I asked David, “Are all of these clean?” indicating the sex toys.
“Yeah. We’re required to clean them after use. Club rules. There’re cleaning supplies in each room. Just to be sure, I’d clean them again before use.” He winked at me.
As we began to move into the last area, I happened to peek into the room nearest the beads. I saw a heavyset man on his hands and knees. A woman had a dildo strapped onto her, and she was entering him from behind. The man was letting out soft cries. She was saying humiliating things to him. “You love being fucked in the ass, don’t you, little bitch? You love being my little whore, don’t you?” I realized there was still so much I didn’t know and hadn’t seen. It was a big world I had just entered.
The last large room, also arranged in a semi-circle, was for bondage and sadism. There was a collection of handcuffs, whips, gags, blindfolds, and shackles. In one room, I could hear a whip being snapped and a woman crying out. This room made me nervous, and I asked David if we could leave it. He saw the worry in my eyes, so he took my hand and we worked our way back to the bar in the entry room. We ordered another drink.
“Why did you panic in the Bondage Room, Rachel?” David asked me at the bar.
“I don’t know. I don’t like the idea of pain in sex.”
“Well, the whips and things are usually used lightly…”
“I don’t know…seemed so scary…like a medieval torture room…like the Tower of London or something.”
Another laugh. “Okay, I hear you. Don’t worry…I’m not really into that, as I’ve said before. I’ve done it once or twice and it’s not really my bag.”
“So there is something you don’t do?” It was my turn to laugh.
“Well, let’s just say it’s not my favorite. There isn’t anything I won’t do.”
I wasn’t surprised he said this, but these words slowly sunk into my mind. There isn’t anything he won’t do? What has he done in his lifetime? I shuddered at the idea of all the things he must have done (with so many people) through the years. We were in the days before we knew about AIDS. Still, nobody wants to think of their lover having lots of sex with lots of partners.
As we sipped our drinks, we watched some of the other people who were in this area. Near us sat an older, paunchy, middle-aged man with two women. The first woman seemed to be his own age, and, though well-kept, had the lines of many years on her face, matching the streaks of gray in her hair. The other woman was much younger, probably my age, and her long, straight blonde hair shimmered even in the dim lighting. They were sipping their drinks together, and chatting casually. The younger woman was young enough to be their daughter, though they looked nothing alike.
After a while, they all got up together and moved through the beads into the next room.
I turned to look at David. He was already looking at me.
“You don’t think…” I began then thought better of it. He looked at me for a bit, then replied.
“What? That they’re going to go have sex?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure they are.”
“But they’re old enough to be her parents.”
“And?”
“Well, it just seems kinda, you know…”
“Well, first you have to know that the younger lady is a pro. She works here many nights. Second, you can’t blame them for wanting a younger partner, can you?”
“She’s a pro? Pro swinger?”
“No, a prostitute…professional gal.”
“They have prostitutes here?” I scanned the room over his shoulder. “How do you know if they’re prostitutes?” I probably said that too loudly.
“Well, I know that girl because I’ve seen her here often. Sandy is her name. She’s a top-flight girl…expensive call girl…she charges three hundred for a session.”
“Three hundred dollars?” In 1979, that was a lot of money.
“Yeah. I’ve heard she’s worth it, though I’ve never seen her in action. Do you want to go watch?”
“No, no…I just didn’t realize.”
“Well, most people here are not. A few professionals, though, work this as it’s a great way to generate business. Their customers here can translate into business outside, if you know what I mean.”
“How many pros do you think there are?”
“I’ve only seen a few. Sandy is the only one I recognize tonight. So far, anyway…the night is still young. And yes, there are a couple of gigolos who work here also.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I don’t see any right now, but if I see one I’ll point him out to you.” He gave me a snarky smile, as if that was what I was looking for.
I sipped on my drink a bit. Prostitution had such a horrible stigma in those days. Prostitutes were the lowest of the low…selling their bodies for money. Whores. Streetwalkers. It all seemed so dirty and seedy. Yet, the young woman I had just seen was beautiful and seemed clean…not a girl perched on stiletto heels in a mini-skirt working a street corner, which is how I envisioned prostitution.
As we sat there sipping our drinks and watching people, I felt a man move into the seat next to me. He ordered a drink, and then turned to me. “Hi, pretty lady. Name’s Buzz.” I turned and looked at him. He was in his thirties, and was a bit heavyset. He had on a sport coat and open-collared white dress shirt. His hand was extended to me.
“Hi.” I shook his hand.
“Now, you’re not going to tell me your name, pretty lady?” I couldn’t recognize his accent, but it seemed a bit South.
“Sorry. It’s Rachel.”
“Nice to meet you, Rachel. Is this your first time here? I don’t recognize your face.”
“Yeah, first time. My boyfriend brought me here.” I turned to introduce him, but David had turned and was talking to a man on the other side of him. They seemed to know each other.
“Ah, David brought you here? How long have you known him?”
“A month or so.” Minus the time he was in Tanzania.
“Okay.” I knew he was doing the mental math and judging our relationship. “So do you like what you see?”
“What do you mean?”
“The club? The life. Do you like it?” He was leaning toward me now, and his hot alcohol-breath was in my face.
I decided I didn’t like him judging me. “I was in the life before I met David.”
“Really? I’ve never seen you around.”
“Yeah, I just moved to this part of the world.” I felt David get up. When I looked, he had walked to the side of the bar and was talking to a few people.
“Oh, where were you before?”
I thought of the US map. “Arkansas.”
“Arkansas? Really? You don’t strike me as a girl from Arkansas.”
“Why? Because I’m black?”
“No, that’s not it at all. You just seem like a city girl.”
“We have cities in Arkansas too.” I could only name Little Rock, and I was prepared to answer that if he asked. He didn’t.
“Now, don’t go taking offense, pretty lady.” Now I heard a bit of a twang in his accent. “I’m just asking. Trying to get to know you is all.”
“No offense taken.” I lied again. This banter thing wasn’t my game. Why isn’t David here?
“So do they have anything like this in Arkansas? I know they don’t in North Texas.”
“No, nothing like this.”
“I know the guy who owned this apartment before he sold it to the prince…this used to be five different apartments, but they knocked out the walls and made them all one.”
“That must’ve been expensive work.”
“Well, money wasn’t an issue for him.”
I looked around again, and David was talking with two men and an athletic-looking brunette girl who looked younger than me. They were laughing and sipping their drinks. David was standing next to her, and I immediately felt the burn of jealousy.
“So what are you looking for tonight?”
&
nbsp; “Me?”
“Yeah…what are you and David doing? Are you looking to swap or swing or pick up an extra?”
He said it so quickly I wasn’t sure what he was asking me at first. “I don’t know what you mean?”
“Well, pretty lady…I was hoping to get a chance to have some fun with you. Would love to bed you. I’ll bet you’re a vixen in the sack.”
I knew I was in a swing club. I knew that’s what people were here for. Yet never in my life had a man propositioned me for sex like this. Before I realized what I had done, I had slapped this big Texan across his mouth. I stood up and stomped over to David, who was staring at me incredulously. I grabbed his arm and pulled him to the door. “We’re leaving.”
15
I didn’t say a word on the ride home. I was fuming inside. In my mind, I blamed David for putting me in a situation where a man could proposition me like that. I know, I know…we were in a swing club, a club wholly devoted to people meeting and having sex. All I had to tell that man was that I wasn’t interested and that I wanted him to leave me alone.
Yet that moment made me feel cheap. Made me feel like a piece of meat. I was hurt and angry and sad. No woman can be happy if she feels cheap.
And I was going to be heard.
Back in David’s apartment, I was flushed. David saw my eyes and didn’t ask me any questions. I got ready for bed, still not talking. I was overly fussing every detail. I was cursing under my breath. David kept his distance.
As I folded down the bedding and slid under the covers, David finally spoke to me, though from the doorway to the bedroom. Perhaps he was preparing himself in case I threw something at him. That probably was a good idea.
“You do know that the Trojan is a swing club, right Rachel?”
“It’s not that.” I had so many things I wanted to say. That was all that came out.
“Did Buzz say something uncalled for?”
“What?”
“Did he call you a slut or something?”
“No.”
“You made us leave so suddenly I didn’t have a chance to find out what he had said.”
“He told me he wanted to sleep with me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“What?”
“What else did he say?”
“He asked me where I was from and all that.”
“I mean, what did he say that made you so upset?”
“He asked to sleep with me. I told you already.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes…but that’s not it.”
“What was it then?”
“You should’ve been by my side. You should have been fending him off. Instead you were trying to connect with that pretty brunette.”
He let out a huge laugh, which made my face burn hotter. “The brunette?” He laughed again.
“You know who I’m talking about.”
“Yes, I do. I wasn’t trying to do anything with her.”
“Like you said, you were in a swing club.” I folded my arms and looked away.
“Okay, Rachel. First, the brunette is a photographer for Life magazine. Denny Harrison. One of the best. I was talking with her about work things, and was going to bring you over to introduce you to her. Second, she’s a lesbian. She comes by the club for the relaxed atmosphere, but she never has sex with men. Her lover is going to meet her there later tonight.”
“How do you know she’s a lesbian?”
“I work with her lover. She went with us to Tanzania. She’s a film engineer. Michelle is an old friend of mine and a great person to work with.”
“I didn’t know you traveled with women on those photo shoots.” I probably meant that vindictively, trying to regain control of my anger.
“Of course…women work in this industry also. But I would never sleep with someone I work with…it would create too much tension.” He sat down on the bed. I faced away from him, with my arms still crossed. “Now, as for this guy who propositioned you…it’s a swinger’s club…people proposition each other. You can simply say no thanks and that’s it. If he continues beyond that, you tell me or tell someone else…we don’t stand for behavior like that. It’s a private club. We pay a membership fee. If people misbehave they are out without question.”
I was still feeling angry. He spoke again, and I felt him moving closer to me. He was right behind me now. “Look, Rachel…we don’t have to go to that club again. I don’t care. But you also know where I’m coming from. You can choose however you want to do things, but you know that I need those activities because that’s who I am. I can’t change. But that club is just a location. We can be wherever you want.”
“Will I be in trouble for slapping that man?”
“Well, they’ll probably give us a warning…if he complained. If not, then no problem.”
“I’m sorry I reacted that way.” I was cooling down now and starting to think logically. “I felt so alone and vulnerable, and jealous of you and that girl.”
“Why were you jealous?”
“Because I love you, you asshole!”
“Then trust me not to proposition a woman without your permission. Did you notice that throughout the night I never once moved on anybody? We watched a lot of hot action, but I was only with you. I would never pick up someone unless you were on board.” And then his arms were around me, and he kissed the back of my neck. I turned to him. I kissed him back.
“This is all so weird still, I guess,” I said.
“I understand. Believe me, I do.”
“Do you?”
“Sure. It’s just who I am…but I know how it looks. I get that most people don’t get it.”
I fell asleep in his arms that night, but it took a while. I had so many thoughts running through my mind. I felt so confused, yet excited at the same time. Excited? Yes, most definitely. I had seen some incredibly sensual and sexual possibilities in a private club in New York. I had seen beautiful bodies and incredible sex. I found myself turned on more than I thought I would be. Yet I felt dirty…whorish even…and wondered if I was losing my identity. Who would I be if I spent time in places like that?
But it was me who jumped off the bridge, wasn’t it? I was falling into the darkness, and it wasn’t always bad. Or was it? Was I falling or flying? Doesn’t falling feel like flying, at least at first? Was I bound to be crushed on the rocks below, or would I sail on the updrafts? Was I becoming someone I never wanted to be? Did that even matter?
PART III : TRANSFIGURATION
16
A few days later, David and I were having coffee. I had come directly to his place after work, and we were listening to music. I could hear the phonograph scratching through the vinyl grooves. I think it was Bowie. We sat quietly for a while, when David spoke.
“Rachel, I’ve been waiting to hear what your father thinks of me. I only met him that day with Darnell. He isn’t mad at me or anything, is he?”
I was surprised by the question. “No, of course not. He told me he was glad you were there to protect me. Darnell was armed and dangerous.”
“Okay, glad to hear it.”
“You have to understand my father, David. He is very quiet. When I’m home with him he hardly ever says a word. He works very hard running his business, and when he comes home he’s tired and doesn’t have much to say. He has always been the strong, silent type.”
“What was your mother like?”
I wondered if he had a reason for asking these questions. “Well, she died a long time ago. I was twelve. My memories are fading some. She was always very busy. She cooked and cleaned and did everything, plus she would manage Daddy’s books. I always remember her doing something.”
“That’s my brother, Jake—the one in Jersey who lent me the Vette. He’s a workaholic. He is always doing something, and I think he’s working himself to death.”
“Well, I guess my mother did just that. One day she just collapsed. Stroke. Sh
e was cooking my father dinner when I was at a friend’s house studying. He smelled the food burning. She fell by the stove and was already gone when he found her.”
“I’m sorry, Rachel. That must have been tough.”
“Thanks. Well, I was lucky. I had my father, still. But…losing my female role model just before my teen years was a challenge. I had to learn about things like bras and periods on my own. Wasn’t easy.”
“No aunts to help you out?”
“No. Daddy’s family’s in Atlanta. And you know my mom was from England, and I never really spoke with that side. Guess I should look them up some day.”
“You really should.”
“I keep telling myself I will. I’d love to see the place my British family hails from. I have my mother’s address book with all the family information. But you know how it is…so much to do all the time. And I don’t know anything about Birmingham.”
“I know, but you really should visit. I’m sure they’d get a kick out of your mom’s American daughter.”
“Well, not sure if they know I’m alive. Mom never talked about them.”
“There’s a reason I’m asking you about this, Rachel.”
So there it was. “What is it, David?”
“I actually need to fly to London to take a few photos…some freelance work.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Well, it’s no hurry. But I was thinking that you might like to go with me, and then we could take the train to Birmingham and meet your mother’s family. What do you think?”
Of course I was surprised. “David, I can’t afford that.” It was a weak protest, I guess.
“It’s okay. My treat. I can probably get the magazine to reimburse me for your seat if I claim you’re my assistant. They’re good about that.”
Follow You Down (Farfalla Book 1) Page 11