Zippered Flesh 2: More Tales of Body Enhancements Gone Bad (16 page)

I jumped in the shower, got dressed, and raced out the door. Fridays he was at XTC. I got there just after eleven. The room was dimly lit and on stage there were a couple of people giving a show for the crowd, people stood around applauding and cheering. Others were engaging in their own show at various tables around the room. I walked through the smoky haze, my curiosity getting the better of me, and glanced at a few of the scenes on display. I know, sounds sick, right? But actually, in these kinds of places, people like me fit right in. Watching is expected, encouraged. Some folks just want an audience, know what I’m saying? I saw this one girl in black leather, thigh-high boots, a black thong, and red corset, standing over a prostrate guy chained naked to a floor-level rack. Well, naked accept for the giant ball gag and anal plug. But I digress. Nudge me if I fade a bit. I tend to get lost in fond memories.

I saw “Joe” in the back, standing by the bar. I grabbed him and asked him about After Darque. He told me I wasn’t ready and walked away. I tried to follow him, but I lost him in the crowd. I went back, week after week after week. Joe was never there. I lost interest in the clubs. I lost interest in the sex. I lost interest in my life. Just didn’t give a damn anymore. All I thought about was After Darque. I didn’t even know what it was, but I needed it.

I spent my days working, halfheartedly, on files and entering data about cases I really didn’t care about, and my nights looking for Joe or other people who could tell me about AD. Or walking aimlessly.

Sex become mundane, boring, an existentialist’s cage bound by social conventions and mores. I understood the dilemma Charlie Sheen faces and why he feels the need to visit his “lady” friends. I think he’s looking for the same thing I am; the next experience, a new level of feeling, a new rush. I mean, when you get down to it, how many times can you suck, fuck, lick, or insert your body parts into someone else’s and have it be exciting? Yeah, it feels good and it’s a time waster, but seriously. Admit it. Where is the excitement? Where is the life-or-death struggle? Where is the intensity? Maybe I was looking too hard or maybe I was missing something. I mean inside me. Maybe there is a chemical or a gland or an organ that is missing or defective. Or have the majority of people reached a level of complacency they are happy with? I felt defeated.

One day, I heard a knock on the door. When I got up, there was no one there, but there was an envelope on the floor. I opened it up. Two words:
You’re Ready
. I looked at the card stock. At the bottom of the note were two letters: AD. This was it! This was the invitation. But where? There was no address, no phone, no discernible clue as to where this place was located. Finally, after all this time, it’s here and I couldn’t pry myself from bed to answer the door. Dammit!

I decided to go to XTC to track down Joe. I would wait there all night if I had to; I was determined to get into After Darque tonight. I had to. I got there around midnight. There was standing room only. Apparently tonight was the Cirque de Soleil of Sex. I have never seen so many naked bodies in one place. I felt like I was looking at Dante’s Inferno. No matter where I looked, it was another act of debauchery and madness. The Marquis de Sade would have blushed. Makes me feel sad for the human race.

I scoured the room, trying to make out Joe’s face in the sea of naked flesh. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around. Mr. Ball Gag held out an envelope to me. He couldn’t speak. Hell he could hardly walk but he was doing the best he could as his lady friend tugged on her leash and dragged him away. I looked at the envelope and immediately wanted to sterilize my hand. I shuddered involuntarily and ripped open the seal. Inside was another postcard on the same card stock as before—60lb cream vellum paper with gold lettering, the initials AD, and an address. Finally, success. I ran to my car, switched on my GPS, and headed off to paradise—or, as I call it now, paradise lost. Ha.

I ended up in the warehouse district. Nothing around for miles except big, gray buildings, the occasional streetlight, and wide-open spaces. I checked the address again and ran it through my Garmin and, yup, I was right where I was supposed to be—a huge, deserted, run-down building on the outskirts of town. I drove around the structure and could not find a discernible door. I decided to circle it one more time to see if I missed something. After all this time, I felt like this was a taunt. What the hell, I mean, I deserved this, dammit.

I slammed my fist against the steering wheel and accidentally hit the horn. A red light came on over top one of the doors in the building. It was faint, but in the darkness of the isolated area I was in, it was easy to see. I got out of my car and walked toward the light, looking at the door, a steel rectangle with no handle, no keyhole, nothing. I heard the sound of metal on metal and a small circle of light appeared at eye level. I saw dark brown eyes looking at me. I could hear music and mechanical noises coming from within. Brown Eyes glared at me. “What?” He spit the word out as if it burnt his tongue.

“I don’t know if I am in ...”

“Probably not. Card?” he asked.

“I, um, yeah I got a card,” I sputtered.

“Show it to me, genius,” he said, snickering.

I pulled it out of my jacket and held it to the slot.

The slot slammed shut with an audible clang and the door opened. I stepped inside and could not make out a thing. Black curtains hung, making a dark tunnel about twenty feet long. I could hear the whirring of machinery, tools hitting metal, music, and nothing else. Was this shop class?

Brown Eyes looked me over and said “Follow the music. You’ll find it,” and walked away.

Must have been the Welcome Wagon’s day off. I walked through the darkness feeling like I was being pulled through a birth canal by invisible hands. My stomach ached and my legs felt weak. I don’t know if it was from the excitement of finally being there or if it was a warning. Hindsight is always 20/20. Regardless, I pushed on and reached the end. And found more black curtains and cordoned-off areas, individual black wombs. I kept walking, not knowing what I would find, but really not expecting this cavernous, black-curtained hamster trail. Still could not hear voices, which was odd. I was expecting the same atmosphere as XTC—you know, the typical nightclub experience with music, throngs of people, laughter. But this emptiness was unnerving. I continued forward, pushing my way through the black womb, still completely unsure of what I was getting myself into, the rock in my stomach growing heavier and heavier and my mind screaming at me to get the hell out.

But the dim lighting and the black walls were eerily calming, and maybe they were also absorbing the sound. And some of the madness as well? Yeah, that must be it. Isn’t it comforting how you can lie to yourself and buy into it? Ah, the great human need to want what it shouldn’t have and to justify it with deception. You know what I mean, right? The way you look at the neighbor’s wife and visualize her lying naked on your bed, begging you to take her now because no one is a bigger stud than you? Come on, I know you’ve done that at some point in your life. And then you tell yourself it is harmless because you are only thinking it and not doing it, right? And besides, the neighbor is an asshole and he doesn’t deserve a fine piece like her. I can tell you had those thoughts. I can see it by the look on your face. Yeah, your secret is safe with me.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, in the womb of the earth or the bowels of hell, considering what I left behind. Should have listened to my gut. Instead, I was led by my morbid curiosity. I kept going deeper and deeper into the cavern and finally came to a central room. It was beautiful in a haunted kind of way—red-velvet couches and settees; a roaring fireplace; crystal lamps; low, black tables. But not a single person. I sat on a couch, still debating if I should run. But it took so long to finally get there, and I lied to myself once again, telling myself I was there for the missing girls and not the distorted sex. What a schmuck, but it gets you through the night, right Charlie?

So I waited ... and waited. Finally, Ball-Gag man appears, looking a bit more dignified in a suit and tie than he did with that anal plug, I’ll tell you.

“Welcome to After Darque, Mr. Stice. What can I offer you to drink?”

“How do you know my name?” 

“I know a great deal about you, Detective. I have my own version of ... surveillance. No one comes here by chance. Everyone here has been hand-chosen.” He grinned at me, his teeth a brilliant, unnatural white. An instance of feral anger flashed across his face, but it was so fleeting that I thought I had imagined it. “My name is Kane and I am here to fulfill your desire, whatever that may be.” He chuckled. “Now, about that drink. I believe your libation of choice was Jack Daniel’s, but that is so common. How about absinthe? A delicacy in Europe.” He snapped his fingers and suddenly a woman appeared, carrying a silver tray with a tall, crystal glass containing a green, smoking liquid. She set the glass down on the table and left as silently as she entered.

“Now, about your desire, Mr. Stice. Shall we discuss what brings you here to After Darque? I suspect there are reasons even you are not aware of that drive you to our group.”

“I am looking for a real experience, something better than what I can imagine. Does that make sense?”

“Go on, Mr. Stice,” said Kane. He looked at me and smiled. I saw the hardness in his steel-gray eyes, along with an odd twinkle. His manicured hands templed and rested against his lips. In this dark, cave-like room, with the fire going, I could almost see the contract, written in blood, asking for my signature, could see Kane holding out the quill, waiting. It was only my soul I was selling, right?

I gulped down the licorice-flavored drink in one swallow, the wormwood warming my esophagus and cascading into my gut, becoming a sleeping, green dragon in my belly. Sparks flew from the fireplace, floating in the air, a myriad of tiny glowing embers in the stillness.

“In my head, sex is incredible, intense, a gestalt of emotions, sounds, smells, and feelings that goes on forever. But, when the real thing happens, it is the black-and-white version of the colored thing I created. Does that make any sense? I want that intensity, that experience, to be real. I want to forget I exist and just revel in the experience.” I was rambling, I knew, but I had to convey what was impossible to explain.

Kane chuckled to himself. “I believe, Mr. Stice, I can offer you what you are seeking. But, are you willing to travel down that path? Once you begin this journey, you cannot go back.”

“If you can give me what I am looking for, I won’t want to go back.” I knew I was lost and I did not care.

“Well, then, I believe we can begin.” He stood and motioned me to follow him. I did, oh God, I did. I knew I should turn back, but I kept going. You know why? Because I was going to be the genius that could take this experience, use it, play with it for a while, and not get my hands dirty. Because I was smart, smarter that anyone else. I was brighter and cagier than any lost soul who walked into this place, and I
could
outplay the Devil. I could get my soul back any time I chose. Now I know nothing is more deluded than the man who believes he is in control of his own life.

We walked into another dimly lit room, cushions all over the floor, candles, soft music. Against one wall were basins and rolls of something I could not make out—but then I wasn’t paying too close attention to my surroundings. The absinthe was making me a little foggy, and I suspected there was more than wormwood in the green liquid. Naked men and women relaxed on cushions, slowly caressing each other. In the middle of the floor was a low platform, and this is where I was led.

“Last chance, Mr. Stice. One more opportunity, of your own free will, to go home.” Kane’s eyes had a faint glow to them, boring into my head, piercing my brain.

“No, I’m ready. But this better not be just some group sex thing. I want intensity, like we talked about, Kane. I want to remember this for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t worry. You will never forget this moment, I promise you that.”

I stretched out on that platform, never once thinking about what I was doing or what I was giving up. I blame that on the drink, because I can’t believe I would willingly do it on my own.

People drew closer to the platform, and I heard the clang of metal on metal and the rip of plastic tearing. Hands were all over my body removing my clothes, rubbing my legs, massaging my head. I closed my eyes and took it all in, waiting for the moment when this would be different. So far, this was like all the rest.

Someone sat me up and removed my shirt. I watched her and she bent down to kiss me. I started to kiss her back and realized she had no tongue or teeth. Her mouth was a gaping cavern. I pulled back, a spike of fear piercing me—but too late. She grinned, and then slammed me down on the platform. I felt straps being tied to my ankles as hands held me down and more straps were tied to my wrists and shoulders, a ball gag shoved in my mouth.

I looked more closely at the group surrounding me. Every one of them was missing some body part—dear God, missing hands, lips, ears, noses, fingers, legs, every single one of them.

I tried to get up, to scream, to fight, but all I could hear was the whirring of a saw blade and Kane laughing in the back of the room. Hands caressed my legs and stroked my inner thigh. Other hands grabbed my arm and held it steady while soft lips wrapped around my penis. The feeling was exquisite! While the gentle sucking continued, I could feel the cold steel blade sever a finger from my hand. I saw stars, and my orgasm exploded beyond an intensity I could have possibly imagined. I couldn’t breathe, and I drifted in a sea of darkness that went on forever.

And that was the beginning, my friend. I went back, month after month. It was hard explaining the missing body parts to coworkers after a while. Neuralgia due to a training accident was good for the missing finger. Then there was the unfortunate incident with the chainsaw that took my hand. Things got truly weird when I lost my leg. That’s when they put me on administrative leave, made me see a shrink. Guess they didn’t buy the flesh-eating disease story. So now I wait, and I try to conserve because I am running out of me. I figure I have about three or four more visits left before I won’t be able to continue anymore.