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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. |
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", (Aussies who desired Asians), 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 the 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 the boy 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 the 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 Nana's 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 difficult 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.
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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 tranquility 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 handsome 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?”
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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.
