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Bizarre
2006-09-12

I parked in the gravel lot and went in the back entrance of my local adult video store, crunching through the slate and kicking up little swirls of dust with each step. Neon lights in the windows advertised quarter show booths, booths that in reality didn’t accept coins – only increments of dollar bills, from singles all the way up to twenties. An a-frame style signboard missing several of its mismatched bright orange and yellow letters hawked five DVD rentals for $5.

 

My kind of deal; just what I was looking for: cheap-ass entertainment.

           

            The smell hit me as soon as I walked through the doors. Every stroke shop I’ve ever been in has the same nasty funk hanging in the air, soaked into the woodwork - a gagging combination of dry, stale cum uneasily mingling with huge quantities of bleach and topped off with clouds of cigarette smoke; all of that fighting to be noticed under a hefty veil of depressing creepiness. At least the air conditioning was turned on,

 

I steeled myself, ignored the odor and moved past the blow-up doll displays, the racks of sex toys, the greasy, fingerprint-smeared glass counters full of colorful liquids and gels and condom packets. Nodded to the bored pierced, tattooed twenty-something’s lounging behind the counter, whose torn thrift-shop attire and purple and blue-dyed hair guaranteed them a life of great minimum-wage gigs just like this one. One of the two, an emaciated girl who was pulling off a great impression of a serious heroin addict, ignored me completely. Her companion glared at me sullenly, like I was going to try to shoplift a dildo or maybe, more likely, because I looked too much like his dad. I grinned and found the DVD’s for rent, racks of porn shelved along the walls and lined up on homemade shelving units in haphazard rows just past a pair of sensor alarm gates, a ton of smut tucked comfortably away in a room the size of a small warehouse.

           

            I took my time picking out my movies, going for the absolutely nastiest hardcore I could find, not wanting to really touch anything. Thank God for all that bleach. Even so, the CD jackets felt and looked greasy; and then I remembered the junkie-punks lounging at the counter, and guessed I knew how motivated they probably were to keep everything clean and germ free.

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   I made sure to hold the movies like I would a dead skunk, using the tips of my fingers. I found an anal gang-bang orgy (‘Two hours of hardcore DP penetration!), a best-of chicks-with-dicks, a couple of rough sex sets and one or two seriously disturbing anime titles, tossed my choices on the counter. Heroin Girl had disappeared. Her buddy was eating a cold cheeseburger that might have been a day old, licking ketchup off his fingers and watching a video monitor, a movie with several couples humping in fast-forward. They looked a bit like bunnies fucking. Junkie-Boy roused himself enough to pause whatever he was screening, set me up with a rental account, drop my DVD’s into a black plastic bag and take my money. Then he went back to his choice of dinner theater. Heroin Girl was outside smoking a cigarette as I left. I smiled at her.

           

            “You have a nice day,” I said.

           

            She gave me a dose of full-on, disdainful punk-rock attitude, and wrinkled up her nose at me. I wondered if maybe I smelled like I’d been squirted by that imaginary dead skunk.  “Fuck-off, scumbag. ”

           

            She took a last drag and flicked her smoldering butt into the gravel alongside a few dozen other dead cigarettes; ground it out under the heel of her heavy Doc Martin boot. She rolled her eyes theatrically, and I watched her grumble while she clunked all the way back to the counter to not do her crappy job some more.

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   Tough life, I thought. Then I shrugged, got in my car and drove home through the heat to my air-conditioned house and my DVD player.

           

***

 

Twenty minutes later, I was naked and spread-eagled on the couch with my mouth open and my chin drooping onto my chest, bored to tears. I understood why Junkie-Boy in the porn shop was fast-forwarding through his movie. I had one of my hard-chosen video picks on, my limp dick in one hand and the remote in the other, watching some young dyed-blonde bitch with huge fake tits unenthusiastically blow-jobbing her way through twenty or thirty guys (who all seemed to be having the same case of erectile dysfunction that I was currently having) when the phone rang. I did the same thing the kid at the store did when I interrupted him: I hit pause on the remote. Then I answered the phone.

 

            “Hello?” I croaked.

 

            “Um, Grove? Is that you?” A soft female voice; musical and smooth like honey. It sounded vaguely familiar.

 

            “Uh-huh…” I mumbled, still trying to place the voice.

 

“This is Elizabeth. You remember?”

 

            Oh God, I thought. Elizabeth.

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   An old friend of my last girlfriend, April, from time gone by; I’d met her once or twice, but April hadn’t seen much of Elizabeth since she married some uber-buff, male-model looking, upwardly-mobile freak of nature and stopped hanging out with anybody who either wasn’t in the beautiful people crowd or who didn’t earn half-a-million bucks a year. I half-remembered a crazily exotic, gorgeous woman, and guilty visions of wide, almond shaped eyes, thick brown hair, rich caramel skin and lush curves washed through my head. I fully remembered feelings of total and complete inadequacy the few times I’d been around her. Thanks to the images assaulting my senses, the skanky blonde frozen on my television screen suddenly morphed into a composite version of the Elizabeth I was seeing in my head.

 

            My throat went dry, and my dick actually, finally, twitched. “Yeah…yeah, of course I remember…”

 

            I swear I could almost hear her grinning through the phone. “Cool. I’d hate to think you’d forget me. ”

 

            “No chance,” I said, the words sounding like crunchy shards of glass.

 

            “Ah, you’re still a sweetie, aren’t you?”

 

Sweetie, she said. All of a sudden, I was getting a little light-headed. I managed a laugh. “If you say so. ”

 

She laughed too. More honey, dripping. The sound sent a shiver down my back. “Is April around?” she asked.

 

“Um, no…  She’s been living in Europe, with her folks. Sorry. ”

 

“Europe? So…what about you guys?”

 

“Yeah,” I said. “Things just, you know…didn’t last.

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Oh. Well… Shit. I’m sorry. I was going to invite her to this…party I was having Friday night. ”

 

“That’s too bad. I’m sure she would’ve liked to go. ” I didn’t know what else to say. There was a long, pregnant pause. I listened to the crackling void on the other end of the phone line, and I had the sinking feeling that our strained little conversation was over. Then Liz surprised me.

 

“Hey, well, how would you like to come, Grove?”

 

I blinked. “Really?”

 

“Yeah. I know it’s kind of late notice, and it’s…a little silly, I guess, kind of a girlie thing, you know? I mean, you might not be interested, but I need to bring someone…” She drifted off.

 

For a second, I wondered why she was asking me to come, not her husband. But that thought lasted the blink of an eye; if it meant seeing Liz again, there was no way I was going to refuse. I was honestly kind of curious anyway. And besides, my dick was harder than it’d been all morning, even after watching five bucks worth of porn. I didn’t have any big plans for Friday.

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   What did I have to lose?

 

“What kind of ‘girlie thing’ are we talking about?” I asked.

 

She laughed again, nervously, I thought. I wondered what about talking to me could make Liz nervous. “It’s kind of…a…a lingerie party. ”

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My turn to laugh. Liz stayed quiet. I blinked, waited a beat before answering with a dumbfounded, “You’re kidding, right?”

 

Liz sighed on the other end of the line, then, matter-of-factly, “No.

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“You want me to come to a lingerie party. ”

 

“Yeah, if you want…. I mean, I know it sounds weird, but I promised there would be a bunch of us, and most of the girls I know are going to be there, but…” She paused, took a breath. “You know, you don’t have to buy anything if you don’t want to, but you could get a gift for April, and there’s going to be some stuff for guys too…leopard skin underwear, stuff like that…”

 

I chewed it over. Thought about maybe being the only guy in a roomful of tipsy, scantily-clad women. Thought about what April was going to say when she found out.

 

I made up my mind.

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   I was in. “Hey, sure Liz. It’ll be fun. ”

 

“Really?” She sounded almost relieved. “You’ll come?”

 

“Yeah, I…”

 

“That’s great! Everybody’s going to get here about eight. Here let me give you my phone number and the directions to my house…”

 

“Okay, hold on and let me find a pen…”

 

I sat up and scribbled some notes on the back of my video receipt. Liz thanked me again, and we both hung up. I sat there with the phone in my lap for a long minute. Then I grinned and went back to my movie, and this time I didn’t have any trouble getting it up.

 

***

 

“No shit?”

 

            It was the next afternoon, Thursday, and I was eating lunch with my buddy Andre at a cheap mexi-café we liked, seated outside at a curbside table under a canvas umbrella. Andre was finishing up a taco platter; I was snacking on a huge, spicy pile of cheese and salsa dripping nachos.

 

            I nodded, popped a jalapeno pepper in my mouth and chewed happily, savoring the oily burn. I’d just filled Andre in on yesterday’s events. He’d met Elizabeth once, after April and I bought our home, at our housewarming party. A long time ago, it seemed. I could see from his eyes that he had the same memories of her that I did. I grinned and wiped my hands on my napkin while I confirmed the question.

 

“Yep. The whole truth, brotha.

 

   No shit. ”

 

            Andre leaned back. The aluminum chair under his big ass squeaked and groaned. He adjusted his Yankees cap, wiped fingers down his wiry goatee, shook his head.

 

“Damn, man. Shit like this isn’t fair. I knew that girl was a shark the minute I laid eyes on her. ” He crossed his arms, chewed on his lip. “How come she invited you? Does that tall mocha drink dig the white boy cream?”

 

            I shrugged and sipped cold beer. The burn receded to a constant, pleasant tingle at the back of my tongue. “Hell if I know. ”

 

            “You know, if she finds out – and you know she’s gonna – April’s gonna eat you alive if any shit happens. ”

 

            “She will even if nothing happens. ” I said, digging back into the pile of chips.

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   “I’ll just cross my fingers. But nothing’s going to happen, you know, Liz is married, man, to some dude way out of my league. ”

 

            “Doesn’t matter,” Andre waved that comment on by. “You said it didn’t sound like he’d be around anyway, right? You get there, all that pussy spread out on the couch and what-not; they’ll all be drinking wine, getting’ all tipsy and giggly, next thing you know they’ll be trying on the frilly panties and shit, modeling for you…then, BAM! You’ll be on the floor, humping away; drunk, horny bitches lined up to be fuckin’ you…”

 

            I snorted. “Right. ”

 

            “Look, Grove,” he pointed a finger at my cell phone. “Reg and I’ll be at Tin’s club tomorrow night, maxin’ with Barry and his boys. ”

 

“They’re playing?” I asked. We’d known Barry from way back. He’d been a fixture on the local music scene since we were all in college together. Now he was heading up some retro-funk band that had been scaring up some hot press lately.

 

“Yeah.

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   Tin’s isn’t too far from where you’re gonna be, right? Only what – ten, fifteen minutes away? Anyway, you need some help handling all that pussy, you call us. ” Andre leered, showing off a mouthful of big white teeth. He picked up his last taco and poured half a bottle hot sauce over it. “An’ we’ll come a’ runnin’. ”

 

“Thanks, man. I appreciate that. ”

 

“You bet, baby, you bet. Anything for a friend. Right, homeboy?” Andre took a huge bite. Half the taco disappeared. He chewed, bobbing his head in time to a reggae song pouring out of the café’s outside speaker system.

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   “I’m mister thoughtful, you know that. ”

 

***

 

I was running late Friday night. Got off work late and immediately got stuck in a massive snarl of traffic. Bumper to bumper for as far as the eye could see. I veered off the freeway at the closest exit to my house, stopped for a quick burger at a fast food drive-through, got stuck behind a soccer-mom’s van that was idling, belching black smoke. When I finally pulled back out into the streets, I opened my bag of food, only to discover the goon at the window got my order all wrong. Fuck it – I didn’t have time to go back and complain. I grumbled, but scarfed the shit down anyway, and took side streets the rest of the way home. Parked in the driveway and ran inside at twenty-to-eight, grabbed a quick shower, dressed, checked myself in the full-length mirror in the bedroom, frowned, dressed again. By the time I pulled up at Liz’s curb, it was a quarter past, and the street around her house was full of expensive luxury cars. I found a spot a ways up the hill, parked, beeped my car locked, and walked back, carrying a bottle of decent wine I’d picked up during my lunch hour.

 

It was clear that Liz and her husband liked their privacy. Their house was big and old, set far back from the road on a good-sized chunk of real estate. The thing must’ve cost a fortune.

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   Leafy, box-trimmed hedges surrounded the large, fresh-cut, forest green lawn, isolating the house further from the neighbors. All the lights inside were turned on. I opened the rod-iron gate and went down the front path to the door, rang the bell. Made sure my reflection looked good while the chime gonged somewhere deep in the house.

 

I was about to ring again when a lock clicked open, and I heard that magic voice, the honey muffled behind the heavy wood door. Then the door opened, and Liz was there, smiling at me, smothering me with a wave of pure physical force. She was wearing a simple black dress that hugged every perfect curve, black silk stockings, and polished black stiletto heels. She nonchalantly tugged a flopped-down spaghetti strap back over a shapely, nut-brown shoulder and pulled me inside.

 

“Grove! I didn’t think you were going to make it!” She said, and pushed the door gently closed. It clicked shut.

 

I grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry about that. Work…you know?”

 

She shook her head. Long silver baubles dangled from her earlobes, diamonds flashed in the light. Her dark eyes sparkled.

 

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“Here,” I said, and awkwardly held out the bottle of wine. “I brought this for you.

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            She took the bottle and smiled, barely looked at it. Her eyes were still on mine.

 

“Oh, baby, you didn’t need to do that. ”

 

“Well, you know, it’s a party and all…”

 

She stepped close and hugged me. Her hair was cut shorter than I remembered, curling in waves close to her neck. A wispy brown lock tickled my nose, and felt her breath warm at the side of my throat. I hugged her back, feeling her body press tight against me. I got that lightheaded feeling again, and my dick began tingling, got harder than it had been during any of my recent jack-off time. I caught a whiff of perfume, sweet and subtle, that I barely referenced past my sudden sensory overload.

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   There was something else in the air too, sharp and pungent, smelling like cinnamon; candles, or incense, maybe.

 

We parted, and she took a second, looked me up and down. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” she asked.

 

I wasn’t too sure how to take that, but she looked approving. “I guess not. ”

 

“You look good enough to eat…” She smiled. Then she took my arm, wrapped it up in hers. “C’mon, let’s go introduce you to the girls…”

 

***

           

Liz walked me to the living room and made her introductions. I nodded as she ticked off the names she was telling me, making an effort to match names with faces, and even managing to remember a few.

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   Andre about had it right: there were maybe twenty gorgeous women; some younger, some older, all dressed to the hilt, sipping wine and fruity mixed drinks. They were sitting in a loose semi-circle, on the sofa and in chairs; all positioned facing another, extremely busty older woman, primly dressed in a close-fitted business suit and skirt. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a Vanity Fair spread. Boxes and bags of things were spread out on the coffee table and tucked around her feet. Each of the ladies smiled appraisingly at me. I almost felt like I was dessert, just being brought out after a tasty meal.

 

            “So,” I said, glancing around. “Where’s uh, what’s his name…”

 

            “Doug?”

 

            That was pretty boy’s name. “Yeah, Doug. ”

 

“Oh, he won’t be coming home. ” Liz waved away the subject, instead asked, “Can I get you something to drink?”

 

            “Um, sure. Anything’s okay. ”

 

            She flitted over to the bar, came back with a glass of something cold. Latched right back onto my arm.

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   “Here, try it. ”

 

            Every eye was still on me. I was definitely starting to feel like I was on display, definitely the odd man out. “Uh, cheers,” I said, and took a tentative sip. The drink was sweet, with a slight tang of alcohol and an almost bitter undercurrent of something I couldn’t place. For a second, I had a crazy feeling, remembering the old Agatha Christie type mysteries, where the detective has solved the murder, declaring death by poisoning, and goes on to describe how arsenic was supposed to taste, like bitter almonds. “Mm,” I mumbled, pushing the paranoid thought away. “That’s pretty good. ”

 

            It was like a sigh of acceptance passed through the room. Liz smiled up at me. My head was absolutely swimming, being this close to her.

 

            The older woman with all the packages licked her red painted lips with the corner of a tiny pink tongue. She patted her silver hair, made sure it was in place, pulled back in a severe bun. She winked at me. “Well,” she said.

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   “Let’s make our guest comfortable and get started, shall we?”

 

            Next to me, still clinging to my arm, Liz almost curtsied. “Of course, Sarah. Sorry, all. ” She turned to me, whispered, “Here, sit by me. ”

 

            I let Liz pull me to the couch. The two women sitting there shifted to make room. A blonde in her early twenties patted the cushion next to her hip, smiled invitingly. We sat down. Liz set the bottle of wine in a bucket of ice on the table, and I wondered how much wine they’d already gone through. I wiggled in between the blonde and Liz, suddenly enjoying the press of warm female bodies next to me. I looked around; found that I was still the center of attention: the ladies stared and demurely sipped their drinks; the blonde who’d scooted over to make room smiled and practically nuzzled up next to me. Liz put her hand possessively on my thigh, and I almost jumped. She patted my leg, and I noticed that she wasn’t wearing her wedding ring.

 

            I blinked, wondering…

 

The woman named Sarah clapped her hands, and all the attention immediately snapped back in her direction.

 

   “Back to business,” she said, smiled sweetly, and opened the bag sitting in front of her, rooted around. Tissue paper rustled. I took another sip of my drink, caught some of the women glancing at me out of the corner of their eyes. I raised my eyebrows, got more smiles. The blonde, I think her name was Kate, shifted, and her breast brushed my elbow. I tried to shrink my six-foot-two self into a smaller space and failed. Her breast stayed where it was. It was a nice, soft breast. Even so, I moved slightly closer to Liz, who started gently petting the inside of my leg. The blonde scooted closer, her big, soft boob again connecting with my elbow.

 

I swallowed hard.

 

There was a quiet murmur around the room, and all the attention focused back towards the front, to Sarah. “Okay, our first item would look fantastic on our new friend tonight, I think…” Sarah smiled my way as she said that, and held up a pair of heavy padded leather handcuffs.

 

            “Holy shit,” I whispered. The blonde took my free arm and pressed my hand to her leg. I stared, and then took another slug from my glass as Liz’s hand found my crotch and continued its slow, steady petting.

 

***

           

Forty-five minutes later, I was working on my fourth or fifth drink. I was tipsy enough to have lost count. Most of the bags and boxes were empty, I was horny as all hell, and my head was reeling. I wondered why; the drinks didn’t seem all that strong. Women had disappeared into the bedrooms, come back wearing skimpy silk and lace outfits, each one with less material than the last. Women drank and laughed while teasing me with little buzzing clit-stimulators and huge strap-on vibrators. The blonde next to me, Kate, was now naked except for a white satin push-up bra and a pair of crotchless panties. I knew they were crotchless because my fingertips were exploring and told me so. Sarah had taken off her suit top and skirt, and she was now standing with a small riding crop, modeling the black corset and stockings she’d had on underneath her clothes. She wore the outfit like an old pro.

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   Liz was still in her dress, except both the straps were down off her shoulders now, and to me she looked sexier than any of the other ladies who were parading around in their new undies. She had her arm around my shoulder. She and Kate were both brazenly nuzzling my neck; Liz’s wandering hand had long since found the zipper to my pants and had disappeared inside; Blondie had unbuttoned most of my shirt, and was tickling my chest with her fingernails. I could see Sarah smiling at me with a wicked gleam in her eye. She smacked the tough leather crop down hard into her palm, and I jumped. Other eyes were beginning to turn our way…

 

The sensation around my crotch was driving me out of my mind. Liz had me hard as a rock. Andre’s voice was playing over-and-over, like a loop reel in my head, ‘…next thing you know they’ll be trying on the frilly shit, modeling it for you…then, BAM! You’ll be on the floor, humping away…’

 

“Whooo,” I muttered. “Need to use the bathroom, I think. ”

 

Kate pouted as I extracted my hand from between her legs.

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   Liz paused, gave me that seductive smile again, pointed. “Upstairs, first door on the left. ”

 

“’Kay,” I said. “Back in a minute. ”

 

“You hurry. ”

 

“Oh, yeah. ” I nodded.

 

I excused myself and carefully wandered up the stairs, using the banister to steady myself. My head was spinning badly. I rounded the corner, found the bathroom. My dick was hanging out of my open pants, pointing straight out at an angle. I washed my hands and rinsed my face with cold water. I thought about what was going to happen when I want back downstairs, and stared at my dripping face in the mirror, realizing the blood pressure pounding through my dick wasn’t letting up. I was getting more than a little panicked. Shit, I thought. This isn’t natural. Did Liz drug me?

 

Carefully, I left the bathroom and snuck a look around the corner, used my cell phone to zoom in and snap a picture. I crept back into the bathroom and shut the door, sat on the edge of the bathtub, called Andre. He answered on the second ring. I could hear a crowd, but no music.

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   I guessed he was already at the club, but it was still too early for the band to have started.

.