41
September 2017
Alex
It all started with a call from Arthur.
“Where’ve you been, pal?” Alex heard instead of a greeting.
“Arthur?” asked Alex. “Where did you come from?”
Arthur never phoned this early. “Normal people sleep at this time of day,” he would often say. “And if they’re not sleeping, it just means they haven’t gone to bed yet.”
“Almost where we split up, my friend,” laughed Arthur. “A good old after party.”
“Majorca, Baden or the nearest 24/7 bar?” asked Alex.
“Right at the third attempt,” laughed Arthur. “We’re hanging out in Soho. Can you come?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” thought Alex.
“I’m not alone,” lied Alex. “Tell me.”
“Pal, I’ll get right down to business. I’ve got a really expensive ticket to an unusual party, but I’ve got to go on business to Italy. I’d like to put this invite into good hands.”
“What’s the ticket to?” asked Alex, understanding nothing.
“To a party that you go to alone,” Arthur answered mysteriously.
“Hm…”
“Right…” Arthur drawled somewhat bizarrely.
“Can you explain?” asked Alex.
A rustling could be heard. Then the receiver appeared to have been dropped. Some light morning cursing could be heard.
“Arthur…” Alex said, reminding Arthur that he was waiting.
“Hang on,” he heard from the other end of the line.
Alex had to wait a little while longer.
“Pouring a five-hundred-pound bottle of Agrapart on yourself is a real skill…” came from the other end of the line.
“Five hundred pounds for a bottle of French champagne at 9 in the morning,” thought Alex. “Why not?”
“Alex, pal,” said Arthur, returning to the conversation.
“I’m listening,” said Alex.
“This is the thing,” Arthur began again. “Throwing a ticket like this away would be a sin, man. This is a really extraordinary party. But there’s nothing that will amaze you, so I’m not worried.”
“What is this party, then?” Alex asked again.
“They’ll explain there,” answered Arthur. “They’ll explain the rules on the door. They’re not complex. You’ll like it,” said Arthur. “I’ll say it again, listen to me,” he continued. “It’d be a crime to throw it away. It costs a fortune. Even for me. I can’t give it to just anyone. It’s a tight-knit crowd, only for those in our circle, only for aesthetes. So don’t spread it round. That you’re one of London’s top aesthetes – I don’t think anyone’s going to argue with that, my friend Horatio,” Arthur laughed.
“I…” Alex began.
“Basically, it’s all about fucking. As always,” Arthur interrupted him, whispering. “I’m not on my own here,” he whispered even quieter. “Why’re you being so slow, you numbskull?!?”
“All right,” Alex agreed, for some reason.
“Oh! The girl’s gone off,” Arthur said happily, before going on quietly again, but very precisely. “Alex, it’s a place where a person’s secret wishes gain independence, but they stay secret.”
“Interesting,” said Alex.
“Getting you interested is hard work, damn it,” laughed Arthur. “But if you don’t like the crowd, which I seriously doubt will happen, bro,” Leon said with confidence, “you can turn round and leave. So, basically, wait for my driver with an envelope.”
“Got it,” answered Alex.
“You owe me big time,” Arthur concluded.
Again some rustling was heard coming from the other end of the line, and then there were three beeps all of a sudden.
The conversation was over and Alex put his iPhone aside. He wasn’t planning on going anywhere on that day, last night’s excesses were still clouding his head and he had to write a letter from the editor for the next day’s issue.
He turned back to his laptop but couldn’t get a word out. He pondered the idea that the thinking process was often helped by the trusty friend that is jerking off, and even opened his favorite clip on Kink.com, but he couldn’t concentrate on the images flashing in front of him, and his cock wouldn’t get hard, remaining indifferent to Alex’s demands. So, he decided to go back to bed.
In the evening he tidied himself up as he was waiting for the courier to arrive with the invite. He put on a white shirt and his favorite suit from Tom Ford. As always, he wore his trousers without a belt.
Then he ordered a Mercedes from a car service and headed to the address on the invitation.
Kensington– one of the most prestigious neighborhoods in London.
Renowned, or perhaps infamous “High Street Ken.” A proverbial neighborhood. A dream for the whole of Britain. Even for those who’ve never been there. The shops, the town houses, those who live there, or at least claim to, even have a distinct accent of their own. Anyone can go visit. You just have to pay. A meal at the Ivy Brasserie will do serious damage to your bank account. And if you want to live there, you have to pay big time.
Kensington. A symbol for luxury and a monied, carefree life. Not just a carefree lifestyle, but a lifestyle immersed in calm and care from people who are paid to create that calm, pristine and pleasant life. Gardeners, cooks, cleaners, tutors, nannies, drivers, housekeepers, secretaries and personal assistants.
The private house listed on the invitation was discreet, just another of the multi-million pads lining the street. Stunning, but unremarkable.
“Who are you here to see?” a doorman asked politely, dressed to the nines.
Alex checked the invitation, reading from it.
“Private party. Four, eight, one, four.”
It appeared to be some sort of secret code.
“Please come in,” said the doorman, beckoning Alex in.
A striking blonde stepped forward to greet Alex. Without saying a word, she reached out to take the invitation. Glancing at it, she pointed in the direction of a reception room without saying a word.
Alex walked on through the sumptuous mansion, a palace of hushed velvet and exquisite taste.
The door was opened by a girl who looked very much like the one who had just met Alex: about the same height, long dark hair, a beautiful figure, statuesque breasts, the same refined makeup and absolutely identical clothing.
“We ask that you turn off your telephone while you are here,” the girl said quietly.
Alex obeyed the polite request and was immediately approached by another identical girl. She smiled to Alex and spoke in a soft, delicate voice. “Hello!”
“Hello!” answered Alex. The appearance of these three identical girls aroused him.
“Come with me, please,” the third girl said quietly.
She walked to one of the doors that were equally spaced out along the wall. Alex walked into a room with a small, beautiful, round table, several upholstered armchairs and a couch covered in various masks in the style of the annual Carnevale di Venezia.
“Please sit down,” the girl said quietly.
“Thank you.” Alex seated himself on one of the chairs.
“Champagne?” asked the girl, bending over a small wine trolley with glasses that stood by the round table.
“Yes, thank you,” answered Alex.
“There are no random people here,” the girl began, placing a glass of champagne in front of Alex, “and that means that informing you of the rules won’t take long.”
Alex nodded.
“The first rule: You must choose a mask and wear it from the beginning until the end. You can only take it off in the bathroom, in one of the bedrooms or before leaving the mansion – you can leave it at the door. If you wish, you can keep it as a memento.”
“All clear,” said Alex. He’d looked at the girl’s beautiful figure and his desire welled up. If the rules that she was listing allowed him to take her in that small room he’d do it immediately. He even imagined how he would do it. In that beautiful little room with its heap of Venetian masks. From behind. Against the wall. Pulling her dress off. Leaving her entirely naked. Only in her mask of makeup that made all the girls look the same.
“Every guest has a coin,” the girl continued.
The girl placed a beautiful coin in front of Alex. There was a building engraved on it, and it seemed to Alex to be the townhouse they were now inside.
“Take the coin and put it in your pocket,” she said calmly.
Alex obeyed.
“The second and last rule,” said the girl, looking him in the eye. “You can’t refuse the sexual wishes of anyone who gives you their coin. If you fulfill their request, you will have two coins. You can use them to refuse anyone who gives you a subsequent request.”
Alex sensed his imagination running wild and arousing his body.
“If, after that, you give one of your two coins to someone and that person fulfilled your wish, you will again have one coin and you will be obliged to fulfill the wish of any person you can’t show two coins to.”
“I understand,” said Alex, sensing his throat tightening up from his arousal.
“Just two rules,” the girl summed up. “They mustn’t be broken.”
“Or what will happen?” thought Alex, but he didn’t say anything.
“That’s it,” the girl said calmly. “You must now put on your mask before you leave this room.”
She got up and quietly left.
“So, this is a party ‘you’ll like’…” thought Alex, recalling Arthur’s words. So, this is how the rich and the powerful entertain themselves.
Alex walked over to the dozens of masks on the sofa. His eye was caught by a bright red mask which was fastened tight to a beret made of thick material. He put it on and headed out of the room.
He walked along the hall’s sumptuous corridor, its walls made of beige marble. A broad staircase led upwards, with more rooms on the left and right, tightly sealed by weighty, tall doors. Apart from the girls who stood motionless at the entrance, he was alone in the impressively sized hall.
Alex slowly ascended to the second floor, sliding his hand along the smooth marble banister. He found himself at the beginning of a broad hall with a shiny parquet floor. There were about fifteen people in the room. Broken up into small groups, they were chatting with one another. They were all in incredibly varied masks, of course. Some were in bright capes that Alex thought were somewhat theatrical.
The décor in the house was akin to that of a museum or the interiors of palaces in films about the families of the tsars, it stunned with its outlandish magnificence. All of the windows were draped. Alex noted an evenly spaced line of silver candelabras, with a vast chandelier in the center of the hall. There were antique sofas ranged about the room, armchairs and couches. The servants were distinguished from the guests by their outfits – they were dressed in grey trousers and shirts, their faces hidden by identical grey masks. There were five of them, and they attentively followed the guests, ever ready to be on hand if they needed assistance.
Alex looked round in search of a bar, but failed to notice the small niche in the wall that was partially covered over with a hanging that was the same color as the wall. Next to the niche stood a small group of guests discussing something.
Alex could just about make out a snippet of their conversation. “Eric Berne is my hero. He not only explained how people interact with one another, but also with the world.”
Then he heard a woman’s voice. “All scenarios are from our childhood. Our environments and, of course, our parents in our childhood form the scenarios that go on to mold our lives as individuals. Then each individual runs around trying to find the cause of his behavior without knowing where to look for answers.”
“Yes, all of our childhood scenarios are the locomotive for a powerful psychological force that drags you to your fate, with your help or by overcoming your conscious resistance,” a male voice affirmed.
A tall man in a blue mask left the group and headed over to Alex. After a couple of steps, however, he turned left sharply. Alex’s gaze followed him and spotted the bar he’d been looking for. He headed over and sat down on a chair next to the tall man. The blue mask turned to Alex, who got the impression that the man was smiling.
They could still make out the argument that was continuing among the group: “If I’m not mistaken, Erik Berne attributed a key role to consent in the formation of the child. Consent provides the only way to free a person of his parents’ regulations. The parents were to give consent to the child being happy, to put it briefly.”
The barman, without having asked anything of the guests, served Alex and the tall man drinks at the same time. Taking his glass of cognac from the bar, he looked at Alex for a few seconds. Eyes from beneath one mask looking into the eyes concealed behind another.
“Will you come over to us?” the man asked unexpectedly.
“With pleasure,” answered Alex, also taking his glass of Henri IV, Cognac Grande Champagne.
Alex had heard of this cognac, but never tried it. The price of a bottle of this rare tipple, if he recalled correctly, was over eight thousand pounds, months of work for those on an average income even in the country’s capital. This was a gift from the master of the home to his rich guests, the barman informed them in a quiet voice. “How much did this invite that Arthur give me cost?” Alex thought.
“Allow me to bring you into our circle,” said the man, beckoning Alex to join him and his friends. “I’d like to introduce you, friends, to a newcomer,” said the man when they’d approached the group.
“Don’t invent a name for yourself,” said a woman in a pink mask. “Everyone who’s here for the first time tries to pretend to be someone else. There’s no need for that, though. We’re all in masks. We’re simple folk here. Equals among equals. Without names. And these rules give us a magical opportunity to get by without everyday lies.”
“Very convincing,” said Alex. “Unfortunately, there is more than enough lying in everyday life.”
“Equals among equals,” thought Alex, “drinking cognac for eight thousand pounds a pop …”
“Yes,” the woman replied, “in this house, the masks really do protect us from lies. This house has become a happiness drug. It’s a place where all human secret desires gain independence, whilst remaining secret.”
This was the phrase that the half-drunk Arthur had told him.
“Coming here, I immediately felt like Tom Cruise in Eyes Wide Shut,” said Alex. “Whoever came up with the idea for this party did a good job,” he smiled.
“You’re definitely here for the first time,” smiled the woman. “Nine out of ten people coming here for the first time refer to that film by the great Kubrick.”
A waitress came up to them quietly and offered some hors d’oeuvres that had been neatly laid out on an encrusted platter.
“Wagyu filet mignon,” said the waitress, “and Rogue River Blue.”
Small pieces of marbled meat neatly sliced and cubes of blue cheese had been carefully placed to form an intricate pattern.
“This cheese matures in vine leaves soaked in brandy,” the waitress said softly.
“I recommend it,” the tall man said to Alex, taking a piece of this elite cheese.
All of those present at this invitation-only party behaved with marked politeness. Among themselves and with the servants. They thanked the latter for the food and drinks they were brought and spoke politely with the waitresses, assistants and barman. But they maintained an invisible distance between those who were performing their duties and the participants, the privileged guests of the master of the mansion in Kensington – a master whose identity remained unknown to Alex.
After a while, Alex left his new acquaintances. He walked through the hall, where he’d begun to feel at home, and introduced himself to and chatted with people who had cropped up in his life by chance. He somehow got used to everyone being in masks very quickly. He noticed how, from time to time, couples would move off down the enfilade: a man and a woman, or a woman and a woman. As a rule, they were accompanied by one of the assistants, who appeared to be ushering them to one of the castle’s bedrooms.
At one point, it seemed to Alex that two men were disappearing into the enfilade, a long succession of rooms that receded off into the distance. He wasn’t sure, however, that they were both men, as one was in a long cape and his or her figure couldn’t be made out.
At some point, Alex’s arousal at this unusual atmosphere died off. He noticed that, judging by the voices, figures and behavior of the majority of the guests, they were over forty years of age, and he’d always liked younger women. Guests came and went. On the surface, it all could have passed for a rehearsal for a masquerade ball or a film shoot, perhaps.
Alex asked one of the waitresses where he could find the toilet. Walking into the depths of the enfilade, he found it behind one of the heavy curtains and a weighty door.
Alex entered and closed the door. He pressed an elegant button on the door handle and the lock clicked shut. He pulled down his trousers and sat on the toilet. He couldn’t work out what material the toilet bowl was made of. It was either some very special, expensive metal, or it was silver-plated iron. The seat gave off a soothing coolness which amused Alex.
He took off his mask and his face felt a physical sense of relief. Alex looked around for the kind of magazine or book that is sometimes left lying about in such places.
And then he saw it. Or, rather, at first he heard the sound of an object being pushed under the door. Alex couldn’t immediately work out what was happening. Perhaps someone was trying to get into the toilet that he’d occupied, he thought. The sound didn’t die out – on the contrary, he heard an object of some kind sliding across the floor. Alex looked down to try and work out what was going on.
Alex saw a coin with a hologram of the house that he was in depicted on it. It was identical to his own coin. Still not having fully understood what was happening or what might happen, Alex quickly got up. Instinctively. He pulled up his boxers and trousers and did up the zip. And then he sensed, or rather heard his heart. It wasn’t just beating. It had begun hammering. It started to shake his body every which way. Right and left, back and forth. In circles, backwards, then forwards, then in circles again, his heart wasn’t beating, it was battering him.
“Well?” Alex heard coming from the other side of the door in an authoritative voice. The voice seemed familiar to Alex.
Thoughts came into his head in unison with the pounding of his heart: “I can’t. I can’t not open it. I agreed. I can’t not open it. It’s my coin. It’s mine now. I have to.”
The words rattled around in disorder within his head. They hammered at the crust of his brain. On the skin of the brain. And at his heart. Blow after blow. Like a vast boxer battering his opponent in the ring. The latter stumbles backwards, jerks up his hands to protect his face, but it’s all in vain. And it doesn’t stop, until…
“Well?” came the voice again from the other side of the door.
And only now did Alex realize that this was a man’s voice.
“Yes,” flashed through his mind. He heard that “yes” amidst the chaos of blows to his heart and thoughts.
Alex pressed the little button on the doorknob and took a step back. The door slowly opened, and the tall man appeared at its threshold. The same man that had introduced Alex to his friends at the beginning of the evening. The man was still in his blue mask. Alex couldn’t see his face. He noticed the tall man’s cheekbones in the light coming from the bathroom. The light revealed well cared for, tanned skin.
Unable to look away, he looked into the eyeholes of the mask. Two round apertures, through which, without blinking, it seemed to Alex, a person’s eyes were looking at him. The polite, educated and affable person who Alex had become acquainted with at the beginning of the evening had disappeared. Or, to be more precise, he had appeared before Alex in a totally different incarnation.
The tall man slowly entered the spacious toilet that was more akin to a luxury cloakroom. Just as slowly, and without taking his eyes off Alex, he closed the door behind him and pressed the little button on the door knob to lock it.
“Pick up the coin,” he ordered.
His heart was pounding alarmingly. Thoughts frenziedly whirled around the room, crashing into one another. One stood out … “Finally.”
It was then that he realized that his mask was on the shelf. That they were on an uneven footing. That…
“Pick up the coin,” the man said again.
Alex slowly looked down and saw that the coin was between the man’s legs. Alex looked back up at the man. He should probably go, probably…
“Pick it up,” Alex heard coming from the man again.
Alex realized that the man wasn’t going anywhere. Alex couldn’t feel his body. It had stopped obeying him. His arms and legs were shaking. His stomach was churning to the point of pain. His mind was blurring. He understood everything. He’d played these games himself. Several times. When girls had carried out his orders and done so unquestioningly. He knew the rules of the game. But this time he was on the receiving end. He was the one having to obey. And he wanted to be there, he wanted to try it, he wanted it, but he was afraid of it. And that coin that was now between the legs of the tall man was pulling him down, transporting him to the other side.
Alex was having difficulty keeping himself on his feet, he knelt down on one knee right at the man’s feet and with a shaking hand he picked up the coin.
“And now we do everything by the rules,” the man said quietly.
Alex looked up at the man.
“I love rules,” said the man.
As Alex used his hand to support himself getting back up, he heard the voice coming from above, from the mask.
“Don’t get up.”
Obediently, Alex remained on one knee.
He had wanted to. Many times. He’d thought about it. Imagined it. These scenes. How he would touch men, beautiful, fit young men. But he hadn’t known, back then, that when it would happen he would almost die of the fear that would shackle and bind his body and mind.
“Take them off,” Alex heard.
Alex, without taking his eyes off the man’s pupils, slowly put the coin in the pocket of his jeans and reached for the man’s belt. The expensive leather of the belt gave way to his hands easily.
And now a strange feeling overcame Alex. In a flash he understood that he was no longer afraid of the belt. That the fear of what was to come was outweighing, driving out and destroying his old fear of his mother with her father’s belt.
“This is wild,” he caught himself thinking.
This is insane. A dream. A hallucination.
Alex suddenly sensed that he was no longer shaking.
Alex unfastened the belt, then a button on the trousers, and slowly, very slowly, undid the zip. Beautiful, expensive boxer shorts appeared right before Alex’s eyes, a bump in the center where the tall man’s penis was bursting to get out.
The mask was silent. Alex, for some reason, imagined him with his eyes closed and his head thrown back. “Or he’s looking at me,” thought Alex. He really wanted to look up, but for some reason didn’t. It was as if he didn’t want to anger the mask-man by some awkward movement or action that, perhaps, wasn’t appropriate in such situations. He didn’t know, he was lost. Lost and aroused. The mask’s cock was an inch from Alex’s face, he was just an inch from what he’d wanted to try for so long. Wanted it, but rarely admitted it to himself, that whole aspect of sex that had previously been unexplored. And when he had admitted it to himself, he’d been afraid of his own thoughts.
The mask remained silent. “He’s playing his own game,” Alex thought for a second. It would happen. All of it. There was no way back. All. Of it. That game. His thoughts spouted, twinkled, pulsated. Alex took the expensive boxer shorts in both hands and pulled them down.
Then everything happened very quickly. Alex took the man’s cock right at the base in his right hand, just as dozens of women had done with his cock. When they’d taken Alex’s cock in their delicate fingers.
And Alex took the man’s cock in his mouth.
Cries of satisfaction came from the man and Alex almost simultaneously. Both were enjoying it. The man breathed in a full chest of air and then noisily exhaled it. Alex slowly let the cock slip from his mouth and then just as slowly took it in again. The cock was large. Big, hard and flexible. Alex gently squeezed it at the base, just sucking the head in and out. The cock moved pleasantly along the upper surface of Alex’s tongue. He liked it.
He moved back and forth. Back and forth. The hot, pliant, powerful, delicious cock of the man-mask gave him pleasure. He moved back and forth, again and again. The cock in his mouth grew hotter. “I know what he needs,” thought Alex. “I definitely know what he needs. I will give him pleasure, I want to, I know exactly how, how to do it.” Alex again pulled the cock out of his mouth and then took it all in. The cock pushed into his throat, he had difficulty breathing. A groan of joy came from above.
“Yes,” Alex heard.
He began doing it again and again. He tried to take the mask-man’s cock deeper and deeper. Again and again. More and more.
Alex felt both of the man’s hands on his head. Alex had done the same thing a hundred times – put his hands on a woman’s head in order to guide her in the rhythm that he, Alex, wanted. But now everything had changed. Now he was giving pleasure to another man, taking his cock into his mouth again and again, into the warm space of his mouth, a powerful cock with a nice aroma, into his mouth, right onto his tender tongue.
The man put his hands on Alex’s head but didn’t move it. He simply held his hands on his head. That aroused Alex even more. He let the cock out of his mouth. With his right hand, which was moist from spit and from the cock itself, he started moving up and down the cock fast, faster, Alex wanted the man to come right in his mouth, and he would start swallowing it down right at the point when he started to come.
Alex, still moving his hand up and down the man’s cock fast, looked up to tell him, to let him know that his cock was already quivering in Alex’s hands, shaking, it was incandescent, and Alex understood, or rather sensed, no, he knew from his own experience that there wasn’t long now. The man threw his head back, breathing through his open mouth. “I want, I want to give him pleasure. Everything I can. That’s what I want.” With the right hand. Faster and faster. Along the man’s cock. The man’s breathing grew faster. Yes, now. Alex took the man’s balls in his left hand and without stopping the main movement with his right, gently caressed the masked man’s balls with his left. The man let out a loud groan and his entire body shook. But he didn’t come. Alex, still working with his right hand as zealously as he could, took the head of the cock into his mouth.
“Again,” the man gasped.
“He’s really close,” Alex thought. “He’s enjoying it. Here and now.”
Alex moved his left hand forward slightly. The man’s balls were now in his palm. Alex pushed his palm deeper in and the balls were squeezed between the base of his thumb and his little finger on his left hand. His right hand was already beating in ecstasy around the man’s cock. The man groaned again, and Alex, holding the man’s balls in the palm of his left hand, felt for the man’s asshole. He felt for it, and then slowly, gently, pushed his middle finger into it, just a little. Inside the man’s ass, he gently pushed in the direction of his balls. The man shouted out. Alex started doing it again. With the middle finger of his left hand, in the man’s ass, again and again and again. The right hand, not stopping, worked with increasing fury, the head of the man’s cock in Alex’s mouth, tight up against his tongue, again, again, again, on the man’s ass, his right hand, furiously, in all that moisture.
A spurt. A spurt of sperm. An explosion in Alex’s mouth. A salty glob of sperm shot out of the man’s cock, along with a cry from his chest, a glob of sperm coming out of the hole in the end of the man’s cock and hitting the upper palate in Alex’s mouth.
It immediately felt unpleasant for Alex. “Wash your mouth out, wash yourself,” he thought. The man’s hand pressed his head down hard while his cock shuddered forward. Another glob of sperm hit the upper palate of his mouth. And then again and again. Until the spurts of sperm began to die down. And died down further. And then the last drops slowly coming out of the cock, gliding down him, informing him of the end of this insane extravaganza. The tension was gone within a fraction of a second, as if a cable had snapped. And Alex felt sick. Physically and morally. “That is the first and last time,” pounded in Alex’s head. “The first and last time.”