Post by Erick Ganz on Mar 27, 2014 12:21:37 GMT -8
Club Sin Rock
Renton, WA
10:17pm
The stage shivered with the heat and sweat of the dancer’s legs through the beat of Katy Perry, the attendees cat-calls, and the haze of alcohol-induced bravado. Only the spotlights spared the girl from the red-bathed fate of everything else in the place; the club swam in bloodied light, and Erick loved every fraction of it.
Erick felt wholly of himself in places like these: this was a Temple of Set; he the Priest and these people his secret congregation. The music and lust were the hymns; the dances and temptations propitiations to his God.
Here he was Baruti Sethirkopshef, Childe of High Priestess Meskhenet Seth-Peribsen, and he gorged himself on the supplication of Set’s worshipers; whether they understood to whom they gave their fealty was irrelevant: energy was indestructible, and fungible. And every additional measure of it that Erick could inspire was his offering to Set in return for His favor and good fortune.
Behind the rosy shades, Erick’s gaze locked lustily on the girl’s movements, hunger zeroing-in on the veins beneath the flesh of her thighs; her breasts; her throat; her body swaying and turning against the shine of the pole in a celebration of desire.
He filled his smiling lips with the e-cigarette for a healthy drag and puff, leaning back in the plushness of the booth, letting his eyes wander amongst the crowd of men and waitresses. Men in groups were nixed immediately from his extra attentions, as were the arrogant or comfortable. Erick had an aversion to low-hanging fruit.
Regardless of what the Bible might say otherwise, he thought, and laughed out loud at his own wit. This outburst drew the startled attention of the man sitting alone at the table just feet in front of Erick’s booth. A glare of confused annoyance.
“What’s so funny?” the man asked. He was 40-ish, a bit paunchy and slightly balding; a decent suit but he wore it too formally: his tie was not at all loosened. Erick’s eyes flicked to the man’s left hand, now resting on the chair’s edge as he steadied himself in his glare: even in the garish light, a pale band which should have been filled with gold was on the appropriate finger.
“What?” Erick squinted, cocking his head to one side and leaning forward as though trying to bring his ear closer above the ‘noise;’ what there was of it. The man began to ask his question again, but Erick shook his head in false self-frustration, standing and stepping over to the man’s table and taking a seat. The man’s face shifted from startled to merely confused.
“I apologize,” Erick began, leaning across the table, “I am not of the best hearing. Vat did you say?”
“I…I was just wondering what you were laughing at,” the man said, fidgeting slightly. He hadn’t expected to have a conversation. “I thought you were laughing at me,” he finally confessed, his tone dropping to something far more submissive than it had been. Erick pulled back in polite and humored shock.
“Oh nein, not at all! I vas just thinking uf a funny joke; odd thoughts can occur vhen looking at a beautiful woman, ja?” Erick motioned to the girl, who was just ending her dance to a storm of applause and a respectable showering of legal tender.
“Yeah, I guess so,” the man said, his hand finding a half-finished beer bottle and taking a swig. Erick took another drag of mint vapor through a serpentine grin. Yes, this one would do.
Erick held out his hand.
“My name ist Klaus. Und you are…?” The man took the offered hand on reflex, and then seemed to have to work to respond in kind.
“Oh…uhm, Justin. Justin Kloksiem.”
“Kloksiem!” Erick’s grin expanded. “A fellow German, ja?”
“Well uh…only on my father’s side, and very distantly,” Justin clarified.
“Nonsense! Ve are countrymen, ja?” Erick held a twenty aloft. “Waitress!”
A scantily-clad brunette appeared as though by magic, situating herself between them.
“What can I get for you boys?” Her voice was a practiced purr of girlish playfulness. Erick respected and cherished her social exterior instantly, while taking note of Justin’s shrinking body language at her proximity.
“Drinks, uf course!” Erick replied, putting on his third-best smile; he only presented his first for the genuine article. “My friend und I haf discovered ve are distant cousins! Vell, after a fashion.” Erick winked at Justin, who immediately tried to cover for himself by taking a sip from his bottle. “Vat is your name, my dear?”
The girl angled her chest and the associated name tag nearer to Erick’s face, while her rear brushed with complete intention against Justin’s arm. The contact made the man actually flinch, but only slightly.
“I’m Jenica.”
“Mmmm, Jenica,” Erick repeated, the tips of his fangs brushing against the ridges of his tongue, which then barked a laugh in artificial realization. “Ah! Jenica, und Justin! I shall haf to call you ‘J-n-J’ from now on, ja?” Erick eyed Justin intently for his reaction. Jenica giggled, and even beneath all the crimson, Erick knew a blush on Justin’s face when he saw it.
“Vat vill you haf, my friend?” Erick asked. Justin raised a hand in polite resistance.
“No no, really. You don’t need to – ”
“Uf course I don’t need to,” Erick cut-in with mock frustration. “But I vant to. Won’t you let me do something nice? Besides,” he winked at the waitress, “it gives me an excuse to tip ze gorgeous Jenica here.” Jenica followed Erick’s lead, turning to Justin and giving him the perfect pouty face of pleading. Erick matched it for effect, while noting the slight rippling of skin around Jenica’s otherwise taut stomach. Justin – finally, Erick thought – laughed in nervous humor, and his entire demeanor relented.
“All right, all right. Sure…bourbon on the rocks.”
Erick thrilled as one wall began to crumble.
* * *
The following hour saw two more drinks going into Justin, and their moving to Erick’s usual VIP lounge for more quiet, and a private show by one of the girls. Afterwards came another drink for the man, and the relative release of his troubles: a job he loathed; a dismissive wife; an emotionally distant teenage son. All the travails of middle-aged mundanity. Erick listened with genuine interest.
Erick loved people: their habits, their weaknesses, their strengths; all of them defined who the person was, but also what they could be, if even one of those things were removed from them. People were nothing but endless possibility.
Jenica came by once more to collect the empty glasses, and Erick watched Justin as Justin watched Jenica exit the lounge. Erick exhaled another puff of mint.
“You vant her, ja?” He grinned, letting the question hang in the confidential air of the room.
Justin pfft'd through bourbon-slicked lips. “Heh, yeah sure. If I were thirty pounds lighter and twenty years younger, maybe.”
“Mmm,” Erick mused, waiting a beat, then, “interesting you did not mention being married, ja?”
Justin looked up from his glass, mouth slightly agape, then shut it and shrugged in an almost surprised acceptance.
“I…yeah. I didn’t, did I? Guess that tells you somethin’.”
Erick leaned back in his chair, tapping thoughtfully on the table.
“Vat if you could haf her? Just for a few minutes…the right few minutes, ja? Vat vould you do, do you think?”
Shifting in discomfort – reflexive discomfort, Erick was sure – Justin gave the false answer “Nah. Wouldn’t happen.”
“Und yet you come to zis place, you take off your vedding ring…you are vishing for something to happen here, ja? Even if you think it may just be fantasy?” Erick's practiced exasperation was almost a plea.
Justin glanced down at his naked ring finger as though only just remembering he had removed the band of gold. His mouth twisted in frustration, and Erick knew he was close to losing him.
“Yeah ok, ya got me. But it’s just bullshit,” he grumbled, the depressant nature of the alcohol giving fuel to the frustration.
“Nein,” Erick said with an edge of assertiveness as he leaned forward. “Our desires are not bullshit. If you vant something; if you vant something on reflex, vithout really thinking about it, zen that is who you are. Und it iz nothing to be ashamed of.” Erick gestured broadly to the room, to the two of them. “Ve are men, ja? Zis place is made for us und our desires. Vat ve vant.”
The uncertain man in Justin visibly shrunk away, the face becoming one slightly grim; more resolved.
“Yeah,” Justin agreed, sounding more like the stereotypical ‘man’ than he had during the entire encounter. Erick stood, matching Justin’s air of firm determination.
“Vait here my friend. Finish your drink.” It was both an order and a promise.
As he turned, Erick was gratified to see in the man's face both surprise...and hope.
* * *
“Oh! Hey there sweetie.” Jenica recovered from being startled expertly after Erick’s unexpected tap on her shoulder. They were at the bar in the club’s main expanse now, the music and activity thick and warm against Erick’s senses.
“Jenica my dear, could I haf ein minute uf your time?” Erick gestured off to the side of the bar, away from the direct earshot of other patrons. A knowing and cautious sheen settled onto Jenica’s face, though the smile remained in place. Erick’s admiration grew.
“Just for a minute, hon. I’m still on the clock.” Her eyes indicated the bartender, who Erick also knew to be the manager of the place.
“Oh, ja ja. Just a moment.”
They moved aside of the bar, into what few shadows the place contained. Without opening with any further talk, Erick removed a sizable roll of currency from his pocket, peeling off several of the most highly valued dead Presidents. Jenica knew what was being said even without words.
“Sir,” she said, her voice and demeanor snapping into nothing but the most serious and unattractive professionalism, “what you’re asking for is illegal, and I could - ”
Erick continued adding portraits to the pile in his hand, not bothering to look at her.
“I…look, I – ”
“Haf a job?” Erick still did not raise his eyes to her. “A job to support ein child, ja? A job you vill not lose; I can make certain uf zat. You haf ein boyfriend, maybe? Not one who makes enough, or contributes enough that you must verk in zis place, ja?”
Nearly the entire roll had transferred to his free hand, and Jenica’s voice had been drowned out by the numbers. He held the stack out to her in his open palm, only then allowing himself to look at her, but her eyes were fixed on the money.
“All I vant iz for my friend Justin to haf a good time. Relieve some stress, ja? Thirty minutes for all of zis, but it must be quality thirty minutes. Ja? Vat is your choice?”
He could taste her struggle, sense her fear, and see the weighing of the scales in her mind. Each second that ticked closer to her decision point was like an exquisite climax within him, and his body buzzed with the energy of it. The beats from the music were the drums of ritual; the cheers and claps became prayers and exultations. The tension reached its crescendo –
“I can’t,” she said, looking up at him plaintively; even apologetically. “I just can’t.”
Strength. Conviction.
Erick smiled at Jenica with genuine understanding, even respect. Nodding in acceptance and polite defeat, he extracted a single Benjamin Franklin from the middle of the pile, and held it out to her.
“A tip,” he said warmly, “for ‘sticking to your guns,’ as ze Americans say.”
Jenica reached out for the money, but her hand stuttered in its progress, her eyes taking-in the disparity between rewards.
His fangs extended behind his smile in delicious victory, as the music again built towards a climax.
* * *
He watched them from the corner of the private lounge, unseen to their mortal eyes. Watched as they each, in their own way, consummated the shedding of what had been their skin: Justin’s sense of powerlessness over himself, and his masculinity; Jenica’s sense of ethical and bodily integrity.
After leaving this place, they would each be reborn as something not entirely the same as when they entered, and it was from here that their lives would possess a new meaning, a new understanding of themselves.
Here they had coupled upon the altar of Set, guided to new enlightenment by their secret Priest.
Baruti Sethirkopshef closed his eyes, silently raising his hands in fealty to the God of Storms.