I began to seek out opportunities to be with other men. I began to ask David to take me places where I could have encounters. The Trojan had closed in December of ’79, after an article in Playboy magazine mentioned it in a list of sex clubs. Soon, we saw police and photographers on the street waiting to harass people entering. The property was sold, and many of us waited impatiently for a new location.
But now I was out of sorts. I was unbalanced. I know this now—I can clearly see what boiled over inside of me. I wanted to punish David for what I felt inside me. I accused him in my heart for everything I felt, and condemned him with my actions.
I could not contain the feelings I had. Nor did I want to. I began to have episodes that I blanch at today. When they happened, I felt perfectly justified. Now, I don’t recognize the person in these vignettes from my life. I was a child stamping her feet because she didn’t get her toy.
In February of 1980, I had my first book reading. It was a black-tie event, and I had purchased a long black and indigo dress. In the auditorium we rented, I took the stage with quivering hands and a dry mouth. In the audience were magazine editors, book publishers, reporters from the major newspapers.
I read a selection of my poems. I shared my favorites. I received a standing ovation, and at the after-party we danced and drank and celebrated my success. But inside, I still burned. Inside I was not who I wanted to be. I smiled, shook hands, and accepted the kind praises of people I could only aspire to. Truman Capote kissed my hand. Though he had obviously had too many drinks, he slurred to me, “Your poem Mother made me cry, Rachel.” I heard his Alabama twang clearly.
But what I really wanted was to hurt. Like a spoiled brat I wanted someone’s attention. I guess that’s all it was that I wanted. His attention.
I found a young, slender, blonde-haired busboy. He couldn’t have been more than nineteen. I didn’t ask. I made eye contact with him. When he smiled at me I approached him.
“Is there something I can get you, ma’am?” he asked.
“What’s your name?” When I spoke, I realized I, too, was a bit drunk.
“Michael.”
“Michael, follow me.” He didn’t say a word as I took his hand. I pulled him out of the banquet room, down a long, narrow hallway. I found a private bathroom.
I pulled him inside and locked the door.
He didn’t hesitate for a second, and probably knew what had I wanted all along. Our mouths were on each other instantly. He began to peel off his clothes.
“Help me with my dress,” I commanded, turning my back to him. He unzipped me, and I slid out of it. It was Italian, after all, and I wasn’t about to let it get dirty.
When he was naked, I finally had a good look at him. He was too slender…more than I would have liked normally, and very white-skinned. Still, his lean body was attractive, and his stomach muscles were tight.
He pushed me up against the sink and lowered himself down to his knees. He pushed his mouth roughly against my sex, forcing a gasp out of me. He was aggressive, and I wanted it that way. He moved his tongue over me, tasting my body. I was hot for him, but not because I wanted him. The anger made my nerves on edge, and I was ready quickly.
I pulled him up and took him in my mouth. He swelled instantly. He was young, so I was careful not to make him too excited. I took him slowly, carefully. I wanted him rigid but not near climax.
I stood up and slid my butt onto the cold, porcelain sink. He stepped up to me. I was ready, so it didn’t hurt when he roughly stabbed himself into my sex. I wanted that. I wanted him to take me and possess me, if only for this brief moment.
I put my hand on his very tight butt, and pulled him against me. His youthful body looked pasty in the poor bathroom lighting. But he felt young and hungry, and I encouraged him.
“C’mon, Michael, fuck me.”
He pushed himself into me with all he had. His hardness in me woke my body…pulled me away from my cares and my distrust of my life and relationships. While he was in me, I didn’t care that I was in love with a cuckold. I didn’t care that my man wouldn’t claim me or take control of our lives.
As I began my orgasm, Michael climaxed suddenly.
“Uh, oh God!” he grunted, and then a torrent of hot stickiness was inside me. My orgasm faded quickly.
He slid out of me, and I cleaned myself up. As he dressed, Michael had the nerve to ask me, “Was it good for you too?”
“Sure,” I lied.
Back out to the party, I saw David, but I didn’t go to him. Instead, I found Keiko.
“Hi, honey, where have you been?”
“I just had to use the bathroom.” She looked at me knowingly.
That night was the first in a string of random encounters. I know now that I was hurting, wanting David to validate me…validate our love. When he didn’t, and in fact seemed to enjoy how things were, the pain in my heart pushed me to act in ways I never could have imagined. I sought validation in the arms of strangers.
One night, David and I ordered Chinese food. I blew the deliveryman for a tip, while David masturbated just feet from us.
On a beautiful spring morning, we took the ferry from Battery Park to see the Statue of Liberty. I met a handsome Turkish man as we neared Ellis Island, and I let him have me in the bushes, with Lady Liberty watching out for us above.
I kept expecting David to finally say, “Enough!” Maybe even call me a whore and beat up my random lovers. Nothing. He would only pleasure himself or take me when we got home. I knew we were on a path that was unsustainable. A crash was on the horizon.
34
In March of 1980, the Warehouse opened in the Bronx. The Warehouse was so named as it was, indeed, a converted warehouse. While that sounds cold and ugly, in reality this was a magnificent club, and probably my favorite from this period. Though a bit farther, the distance from Manhattan-proper provided a much larger and more luxurious location. The Warehouse had rooms for all flavors of activities. Though I was not into BDSM, it had a well-stocked Torture Room (that was, after all, its name), including cages, whips of all kinds, candles, and any manner of punishing sex toys. Its sex cubicles were much larger, and there was even an observation platform that allowed people to walk around the top of the rooms and look down onto the activities. No more bunching up at the door to watch. There were also more private rooms, if that was your preference. Everything in Manhattan is about limited space…even the most luxurious apartments are small compared to homes most Americans live in. The Warehouse had space to spare.
David, Mark, Keiko, and I were there the evening it opened, and indeed there was a Middle Eastern man who claimed to be the owner of the place. He greeted us as we arrived. He called himself “The Sheikh.” I thought he was a loon myself, and I still think he was more of a front for the real owners, whoever they might be. The man I met didn’t seem to have enough sense to put together an operation of this kind.
As we sat in the spacious bar enjoying drinks, Keiko lowered her voice and spoke seriously to me.
“Honey, what’s wrong? You’ve been acting…distant lately. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Never better. How have I been acting distant?”
“Well, I never see you anymore. You never call. We hardly talk. I miss you, honey.” She smiled at me, and I think she had a bit of pain on her face.
“I’m sorry…David and I have been working a lot on our writing. I just hardly have time for anything lately. I’m nearly done with my novel, and I’m putting together another poetry collection. Just so much to do.”
She put her hand on mine. “Rachel, it’s me. I can see there’s something else. When you guys came back from Jamaica, I could sense something different inside you. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, I guess, but I wish you would.”
Was I that obvious? Still, I lied. “Keiko, I promise…nothing’s going on. I think my head is just filled with my writing. Plus, I have a deadline looming. I have to finish my novel by the end of Apri
l, and Stella is pestering me about my poems. I have a lot to do and I’m behind.”
“Okay, honey,” she squeezed my hand, “glad to hear it. I have missed you a lot. I hope I can see you sometime. Mark and I are planning a trip to London next month…I love London in the spring. Maybe you and David can go with us? We’d love to spend some time with you guys.”
I felt bad that her eyes looked so hopeful, but I wasn’t in the mood to travel with anybody. While I did have writing deadlines, I was actually nearly complete. My words were obfuscation. I felt like my life was about to take a different direction very soon. I just didn’t know where or how.
“Yeah, I’ll definitely talk to him. Would love to spend some time with you. I only saw a bit of London when we went, and I’d love to see more.” At the time I felt no guilt for lying to her. I feel bad now, though, looking back. She had been so sweet and kind to me, and I was giving her the cold shoulder in return.
She still looked at me, and perhaps sensed that I wasn’t really telling the truth. She gave me a wan smile, and changed the subject. She and I talked more, and I sipped Mai Tais. I think I got a bit tipsy after a few. Keiko wanted to see the entire place, so she led me around on a self-guided tour, fresh drinks in hand.
As we wandered, we found ourselves on the landing overlooking the cubicles below. Whereas once I was rather startled by all the shenanigans that happened at a swing club, I was now seasoned—nothing really surprised me any longer.
Keiko, I think, naturally picked up on my distance as we walked around. Usually, she would hold my hand…like a schoolgirl showing her bestie something. Now there was just a bit of distance between us, and though she stayed by my side she didn’t touch me. I think our spark was flickering. Would it go out soon?
I remember looking down and seeing three people in bed together, and remember thinking that it just didn’t seem that unique any longer. We had all engaged in sex together numerous times, plus several trips to the Trojan previously. Whereas once it seemed so dirty and taboo, it now seemed routine, mundane even.
Keiko and I walked along the upper landing for a while. We talked, and even snickered now and then at what we saw. When we reached the far side, we saw a much older, paunchy man with a girl, Valerie, whom we knew to be a pro. Though he obviously wasn’t doing much for her, she played it up very well, and made him feel like a champ.
“Oh yeah, Frank…give it to me…you’re so good!”
I imagined that it was an occupational skill to make your employer feel like he was doing a great job. Observing as we were, we couldn’t imagine that his ministrations were pleasuring her much. Still, I wouldn’t fault either of them. He obviously wanted a young, beautiful woman to bed. She obviously wanted to be paid for her services. I don’t fault anybody who uses a pro, nor do I understand why it is illegal. Still, it was a bit humorous to watch.
As we reached the end, it struck me that Mark and David hadn’t been near us for a while. That wasn’t unusual, as we all liked to roam around and fill our eyes. As well, this place was much larger than the Trojan, and it seemed you could get lost quite easily. It was a shopping mall of lust, if you like, and lots of shops to roam through.
As we moved back across the landing and back toward the stairs, we took our time and watched bits of a few more encounters. In one room, two women pleasured each other as a man watched them, masturbating himself. I had a wistful moment standing there, watching. In that instant I missed my encounters with Keiko. I looked over to her, hoping to perhaps see the same feeling in her, but she was focused on the two girls. I guess it excited her. Disappointment ran through me when I saw she wasn’t thinking the same about me. Maybe our distance was too much to cross.
After a couple of empty rooms, we were just about to the stairs when I saw two men and a woman in the last room. The room was heavily decorated in red and gold. Though I could only see their backs, I knew instantly it was David and Mark. David and Mark were contrasts of each other in many ways. David was tanned and had dark, tousled hair. Mark was broad and heavily muscled, with straight red hair, now growing back out.
There was a slender, blonde white girl, and they were each on either side of her. Mark was kneeling beside her head, and she was taking him in her mouth. My David was hunched over her, pushing himself inside her. Both were silent, though the woman was grunting and breathing heavily. She was enjoying them, and I knew how she felt, having been there many times.
I watched for a while, oddly curious. I watched David and Mark moving in and out of her. When they switched positions, I looked over at Keiko, and she seemed captivated by the scene below, never taking her eyes off them. When I looked back down, Mark was giving her a strong pounding, and her body jerked with each thrust. He was physically so strong that he was scooting her up the bed. David had to reposition a couple times to keep himself in her mouth.
As the woman began to breathe more forcefully and her eyes began to lose focus, David put his face down on her large, heavy breasts, and then reached his arm to put pressure on her clitoris. That worked, and she almost immediately began to moan…a deep, rasping moan. Mark kept hitting his hips against her hard, and I knew she was flying in her orgasm.
I’ll never know what changed inside of me in that moment. I’ll never understand why I behaved as I did. I had seen similar things numerous times. I had seen David have sex with other women, and I’d had sex with numerous men…more men than David had women. Lately, I had been sleeping with random people, all while David watched or even when he was not around.
Yet at that moment I felt I was done with it all. Finished. I was no longer getting what I had been getting, if that makes sense. I was no longer feeling the desire to be there. The desire was gone. No more sweaty palms. No more quickening heart. In fact, a jealous rage boiled up inside me.
Perhaps that rage had been there all along, just below the surface. Perhaps I had never put my mind around the things we did. Was that it? While I enjoyed our numerous encounters, and I always had the most intense orgasms, was I really never happy? Or was that my mind playing tricks on me, and justifying my next action. I’ll never know.
I took the last drink of Mai Tai, and then hurled the empty glass down into the cubicle where they made love. It smashed next to Mark, though I was aiming for David. Glass flew everywhere. Shocked faces looked up at me from all around.
“Go ahead, fuck her, you bastard! Fuck that whore! Why don’t you fuck Mark when you’re finished?” I had shrieked these words, and my surprising volume made my own ears ring.
I felt Keiko grab my arm, but I ripped it from her. I didn’t even look at her as I stormed down the stairs. All eyes were on me, even as I moved to other rooms. When I reached the front door, I took my wrap from the peg, threw open the door, and then kicked it closed behind me.
The dramatics weren’t necessary…I would’ve never been allowed back just for throwing the glass. Still, I felt immensely empowered at that moment. I felt like I had just turned a new corner.
A corner…or hit a wall? Slammed headfirst into the wall, more like it. I don’t know what you call it. I knew something had to change. I knew I had taken the last drink from the chalice of the life. I had seized control of something in that very moment. Sometimes little things can be big things, if you understand what I mean. Something as small as smashing a glass was a pivot-point on which my life turned. Or spun. Turn implies a deliberate direction, which I did not have at this point.
Or perhaps more precisely, I had just jumped off another bridge, and was plunging into another unknown darkness, which would now envelop me. Or would I grow wings and fly? I didn’t know.
I walked out to the street and hailed a cab.
35
Hadn’t I been here before? All alone, walled off from everybody else? How many times had I done this? Too often, perhaps. But it was different this time—this I knew with every fiber of my being. I refused to see anybody for about two weeks. I didn’t answer the phone. I didn’t answer the door. I s
tayed home, only going out a couple times for food.
I worked.
The weather turned cold, which helped me avoid distractions. I finished my novel, and had nearly completed another collection of poems. I wrote almost the entire day, which is something I can no longer do. I produced some of my best writing. I think the anger and pain poured out of me and into my work. Many still consider this period my very best, but I can’t even read these works…all I see is the pain and rage I felt at this time of my life.
When I showed up at Stella’s office, she greeted me warmly. She hugged me, and kissed me on the cheek. I was now one of her bestsellers, but I also knew it was more than that.
“I was worried about you, Rachel. David has called me a couple of times, asking if I had seen you. I thought perhaps you left the area.”
“No, I’m just keeping to myself.”
She must’ve seen it on my face. “Did David hurt you, honey?” she asked in a lowered voice, stepping closely to me. Her maternal protectiveness wanted to shield me. She stank of cigarettes.
“No, but I think I’m through with him. I probably need to spend some time alone.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” She put her arm around me, and kissed me on the cheek again.
I showed her my new work, and she spent some time reading it over. She started with the poems.
“For a girl who didn’t want to write love poems, you certainly wrote some beauties!” she teased. It was true: despite all the changes going on in the world and the upcoming elections, I had turned my poetic drive to focus on love and relationships, if only for now.
“I can really feel the passion in these words…” she continued. “I really think there are some gems in here. Your best, perhaps. I think we can move this. I’ll call George and let him know I have more. We spoke recently, and he was hoping to get more from you.”
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