My stomach knotted.
His hand, though I only glimpsed it for a moment, appeared as no hand at all but a cluster of rather stout worms wrapped about the controller handle’s end. Just as disturbing as the morphology of the hand was its colour: a bloodless white splotched with ill-toned green…
When a stiff chill passed, I realised it must either be dirtied utility gloves or some regrettable genetic malady.
The line dwindled; before I stepped off, my gaze felt preternaturally summoned to my left. There I spied the capped conductor staring right at me through the mask-like deadpan facial expression…
Gads!
I deboarded in haste and hurried up to Erwin who was following the others in. A rotten, wood-plank sign hung upon the transom of worm-eaten but iron-strapped door. The letters on the sign appeared branded in char: 1852 Club.
Torches, not electric bulbs, lit an expansive and ornately decor’d atrium which borrowed much from the greater Georgian period; clearly, this place must once have been an exorbitant hotel. Swirling dark mosaic tile-work could be seen in the gaps between Old World throw rugs; a marble fountain gushed crystalline water through the mouth of a horned cherub. Pilastered walls surrounded all; while great winding staircases rose upward from each end, to the first of three splendidly railed stair-halls which steeply overlooked the atrium below.
I allowed Erwin to take the lead; he and most of the others seemed nearly at home here, and all walked at once to a long, fringe-linened banquet table which sat heaped with fresh fruits and (much to my displeasure) ice-filled bins loaded with half-shelled oysters. It was to the latter that most of the men repaired, greedily slurping down the hideous, lumpen things one after another. As I most infrangibly detested all shellfish—most especially oysters, which made me think of grey phlegm—I made every attempt to appear at ease while sampling some tidbits of fruits and a glass of some superb vegetable juice. Eventually to Erwin I whispered, “So… where are the, uh—”
“The girls? Before you know it,” he promised with a guilty grin, “they’ll be all about.”
Only moments after he’d made this assurance, every face turned upward at the detection of svelte motion. Upon the fourth stair-hall my gaze held, on the stunning woman who’d just appeared: a raven-haired, Cleopatra-faced figure whose voluptuous curves and thrusting bosom were made even more pronounced by a diaphanous, black evening dress.
“That’s her,” Erwin sighed in awe. “Miss Aheb…”
Ensconced torches burned to either side as this shimmering vision of feminine beauty leaned over the carven rail and smiled.
“Welcome, gentlemen, all of you,” issued a lilting and vaguely accented voice. The words echoed. “Your presence is much appreciated and, as you will soon see, the very exclusive 1852 Club will do everything in its power to reward you for the privilege your esteemed presence…”
What an odd thing to announce… as denotations such as “esteemed” and “privileged” hardly described this lot of respectful yet otherwise brawny and likely not-well-educated working-classers. I struggled to identify the seductive woman’s sweetly flowing accent; yet I’ll admit that the mere sight of her compacted beauty filched my breath. There was something about her mien, her very deportment. Even at this precipitous distance, her physique’s details seemed to gleam via some supernal clarity, as though an incorporeal magnifier hung invisibly before her: the poreless white valley of her bosom, the relief of the papillae of her magnificent breasts, the diamond-like sparkle of perfect teeth within the titillant smile—all of these traits seemed amalgamated into a single focus which left every man below speechless and irretrievably enraptured.
Erwin elbowed me. “What did I tell you, huh?”
“I’ll confess,” I said, still staring up, “that I dismissed your description earlier as the stuff of exaggeration, but now… I stand corrected.”
Her voice swirled downward, a spiriferous aural wraith; and from the painfully seductrene lips, warm words flowed, “and, now, my good and vital men, may you go forth in the natural pursuit of your pleasure as is the gracious will of our benefactors…”
The room hushed in the lovely echo’s wake but I frowned. Even the clearly distracted Erwin seemed flummoxed by the words.
“What d’ya s’pose she means by that?” Erwin said in a wee voice.
Benefactors? I wondered. “You’ve got me. ‘Natural pursuit’ notwithstanding, I sorely doubt that her reference to ‘benefactors’ can be a spiritual reference, nor a reference to the popular Judeo-Christian God, no, not in a whorehouse.”
I paused to chuckle at my ever-guilt-ridden friend but when I re-glanced upward?
Miss Aheb was gone.
A modest murmuring of approval rose in the room—at once—as a procession of over a dozen women moved soft-footedly down the curved, plushly carpeted staircase. I’ve already intimated that my own natural impulses with regard to sexual attraction must be relatively inactive compared to most men; yet, the registration of this drove of encroaching sprites (all without a stitch on, mind you) caused an undeniable stirring, shall we say, southwardly of the belt. The well-brawned patronage was already dispersing as this bevy of long-legged, high-bosomed, and pertly nippled women came off the stairs.
Erwin, a smile so long it contorted his face, made to approach them but I clutched his sleeve in a sudden self-consciousness.
“Gads, Erwin! I’ve never been to a place like this before. What should I do?”
The question flabbergasted him. “Do? Come on! You pick a dish and go with her, man!” and then he walked briskly to the feminine congregation and its sea of wanton grins. I remained, standing nervously and watching couples pair off. The girls seemed to swoop upon the men with a hearty enthusiasm; but, lo, none “swooped” toward me. Never much of a ladies’ man, I expected as much; these younger and much more masculine specimens easily overshadowed my thin-limbed form. I would always tell myself that what manly attributes nature had left me lacking in was more than made up for in my superior intellectual capacity, but what a facile consolation that was now! In a whorehouse, with no whore showing the least bit of interest in me! Erwin was latched onto and led summarily up the stairs by a doe-eyed, plushly curved girl with a head full of shining black tousles. Good for you, I thought with some bitterness. Within the merest of minutes, the men were arm in arm with each of these delectable women whose bare bottoms I was left to peer forlornly at as they each in turn took their partners up the steps. I felt akin to the perfect ass, but just as it seemed that all the denuded girls had found their match, my arm was snatched by a short, voracious thing with beaming green eyes and nary an ounce of excess fat on her splendid little body. “I’ve got you now!” she exclaimed and quickly hauled me toward the stairs. “My name’s Ammi, but don’t bother telling me yours. In a place like this?” and she laughed.
The sight of her, and the feel of her hot hand about my wrist, left my tongue sufficiently tied. Instead, my eyes drunk up the vision of her gleaming white nudity; the compact buttocks flexing with each step up; the seductively trim waist and adorable bellybutton. Already my groin was tightening…