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TO UNOFFICIALLY WELCOME me to the production company where I was going to be employed, one of the cameramen with whom I had worked closely in the past as a freelancer decided to take me out. Out of a sense of obligation, I agreed.
I searched my closet to find the trendiest outfit in it. In the movies, all the party-goers wore something chic, something happening, something that accentuated their sensuality, making them look more desirable on the dance floor or through the eyes of someone who had consumed too much alcohol. I chose to wear black pants, a black long-sleeve shirt with silver buttons and black shoes with pointed tips. I wore a silver chain, a matching wristwatch on my left hand and a silver bracelet on the right. I sprayed cologne on liberally.
“Did you bathe in that thing?” Wendell asked when I opened the car door. “You’d better stick your head out my window before I suffocate.”
“Where are we going?” I asked as we got into his car.
“Some place I’m pretty sure you’ve never been to before.”
That could have been any of a number of places. I did not press him for details but bobbed my head to the high-octane music on his deck.
Before long he asked, “You’re not even going to try to figure it out?”
“It’s a new year for me, Wendell. I promised myself that I’m going to stress less about things. In case you didn’t notice, I’m a tightly wound-up guy. I am just too judgmental.
“I didn’t notice,” Wendell said, grinning.
“Why am I so opinionated anyway? I don’t need to have an opinion on everything. Life doesn’t have to be so black and white all the time. There could be some shades of grey. So tonight, I’m just going to go with the flow. Come what may, I’ll embrace it.”
Wendell cast suspicious glances at me while I rambled on.
“Some of my former students are doing way better than me. I see them driving their fancy cars. I see their pictures online when they go off on their fancy vacations with their significant others. Some of them even have kids. And what do I have? Not one thing. So this is where it all begins, tonight, before it’s too late.”
“I see you’ve been doing your introspection thing again.”
“Look at you, Wendell. You haven’t done badly. You still have a son to carry on your name. You have a decent job and someone to keep you warm when the night comes.”
“That will be yours too, Clay. But like you said, you’re just too particular. You’ve got to loosen up, bro.”
“I agree with you. One hundred percent. From this moment on, I’m loose.”
It was the middle of the week and there weren’t many cars on the road. After half an hour’s drive, we arrived at a central town and pulled up in front of an establishment with a neon sign that declared: Central Members Club – Bar & Guest House. I was a little disappointed that we weren’t going to dance the night away, but remembering my promise to myself earlier, I embraced the moment.
“You were right. I’ve never been to a casino before.”
I should have known something was amiss by the puzzled look on Wendell’s face.
Wendell paid the cover charge and we entered the establishment to the sound of Latin music blaring from unseen speakers. The lights were dim, just like in the movies, but there was no smoke like I had expected. The bar occupied a prominent spot in the room; to the left was a pool table and to the right was a U-shaped stage.
In front of the stage was a row of chairs with a few men on them. My eyes followed the men’s line of vision and my jaw dropped. On the stage were two silver poles and wrapped around the poles were two women in what looked like their underwear. The only other accessory they wore was their high-heeled shoes.
I looked at Wendell and he smiled sheepishly. “Remember all that you were saying before, about not being judgmental.”
“But this is...”
“A place of entertainment and these ladies are entertaining their clientele. Now, keep an open mind. You live only once.”
Wendell gently pushed me forward to the chairs and I sat robot-like, against my will.
After we watched the girls’ routine for a while, a middle-aged man placed a few bills on the stage in front of one of the girls. She picked them up, came off the stage and sat in the man’s lap. He looked Syrian, most likely a businessman judging by his white shirt and tie.
As the girl gyrated on his crotch, the man’s hands fell limp at his side. He threw his head back and groaned loudly as the girl continued to rub her derriere on him. Seeing his pleasure, she stood and turned so that her breasts were in his face. She pressed against him, glided her body up and down his, and he continued to moan with pleasure.
The rest of the small crowd cheered. The man whispered something to the girl and she smiled, took him by the hand and led him to a staircase on the left side of the stage. It was the first time that I noticed it. They climbed them and shortly afterwards, another girl joined the one on stage. A cheer erupted from stageside.
I looked at the men: young, old, African, Indian, office-worker, laborer.
“I’m not sure I should be here,” I said to Wendell above the noise.
“What about that little speech you gave me in the car?”
“But these women...”
“Choose to be here. It’s a job. Nothing more. Don’t judge them.”
I tried to relax.
Wendell took a bill from his pocket, moved towards the stage and placed the money in the band of the underwear of one of the dancers when she was close enough. The dancer came off the stage and approached him with long seductive strides. He steered her to me and, before I had a chance to object, she mounted me and wiggled her butt in my lap.
Maybe it was the shock and confusion at finding myself in a brothel, but my penis did not stand at attention. The dancer seemed to notice too and she wiggled slower, harder, in a tight circle. She was a conqueror bent on conquest. Still nothing.
I saw the fire in her eyes; she was not going to be deterred. This was a personal challenge for her; her reputation was at stake. She locked her hands around my neck and moved her breasts up and down my face.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, her thick Hispanic accent giving her away as one of the Latin Americans who came to our shores for this purpose. “You not in the mood today?”
My penis remained asleep. She grew desperate. She placed her hands on my shoulders, slowly moved her midsection up and down my body, and licked my ear and neck as she did. The rest of the hungry men cheered loudly.
“I bet that if I took you upstairs, I could get you in the mood.”
She took hold of my hand. I looked at Wendell. He gave me the thumbs up and as I passed by him, he pressed a little plastic bag containing some tablets in my hand.
“Just in case,” he mouthed.
As I followed the dancer upstairs, a million thoughts fought to make sense in my mind. The one that screamed the loudest was:
SHE’S A PROSTITUTE!
I never imagined that my first time would be with a prostitute but then again, I never imagined that my first time would come so late in life.
But prostitutes may have diseases, the rational side of my brain cautioned. They use condoms, countered the more adventurous side.
You’re taking advantage of this woman. ... You’re paying her.
This is wrong. ... You’re two consenting adults.
Yes, we were consenting adults and that justified it in my mind. I was tired of wondering what real sex felt like. I was tired of masturbating. I was tired of hitting the replay button on the DVD for the gratuitous sex scenes in movies. I was tired of my unfulfilling sexual fantasies. I was tired of hearing about the sexual conquests of some of my former students, knowing that they were experiencing a pleasure that I had only dreamt about.
When I was a child, I made a promise to myself. But I was no longer a child. I was a man. And there were things men did, things that men needed, and sex was one of them.
I had done my research. Sex keeps the immune system humming, lowers blood pressure and reduces the risk of heart-attack. Sex also reduces the chances of prostate cancer as well as it eases stress and improves sleep. I had denied myself all of these benefits for too long so whatever the consequences of my actions this night, I could handle it.
This night was going to start a new chapter in my life. It was more than satisfying idle curiosity. I was fulfilling a God-given need.
Realizing that my penis was still shy, the first thing I did when I got to the room was fill a glass with water and swallow one of the tablets that Wendell had given to me. I needed help – and fast. I needed an immediate erection and I needed it to last all night so that I could go as many times as I wanted.
This first time had to be memorable. I hesitated, then popped another pill to make sure that it happened sooner.
I undressed slowly while the dancer looked at me from her position on the bed. One finger was in her mouth and the other pulled back her underwear to reveal a hairless invitation. She smiled a crooked smile, her dark eyes calculating, and I felt like she was taking pleasure in my discomfort.
I stripped down to my boxers and sat on the edge of the bed.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” I said, not looking in her direction. She edged closer and placed her hand on mine.
“Don’t worry. I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
I nodded. Gently, she guided me to lie on the red sheets and she straddled me. She lowered her head and covered my ear and my neck with kisses. She made her way down to my chest, taking time to suck on my nipples. Soon I felt her warm, moist tongue tickling my bellybutton.
This is it, I said to myself. This is how I lose my virginity. In a brothel. To a prostitute. So much for all that sermonizing to all of my students all of these years.
I was a fraud. I was just like everybody else, with feet of clay, unable to stand on a moral high ground for too long. Sooner or later we all crack and some of us fall.
But all those other people were better than me. They didn’t have to pay for sex. They were having sex with someone they cared about and I was sure that that made it more special. I had hoped that my first time would have been with my wife. And after the intercourse we would have lain in bed, cuddling, talking, and then we would go again. This woman was being paid every thirty minutes. She had no interest in me beyond the dollar signs.
So caught up was I in my own thoughts that I yelped when her hot mouth covered my penis. I felt nauseated but it was not as a result of any revulsion I may have had towards how low I had allowed myself to fall.
I sat up and took the Latina’s head in my hands. “I need to throw up.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Bathroom.”
I pulled up my underwear and swung my feet off the bed. It was then I noticed my racing heart. Am I that nervous about what’s going to happen? I made it to the bathroom and as I bent over the toilet bowl, I felt my breath quicken. I remained over the bowl for a minute more but nothing came. Slowly, I got up and made my way to the bed. The Latina looked at me curiously.
“Are you all right?”
As I shook my head I started to feel a tingling in my chest. What in the world was going on? Had this woman given me a disease already? Or was I being punished the very first time I tried to get outside of my fishbowl?
“I don’t feel so good,” I said. “Call my friend.” She hesitated. “Don’t worry. I’ll still pay you.”
She left the room.
While I waited for Wendell to arrive, I noticed a numbness starting to creep up my arms and legs.
Oh, God, I wondered. What’s happening?
“Wendell,” I cried out. When he did not appear, I hobbled to the door and called again, more terrified this time. “Wendell!”
I heard footsteps scrambling up the stairs and I stumbled back to the bed. Shortly afterwards, Wendell burst into the room.
“What’s going on with you, Clay? The dancer said you’re frightening her.”
“Take me to a doctor, Wendell. I think I’m having a stroke.”
“All right. All right. Don’t panic.” But Wendell’s staccato movements as he helped me put on my shirt and my pants made him look like he was the one panicking. He carried my shoes in his hand as I leaned my weight against him.
“This isn’t working. I can’t move my feet,” I said after we had made several unsuccessful attempts to go down the stairs.
Wendell put me to sit on the bed. “Stay here. Let me see if I can get someone who can help carry you.”
It took him a while but eventually one of the workers – a bouncer, it seemed – helped carry me to the car.
As the two men carried me by my arms and legs, my shoes sitting on my stomach, through the half-full room, everyone turned and looked at the scene.
“Is he dead?” someone asked.
“No. He must have thrown out his back.”
“He needs a good peanut punch. It would give him some strength.”
This caused an uproar which followed us out the doors.
“We are never going to speak about this again, you hear me?” Wendell threatened between clenched teeth. “Never.”
“You mind if I take your picture?” the bouncer asked. “I never met a man who couldn’t handle a Colombian before.” He grinned through stained teeth.
“Just put his feet down here,” Wendell barked on reaching his vehicle. “Thanks for the help.” The man walked away shaking his head, laughing all the time.
Wendell struggled to put me in the back seat of his car and I didn’t complain when he kept knocking my head against the headrest. I wasn’t sure that it was accidental.
“This has certainly been one of the most memorable nights in my entire life,” I said dryly when he finally succeeded in getting my feet in.
“For all the wrong reasons,” Wendell grunted as he slammed the car door.
“You know the way to the hospital? There’s one fifteen minutes from here.”
He nodded. “Have you ever had this kind of pain before?”
“Never. I wonder if it was those tablets you gave me.”
“How many did you take?”
“Uh...”
“I hope you didn’t take more than one. It will keep you going for at least four hours.”
“These things come with side effects. I guess my body just didn’t react well to it.”
“Yeah. I guess,” Wendell said sourly.
Tires screeched as we pulled out of the parking lot. Above the pounding hip hop music in Wendell’s car I heard him swear that he was never taking me anywhere again. He complained that I was too naïve for an adult and that, for a former school teacher, I really ought to be more worldly-wise. He was sure that I was the only one in the entire country who would have an adverse reaction to that kind of pill.
He was especially angry that he could not show his face in that place again, and it had the best women. I remained silent.
*
AS FOR THE YOUNG DOCTOR who attended to me at the hospital... He could not keep the smirk from his face when I related to him what had happened.
“How old are you?” he asked as he filled out his chart. He grinned when I told him.
“And you’ve never had this kind of reaction before?”
“I’ve never used it before.”
He turned his head away to look for something. When he looked at me again, his eyes were bright and teary.
“Mr. Powers,” he said. “I do not think that it is something you should worry about. Go home and rest. The pain is going to wear off.”
I heard him chuckling, which turned into a peal of laughter as the orderly rolled me out of the emergency room.
The pain is going to wear off, he’d said. He didn’t tell me it was going to take two days.
