Chapter 6

Club 33 was so dimly lit that Jill, who was beginning to feel the effects of the considerable amount of alcohol she'd consumed already that night, stumbled and fell to her knees on the plush-carpeted stairs of the entryway. Erik Mortensen helped the blushing young redhead to her feet, allowing his hand to rest a little longer than necessary on her smooth- skinned upper arm. Jesus Christ, she felt so soft and warm there--how much better her full breasts and flaring hips would feel!

As the handsome blonde's hand lingered on her sensitive flesh, the intoxicated redhead was thinking much the same thing. His pressuring hand felt so good that her clouded imagination immediately conjured up an obscene vision of his hands gently and sensuously caressing every inch of her naked flesh. Jill shivered, a lewd tingle traversing her slender body. Something told her that she was remembering rather than fantasizing. It must be those porno magazines, the auburn-haired young woman convinced herself, once again driving her obscene memories of the long-haired drug addict back down into her subconscious. I wash I'd never seen the awful things! And then, as Erik led her into the exotically decorated club, she thought no more of her body's unwelcome arousal.

The ground floor of Club 33 had been designed by a young Danish interior decorator who'd just returned from six months in Marrakesh, and anyone entering the room was immediately plunged into a sensuous Arabian Night's atmosphere. Club members, for this was a special "key club" which wealthy Danish hedonists, well-heeled foreigners, successful dope dealers, and various other hangers-on paid many kroner for the privilege of entering, lounged around the large candlelit room in various stages of stupefied collapse or amphetamine-accelerated exhilaration. At one end of the large, tapestry-walled room was a bar of sorts where a long-haired youth clad in a silver-embroidered Moroccan robe sat crosslegged upon a dais mixing drinks into smoky-blue mugs. The air was filled with the scent of incense and a pungent undertone of cigarette smoke which immediately made Jill feel quite overwhelmed by the sensuous, harem-like mood of the place.

The baffled yet undeniably excited young law student stared around her in stunned bewilderment, taking note first of the ceiling which was painted in a deep midnight-blue interspersed with bright stars. Then she focused her eyes on the far end of the long narrow room where a voluptuous young girl draped in a translucent garment adorned with silver serpents spitting fire was belly-dancing around an authentic-looking stuffed camel. Many brightly-colored pipes shaped much like the one she'd smoked last night at Dizzy's apartment hung from the camel's velvet shoulder bags, and the bewildered young redhead noticed that most of the guests were inhaling a sweet-smelling tobacco that she immediately recognized as hashish. The belly-dancer was undulating in time to the loud sounds of rather incongruous rock music blaring from speakers hidden in several enormous potted plants.

"Wow!" Mortensen exclaimed. "This is really wild! Last time I was here it was a South Sea island. Why don't you sit down while I get us something to drink and smoke."

Although a little voice inside her brain was calling out a warning, the wide-eyed young law student felt her hypnotized body following the tall Dane's instructions. Sinking to an unoccupied velvet couch, she turned her attention to the other people in the room. They were dressed in a variety of styles, exotic costumes, well-tailored suits, nondescript jeans, all of which gave the Moroccan decorations a touch of Mardi-Gras spirit. Jill shook her head, finding it very hard to adjust the past few days. And today had been perhaps the oddest of all, what with her lapsed memory, the magical Hans Christian Andersen atmosphere of Tivoli, and now this extraordinary Club 33. Nobody back home would ever believe her if she told them about this place; they thought they were being pretty wild when they smoked a little grass and drank a case of beer in someone's beachhouse. In fact, the twenty-two year old had a hard time believing that she was not dreaming herself!

"I hope you'll like this," Erik said, interrupting her reverie. "It's what everybody drinks here--tequila."

"Tequilla?" Jill queried. "It's Mexican, isn't it? I've heard of it, but I never tried it."

"You do it like this," the tall blond man explained, licking his hand and sprinkling a little salt on it, then tasting it. Next he took a bit of juice from one of the lemon slices on a dish in front of them, and finally swallowed a small amount of the clear tequila. He appeared to hold this mixture in his mouth for a few moments before swallowing, his nose wrinkling slightly as he did so.

"Wow, that's good stuff!" It's been awhile since I had any of that. Come on, Jill, you try it now!" He took her hand in his, lifting it to his lips and licking the back of her hand with his warm tongue and then scattering salt over it. The auburn-haired young woman gave a little gasp, surprised at the strong tremor that ran through her body at the touch of his moist wet tongue on her sensitive flesh.

"Now taste that, and then the lemon and tequila--but don't swallow yet," he instructed, smiling in excited anticipation as he thought of what the tequila coupled with a few pipes would do to this already slightly intoxicated American girl. "Okay, now swallow."

Jill followed his directions with a wry wrinkling of her pretty face. It didn't taste bad, just very, very sharp. Then, moments after the powerful alcohol entered her system, she began to feel its relaxing effect.

"It's very strange..." she said slowly. "I... I think I like it."

"You'll like this too!" the handsome Dane promised, lifting a red and gold enamel pipe from his pocket.

"Oh, I don't think so," Jill protested, her unpleasant memories of last night returning with a rush.

"You don't smoke?" Erik asked in the same incredulous was Dizzy's friends had done. "Why not?"

"Well... I feel so drunk already..." Jill hedged, not wanting to talk about her real reasons for fearing the mind-distorting drug.

"All the more reason why you should have a smoke," he declared. "The effects counteract each other--the alcohol deadens your perception, but the hash heightens it."

This explanation seemed too logical to argue against. After all, she was afraid she'd be really drunk if she finished the tequila... perhaps just one pipe wouldn't hurt. Last night she'd smoked too many to keep track of, and that was probably why she'd reacted so strongly. "Well, okay," she agreed.

Erik lighted the pipe, a happy grin on his handsome features, then passed it to Jill who inhaled deeply and managed not to cough.

I never used to be this way, the troubled redhead was thinking even as she drew the pungent smoke into her lungs. It seems that now anyone can talk me into doing things that I know are wrong. Why didn't I just go on home early like I told myself I would? Something's wrong with me...

Then her thoughts faded as the overload of intoxicants melted her brain into the same formless pulp of sensation she'd experienced last night. Tonight, due to the exotic overload of sensory stimuli in the Moracco-inspired clubroom, her reaction was even stronger. "I feel so strange..." she murmured to Erik. "Have some more tequila," he suggested helpfully, leaning very close to her and almost whispering into her ear. As he moved nearer, Jill felt the first obscene flames of desire flickering through her body.

Oh no... Oh Cod, no! It's happening again, and I don't think I can even move, the distressed young redhead thought to herself. Nevertheless, she did not try to pull away from Erik as he once again licked the back of her hand and sprinkled salt on it.

"I'm taking you to Marrakesh ooooooonnnnnnn the traaaain, ooooooonnnnnnn the traaaain."

Jill began to giggle, her serious introspective thoughts dispersed by the second swallow of tequila. "We're already in Marrakesh," she laughed, "but we came in a taxi!"

Erik laughed with her, overjoyed that she had not tried to pull away her hand which he still held after assisting her with her tequila. He was feeling pretty loose himself, this was some place Lars had set up all right!

"After we finish this drink, let's go upstairs and meet my friend, Lars Jensen," he suggested, glancing at his watch. It was almost time for the show to begin! "Jensen?" Jill asked rather blankly. "Yeah, he's the guy who runs this place. He'll probably be able to tell you lots of useful things about night life in Copenhagen," the scheming young man added.

"Oh... okay..." the intoxicated law student agreed. Actually, she'd quite forgotten about her research for the moment, and she didn't think she really wanted to remember it--it only made her feel guilty about the appointment she'd missed and the books she hadn't yet opened. But she supposed it was her duty to talk to this man, and even though she was perfectly happy sitting where she was, it seemed easier to do what Erik wanted rather than to argue about it.

So the couple finished their drinks, smoked another pipe, and then somewhat unsteadily mounted the carpeted steps to the second story of Club 33, and started down the long corridor toward the door at the end. With eager fingers Erik turned the knob--but it was locked. Goddamn it, his watch must be off! Shit, he'd blown a perfect opportunity, the American girl was in just the right condition to get all hot and turned-on by a sex show. Goddamn the Ducking Japanese who'd made his watch! The frustrated blond man tried pounding on the heavy wood-paneled door, although he knew it was no use; the room was securely sound-proofed. What the hell was he going to do now? Jill stood beside the angrily pounding Dane, wondering what all the fuss was about. Actually, she didn't quite understand much of what was going on, nor did she particularly care. She was floating in a cloud of drug and alcohol-induced euphoria, and couldn't bring herself to consider anything else seriously.

"I know!" Erik cried out suddenly. He'd just remembered that there was a closed circuit television in Jensen's office. His friend would, of course, be inside the auditorium with the other spectators watching to see how the show was going, and he was sure they wouldn't be disturbed in the office at this time of night. Perfect! This was going to be far better than watching the show in a room crowded with other people!

The excited Danish man took Jill's hand and hurried back along the corridor to a door that stood slightly ajar just at the top of the stairs. "Perhaps Lars is in here," he explained to her as he led her into the room.

The office wasn't very large, but its opulence more than compensated for its small size. There was a huge mahogany desk cluttered with papers and books. A couple of leather Danish-modern armchairs, a matching couch, several lamps, and a color television were scattered about the room, and the wide windows were draped with a modernistic Finnish-made material that complimented the plush green carpet. On the walls hung several erotic posters, and a huge vase of flowers stood on a mahogany bar covered with a large number of bottles.

"Guess he's not here," Erik said rather unnecessarily, licking his lips in anticipation. "We might as well sit here and wait for him. You want a drink?"

"Sure," Jill said. She'd reached the point of intoxication where she stopped considering what the effects of more alcohol on her system might be. Sinking down gratefully on the soft leather sofa, she stared around the room. "A TV!" she exclaimed. "I've never seen Danish TV--can we turn it on?"

"Why not?" Erik said. His voice betrayed his lewd excitement, but the young auburn-haired girl was too drunk and stoned to take any notice. Hastily assembling the lemons, salt, and tequila for their drinks, he switched on the wide-screen television. Then he settled down beside her on the expensive leather couch and extracted a red and gold pipe from his pocket.

"Might as well have another smoke, too," he said, lighting the little pipe and passing it to the curvaceous young girl who was staring at the television screen waiting for the picture to focus. When it finally did, Jill nearly dropped the hashish-filled object in her astonishment.

As the screen cleared, two voluptuous blondes dressed only in sheer black brassieres and bikini panties were dancing in a lewd, insinuating way around a small stage. Around the platform sat a number of people, mostly men but also a number of women, all peering intently at the undulating young girls Rock music with a loud drum beat poured from the television, and there was a sort of flickering light show on the wall behind the stage.

"Not too much like American TV, is it?" Erik asked, inching cautiously toward the shocked young redhead. "This is the kind of shows we have late at night, when the kids are in bed," he added, taking full delight in the obvious effect his clever deception was having on her.

Jill opened her mouth to reply, then gasped instead as she saw the two attractive young dancers begin to remove their skimpy brassieres while the audience murmured in audible excitement. Their large, pink-nippled breasts swayed obscenely as they moved in time to the provocative music, and then one of the nearly-naked girls reached down to pick up--oh my God, could it be true--a dildo! The gaping American girl stared unbelievingly, hoping that it was just a hallucination dreamed up by her hashish and alcohol saturated mind; but there was no denying the fact that the girl was running the obscene instrument over her full, high-set breasts. So intently was Jill watching the provocative spectacle spinning before her glazed eyes that she didn't realize that Erik had draped his arm around her shoulders and was fondling her bare upper arm.

"You're so soft... so soft and beautiful," he whispered into her ear. Her body was quivering beneath him, but she still did not move away or protest as his eager hand gently traced the outline of her full breast. The pace of her breathing quickened, while her eyes remained glued in a mesmerized disbelief to the color TV screen.

"It must feel good, what they're doing," he murmured, following Jill's gaze to see one of the blonde's caressing the other's voluptuous naked body with the pink vibrator. it was just the same kind he'd given the auburn-haired American girl, and he was sure she was thinking of that too. Then the music reached a crescendo and a man appeared upon the stage, his well-muscled, suntanned body completely naked and glistening like a bronze statue.

As the handsome male actor entered, Jill's entire body began to shake uncontrollably. A low moan of heartfelt anguish broke her lips, and she hid her face in her hands, trying to shut out the terrible memories that came flooding back into her mind at the sight of the man's long thick penis sticking straight out from his hair-covered loins. Closing her eyes did not help, of course; the vision of Dizzy's drug-glazed eyes, long unkempt brown hair, and lust-thickened cock standing out from his lean loins was permanently imprinted upon her brain. Not only was the horrified American girl seeing all that she'd done the night before, but her brain, as if in retaliation for the unnatural memory-block, now replayed each obscene detail in slow-motion detail.

"Oh God! Oh no! No, no, no!" Jill groaned. "NOOOO!"

"What's the matter?" Erik asked, astonished at the violence of her unexpected outburst. "What's wrong, Jill?"

At the sound of genuine concern in the faintly accented voice of the man beside her, Jill began sobbing in uncontrollable hysteria. All the pent-up worries and guilt of the past few days burst out of her tortured mind like a clumsily opened bottle of champagne, and even Jill herself was amazed at the intensity of her emotion. She'd been brought up to think that crying was something shameful, something that should, if absolutely necessary, be carried out in private. And now look at her--sobbing hysterically in front of a man she'd only known for a few days.

Erik Mortensen didn't know quite what he should do. He himself was quite stoned and a little drunk, but his mind was clear enough to ascertain that the voluptuous girl he'd been seducing was in great distress. Somehow her open show of emotion made him feel closer, more tender toward her, and he felt for the first time a real interest in her welfare rather than a mere physical lust for her voluptuous body. Gathering her trembling body in his strong arms, he began to caress her quivering flesh and murmur soothing words.

"It's all right, just calm down," he said in a low, comforting voice. "Tell me about it, that'll make you feel better."

But Jill shook her long auburn curls vehemently at the suggestion. How could she possibly tell him the perverted things she'd done? She'd rather drop dead!

The Danish man had a shrewd idea that whatever was upsetting the young American student probably had something to do with sex. Her breakdown seemed to have been triggered by the obscene spectacle on the closed-circuit TV in his friend's office, and he remembered how agitated she'd become in the sex shop day before yesterday.