by Paul Preston
“So, what’s this shithole going to be? A Sport’s Bar?” Big J asked, making a face.
“Yeah. That’s kind of what I’m going for. The Grand Opening is two weeks from now on Friday. Of course you’re invited Big J,” I said.
“Great. I’ll be there. What’s the name?”
“What?”
“The name, Jimmy. The name of the bar.”
“Oh,” I said, looking somewhat embarrassed. “Well, I’ve gone over and over it in my head, but I can’t seem to decide what to call it.”
Big J gave me one those looks where I knew he was about to bust my balls, big time.
“OK. So let me get this straight. You’re about to open a bar, but you don’t give it a name? I think you’re supposed to pick out the name first, buddy. You’re doing things ass backwards again, my friend.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“You know what? I don’t think it’s bad luck, what keeps happening to you. I’ve been thinking about this a long time.”
“You have?”
“Yeah. You know what your problem is, Jimmy? You got a sickness. You do.”
I shook my head and smiled.
“Come on Big J,” I said. “Stop busting my balls.”
Big J took a long drink and I refilled his beer from the tap.
“I’m not busting your balls. Seriously, I’m just trying to help you. You’re a freaking mess, Jimmy! You are like… obsessed… all the time, you know. You got it bad, kid. You like obsess about shit, nonstop. For Christ’s Sake, you have like one of those… shit. What the hell do you call those freaking things Jimmy, you know, when you’re like… obsessing about shit non-stop?”
“Obsessions?”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Obsessions… You’re stuck in another one of those obsessions of yours… Just like when you tried to do right by that homeless guy and had to turn in your shield over it, just like when you got your face all sliced up when you fought off those older kids trying to save that old lady from getting raped, or even when you tried to get back together with Bette even after you caught her fucking some other guy! Now you’re obsessing over what to call this hole in the wall you sunk all your money into! You know… obsessions!”
I laughed. Old friends know you best, I guess. Big J was right about one thing. I am an obsessive type person. Once I heard the word “Obsessions”, the name kind of stuck for me. I thanked Big J by promising him free beer whenever he stops by. It’s a good name for an ex-cop’s dark seedy bar, I think.
My friend was also the only one who showed up to the “Grand Opening” which I had spent an arm and a leg on advertising in the Sunday Edition of the Chicago Tribune. It was just Big J and I at the bar with the Cubs losing again in depressing fashion on the overhead TV.
“There’s only one TV here, my man. What sports bar have you ever been in that has only one TV?” Big J said, smirking.
“Yeah, that’s a good point. I should invest in another TV, I guess…”
We both drank our beers in silence and watched a few at bats. One of our guys struck out.
“So what’s up with the Cubbies, Big J?” I asked.
“I don’t know. They suck again this year, as usual. Pre-season this “expert” at ESPN said they had some excellent players in Triple-A. Now those guys are getting called up since the team is tanking. They’re supposed to have the 5th highest ranked farm system in the Majors, but I’m just not seeing it…”
After a weak grounder to short the inning was over. My friend turned to me.
“So this is it? This is the grand opening?” Big J asked.
“Yeah, I’m afraid so.”
“This is pathetic. Did you advertise?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s the location. No one knows you’re here. I don’t see any signs.”
I looked down into my beer. It’s true I picked the worst location for my bar. For the first few months, I was lucky to have a few customers trickle in each day. The business was burning money at a fast rate and I was running out of savings to keep it open. I thought of selling it and trying something else, but the real estate guy told me I’d probably lose several hundred thousand dollars on the transaction as well as the money I spent renovating it. I started to go into credit card debt again.
I decided I needed an angle to attract more customers to the bar. At the time of my financial struggles, a kinky book trilogy was published I kept hearing about called “Fifty Shades of Grey”. It was so popular I heard they were going to make a movie of it. The novels were receiving a lot of attention, selling like hotcakes. I picked up a copy of one of the sexy books to see what all the fuss was about.
I surmised there might be a growing interest in an alternative type of lifestyle depicted in the story, due to the popularity of those books. That’s when I got the idea to turn Obsessions into a bar which catered to people who safely wanted to explore the dominant or submissive sides of their natures. I had my website redesigned with sexy photographs and advertised on BDSM websites. It was a huge risk, but I really didn’t have anything to lose since no one was coming to my bar anyway. I had hoped Obsessions would fill a marketing niche as a fun, sexy and safe underground night club to have a drink in and relax. Maybe Obsessions could be the kind of place where people could meet each other who were into that kind of thing. I don’t know. Anyway, they say sex sells. I thought somebody other than Big Johnnie might finally show up who I could pour a drink for.
Slowly, remarkably, my business began to grow. In the nick of time too, since I had maxed out all my credit cards once again. Word of mouth spread and Dominants started coming to socialize with others of their kind, as well as to show off their pretty submissives. Because of my imposing physique and scary face, I was able to keep everyone in line, break up the inevitable arguments about women and the drunken fights that would inevitably occur. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. For the most part, the people I met in the BDSM world were well behaved and respectful to one another, outside of the desire to give a consensual public spanking or two to their disobedient subs, which I carefully supervised so none of the ladies would ever got hurt. I established the “safe word rule” so the sessions of discipline never got out of hand. If the submissive did not want to be spanked or disciplined in public, I didn’t allow it. Any man who took it too far was escorted out the front door. Since I was the owner, as well as the largest and most dominating male in the room, everyone obeyed the rules. As usual, people were more afraid of me because of my face rather than my size.
I broke even after the first month and began to make a profit when I charged a reasonable entry fee and the market value for the drinks I served. I reinvested the profits back into the club and had the interior redesigned to accommodate my patron’s tastes, as soon as I learned more about their lifestyle. For the women who wore a collar and had already formed relationships with their Doms, there was decorum which needed to be followed. I didn’t personally understand it, but I tried to set up a comfortable environment where everyone’s roles were clearly defined.
In the large front room where the bar was placed I arranged three basic areas. Area 1 was for single women without collars who could sit comfortably in booths and socialize with Dominant men who hadn’t chosen a submissive. This area was much like a standard singles bar. They could order drinks from a waitress I hired, but they weren’t allowed at the men’s only bar. The drinks had to be brought to their table. Area 2 was for collared submissives, whose Dominants allowed them to talk to other men and women visiting Obsessions, but could not be touched anywhere on their body, other than a casual handshake, a friendly embrace or a kiss on the cheek. These ladies were seated at tables and booths in this area while their Dominants were at the bar or off exploring another area of the club. At least one of their appendages had to be cuffed to the O-rings I drilled into the walls or attached to their table. They could not order drinks, but their Doms could purchase drinks and bring their cocktails to them.
Area 3 was the most risqué section of the club and the one I had to keep a constant eye on throughout the night. After doing a little research, I learned that most relationships between Doms and subs were bound by a written contract, which both parties needed to sign. In some contracts there’s a clause that stipulates that the Dominant male may share his submissive with others, as long as his submissive enjoys expressing her commitment to her Dom by sharing herself for his pleasure. I’m not saying I understood it, but I tried not to judge it. As long as being touched or kissed by others in front of her boyfriend was acceptable to the couple, I provided this area for my patrons. If it appeared to me that the woman was being made physically uncomfortable by the contact, I would intercede and separate her from the area. At first I thought I should create a private room for this, but part of the excitement for the couple was being watched, so I left Area 3 out in the open on a raised platform, roped off from the rest of the club. In this area, two or more appendages had to be bound at all times, usually at the wrists and the ankles. I had O-rings installed from the ceiling with chains dangling down for this purpose and on the floor of the stage. I had set up some seating where people could sit and watch the proceedings, if they wished. The new design of the club caught on almost immediately. I went from having practically no customers, to having several hundred guests per night. The place was packed, even mid-week. Soon I was flush with cash, CPD be damned.
In time, as the club grew, I thought of additional ways to increase revenue. In addition to a nightly cover charge and higher priced drinks, I came up with the idea of charging a $5000 annual membership fee for those patrons who frequented the club on a regular basis. The member benefits included reserved parking close to the front, free entry and drinks on the house for the members and their guests. Many of my patrons were quite wealthy and had respected and well-paying jobs. They had no trouble affording the annual dues to be a member of Obsessions. Reinvesting the profits in the business, I created three more areas. One room I converted into my office and I redesigned the other two rooms that could be rented out by the hour for the use of my patrons.
After further research, I learned that some Doms prefer to have their subs disciplined and/or pleasured in public, usually by themselves but sometimes by others as well. I had the brick wall replaced by glass and set up two rows of theater seats in each room to allow for transparency and comfortable viewing. Each of the patrons that rented the specialty rooms and took part in the scenes therein signed consent forms, agreeing that whatever acts which took place were done in a consensual manner. If I felt a submissive signed a consent form under duress, I would disallow the rental to the patron and give a full refund of any fees that occurred, including the annual membership fee if necessary. When my cash flow allowed, I set up a state of the art security system with cameras all over the club so I could monitor every inch of Obsessions from my office computer or my I-Phone. I hired a full time bartender and two security personal, one at the door to check ID and one who kept a vigilant eye on the interior of the club. Before they began their employment with me, my employees were required to take a course in sexual harassment laws in the workplace. I wanted everything done by the book.
As far as I was aware, nothing which occurred within Obsessions was against the law. There was no prostitution going on, or any exchange of currency, just interactions of a consensual sexual nature between adults in a private club. Based on my research, there were other alternative night clubs operating in a similar fashion around the country. I hired my lawyer as legal counsel for Obsessions. After researching the Obscenity Laws in the State of Illinois, he said when consenting adults entered my establishment they gave up their reasonable expectation of privacy, just as with the customers that patronized the numerous strip clubs in the area. As long as there were no overt acts of vaginal, anal or oral intercourse between the members of the club while on my premises, my lawyer said I was good to go. I paid my taxes and made sure no one was hurt on the premises or over-intoxicated while leaving Obsessions. I believed I was doing nothing illegal, but I kept my lawyer on retainer just in case. In those first few months of getting the business rolling I worked long hard hours and got very little sleep.
Not to say it was all work. My job had some fringe benefits. On a nightly basis, some of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen in my life were on display in my club, dressed in short flirty cocktail skirts and sexy blouses or lingerie on Friday and Saturday nights. I tried to use the training I received at the police academy to retain my discipline and professionalism while on duty. Though it was difficult, I tried to put aside my own loneliness and desires for intimacy to act as a kind of protector for these tender-hearted women, who had given so much of themselves to the men in their lives. I kept a close eye on my staff and I had to fire a number of security officers until I had employees I could trust to protect the vulnerable women in the club. I kept my distance and stayed for the most part in my office unless I had to greet new patrons and get initial paperwork signed by first time guests. Though it wasn’t easy, I always tried to look in the women’s eyes when I happen to speak to them and not at their bodies. I never became sexually involved with any of the guests, despite how attractive the women were who frequented my club. I felt if I became a fox as well there would be no one left to guard the hen house, so to speak. Also I didn’t trust some of the so-called Dominant men, though most of them were compliant to the rules of the club and backed down as soon as I confronted them, if I felt they were acting in an overly aggressive manner to the ladies. The threat of losing their membership at Obsessions which was really the only game in town kept the men in line, for the most part. Only a few patrons had to be asked to leave by security. Being an ex-cop didn’t hurt and I had a couple of young bruisers to back me up. I never drank a drop of alcohol, kept my pants zipped up and my eyes straight ahead. That is, until a lovely submissive named Eloise Madsen walked through the door of my club.
I remember it was about 7PM on a Monday when the Dom and sub showed up for the first time at my club. When they arrived I was checking liquor inventories in the back storage room. I received a text from the bartender informing me that the new guests had arrived for their orientation. When I walked to the front of the club, a crowd had gathered in a large circle near the entrance. I had never seen the guests grouped together at the entrance before. I looked over at my bartender and his eyes were keenly focused on a point in the midst of the crowd. At first I thought someone had fainted or had gotten injured. Being one of the tallest persons in the room always made me feel like a physical oddity, but it allowed me to gaze over the congregation of bodies. I immediately saw what the commotion was all about. Everyone was staring at the new sub.
She stood displayed by her Dom just inside the front door, her wrists handcuffed behind her. Her face was… magnificent, luminescent, like a movie starlet that had somehow slipped out of celluloid and now appeared in my bar. She had long silky light brown hair, pretty sparkling eyes and a small lovely beauty mark decorating the pale smooth skin just under her left cheek.
From the place I stood I could only see the top half of her body through the crowd. The new sub was a very attractive young woman. She had applied makeup in an alluring fashion, with bright red lips and an attractive blue eye shadow over her sparkling eyes. As if under arrest, her arms were twisted tightly behind her body, raising her shoulders and lifting her chest. She wore a pretty light blue fishnet mini dress made of sheer silky gauze that completely exposed her full breasts to public view. I had seen my share of sexy cocktail dresses at the club that offered a nip/slip if you looked at the right angle, but nothing quite as revealing as what this sub was wearing. What’s more, the submissive’s breasts were… perfect. They appeared full, round and soft with puffy wide areolas and nipples that pointed heavenward. The tips seemed inflated with air, as if pleading by their seductive shape and form to be taken between one’s lips and sucked upon. Looking upon such luscious feminine beauty literally to
ok my breath away.
She appeared to be shivering. The temperature had dropped and there was a cold wind blowing in off Lake Michigan. I was immediately annoyed at the irresponsible young man standing beside her who I assumed was her Dom, for taking the poor woman out nearly naked in the chilly night air. I wanted to take off my suit jacket and put it around her delicate shoulders to warm her, as well as cover her from the leering eyes of my patrons. Part of me wanted to shield her from the dirty thoughts that I knew were brewing in the minds of the alpha males in the room, but I also knew the real reason I wanted to cover her breasts was far less chivalrous. I wanted to escort her away from the crowd to the privacy of my office, take off the jacket and gaze upon the beauty of her breasts in the privacy of my office, alone.
I took a deep breath in and came to my senses. I was Jim Jefferson, the ex-cop, the man with the scar and the proprietor of Obsessions. I had no control over how women chose to dress or be dressed by their Doms. The best I could do was pause at the round dial on the wall at the end of the bar and turn up the heat in the room. It would get hot in here soon with all the sweating bodies rubbing up against each other on the dance floor, but I wanted my new guest to be comfortable. At least I could offer something to the comely young woman. Warmth…
I continued to walk with a steady pace toward the front entrance and the crowd parted for me as I passed, the largest man in the room. I liked that people stepped out of my path or cowered in the shadows to avoid getting too close to me. I understood and accepted their behavior. I looked severe and frightening. People always backed away and gawked at me as I came near, as if I was a monstrous leper and my ugliness was contagious. I was used to being judged by my hideous appearance all my life. I had been alone and celibate in the two years since I walked in on my ex-wife having sex with another man. I hardly ever spoke to anyone. I suppose the guests of the club considered me to be a rather unfriendly person. I had even become distant to my own employees, preferring to communicate by email or text message with them. That was just the way things were with me and I didn’t really care what my staff or patrons thought about me.