt more serious than my paramedic application, and longer than the one I'd filled out to become an EMT.
They didn't say what they were looking for in the responses, which made it more nerve-wracking.
I figured it was to weed out people who weren't serious about the lifestyle or who might put the club's name at risk, but still… no way to know.
I could've emailed someone at the club, maybe Clover, and asked. But that felt like a waste of time. I'd just fill it out and see what happened. If they turned me down, then I'd ask questions.
Since I couldn't edit the PDF on my phone, I decided I'd knock it out on my laptop once I got home.
But I could go ahead and call my doctor's office—my actual doctor, not one of the overbooked clinics I used to rely on—and schedule an STI screening.
It was a quick call. Efficient. The appointment is locked in for tomorrow morning before my shift.
I'd gotten tested just a few months ago—clean then—and I've been careful since. Condoms, no risky hookups. But it never hurts to double-check, and Club Delco required it anyway.
I finished my lunch early, already looking forward to getting this application done.
I walked in the door that evening, dropped my keys, grabbed my laptop, and got to work.
Since I'd already thought about most of my answers during the day, it didn't take long to fill the whole thing out.