No Going Bac

When he picked me up the next evening, it was already late, after 9:00 p.m. I expected it might be a late night. We headed downtown, and I was surprised when we pulled into an underground parking lot at one of the best men's clubs in town.

"Here?" I asked.

"Sure," he said. "You didn't expect that an operation like this would be run by anything less than the most powerful people, did you? We're covered for most anything that can go wrong. What that means is, don't get any ideas. We can cause you more trouble than you even want to imagine."

I certainly had no intention of causing trouble. In fact, I was getting more and more interested in this "club" every minute. "So what's happening tonight?"

"Well, as I told you, you and I are on the agenda this evening. That will take an hour or so. Afterwards, we'll just hope somebody has found something additional to entertain us. Sometimes events are planned, sometimes opportunities arise unexpectedly, and once in a while, we have to rely on past records of our successes.

I guess I should warn you. You, Deborah and Katie will one day show up as an evening's replacement entertainment. I'm not exaggerating when I say it was one of the best shows ever. I won't be surprised if that film appears fairly soon. Everyone's talking about that evening and can't wait to see the permanent record."

I was stunned to realize that somewhere beyond my reach existed a film of Katie with a man fucking her in the ass. Just as awful, I thought, I starred in that film in a comparable role. Well, that totally removed any idea of getting out of this mess. I'd better find a way to move in the other direction, deeper into this group, cause I could never let that film see the light of day.

"Yeah, my friend," he said, anticipating my thoughts, "we all have something similar hidden where we can't get to it. We're in this forever, not that any of us mind."

As we parked and moved through quiet corridors into the most private parts of the building, he told me about the founding members of what he called the Cultural Club, more accurately dubbed, the Cult.

"It began with three top executives of local organizations. They were older and beyond obsession with their careers. They had all the money they needed, and had begun to use their membership in this club to entertain their hookers and mistresses. They set up some pretty nice private party rooms and had quite a good old time.

Eventually, they got bored with the same types of experiences and began looking for something new. Using their corporate connections, they eventually found shady, but dependable men who knew where to pick up vulnerable women and provide them for one time intense encounters. The men knew how to insure there would never be any problems afterwards.

After a while, they were so successful, they became quite bold. I'm proud to say that your own evening was one of the crowning achievements of the Cult. The original members are older now, and don't even participate directly, but they usually follow the events on film. They've already seen yours, and they want to meet you sometime. Play your cards right, and in a month or two, you could have a cushy job in one of their companies. Keep them entertained, and you'll never have to put in an honest day's work ever again."

Again, my guts twisted to think of how close I was to personal ruin, but the lure of what was being offered was staggering. No turning back now, I knew. No turning back.

We stopped in a room decorated as I'd always imagined a men's club to be. It had high ceilings, dark, heavy mahogany wood trim, thick red carpet, huge framed pictures on the walls, and deep, softly upholstered chairs. Cigar smoke lightly filled the room, not overpowering, so I realized the ventilation effectively pulled the smoke out at a perfect rate.

We sat next to each other, and in only a moment, we were sipping brandy that I was sure must cost fifty dollars a serving in a fancy restaurant. Looking at him with amazement over the rim of the glass, I started to speak, but he interrupted.

"Just stay cool. There's no cost for you tonight. You're a guest. Enjoy yourself, and if it all works out and you get your new job soon, this will simply be a part of the salary. No money changes hands here. Just act like this is what you expect and deserve. As long as you deserve it, you'll be welcome to expect it. Got it?"

My smile of pleasure was enough answer.

Around 10:00 p.m., the room began to fill with men. I recognized some of them, and thought about being embarrassed. However, most stopped by, introduced themselves with a single first name, and welcomed me as if I had bought my way in with $100,000. Maybe, I realized, I had paid an equivalent amount in the Cult's own special currency.

At 10:30 p.m., the lights dimmed. I heard panels quietly open along each wall of the room and saw screens appear, viewable from any chair. A few chairs shifted, but most of the men were content to relax and look at whichever screen was most clear to them. The first scene opened with a naked man standing in the center of a room, his hands tied over his head. Everything that happened after that was painfully easy to predict. Apparently, my debut appearance had qualified for an immediate encore.

Not wishing to see everything that had happened so graphically displayed on so many large screens, I watched what was going on around me. To my great amazement, I saw that the wonderful chairs we were enjoying actually had screens built into the backs. Simply by reaching at chest level to either side, the seated man could rotate panels that met in the middle in front of him. With the panels closed, he could see clearly the screens up on the walls, but no one anywhere near could see any of him but his head.

Fascinated, I closed my own panels around me. I almost expected what I saw. There was a glass holder for my brandy snifter, and wouldn't you know it, my own fresh box of tissues. With a totally sarcastic and cynical feeling I realized . . . it was just like I'd experienced many times before, except this time I had a place to sit . . . and I didn't need any quarters.

The presentation ended, and I was not surprised to see the lights remain off and the screens showing some beautiful scenery for a few minutes. By the time the lights gradually brightened, all the panels had been rotated out of view, and all the men were lighting up cigars or holding up their glasses for refills. It was all so . . . civilized.

On the screen, a man appeared who welcomed us all. I could hear that he was speaking from somewhere behind me. Then a cameraman moved around from behind me, pointed his camera and light at me, and I heard my name being announced. I had only a second to verify that my face was appearing on all the screens before the first question was asked.

"So, how do you feel after seeing yourself in action?" An anticipatory chuckle ran through the room.

"Well, I can't say that I'd earn an Oscar for that performance, but I do hope you'll agree I've already got two golden globes." The room erupted in laughter and applause, and I decided my position in the Cult was virtually assured. It did, however, cross my mind to hope that position would not again be "on my knees."

I answered a few more lighthearted questions, including a few painful ones about how I had won such a delicious wife, when I saw a man enter and whisper to my friend sitting next to me. The man leading the questions thanked me, and the cameraman turned to my friend.