Jamaican Nude Beach (Chapter 21 of 37)
Chapter Twenty-One
When he picked me up the next evening, it was already late,
after 9:00 p.m. I expected it might be a late night. We headed
downtown, and I was surprised when we pulled into an underground
parking lot at one of the best men's clubs in town.
"Here?" I asked.
"Sure, " he said. "You didn't expect
that an operation like this would be run by anything less
than the most powerful people, did you? We're covered
for most anything that can go wrong. What that means is,
don't get any ideas. We can cause you more trouble than
you even want to imagine." I certainly had no intention of causing trouble. In fact,
I was getting more and more interested in this "club"
every minute. "So what's happening tonight?"
"Well, as I told you, you and I are on the agenda this
evening. That will take an hour or so. Afterwards, we'll
just hope somebody has found something additional to entertain
us. Sometimes events are planned, sometimes opportunities
arise unexpectedly, and once in a while, we have to rely
on past records of our successes.
I guess I should warn you. You, Deborah and Katie will one
day show up as an evening's replacement entertainment.
I'm not exaggerating when I say it was one of the best
shows ever. I won't be surprised if that film appears
fairly soon. Everyone's talking about that evening
and can't wait to see the permanent record."
I was stunned to realize that somewhere beyond my reach
existed a film of Katie with a man fucking her in the ass.
Just as awful, I thought, I starred in that film in a comparable
role. Well, that totally removed any idea of getting out
of this mess. I'd better find a way to move in the other
direction, deeper into this group, cause I could never
let that film see the light of day.
"Yeah, my friend, " he said, anticipating
my thoughts, "we all have something similar hidden
where we can't get to it. We're in this forever,
not that any of us mind." As we parked and moved through quiet corridors into the
most private parts of the building, he told me about the
founding members of what he called the Cultural Club, more
accurately dubbed, the Cult.
"It began with three top executives of local organizations.
They were older and beyond obsession with their careers.
They had all the money they needed, and had begun to use their
membership in this club to entertain their hookers and
mistresses. They set up some pretty nice private party
rooms and had quite a good old time.
Eventually, they got bored with the same types of experiences
and began looking for something new. Using their corporate
connections, they eventually found shady, but dependable
men who knew where to pick up vulnerable women and provide
them for one time intense encounters. The men knew how to
insure there would never be any problems afterwards.
After a while, they were so successful, they became quite
bold. I'm proud to say that your own evening was one
of the crowning achievements of the Cult. The original
members are older now, and don't even participate
directly, but they usually follow the events on film. They've
already seen yours, and they want to meet you sometime.
Play your cards right, and in a month or two, you could have
a cushy job in one of their companies. Keep them entertained,
and you'll never have to put in an honest day's
work ever again." Again, my guts twisted to think of how close I was to personal
ruin, but the lure of what was being offered was staggering.
No turning back now, I knew. No turning back.
We stopped in a room decorated as I'd always imagined
a men's club to be. It had high ceilings, dark, heavy
mahogany wood trim, thick red carpet, huge framed pictures
on the walls, and deep, softly upholstered chairs. Cigar
smoke lightly filled the room, not overpowering, so I realized
the ventilation effectively pulled the smoke out at a perfect
rate.
We sat next to each other, and in only a moment, we were sipping
brandy that I was sure must cost fifty dollars a serving
in a fancy restaurant. Looking at him with amazement over
the rim of the glass, I started to speak, but he interrupted.
"Just stay cool. There's no cost for you tonight.
You're a guest. Enjoy yourself, and if it all works
out and you get your new job soon, this will simply be a part
of the salary. No money changes hands here. Just act like
this is what you expect and deserve. As long as you deserve
it, you'll be welcome to expect it. Got it?"
My smile of pleasure was enough answer.
Around 10:00 p.m., the room began to fill with men. I recognized
some of them, and thought about being embarrassed. However,
most stopped by, introduced themselves with a single first
name, and welcomed me as if I had bought my way in with $100, 000.
Maybe, I realized, I had paid an equivalent amount in the
Cult's own special currency.
At 10:30 p.m., the lights dimmed. I heard panels quietly
open along each wall of the room and saw screens appear,
viewable from any chair. A few chairs shifted, but most
of the men were content to relax and look at whichever screen
was most clear to them. The first scene opened with a naked
man standing in the center of a room, his hands tied over
his head. Everything that happened after that was painfully
easy to predict. Apparently, my debut appearance had qualified
for an immediate encore.
Not wishing to see everything that had happened so graphically
displayed on so many large screens, I watched what was going
on around me. To my great amazement, I saw that the wonderful
chairs we were enjoying actually had screens built into
the backs. Simply by reaching at chest level to either side,
the seated man could rotate panels that met in the middle
in front of him. With the panels closed, he could see clearly
the screens up on the walls, but no one anywhere near could
see any of him but his head.
Fascinated, I closed my own panels around me. I almost expected
what I saw. There was a glass holder for my brandy snifter,
and wouldn't you know it, my own fresh box of tissues.
With a totally sarcastic and cynical feeling I realized
. . . it was just like I'd experienced many times before,
except this time I had a place to sit . . . and I didn't
need any quarters.
The presentation ended, and I was not surprised to see the
lights remain off and the screens showing some beautiful
scenery for a few minutes. By the time the lights gradually
brightened, all the panels had been rotated out of view,
and all the men were lighting up cigars or holding up their
glasses for refills. It was all so . . . civilized.
On the screen, a man appeared who welcomed us all. I could
hear that he was speaking from somewhere behind me. Then
a cameraman moved around from behind me, pointed his camera
and light at me, and I heard my name being announced. I had
only a second to verify that my face was appearing on all
the screens before the first question was asked.
"So, how do you feel after seeing yourself in action?"
An anticipatory chuckle ran through the room.
"Well, I can't say that I'd earn an Oscar
for that performance, but I do hope you'll agree I've
already got two golden globes." The room erupted
in laughter and applause, and I decided my position in the
Cult was virtually assured. It did, however, cross my mind
to hope that position would not again be "on my knees."
I answered a few more lighthearted questions, including
a few painful ones about how I had won such a delicious wife,
when I saw a man enter and whisper to my friend sitting next
to me. The man leading the questions thanked me, and the
cameraman turned to my friend.
|
|
