.more fuckable, and to my surprise, I no longer considered that abad thing. In the heady twilight between reality and dreams, I didn't havethe capacity for self deception I'd relied on so doggedly as a man. Icouldn't force myself to feel guilty for relishing the thought of beingevery a waking wet dream, even if I wasn't 100% sure when I was awake...My favorite dream was The White Room. In it, I woke up in a room where thewalls and floor were all painted a solid, textureless white. It reminded meof my secret place, the place I could hide when my brain melted from tryingto process too much pleasure at once. A place beyond reason, dignity, ormorality. A place I didn't have to wonder why some of my proudest momentswhere when I was being humiliated. Where I didn't have to explain toanyone...especially myself, why the word 'surrender' sounded so musical tome; why it made me want to sway and writhe to its rhythm. Where pleasuredidn't come with a price tag, and the cost wasn't always going. She couldn’t stop staring and was happy he hadn’t noticed her yet: the shorts hit just at the tops of his muscular thighs and labored to stay together against his ass. He turned sideways and Robyn gasped: whatever he was packing in there was impressive. Broad shoulders, fit. A specimen.“Miss Fletcher, would you mind standing up and disrobing and we can start with the oil treatments?”“Sure, no problem,” she mumbled struggling to stand up. Mindlessly, she reached down and untied her robe, but kept watching the show across the way. He was standing in profile, so he couldn’t see Robyn,“Uh, wait here Miss Fletcher,” Kendra walked out and met a man in the middle, another attendant. They spoke in whispers and then she headed across the way to the man’s pod while the new male attendant walked into hers.“Miss Fletcher, I’m Devin, I’ll be applying your treatment.”Before she could ask what was happening, Devin was putting oil in his hands and spreading it across her back. Robyn took a deep.
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