Copyright© 2003 by Kien Reti
They were dancing to the beat. Dancing to the heat. Dancing to the hard-driving disco beat. Dancing!
There were hundreds of couples on the floor dancing. The spinning mirror globe overhead sparkled and flashed, and hundreds of feet lifted and stomped, and a multitude of throats let loose high-spirited yelps of unadulterated joy. There wasn't a single woman to be seen.
"I must... I m-u-s-t BECOME!" The music, that magnificent music blasted out in concentric waves and shattered into crystalline fragments against the far distant walls.
On the platform in the center of the hall, two backlit silhouettes were beginning their performance.
The shadowy figure in front was on hands and knees with his head down, and looming large behind him was another shadow-man with an enormous erection, a great big bludgeon of a cock.
A few couples stopped to watch the show, but most of the dancers just kept on dancing. Dancing.
"So, what do you think?" the man in the white glitter-suit asked.
"There's an unbelievable energy flow, all right. Sexual energy, nervous energy, just plain exuberance and raw passion for life. What is this place about, anyhow? Is it a disco, a sex club, or both?"
"You did ask for the complete tour, didn't you? You wanted to take it all in." The Man in White grinned. "Got enough material for your research paper yet?"
"Just think," the Psychologist said, pointing toward the stage, "only a dozen years ago even performing that particular act in private was illegal. Now it's done in full view of an audience in this enlightened Year of Our Lord, 1979."
"Sodomy as an art form," the Man in White chuckled. "Good for business, too. This establishment draws three times the normal crowd on nights when they do their act, even if there is a $15 admission surcharge.
"Doesn't it hurt?" the Psychologist asked. "I mean for the passive participant, the 'bottom, ' as you people refer to him. The fellow who's penetrating him looks to have at least a ten-inch penis."
"No pain if you've got the hang of it. Taking it in the ass is actually no big deal, just a matter of relaxing the sphincter muscles and accepting the meat into yourself. And the fellow up there getting it stuffed into him is an artist of some renown -- his opening can stretch to accommodate just about any size organ. Rubberman they call him, the man with the elastic bunghole."
"Do you think this Rubberman fellow would give me an interview? I could pay him enough to make it worth his while. The research grant covers that."
"For money," the Man in White said, "Rubberman will do damn near anything. Let you shove miscellaneous body parts and other objects into any and all of his orifices. Even talk to you if the price is right."
"Yeah, dude. I been doing this sorta thing for years now. Usta be I did it for fun. Hey, I like things shoved up my ass. Always did. When I was younger, I'd let guys do me just 'cause I liked the feeling. Then, a while back, it dawned on me that I could make money doing it. Letting guys assfuck me, I mean. Hey, how can I lose? Gettin' dough for doin' what comes naturally."
"Well, ah, Rubberman. It's nice of you to grant me this interview and -- "
"Call me Willie. That's my real name -- William G. Don't ask what the G is for. It's a pretty famous name in some parts. My ultra-uncool family would die of embarrassment, not to mention cutting me off if they only knew."
"Okay, Willie, tell me something about your technique. Just how do you manage to -- uh, well -- take a large erect penis into your... anus."
"Relax, man. You don't have to get all uptight about it. Yeah, come to think of it, relaxation is what it's all about. Relaxing the ring of muscle just inside your asshole.
"What you do, Mr. Psycho-ologist, is push out when the other guy pushes in. You know, like when you're taking a shit, you push. That opens up your ass and he slides right in. Yeah, and use plenty of lube, too, goes without saying."
"Thank you for the insight, Willie. And you say you enjoy being penetrated?"
"It feels good, man. I remember... before I did it the first time, how shitlessly scared I was. I mean, that's the absolute worst thing that can happen to a guy -- getting assfucked -- right? But, hey, this was my best buddy askin', and I'd do anything for the guy, anything. And yeah, it hurt a little, but after he was in me, the feeling, geez, the feeling... it felt like I'd died and been born again. Like I was filled with this incredible power. Like I'd done this thing that I was so afraid of, and I didn't need to be afraid of nothing ever again. Nothing... "
From "Societal Implications of Urban Homosexual Subculture," by Ellsworth K. Simons, Ph.D.:
The need for companionship and acceptance are the driving forces in the emotional life of the gay man in a stable relationship. In stark contrast, drugs and promiscuous sex dominate the "club scene."
There is a reckless, almost self-destructive disregard for hygiene and personal safety in the carefree sex associated with gay bars, steam baths, discos, and clubs. Otherwise prudent men engage in deeply intimate acts with strangers, including oral and anal intercourse, and even group sex. Virtually no one uses condoms or takes any other precautions against venereal infection. It is almost as if the dark side of unbridled lust is a collective death wish...
Case in point is one representative sex club, the Airport. Suspended from wires from the ceiling hangs a half-size mockup of of an airliner in flight. Split rows of comfortable padded seats, arranged three-abreast on the floor below in airliner style, provide seating for the spectators. Waiters clad in scanty loincloths serve the patrons with food, drinks, and mini-decanters of a white, powdery substance. The carpeted aisle between the seats is where the action takes place, that action consisting of a single long column of men, all facing forward and bent over, physically joined to one another by penile-anal contact. Participants periodically leave this contorted chain when they tire, and audience members join in either end of this bizarre conga line. It resembles nothing so much as a writhing, multi-limbed creature in a non-stop orgy of self-copulation.
Simons faced a difficult decision. The interests of science demanded that nothing be spared in pursuit of research. It mean delving into every single aspect of this particular subject... regardless of personal feelings, setting aside his distaste for certain practices. There was no help for it. He would have to take it all in, both figuratively and literally.
"So," Simons asked the man next to him, "where do we go from here?" In his own home, seated on the overstuffed sofa and in casual attire, the Man in White seemed quite a bit less imposing.
"Wherever you want to go," he answered. "The name is Mikal, by the way. My friends call me Mick."
"It's been most kind of you to introduce me to the gay culture and lifestyle, Mick. Though gays are fairly tolerant of outsiders, they'd probably not take kindly to being studied by a scientist. If it hadn't been for you... "
.... There is more of this story ...