When he entered young men from their angles of the platform were pulling on their genitalia within dark frothy briefs of an opaque translucency that made the movements of their genitalia obvious. He watched and waited not understanding why it was erotic. He watched and waited for the midnight all-legal fuck show. He was tempted to take these sly masturbators by force until what little was rational in his brain contrived a belief that he was shackled against the wall waiting to be attacked by them. That portion of the brain said to him, “Even if you were to get out of your shackles and fetters it would be bad manners to attack these men before they come to attack you.” He watched their contortionist-twisting and the surreal images on the stage became more like flames and smoke. The why-the reason that the movements were erotic—eluded him. The why-the reason-that flames and smoke plumes made these adonises erotic in a spinning room of gnarling metallic walls was a mystery.
He wasn’t sure if it was a dismembered part of a woman, a transvestite, or something amorphous and alien, but lips in the sky spoke to him. “Do you want to take one home, honey?”
“I want all of them,” he said. She laughed.
“Do you have that much money?” she asked.
“Maybe for one,” he said. “I need one to fuck me and my girlfriend throughout the night.”
“That will be double the price, but well worth it. We’ll see to that. Satisfaction guaranteed. What’s your girlfriend’s name, honey?” asked the lips.
“Foxy’s,” he said.
“Foxy’s, like the girl go-go bar across the street?”
“I don’t know her name,” he told the lips.
“You don’t know your girlfriend’s name?” guffawed the lips.