Epilogue
Chamber~
My footsteps echoed throughout the room, the silence both welcoming and soothing.
Three years later, The Fantasy Factory was still a huge success, and I couldn’t be prouder.
Women felt safe coming here, and men felt confident walking through the front doors, and the club was being hailed as the place to be for fun, sex, or just a simple night out.
I also couldn’t lie and say that it hadn’t felt great to rub its success in Ben’s face.
When I’d first told him about my plans for my divorce settlement, he had reduced my dream to nothing but a sleazy brothel that would be shut down in less than six months.
He’d been cold, dismissive, and judgmental, but three years later, I was having the last laugh.
Of course, it’d taken me a while to get past my anger to finally understand where Ben’s resentment had been coming from, and it’d been from his own failures and insecurities.
Now, while he’d been sizeable enough to get the job done, he had suffered from a lack of imagination.
Sex had always been the same, and it’d been enough for him.
Unfortunately for the both of us, the truth about our sex life had come to light when I hadn’t fought hard enough to save our marriage.
When I had brought up getting a divorce, Ben had readily agreed, and I had felt too relieved that he had agreed so quickly.
At any rate, looking around the room, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of empowerment.
Women were always judged so harshly, and it really fucking sucked.
We were perfect until we hit puberty, then the claws of harsh criticism came out, and they were brutal little suckers.
They also left scars, even if they weren’t visible on the skin.
See, everything was fine until our periods came.
After that, any kind of consideration was thrown out the door in favor of making us the villains.
It didn’t matter that some of us had cramps that made us feel like we were being severed in half; all that men saw was a woman bitching.
In fact, none of it mattered; menstruation, childbirth, menopause.
..none of it. If we couldn’t lose the baby fat after everything that our bodies went through to have a baby, then we were just letting ourselves go.
If we were fortunate enough to live long enough to experience menopause, then that was just another thing that was dismissed as nothing.
Meanwhile, we suffered through hot flashes, weight gain, unpredictable periods, and loss of energy.
..but who cared? Ben certainly hadn’t cared about any of it.
Now, was that to say that he’d been mean to me? No.
He’d just been indifferent, and he hadn’t bothered to pretend to be otherwise.
With my fingertips dancing across the bar, I couldn’t help but feel like what’d I done here was making a difference.
The Fantasy Factory gave women the chance to really live and discover who they were and what they wanted.
If you had the guts to walk in here, that was the first step to rediscovering what you might have lost somewhere along the way, and I was so damn proud of that.
No more missionary with the lights off.
There was also the happiness that I felt whenever a couple came here.
Now, while you could just come here for a drink and a good time, when couples came in here to explore the rooms upstairs, I always rooted for them.
I was happy that they were taking the next step together, and it gave me hope.
I wanted to believe that there were some marriages out there that weren’t boring.
I wanted to believe that some husbands still chased their wives around the bedroom after twenty years together.
I wanted to believe that we didn’t have to fall into marital predictability.
For all the shit that we went through and had to put up with, I wanted us women to find happiness, even if it was in small measures, and that’s what this place was for.
Even if only for a few hours, it gave you a chance to escape the dirty diapers, the piled laundry, the sink full of dishes, and all those goddamn doctor’s appointments and PTA meetings.
Heading back to my office, I fired up my computer to get some work done. While I had a great bar manager, there were still quite a few things that needed my attention, and I was boring enough to have the time to put out any fires that might come my way.
When I pulled up my email, my brows immediately furrowed when I saw a recent message from Carlie Incorporated.
Two months ago, they had reached out to me, asking me if I was interested in franchising The Fantasy Factory, and I had immediately responded with a resounding no.
However, they weren’t one of the most successful investment firms in the country because they coward easily.
Unfortunately for them, The Fantasy Factory was more than just another business to me.
The End.