Sunday, May 11, 2014

55) Seven Fucks in a Sex-shop.

As the X-generation 1990’s swept past him, Arthur wandered the back-alleys of the city looking for succor; fucked-over, alienated, disturbed, he was the classic “stranger in a strange land”. In the middle of his framed armed hold-up fiasco in 1993, one of the cops asked him, ‘What are you?” He proudly replied, “I’m an artist!” The cop snarled, “No mate, you’re a bullshit artist. You’re nothing! A piece of shit!” This is what he’d been told all his life, so many times he had to accept it. He was indeed ‘nothing’, society’s shit. It was late at night and a haunting wind cried, a slow rain fell, muted traffic slushed through the wet and people hurried on by, nobody interested in him.

The city of Sydney felt a shallow, cold place to be lost at heart in. Arthur had a hunger in his guts that burnt down deep; lonely and randy, he fantasized a strange man’s cock might fill the void. He swooned at the very idea of the male, with hairy body, muscles, balls, testosterone, prostate juice and sperm. Above all, the Penis, Phallus, cock, dick, prick, willie, peter, dong, shlong, tossle-apostle, whatever; the soft/hard hand-full of flesh that bridged the gulf between the left and right lobes of his brain, Arthur lusted after the male and his ding-a-ling till he was driven to the edge of a psychotic delirium. Yet every man rushing by, into whose face he cravenly gazed, looked through him, or turned away in horror, as if they’d seen the ghost of Nosferatu.


Red-light District of Kings Cross.
It was hopeless to consider doing the beats as they no longer existed, the parks, promenades and public toilets walled up, chained down and thoroughly policed. In these post-post-modern times, while all good citizens had retired to the comfort of their homes, any leftover deviants were channeled into the legion of sex clubs, banished from the public spaces where once they had cavorted with such gay abandon. Sex-shops catered to all-comers, including confused bi-sexuals playing at being real men, who watched straight porn while they allowed their genitals to be eaten by the Phantom Gobbler in the darkness of a closet. The sex-shop was the likeliest place Arthur might find the reckless Neanderthal stud of his dreams, the hairy garage mechanic with a fat, infinitely long fore-skinned cock, the pretend real man who would miraculously bestow deliverance from the nameless desire that ravaged Arthur’s soul. Like a were-wolf under the full moon, Arthur chose the nastiest, sleaziest sex-pit of them all, ‘The Pleasure Chest’ on Kings Cross, drawn to it by the giant red light of the Coke sign flickering above the busy traffic intersection.



The American Navy was in town and sailors of all shapes and colors trawled the red-light district looking for cheap thrills and Arthur reasoned there would have to be some desperates lurking at ‘The Pleasure Chest’, hoping to be serviced. He marched past all the Strip Clubs, Pokie Pubs, fast-food joints and fruit barrows and quickly ducked in at the garish pink and black doorway, running up the long flight of stairs that ascended to some weird level of Heaven and Hell combined. He ignored the few gnome-like men skulking around the shelves of magazines, cassettes and sex-toys and brazenly approached the counter behind which stood a huge lump of a guy all trussed up in a black-leather dominatrix suit, his head shaved like a National Front thug. He was issuing instructions in a high, whining voice to a Gothic Hippie girl in black-lace mini-skirt, spiked dogs-collar around her neck, who nodded eagerly at his every utterance. Arthur was anxious to get into the backroom to where the truly furtive action was happening, but he had to wait impatiently and hear the whole tedious exchange before Fatso would deign to notice him and let him through the sacred gate.

The Leatherman squeaked, “Now are you sure you got a handle on all this, luv? The Boss couldn’t have picked a crazier time to get you to take over. I suppose he thinks you’ll pull in the punters, but to me you look like a punk Mary Poppins and not even Saint Julie could save this place.”
Mary chirped, “Oh I’m just so thankful to have a job, and on the Cross. It’s so baaaddd!!! It’s like living in the newspaper headlines, gangsters and pimps and all… only more Utopian, you know, where lonely people can get comfort …and sex is enjoyed freely, without all the hang-ups.”
Sneering, Leatherman intoned, “Hello, are we on the same planet, love? They say ignorance is bliss, but you Newcastle virgins take the cake. I’ll go through it all once again. Give a ticket to all the club members with tonight’s code in texta on the back; don’t listen to any bullshit stories about yesterday’s code; watch the magazine rack cause that’s the easiest lift in the shop; and make sure young Jimmie goes out back every hour on the hour with a flashlight and mop… and any trouble, there’s the police and Ambulance phone numbers by the till.”



Mary sighed, “To me it’ll be more than an adventure, it’ll be a learning experience…I reckon I can handle whatever gets thrown at me. It’ll be cool.”
Hands on hips, Leatherman grunted, “Oh goddess, they’re gonna eat you alive! You’ll have to handle it, girl, ‘cause I’m off to the party of the year. Don’t forget, never leave the till unguarded and do encourage the mugs to use the condoms you give out with the tickets.”

Then Arthur piped up, “One for the video club, please.”
The humungous Leather-queen looked Arthur up and down, considering whether or not to do a ‘John Rechy’ and enforce the “No Trolls” policy; he quickly decided, “the more the merrier”, they were desperate for money. He ignored Arthur’s cryptic smirk, and briskly swapped a coded raffle-ticket, condom, lube and paper-towel for a ten-dollar note. With a melodramatic gesture he then pressed the release button for the gate to open, allowing access to the inner-sanctum. Arthur hurried through, squeezing past Leatherman who was calling, “Take care!” into the air as he departed in a flurry of buckles.


To the beat of a raucous techno choir echoing from the in-house sound system, Arthur plunged into the inferno of shadows, every wall painted black, the atmosphere red-tinged from the one, dim infra-red bulb that lit each end of the dark labyrinth. There was a gaggle of gawking Asian boys loitering on the stairs who giggled to each other when they caught sight of Arthur’s old, haggard face as he pushed his way through them. The imp within him giggled in return at the thought of ‘Rice Queens’ shrieking “Eureka!” when they stumbled into the dump and spotted them. He made straight for the video lounge, curious as to what outrageous fuck flick was on show, as he could hear screams and groans of pleasure rising above the throbbing techno background beat.

Again he had to push through a crowd of loitering strangers, faceless drabs milling like stunned fish in a puddle of video light emanating from a doorway. In the lounge proper sat three gronks, keeping their distance across the four rows of seats, all transfixed by the close-up of a penis thrusting in and out of an orifice on a giant television screen. Arthur looked them over, one of them openly masturbating, all of them possible aliens invading from another planet; then he turned his attention to the video, hoping to at least get a glimpse of a handsome man’s cock in the heterosexual antics flashing from the monitor. The ugly fat guy who was masturbating got up and moved over to sit next to Arthur, eyes bulging, blubber mouth drooling and wet slug of a penis shaken vigorously in Arthur’s direction. Arthur glared at the slob and hissed “Fuck off!” This just made the poor slob’s eyes bulge more, so Arthur jumped up and moved himself to a dark corner, furthest away from what to him was an ogre from his worst nightmare.


He tried focusing on the pornography, but he couldn’t help keeping one eye on the freak parade passing through on their way to the fuck rooms situated at either end of the lounge. He was in luck as it was a French video, with two spunky, black haired wog-boys getting sucked off by a gorgeous, chic librarian between the shelves of books, well-lit and well acted, so that Arthur felt horny imagining himself as the girl munching on those scrumptious, fore-skinned cocks. Like Gomez Adams, for Arthur the eroticism was heightened by the sweet susurration of the French language, in whispers and commands alongside of the moans, grunts, slurps and squelches.

Just as he was getting turned on, some restless soul would drift through the room and hover as if lost in front of the video, blocking Arthur’s view, causing him to curse and order the blob to continue on his aimless way. A never-ending stream of such irresolute bodies trundled past, continuously obstructing Arthur’s voyeurism, ruining his relaxed concentration, making him squirm in his seat. The men trailed back and forth, never settling and never finding whatever it was they zealously searched for. To and fro, up and down, in and out of every fuck room, stalling by the glory-hole booths for eternal moments, then plodding on, round and round, like ape-men chasing their lost tails. What on earth were they looking for, Arthur wondered, and why didn’t they ever find it? Surely it had struck them on their first trawl of the joint that the fuck of their life with the guy/girl of their fondest fantasies was not anywhere to be had, not even in the darkest of corners.

One glance, one smell of the dump and Arthur had given up before he had even started. The passing parade was made up of all manner of men: big lugs in sports-gear with potbellies like over-the-hill football-players; hordes of short Asian businessmen in crisp white shirt and tie; sullen Euro-trash with shadowed jowls and bald-pates who could be your corner fruit-shop managers; droves of frumpy, old ockers in safari suits who looked like they’d been turned loose from a RSL lawn-bowls club; an endless stream of never-young, lean and mean gay punks, refugees from the disco scene, craving yet another penis-hit; and amongst the rushing crowd, Arthur glimpsed a real live dwarf, swollen head nodding on tiny body, flinging himself into the dark void.

Arthur was trying to focus on the French guys giving it to the Librarian sandwiched between them, when an eighty-year-old leaning on a walking stick toddled past, followed by a dumpy, piss-elegant queen in an expensive business suit who stuck his nose up in the air like Baroness Thatcher, as if he were above all the muck. What made Arthur sit up and take note was that hard on the Baroness' heels stomped a good-looking, masculine guy in top-of-the-line sportswear, with baseball cap on back to front, who just had to be an American sailor, he looked so fresh and tough, hungry and on the prowl. Before Arthur could make a move a most unlikely pair scuttled in front of him and blocked his view of the sailor. It was yet another decrepit, ancient mariner, propped up by what looked to be his long-faithful secretary, herself about sixty-five and dressed in prim, tweed skirt and silk blouse. They hurried after the sailor and Arthur wished them luck, he couldn’t be bothered, and the sight of that rarest of creatures, a nice old lady in a black-room dive, was somewhat off-putting. 



Then a reasonably cute Greek boy stumbled by, about twenty-one years old and looking baffled, as if he wasn’t quite sure where he was. Arthur longed to give him directions, but he let him go on his way, it would be useless to try, character meant nothing in a place like this, youthful beauty was a fickle god hard to please. It was all too much hard work, running to and fro, blabbing mindless seductive bullshit if you were lucky enough to catch an ear, fumbling, groping and squishing for a non-event that’s over in five minutes. He crossed his arms and thought, “Noooo thanks!” He was much too lazy and deadbeat, he’d rather watch it all from his corner as some kind of theatre of cruelty, a festival of bizarre love, pretending he was a surveyor from the future, witness to the psychic underbelly of a 21st century city. Yeah, he was a scientist, like an anthropologist, or archaeologist of the Unconscious, only more along the lines of “Raiders of the Lost Arse”

The action on the French video distracted him, and he ignored the whirling dervish dance of the punters in and out of the fuck rooms. He felt something soft poking in his ear. He was so entranced by the raven-haired Euro boys waving their fat cocks about on the TV that, for a few moments, he ignored the weird sensation of pulpy flesh slushing in his earhole, till he tore his eyes away from the video to look up. There he discovered the fat slob who’d previously been sitting near him was trying to fuck the side of his head with his manky, slack dick. Arthur leapt up in disgust and shoved off, deciding it was time to check out what the motley crew of sensualists were up to in the suckatorium out the back.

Sure enough Miss Piggy followed him, the ugliest guy in the club and Arthur must have been voted the second ugliest, because everyone else avoided him like he was the plague, and only Miss Piggy was eager for him, too eager. Arthur hid in a pitch-black cubicle till Fatso disappeared into the labyrinth, then he went in search of the Greek boy. He found him by the backrooms, lingering near the sailor, but the sailor wouldn’t have a bar of him, instead he was eyeballing the old couple, who were inspecting one of the fuck-rooms as if they were considering buying it as a holiday condo. The sailor immediately moved into the next fuck-room and slammed the door. Arthur wandered over to the Greek boy standing forlornly in the corner, but he abruptly turned away from him and wandered further into the black maze and out of ken. Men drifted in and out, around and around, their red-lit shadows moving to techno babble. Arthur saw that Ma and Pa Kettle had left the door to their fuck-room open so he sauntered over to have a squizz at the action. Each of these rooms had a large ‘glory hole’ in the wall at either side and Arthur could see the sailor’s face peering through his hole, watching the tricks of the old couple.

While Grandpa stood back in a corner, Miss Marple got down on her knees in front of the ‘glory hole’, spreading her legs so that her prim skirt rode up her thighs to form curtains for her crotchless knickers. She twirled her tongue lasciviously around her wrinkled lips and slowly untied her collar and unbuttoned her blouse, pulling the soft fabric open dramatically to reveal, where one expected withered dugs to hang, two huge, perfect melon breasts, her nipples stretched to bursting as if milk-filled. She’d had a top-notch silicon implant job done, tits a movie starlet would envy, and the sailor nearly fell through his hole, his face pressed hungrily forward, dying to be crushed by those mammoth tits. She put two fingers to her mouth and gave the universal gesture for fellatio, while primping and squeezing her outlandish breasts, and the sailor was quick to obey, tearing his trouser-fly open and shoving his beautiful cock through the hole. She fondled it for a few seconds, flicked it back and forth, then sat back against the wall and waved the old boy forward. He rushed over to the ‘glory hole’ and sucked upon the sailor’s exposed penis greedily, slurping and gobbling and making an unholy racket. The sailor must have sensed the changing of the guard and he pulled back, dropped to his knees and peeped through the hole, taking in the saggy, rough mug of old Pa Kettle, who cracked a quizzical smile at him in return. The sailor gasped and backed off, then stumbled from the room, getting lost in the shadows as he was doing up his trousers.



The retired Insurance Company manager and his clerical mistress straightened themselves out and also melted back into the shadows, leaving Arthur to ponder the mystery of it all. He wondered where all the trawlers had got to, they seemed to have disappeared into a black hole somewhere up the back of the maze. He tip-toed into the deep black shadows and when he stopped to light a cigarette a disembodied penis flopped through one of the many holes in the wall. He shuddered, and pressed on, sensing a commotion in the dark before him. He slowly held his lighter up and flicked it, the small flame illuminating and freezing a queer tableau. Crowded in a huddle, half-undressed men poked, grasped and climbed upon one another in a blind toss-off circle-jerk, the obscenely fat and the crippled geriatric, the desperate dwarf and the retarded giant, the dumpy, alienated Asian and the skinny, jaded punk. All eyeballs popped and glared at Arthur’s irreverent act of shining a light upon their arcane, ecstatic pagan practice. He snuffed the lighter and crept back to the light, glorious red light, leaving them to their frantic wrestling with unknown needy flesh.

He cruised to the other end of the establishment, attracted by the competing shouts and wails emanating from the video showing above the suckatorium booths. A crowd of men churned about the entrance-way, impatient for their turn to stand at a hole while watching the pornography. A cheap German porno was yelping up a storm, what looked like three junkie sluts in close-up, taking turns at blowing a giant purple cock, the girl in the middle wearing glasses like Nana Mouskari, and all of them screeching, grunting, begging, moaning, like Banshees at a Halloween feast. They choked on this writhing fat worm of a dick till it sprayed gobs of cum across their collective faces, the white goo flowing copiously, and dripping in stringy wads from the black-framed eye-glasses in particular. This seemed to excite the crowd of libidinous men who pushed and shoved to get to the ‘glory holes’, while certain greedy queens staid locked in the booths below to take on the lot. Outdoing any vacume-cleaner in suction-noise, the busy slurping and gobbling got on Arthur’s nerves, someone was having fun and it wasn’t him. One half-decent looking brute stepped up to a hole, his pelvis thrust forward and eyes on the video. Two creaky, empty-eyed desperadoes immediately jumped him from behind and fondled him so roughly he had to push them off with force. He had settled for whoever was in the booth below and he gave himself to the wall deliriously while his two would-be ravishers looked on and gnashed their teeth in frustration.

Arthur didn’t have the spirit to fight it out with the suckarama gladiators, he drifted back to the video lounge to flop upon a blessedly peaceful seat. The video had morphed into nasty American trash; battle-axe, bleached blond whores being screwed mercilessly by fat used-car dealers in a sleazy motel setting. The screams and shouts in the video lounge merged with the moans and curses crackling from the suckatorium, all on top of the relentless beat of the background techno music to which marched the army of sex zombies, back and forward, up and down, round and round. Almost everyone seemed to stop in one of the nearby fuck-rooms for a few minutes, Arthur would hear a frightful symphony of squelching noises, then the door would creak open, letting one intrepid adventurer out and another in. What on Earth was so attractive in that room that all the gronks felt they had to visit it wondered Arthur? Nauseated by the video and restless from all the activity, Arthur decided to investigate; when he felt the coast was clear he whisked over and cracked the door open, getting a good look at the horror within.



The expensive business suit was neatly folded in a corner, and a naked, no-longer elegant, Baroness Thatcher was strung up by his wrists with leather thongs so that he hung like a side of beef in the abattoir of his cubicle. He was covered in muck, muddy slime dripping to a puddle on the floor beneath him. Arthur held off the gag reflex while he cast quickly about, looking for signs of condom use, discarded rubbers and packaging, but there was nothing, only the white, brown and green slime and the tidy pile of clothes. Different strokes for wacko blokes, surmised Arthur. He imagined the Baroness to be really something like a Queen’s Counsel or corporate CEO, desiring total dis-empowerment in a down-market location.

Back in the video lounge the American porn was grinding on, mincing bodies of all genders into piles of lurid pink orifices whilst grunting like a sty of pigs. Arthur was fed up, he was not getting his ten bucks worth of turn on, instead getting horribly turned off. Suddenly the video went blank, just white static fuzzing and filling the room with an incandescent glow, the porn having come to a no frills end. All the gronks kept sitting and staring, like polar bears lost in a blizzard, hoping to wait it out, while they dreamed in a fugue. The white fuzz hissed on and on, Arthur figured the girl at the counter downstairs was undergoing some emergency and was thus slow to swap the stupid videos over. The sex zombies shuffled in and out of the white noise like UFO abductees, shredding Arthur’s patience, till he jumped up and ran downstairs to do something about the infuriating absence of not so exciting video.

At the front counter he found the punk poppette, Mary, arguing with a cute young guy dressed like an ecstasy raver in neo-psychedelic dance-gear. “You’re supposed to go in every hour and give the place the once over, easy as pie. I don’t see what the problem is?”
Jimmie the cleaner retorted, “I’m not going in there again till it’s daylight and I can see what I’m doing. You don’t wanna know what our lovely customers have tried on me tonight. Even with a mop and bucket, they just think I’m trade and keep grabbing me on the arse.”
Mary yelped, “The verbal contract you agreed to with the Boss stressed you had to do the cleaning every fucking hour, so you better fucking do it or I’m fucked, cause it’s my job… it’s my responsibility to keep the house tidy …and functioning Ok.”
To which Jimmie snorted, “I’m telling you I’m not fucking going back in there till it quietens down, no way!”
Mary wailed, “There could be someone in there dying right now, passed out from sniffing too much amyl, choking on their own vomit, and you couldn’t give a shit, right?”
“No, I’d rather find myself getting choked by some stranger’s dick. Here, take the flashlight, if you’re so safe and gutsy, you be the good girl-guide and go scout around in the darkness. And make sure all the little kiddies are tucked snugly in their beds, yeah,” responded Jimmie
“I will, chickenshit, don’t worry. I got more balls in my little finger than you’ll ever grow between your legs,” croaked Mary.


Arthur piped up, “Believe it or not, I come for the videos, and you’ve forgotten to put the next one on. There’s only white noise upstairs.”
Mary jumped, “Oh shit, sorry about that. I guess all you modern lovers must be going bonkers without the videos to drive you on…”
“Ummm…they think it’s albino Eskimos fucking in the snow,” joked Arthur.
Mary bought it, “Really? How groovy. We must have something just as exotic to play next from our extensive library of high quality, triple x rated videos, for the delectation of whatever your tastebuds fancy.”
Arthur smirked, “How about some homo porn? That cheap, straight crap is atrocious… and let’s be honest, there aren’t that many heterosexuals in this joint to begin with.”
“It’s House policy to only play straight videos. The Boss says the Cross is an oasis for straight guys and we’ve got to keep up appearances. The fellas can let off steam here and girls like me can walk the streets safe at night, unmolested, everybody happy and satisfied,” preached the righteous Mary.
Arthur shrugged, “Hey, you don’t have to convince me. I was just hoping you might have some horny homo chestnut hidden away, for the cognoscenti, you know, the real video fiend, who wants to see everything going, kind of…”
“Well, seeing as how you are a cognosensitive type, I did notice this one video you might like, with two guys and a gorgeous black girl. A Dutch video: very progressive them Dutch. I thought it was hooottt! I’ll put it on for you,” smiled Mary, hoping to satisfy everyone.

Arthur waved his thanks and rushed back into the rouged shadows, flinging himself into an empty chair in the lounge as the video started. On the digital flat-screen he watched a beautiful black woman seduce two very handsome young men. Before they could get the reward of her luscious pussy, she made them first suck and fuck each other, the two hunks undergoing mutual penetration while she masturbated, watching closely. Some of the men in the audience groaned in annoyance and stomped out in disgust, their places quickly taken by other men rushing in, getting over-excited at the visuals, grabbing at their neighbours, trying to incite an orgy. Half the audience joined in, masturbating each other as the rest of the men fled, and Arthur himself got cornered by his eternal stalker, Miss Piggy. He avoided all the wriggling, sticky fingers, squeezing through the sweating mass of male flesh, to find relative sanctuary out back in the suckatorium.


He caught the Yankee sailor disappearing into a suck-booth but, before Arthur could make it to the cubicle below, the old Odd Couple materialized from the infernal red gloom and grabbed the box, leaving the door open as usual. The sailor peeped through his hole, saw that it was his long time suitors and, resigned to his fate, thrust his crotch through for the ancients to feast upon. The Greek boy was still lurking in a corner, looking doe-eyed and forlorn: nobody wanted him or he was too fussy or too shy. He gave Arthur a look of fright, hope, despair, but Arthur ignored him, he’d already knocked on that door and nobody was home. He’d spotted a booth suddenly available, dashed in and locked the door with a sigh of relief. Now he felt safe, just the video and him. Deciding it was time for a joint, Arthur squatted down on his heels and got stuck into the involved preparation of a spliff. A rogue’s gallery of faces appeared at the ‘glory hole’ above him, one after another, peering down curiously at what they must have thought was some kinky action.

Cockroaches scrabbled up the walls, feasting on the cornucopia of dried cum that hung like moss from every surface. Arthur kept on rolling his joint, then lighting up, ignoring the occasional penis that poked the air above his head expectantly, like a rod trying to hook a fish. His cubicle filled with pot smoke, it poured out of the open top and threw all the old geezers milling about into a hacking cough. The mixed sound effects crashed in on him. The porno flicks from all the monitors sang a crazed chorale of grunts, moans and screams, and the background techno music pulsed out an electronic treadmill rythm from hell. And fading in and out of it all was the heavy breathing from the booths around him, the slurps and squelches, footsteps, whispers and creaking doors that whipped him into a furor of frustrated desire.

The video monitor flickered rainbow lights into the red-tinged mists and white light seemed to explode at the top of his head. What had felt like Hell had suddenly transmogrified into Heaven, an infinite field of bliss, where all desire was accomplished, love illuminated his heart and peace had settled on his soul. Here was indeed a kind of paradise, like a nurturing womb, with a surfeit of libidinous pleasures on offer, all fantasies fulfilled and cravings of the flesh satiated, and every move made to the beat of celestial music. He was just one more anonymous desiring machine in an autonomous free zone. His cubicle had filled with white-light, and Arthur thought he had found Nirvana, here at rock-bottom in the sewers of lust, until he glanced up and saw that the video had ended and it was merely white noise he was immersed in. He also noticed a flaccid, manky cock waving through the ‘glory hole’ and he recognized its hideous shape, it could only belong to his eternal tormentor, Miss Piggy, who still thought Arthur was the most likely candidate for a sex romp.


Arthur hissed and cursed but the dickhead wouldn’t leave off, squeezing his monstrosity with such frenzy that Arthur got paranoid the guy would blow or piss on his head. He fished out his lighter and considered igniting the end of the idiot’s dick like a cigarette, only he couldn’t do it, it was too cruel. Weren’t they all dickheads together in this place? Instead he whisked off his lambskin jacket and plugged up the ‘glory hole’ with it, allowing his suitor no ingress and, squatting back down on the floor, he tried returning to his hot white epiphany of being in an ecstatic sanctuary of the Underworld Army of Lovers. He was drifting in a timeless sea of tranquillity when he was rudely interrupted by a screech-fest issuing from the booth next door. The counter-girl Mary was cursing and splashing a bucket and mop about.

Mary yelled, “Yuck! Some dirty scumbag’s taken a dump in a fucking video booth. I’m not paid enough to clean this mess. It’s disgusting! Filthy dogs, it’s full of used condoms, chewing gum, fucking banana skins, what the hell went on in here?”  Arthur listened to the curses interspersed with splashes and slops, but above all the noise he could hear a keen ululation that grew from a chipmunk-like chattering to a discernible plea for “Help!” grunted over and over again. Arthur then heard a door creak open and Mary give off a stifled scream.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she yelped.
The Stranger moaned, “Help, help, help, help! We’re stuck! My butthole’s clenched around his fist…oh, somebody get him out of me! Oh, oh, ohhhh! Help, help, help, help…”
Mary replied, “What the fuck am I supposed to do? Somebody call an ambulance, get the Rescue Squad, no, no, the Fire Brigade…oh I don’t know.”

“Do something, anything! Help, help, heeelllppp! Get him off me, oh, oh, aaaaggghhhh! Yank on him hard! Harder! Aagghhh!” wailed the Stranger.
Arthur was fed up with the cacophony: there was no rest for the wicked. He grabbed up his lambs-skin jacket and charged out the door, just in time to see a hoary old queen poke her head out of her booth and bawl her advice above the din.“Throw a bucket of water on them, for Christ’s sake!”

Arthur could see a pair of Siamese-twin deviants scuttling crab-like in the narrow corridor, Mary struggling to wrench them apart. Seeing the cleaner’s bucket at his feet, on a perverse spur of the moment he turned action hero, sweeping the bucket up and throwing its contents in one great roaring splash upon the well-connected paramours. The non-lovers broke apart in shock as the sloppy filth showered down, Mary copping the full brunt of it as she stood between them. As she cried and spluttered in horror Arthur snuck past and rushed up to the other end of the Club to hide out in the shadows until all the drama died down. What were they moaning about, hadn’t he saved them from a life-shattering embarrassment? He was scrambling into his jacket only to discover there was slimy goo all over it. That scummy fat slob Miss Piggy had fucked his lovely, soft lambskin coat and cum all over it, how gross!


The Greek boy loomed out of the darkness. Having witnessed the imbroglio in the suckatorium, he now found Arthur to be a character worthy of interest. His eyes spoke of his attraction and Arthur thought he’d give it a burl and invite the guy into a fuck-room. The boy immediately dropped his pants and gave himself over to ravishment, Arthur reveling in his muscular body and thick, uncut cock. He quickly scanned the stranger’s body looking for signs of disease and, finding only healthy manhood, relaxed his paranoia. After all his travails, when he had given up and least expected it, the object of his desire was now at his feet, helpless with lust, and he could do with him as he wished. He laid the boy out upon the padded bench and spread his legs. He remained poised above him, ready to dive deep into his voluptuous, hairy masculinity, and for a few sweet moments he contemplated the divine feast on offer before him.
 
Then the door burst open and Miss Piggy lumbered in, flinging herself on Arthur’s back, groping for exposed flesh with soggy fingers. Arthur cursed, wrestled about and shrugged the monster off, then waltzed him to the door and shoved him into the corridor, giving him a good kick in the arse as he scurried off into the red-lit inferno. The Greek boy wore a stricken look, possibly because he was one of those wimpy types who abhor violence, especially anything in the immediate vicinity. Arthur’s erection had gone down, the moment was lost, it was all just too much bother. He whispered his apologies to the boy’s chagrin and fled out the door, almost bowling over Ma and Pa Kettle who were hovering in the corridor. Looking back, Arthur saw them rush into the fuck-room and pounce upon the wide-eyed Greek boy, they’d had their main course, now they wanted desert.

For Arthur the journey was over, there was no final destination, no big orgasm in the sky, no solution to the problem of having a thirst that could never be quenched. He was left with no other alternative but to be equanimous, detached, compassionate, Nirvanic. He was over crying bitter tears or laughing hysterically at his all-too-human dilemma. Tired of being strung out between despair and delirium, he desired only to chill his restlessness. Fuck satiation, he wanted equilibrium, it was that or madness. He mused, “Hmmmm, yeah, E Q Librium, sounds like some new kind of anti-depressant”. He’d had enough for one night, dawn was breaking and it was time for all good vampires to be in bed. He strode resolutely down the stairs and out to the front counter. Here he found Mary being dried off and comforted by Jimmie, the reluctant cleaner.


“There, there, you’ll be right as rain soon enough, forget about all the big, bad boogiemen,” chortled the handome cleaner.
Mary cried, “I’m going back to Newcastle, this place sucks big time.”
Jimmie responded, “Well, it is a suckatorium.” They both burst out laughing and hugged, Jimmie continuing to pluck bits of shit out of Mary’s hair.
“And to think we don’t even get award wages for this crap!” wailed the punkette.
Jimmie soothed her, “Don’t worry baby, Jimmie will take care of you. I’ll make sure the nasty, old world doesn’t do you in. You can move in with me, I’ll protect you. I’ll show you the ropes and together we’ll demand bonuses from the boss.”

Arthur wished them luck, they’d need it. He was happy to see someone had found comfort, maybe even love, in this trolls’ lair. The cosmic joke was that it had to be heterosexuals. It confirmed Arthur’s long-held suspicion that Hets used Homosexual festivities for inspiration to bond and mate. Homos were like social glue, keeping the battle of the sexes together, yet lucky to get a look in themselves where love was concerned. He stepped out of the garish entrance of the sex-shop onto the wind-swept, dawn-enlightening street and took in a huge gulp of fresh air, thinking “Wasn’t life wonderful?”



If you enjoyed this story please go to the WEB address above and consider buying my book of tales about growing up anarcho-queer, rock and roll punter and mystic adventurer in Australia and India of the 1950s, ‘60s and ‘70s.