By Evan Livingston
Copyright ©2025
Brent Washington finally arrived at the address the couple from the night before had given him. Rain had just begun to fall, and the sweet smell of oil rose to his nostrils from the cracked pavement underneath his feet. Brent did not recognize the street he found himself on. The scrape of his shoe as he walked was only accompanied by the dull hum of the traffic from the main thoroughfares both behind and in front of him. A deep cough from somewhere above him shook him from his thoughts about what might come next. The cold rain prickled his skin and his arm hair rose as if to challenge the intrusion. Brent let out an aggressive yawn that trapped a mouthful of city air that tasted of the crumbling facade that surrounded him. The address led him to a black door with peeling paint. It sat amongst other doors that looked identical. The only marker was an upside down pineapple. Brent rapped on the door.
Thick beads of viscous sweat began to drip down the nape of Brent’s neck. He hadn’t even reached the make-shift bar yet and he was already pulsating with excitement and fear. He passed a middle-aged man with a sheer black shirt on, his hands down the pants of a young woman who looked as if she was calling up to the heavens. As Brent averted his gaze he saw the tip of the woman’s cock peek out from the sparkly waistband of the skirt she was wearing, but was afraid to take another glance. As he approached the bartender he almost lost his grip on the bottle of Tito’s that he forgot he was holding. He switched hands and rubbed his moist palm on his faux leather pants that he had purchased for the occasion. He instantly regretted his purchasing decision. Did he appear to be trying too hard?
“Hey there, did you bring any juice or anything for your vodka?, said the bartender.
“Oh, umm, sorry. I didn’t know I was supposed to. Am I going to have to drink it straight?,” said Brent.
The bartender pulled a large breath of air. “It said right in the confirmation email to bring the booze and the mixers. First time?”
Brent felt is face flush. “Is it that obvious?”
The bartender chuckled a bit and said, “No worries, man. We have cranberry, pineapple, orange or seltzer.”
“Do you have any ice? I’ll take it with some cranberry and orange, and ice, if you have it.”, Brent hoped.
“Madras.”, the bartender stated.
“Sorry, what?”, Brent asked, seemingly confused.
“That’s what that drink is called. A Madras. Here you go. Enjoy yourself. If you are looking for someone to talk to; see that dude with the white ponytail that looks like he should be in a Viagra commercial? That’s Hank, he is friendly as hell and can introduce you to some people. He’s also the president of your little club here.” The bartender gave Brent an encouraging smile.
“Oh, thanks so much. Uhh, what is your name?”, Brent asked.
”Call me Fly-on-the-Wall.”, the bartender replied proudly.
The bartender flashed another smile. His teeth reminded Brent of old piano keys. Juice and vodka gushed out of Brent’s mouth as he took a huge gulp of his cocktail. All he tasted was the vodka. He took a worried look at the bartender and he responded with a wink of his eye and a quick flutter of his fingers towards Viagra Hank.
Brent didn’t know how long he had been entranced. The television flashed on his face as he stared beyond the screen into the void of his mind. His first experience at a Luscious party had been life-changing for him. He remembered the heavy air that hung over the crowd that seemed to slow down time, the vast amalgamation of ensembles that both offended him but also put him at ease, the way the music informed his heart how to beat. The scene was nothing like the life he left back home in Nebraska. In fact, if anyone knew what he had been up to since he moved they would have never believed him. He was the quiet stagehand that never even took a bow after a performance. He wasn’t the guy that enjoyed a finger in his ass while he jacked off. But this is who he was now, and he felt more than okay about it.
It didn’t take long to get to know the main players within Luscious. Viagra Hank had lived up to Fly-on-the-Wall’s recommendation, and from there Brent quickly became well-liked in the upper tier of the club. Brent felt like he finally found his people. He became close with a good crowd of members quickly. He was a people-pleaser, both sexually and socially, a trait gained him favor among the senior membership. But then there was Jackie. As far as he could tell, she had been a member since the creation of Luscious. She was the most wealthy member and also the most admired and feared. Brent had heard stories of how she had gotten some people ousted from the membership simply because she didn’t like them. Manipulative, cruel and callous. Of course she was the lead dominatrix for those with that sort of kink. He hated to admit it, but she was elegant and refined, but when the furs came off, black leather and and even darker side of her sprang to life. Brent avoided interacting with her at all costs. He never wanted to say the wrong thing or unknowingly offend her. Murmurs within membership made mention that she wanted the presidency, so when the position was offered to Brent only a year after he joined, he knew his back had been marked.
A searing sliver of daylight burned Jacqueline LeBlanc’s eyelid as if to say, “Get up, you bitch.” The satin sheets glided off her as she reached her arms up to thwart the stiffness of her aging body. The earthy aroma of a Columbian roast encouraged her to get to her feet. The pads of her feet were met with an electrified warmth from the radiant heating she demanded the owner of the building allow her to install. She didn’t give him too much room to protest. Twenty-nine floors below, the distant sound of car horns were constant, but that day they seemed even more blaring. All colors of the rainbow lit Jackie’s face as she checked her digital day-planner that was mounted on the wall farthest from her bed, next to her polished-brass vanity. She wondered what the commotion the peons on the street were for; it was Sunday. She had stayed awake a bit later than her liking the night before, but the plan of her sabotage deemed it worthwhile. This slug that everyone seemed so fond of would easily go belly up. He was in way over his head and she designed his exit to be quick but painful.
Saturday night arrived, only a week before the big day. The winter sky reflected Brent’s dark mood as he brooded over the details of the party he had yet to name. He walked down 3rd Avenue not quite looking where he was going, else he would have avoided what was to become a conversation that he would analyze a thousand times over. Unbeknownst to Brent, Jackie spotted Brent and crossed the street to ensnare her prey. She had been planning what to say on just such an occasion. Brent looked up from the sidewalk just in time as to not knock into Jackie, a slight that would end at least his social life.
“Oh hey, Jackie. I almost didn’t see you there. What brings you around these parts?”, asked Brent cautiously.
“Well, maybe if you kept your head up like a normal person you would have seen me coming. I live around here, you dolt. I always take a walk before my evening martini. I like to take in the rabble at least once a day, you know.”, Jackie replied stoically.
“Ahhh. Well, I guess there is no better place to do that then right here.”, Brent said bleakly.
“How is the party planning going Brian? You have quite the task ahead of you. Are you sure you are up for it? You know, I could always give a helping hand. All you need is to ask.”, Jackie snarked.
Brent tried to straighten his posture for his reply. “I appreciate your offer, Jackie. But seeing as this is the first party that I am hosting, its important to me that it only has my brand on it. The name is Brent, by the way.”
“Hmmm. Very well, Brent. I think it is my duty to remind you how much actually rides on your first event. I know you are too young to remember Hans Gretzel and the debacle he created back in the 80’s. You know his membership was revoked and practically ran out of the city. Are you sure you are going to be able to pull this off? Judging from your usual attire I don’t think you know how to pull off sexy and sophisticated. You realize our club doesn’t have those dirty stripper poles and fuck boys like they have downtown.” With that Jackie let out a cackle that even surprised her.
Brent coughed, ”Yes, of course I do. I’ve never heard of Hans Gretzel, but I am sure the party is going to off without a hitch. I have all the details smoothed out. I am going to send an email to membership shortly. I believe I am going to surprise you, Jackie.”,said Brent.
“Hmm, yes. You wouldn’t mind giving an aging vedette a sneak peek would you? I just love being in the know.”, Jackie pried.
“No, no, no. If I were to do that then wouldn’t that ruin the surprise? Don’t worry, it is going to go off with a very sophisticated BANG.” Brent’s lame joke fell flat.
“Pff. I despise surprises. Very well, Brian. I await your “email”.” Jackie lifted her nose in the air and brushed past Brent.
The following week flashed before Brent. He booked the performance, the outside staff from the usual vendor, purchased a large array of mixers and combed over every detail, repeatedly. Brent knew every element was in place but he couldn’t wait for the party to be over.
The doors opened up to thick blackness nested with a menagerie of perfume and cologne from the fifty couples who already entered. Mr. Robinson grasped for his wife’s hand as they slowly traipsed through the darkness towards the resounding voice of what they could only guess was the doorman, telling them to advance. The clickety-clack of Mrs. Robinson’s stilettos echoed in the tight space as they approached the podium manned by a large dark-skinned individual dressed in a purple velvet suit. The small desk lamp shined a faint glow on a tattered guestbook that the doorman opened while he waited for the couple to present their invitation. Mr. Robinson caught a glimpse of his wife’s face from the glow of his cellphone as he flipped through emails for their confirmation message. She was wide-eyed as if waiting on the line for a rollercoaster. Melodic jazz poured through the heavy curtain as the doorman parted the thick fabric. A young woman greeted the couple with slender flutes of golden liquid. Mrs. Robinson chuckled softly as the effervescence of the champagne popped underneath her nose as she took a long slake.
Brent peered at the crowd through the “O” in the neon sign that read, “Salacious”. Brent’s knuckles turned from a rose red to cotton white as his grasp on the rail threatened to buckle the hardened steel. His teeth made the sound of a boat rubbing along a pier and it hummed over the beat of the electronic music blaring throughout the unmarked warehouse space he had rented for the occasion. He should have worn his mouthguard because at this pace his jaw could snap along with his sanity. His guests looked like they were having a great time, but then why couldn’t he enjoy the moment? Brent decided it was time to make a lap; it had only been three and a half minutes since his last one.
He nodded at Patrick, the transgendered room attendant with the perfect hairline, as he walked down the hallways lined with open doors, each with its own theme. Milky fog hovered just above the floor making him feel a bit uneasy, an effect he wasn’t expecting. Would others feel the same? He heard a moist scratch of canvas on his right and instinctively looked toward the sound. He should have known, Tugging Tom had a thing for claiming a room to “set the mood”, as he put it. Further down, Brent passed the Room of Swings, a pun he had high hopes for. Style and efficiency at it’s best. Unoccupied. A few steps further, the Grand Ballroom, a place dedicated to all things ball-tickling. Again, unoccupied. It was early yet. But his eyes were locked on the end of the hazy hallway to the Pearl Room - the climax of the party. Alabaster drapes hung loosely from the ceiling and cream-colored sofas lined the perimeter. Marshmallow beanbag chairs were delicately placed near the center of the room. Unoccupied.
The entire party erupted in shock behind Brent. He turned and sprinted toward the main room. He was unsure if the sound was a burst of glee or one of horror. His heartbeat outpaced his feet as he raced towards the crowd. His heart jumped to his throat as he realized that it was not time for the Coital Contortionist’s performance. One figure stood out from the crowd as he bounded into the focal point of the party. Dressed in a scarlet gown adorned with gold lace stood Jackie. Her eyes were fixed on Brent and her mouth quivered into a sly smirk.
About Evan Livingston:
Evan Livingston is a father of three, husband to one, and a cynic to all. He searches through the flaws to find the imperfect. Born in the Eighties, writing since the Nineties.
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