Getting In (Amanda's Trilogy) Read Online Free PDF Page B

thinking about it, I’m a little freaked out by what happened in Jennifer Angstrom’s French whorehouse drawing room and kicking myself for agreeing to do things like trust and obey, two concepts that are totally alien to me. On the other hand, there’s something so freaky and weird about this Getting In place that I want to know more. So for the first time in my life, I do as I’m told and keep my mouth shut. Hey, Jennifer even said it was good to go against your true nature to develop soul. This may be a soul-building experience for me. Then later I can tell all my friends about it.
    The instructions for my second visit with Jennifer Angstrom arrive the following Tuesday afternoon, delivered by hand on the same ecru stationery as her business card. George the doorman hands me the small envelope with his usual joviality, and I eagerly tear it open once I’m on the street. The note is concise: the car will pick me up at seven-thirty p.m. this Friday. Please give twenty-four hours notice if the appointment is inconvenient.
    My friends are peeved when I bag out of our Friday clubbing plans. One of them has even flown in from Palm Springs for some NYC-style R&R. I blame the schedule change on my parents (“They’re riding me about this college shit like you wouldn’t believe!”), for which I receive sincere sympathy and promises to neck vodka together another night.  
    On Friday night, it’s the same routine with the car and driver and the silly mask I have to wear in the backseat. Only this time, the experience is completely different once the driver passes me off to Naoko.
    The blindfolded girl in the white satin robe trembles before me. Standing in the harsh light of the Spartan room, her every shiver, every twitch is revealed without mercy. She is so close, and while I can’t quite reach her from where I’m sitting, I can almost smell her apprehension.
    Jennifer Angstrom stands behind the trembling girl, her expression serious, much like the one I’d seen on her face when we last parted. Gone is the schoolmarm skirt, the slinky blouse, the Grandpa sweater of last weekend. While she wears a blouse, another silky one, I can discern a flesh-toned demi-cup bra holding her tits in place. And her skirt this week is a huge improvement: black gabardine that ends above her knees, proving that Jennifer Angstrom has one sweet set of pins. The expensive-looking leather stilettos accentuate them nicely. Thumbs up.
    This room is on the right side of the entryway, through another camouflaged door directly across from the room I’ve begun thinking of as “The Liberace Salon.” The voluptuous excess of the Liberace Salon contrasts sharply with the Zen simplicity of the room we’re in now, with its white walls, recessed lighting, and minimal decor. The only furnishings are two red lacquered chairs, one of which I’m sitting in, some lacquered cabinets of indeterminate Asian influence, and an industrial-looking contraption of bars, ropes, pulleys, and handcuffs anchored into the ceiling and positioned over a sheepskin rug. Definitely not Outward Bound.
    I’m not stupid. I’ve been around enough crazy shit to know what’s about to go down. I hate to say it, but I’m kind of wondering if this scared-looking girl has any idea of what’s going to happen to her. Somehow I don’t think she has a clue. I’m also wondering if this is a test for me. I remember reading about this experiment where researchers made subjects give electric shocks to people who were really actors, but the subjects didn’t know it. The experiment proved that even normal people can be turned into sadists. This girl has probably been hired to freak me out. I’ve got to hand it to Getting In : this is certainly a creative way to get through to slackers like myself.
    “Lisette, do you know what’s expected of you tonight?” Jennifer asks.
    The girl, Lisette, trembles afresh. “I’m not sure, ma’am. I think so.” Damn, I think. Her confusion is a