Page 55 of Dirty Diana
Just when I pull out my phone, there’s a knock at the door. She’s early. I smile with relief when I open the door to find a woman with naturally graying hair wearing an oversize wrap made of some organic-looking undyed fiber. She smells like maple syrup and patchouli.
“I’m Diana,” I say. “And you’re…” I wait for her real name.
“The Sexagenarian.” She sits on the couch next to her enormous canvas tote. “I’m a menopause facilitator. Women come to me seeking spiritual guidance as they make their crone transition.”
“That’s so interesting.” I’m not sure what a crone transition is, but I’m excited by any woman in Dallas who owns her age. The Sexagenarian smiles at me, and her eyes are a bright, sparkling blue.
I give her my rehearsed pitch about what I’m interested in, and what I hope to talk to women about, and she asks, “So you’re looking for me to share a fantasy?”
“It could be. Or a story from real life.”
“Mmm.” She opens a bottle of water and takes a long sip. “What I have in mind is neither. It’s a sexual journey. And”—she points a finger at me—“you must loosen your sphincter muscle to open yourself up to its pleasures. Do you struggle with constipation?”
“Sometimes?” I clear my throat. “I’ll try and relax.”
“Your sphincter.”
“Yes. That.” This is not off to a great start.
“Are you recording?” she asks.
I nod and she leans forward so she’s speaking directly into my phone. “My inspiration is diverse and my techniques are quite sophisticated. I don’t usually share them out of the boudoir.”
“I see.”
“Do you like surprises?” Her blue eyes get bigger. “Do you like to be pampered with exceptional experiences?”
“I think so,” I reply quietly, feeling like I’m cracking open a door that should remain closed.
“My journey is a unique blend of sensual massage filled with otherworldly pleasure. High-class meetings proven and practiced over hundreds of years.”
The order of her words confuses me, like someone’s thrown random darts at a Learning Annex course guide and this is where they landed.
“Make sure you’re recording this part,” she warns me. “Have you ever had an orgasm that begins in your nostrils and ends in your parfem?”
I want to ask what a “parfem” is, but I stop myself.
“Dionne.” She looks at me straight on and I don’t dare correct her. “I’m ready to share.” Then she sits up very straight and holds out her arms. “Time travel with me, okay? I need you to come with me. To a time when winged creatures performed cunnilingus on unexpecting fairies. Are you with me? I want you to attend high-class meetings with Merlin and his enormous staff.” She leans forward again, and the words tumble out, rapid-fire. “Let me paint a sophisticated picture for you. A Minotaur, alone and lost in the enchanted forest. I approach cautiously, but he can smell my intimate pleasure. I float toward him, like the Angel of Touch, and lift his supple horse tail so I can penetrate his—”
I’m up out of my chair. “You know what? I think I should stop you right there. Thank you so much for coming.”
When the Sexagenarian leaves, I take out my phone and google “parfem.”
There’s an aggressive rap on the door, and my heart does a jump in my chest. If she’s coming back to tell me more, then I don’t want to answer the door. I freeze. If I stay still, maybe she’ll go away.
There’s another, louder knock on the door. “Ms. Wood, this is Leonard, the hotel manager. Would you open the door, please?”
Sweat beads along my hairline.
I set down my phone and open the door. I paste a polite smile on my face while Leonard looks over my shoulder, scanning the room.
“Is everything all right?”
“We’ve noticed a few…outside guests to the hotel. Should we be expecting more?”
I wish for a massive claw to descend from the sky and pluck me from the planet. “No,” I say. “As a matter of fact, I was just leaving.”
“I suppose that would be best,” he says.
