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I met Gary (or rather, Count Gary, as I'd begun to think of him) later that night outside the bar that hosts Purgatory. I'd researched it a little on the Internet that afternoon — it was a monthly gathering of the leather and BDSM communities. It seemed safe enough, but whenever someone admits to being a vampire and then invites you to attend a place called Purgatory with them, well, I feel a background check is in order.
As we walked in, Gary put his arm around my shoulder and said, "Tonight you'll feel like a new man." The leather of his jacket creaked in my ear.
In my daily existence, I am most often dressed like a nine year old on his way to baseball practice: Converse sneakers, jeans, and a jersey-style t-shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves. However, I was surrounded by extras from Interview With the Vampire or a Renaissance Festival. I felt like the Southern preppy in Count Gary's court.
My mood might have tepidly approached something close to genuine fear had we been in a place more "dungeon-esque." However, we were at a bar known for its regular booking of tribute bands, and a leather-clad person with honest-to-God fangs doesn't look that threatening in front of a sign advertising two-for-one Jell-O shooters and $1.50 margaritas on Fridays.
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The music resembled a genocidal massacre mixed with asphalt production.
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After we'd paid our $10 cover (it seemed only fitting one should pay a nominal fee to gain entrance to Purgatory), I followed Gary to the bar and ordered the best beer available — a Corona, for Christ's sake! Oh, Purgatory indeed! I discreetly popped two Percocets in my mouth, crunched them up and washed them down.
Gary stood at such a distance from me that it was uncertain as to whether we actually knew each other or not. I sat on a barstool and waited for the warm bliss of the Percs to wash over me, and watched as the medievally clad crowd circulated and exchanged greetings. Whenever anyone saw Gary they gave an enthusiastic wave. His reply was a terse nod in every case. Whenever their eyes fell on me they all appeared to snarl. I smiled politely and raised my Corona.
This went on for some time, and because no one was speaking to me — including Gary — I was soon tipping back my fifth Corona and considering a cab ride home. The Nine Inch Nails that had been pumping on the stereo since our arrival had given way to something resembling the sounds of a genocidal massacre mixed with asphalt production, and it was decidedly not conversation friendly. The scene seemed a terrible waste of a buzz, and I felt as though I were literally buzzing. Humming, in fact.
A petite girl with purple streaks in her hair and ample piercings walked over to Gary and curtsied. He smiled at her and opened his arms; when he embraced her he pressed his face into her neck. She was wearing a thin black dress, dog collar and a pair of bright white Keds that glowed under the blacklights. Gary yelled at the girl, "This is my friend, Kevin." The veins in his neck stood out, but he was still barely audible over the music. I leaned my head close to theirs.
"Heaven?" she said.
"Kevin," Gary repeated.
"Oh." She turned to me and smiled and curtsied again.
Gary pressed his lips to my ear. "Okay, you're all set. I've got business to take care of. I'll see you later. Or maybe not." He gave me what I can only characterize as a wicked smile. I grabbed his arm before he could walk away.
"What? Where are you going?"
"I'm going to find something to eat. Amanda is yours for the night. I set it all up. She'll treat you right. Remember that when you're grading finals." Gary winked.
"How do you know her?"
He smiled at me again: "She's a good source of food." I let go of his arm and he pressed into the crowd.
As soon as he was gone I said to Amanda, "Can I buy you a drink?"
| She looked me dead in the eye: "When you fuck me, choke me." |
"I don't drink." She had the most wonderful dimples when she smiled, and a shy way of looking down. I almost missed it because of the piercings.
"You don't drink? My God, how do you stand it?"
That bashful smile again. "I try to keep my body clean for others."
"Really? You looked like a dirty girl to me." It was my turn to smile. Oh yes: I was flowing with the buzz, reaching into my bag of tricks. In the glow of neon beer signs it was hard to tell if she was blushing. She looked me dead in the eye:
"When you fuck me, choke me."
This was far outside the scope of my bag of tricks. I smiled politely at her and flagged the bartender to bring me another Corona. I downed it quickly as Amanda and I smiled at each other. Occasionally she leaned into me and seemed to say something, but I couldn't hear a fucking word over the music. I smiled and nodded, and that seemed to be working fine. When I was done with my beer I jerked my thumb toward the door, and she and I walked out into the warm night.
"So what's the plan, Amanda?"
"What do you want it to be?" She didn't say it with the flirtatious sarcasm of a sorority girl, but with the submissive tone of someone who genuinely wants to please.
"Well, you mentioned the matter of choking . . . " The way I said it sounded oddly Victorian, but regardless I felt the signs were pretty clear: Gary had set this up, she knew the deal, and it seemed stupid to stand around acting as though the night wasn't going end up like this anyway. At least once or twice in my life I've stumbled into easy hookups like this and been smart enough to latch on. Conversely, I've managed to fuck things up about two dozen times or more. Probably more. I try not to dwell on superlatives in matters of failure.
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