Attraction

by Linn Young

“I would propose that at a certain point of perversion that it become more of a mental

  exercise than actual physical undertaking,” Ovid suddenly offered in his usual scholarly fashion.

  Then he blushed violently when he saw all eyes turning to him. He swallowed but continued.

  There were many times in his career as an astrophysicist that he had to project out to a group of

  people his theories and the facts and line of reasoning behind his theories. “Sport of a physical

  release through mental processes. In fact, movies, books, television are already such outlets.” “However, mental outlets do not work for chronic pedophiles. Especially for the

  murderous ones. How do we, then handle such cases?”

  “Lock them up,” Tanner said, nodding. “We have to lock them up. We’ve no other

  choice, with any serial killers and rapists.”

  “But, then, that brings me back to my point on acknowledging the less desirable impulses

  inside us, ones that are not manifested in most of us, but are in few others,” Riley said. “Yes, we

  do lock up such people who terrorize and destroy society such base form. But, I think where we

  make the mistake is that once we give the key to the jailor and he pockets it, we forget about

  them. And I think that might where our mistake is for handling these types of issue. Instead of

  forgetting about them and leave them to rot in jail, we need to study them.”

  “And not study them as if they were lab animals, either,” Beth Anne agreed. “Yes, yes, that’s right. I think the reason why we’ve not been able to get a handle is that

  behavioral scientists treat such offenders as if they were objects of interest for scientific purpose,

  instead of recognizing that like themselves, these men are humans. It might give them better

  insight if they see the similarities between them and the criminals, to all of humans, instead of

  treating them as if they were aliens.”

  “Let’s say then, that such a scientist is seized with such an insight, as archeologists were

  when they looked at apes,” Heron purposed. “What sudden understanding then would the

  scientists be gaining when he looks at the sociopathic pedophile at the other side of the bars?” Riley thought for a long moment. “I’m not too sure. A part of me wants to say that the

  scientist in being able to see that he can’t remove himself from his subject as much as he wants

  to begins to gain better insight in the disorder. That way, they might have a better chance of the

  treatment than castration, which has proven to be a hit and miss type of solution. The scientist

  might be able to get to the heart of the matter of sociopathology.”

  “On the other hand, they might find that the personality disorder is more of nature rather

  than nurture. With the advance in DNA technology, they might just end up excising the gene

  from a family pool,” Ovid said.

  “But that’s tampering blindly with nature,” Riley countered gently. “Yes, if the best

  solution to such aberrant behavior as sociopathology is to excise the gene, then so be it. But let

  us not do it with such blind faith in our technological advances as we have done so in the past

  with so many other discoveries. I guess what I’m trying to say is that humanity, since the Age of

  Enlightenment, it seems to me, we’ve plagued with this notion that we can separate through

  science what is dark in us from the what is good. And I think that has led to many

  misconceptions about what we are as humans that are still in effect to this day. Ever since the

  dawn of humankind, humans have tried to make themselves out to be something other than they. The religious groups have always claimed that we were made in the image of God, and so we should be striving to be only what the religious leaders say what that image entails, and repent or find redemption for the side of human that is undesirable. As such, so many arbitrary and contrary beliefs and values that confuse and obfuscate even more the complex nature of human. And then science comes along and claims that we can prove ourselves to be superior to the animal inside us, because we can advance technology to improves our lives. Now, people are beginning to exploit the scientific possibility of excising one bad gene after another from the human genome. I’d say that’s about the most dangerous thing we can do, we are playing gods. It seems that we have never realized that we are all nature, every cell, every atom, every molecule, even ones that allow us to have deliberate thought and consciousness, it’s all nature. And that is the one thing that can be said about nature but that it is neither all good nor all bad. It is just nature, blind and benign in its intent, benevolent one instant, malevolent the next, neutral, action, reaction. And, yet, we humans are so afraid of seriously considering that we take the view of

  ourselves from that paradigm.”

  “Perhaps we humans are the eye for that blind but insistent force that is nature,” Beth

  Anne pointed. “We are its instrument but, maybe, as much as we can use nature by studying it

  that it can be our instrument to discover the possibilities of ourselves in the lifetime of this

  universe, as well as other universes.”

  “We just might find what is holy and magical if we were to view nature in the universe as

  in of itself, and not something that we have shaped it in our minds, and that discovery can inspire

  the same sense of power and sublimity that ideas of a higher being inspires, but such would be

  legitimate where the ideas of gods developed strictly from human’s basic and primitive need to

  make sense of the world around it,” Ovid said.

  “Well, after that intellectually demanding conversation, I think it’s time we all retire to

  the sitting room so that we may have our deserts and drinks,” Alana said firmly. Everyone rose from the table and headed out of the dining room.

  When Heron was just about to walk past Riley, she said to him, “You know, if you’re so

  into the interrogation role, perhaps you should consider joining the club. There are some women

  members who love being interrogated by a strong man.”

  Heron looked at her for a moment. Then he stepped closer to her until he was inches

  from, and deliberately leaned into her, crowding her, his head bent low. “That’s funny, I was wondering if you didn’t yourself imagined what it might be like to have been brought in for of

  the Spanish Inquisition. Especially in private.”

  Riley stumbled back slightly, shocked, because the last thing she had expected was his

  response to be was take up on a teasing dare.

  Heron gave a small smile that was a little sinister around the edges before turning on his

  heel, leaving her to gaze after him, a look of speculation entering her pale gray hazel eyes.

  Riley found herself was getting unexpected attention with her bar and private sex club. The club’s overwhelming success drew the interest of some curious investors. Riley was not too sure yet if this new exposure was a welcome development. Her first love was owning and running the bar. She knew that it was the sex club that brought the notoriety to her bar. But she considered the sex club more as an afterthought, although she knew that it was one of the primary attraction for the public. To many who were curious to explore sex, Riley’s bar was a place that provided privacy and safety to do just that. It was place where many considered it a haven to let down their hair, so to speak, sexually without the fear of censure, exposure, or ridicule.

  Not sure of how far she wanted to take her business, Riley agreed to meet with the three representatives of a venture capitalist company in her office at her bar. She listened to them, mostly quietly, as they made their presentations. At the end of the meeting, she promised that sh
e would go over their proposal and get back to them in time.

  After she walked them outside, she went back inside the bar and saw Joe Monterey eyeing her while drying the glasses, his eyes a little cool, a little wary.

  “So, did they offer to buy this place?” he asked.

  “No,” Riley said, slowly, her face pensive. “They said they wanted to start a franchise with this club.”

  “You mean like a McDonald’s franchise?”

  “Something like that, except without the assembly line of burger makers and the drive through.”

  “How would that work out?”

  “I’m not quite sure. They said I would license the theme of the bar and do the training in running the bar and the sex club.”

  “Would it be legal?”

  “I don’t know. They seem to think it is.”

  “Are you going to do it?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t decided.”

  Joe’s eyes lit up. “It could mean a lot of money?”

  “It could also mean a big headache and a huge hassle.”

  Whenever a company starts drawing the attention of potential investors, soon behind them was the media. And so it was with Riley’s club. A few weeks after the visit from the investors, a major publication in San Francisco, The Enquirer, did a feature story on the club and its unusual side business in their business section.

  The story was brought to the attention of Heron by one of his friends, quite unwilling on the part of Heron. The two were having drinks at an expensive bar lounge in Union City. It was close to eleven o’clock at night. Heron was reading a brief, making occasional marks on the document.

  His friend, Jack Knowles, was sitting across the small table, desultorily reading the newspaper, bored, trying to decided if he should call up one of the numerous women he knew. The two had been friends since their college days at Harvard.

  “Hey, have you ever been to this place up in Santa Rosa,” Jack asked, showing Heron the article.

  When Heron saw the name of the bar, his face hardened. “Yes, once. But it was due to a small legal matter that I had to straighten out.?”

  “So, you know this lady, Riley Calderon.”

  “She’s the sister of my sister-in-law, formally my fiancée.”

  “Why don’t we check her place out tomorrow night?”

  “That would be a no,” Heron said flatly, and went back to his brief.

  “Come on, Heron, don’t be such a hard ass about this. Your fiancée jilted you and went off with your brother. You got over it. You’re a free agent, now. You don’t have any obligations in your life to tie you down. And you just came back from a long trip in Europe, which couldn’t have been fun being in meetings and contract negotiations twelve hours a day. And I’m in need of some diversion, but this town is a dead end. All the bar and clubs around here are boring as hell. I think both of us could use some kicks in our lives, so let’s trying something new and check out this club tomorrow night.”

  Heron lowered his report and studied the other man for a moment. Jack had a thin, rather ugly face with black hair that curled in ringlets around his head that so many women found endearing. He was tall with an athletic body that he kept in shape with racquetball three times a week. He came from a dirt-poor family in Alabama and only managed college and law school through scholarships and school loans. Jack had married his high school sweetheart by the time they were sophomores in college. The marriage had withstood the stress of undergraduate degree, the intense pressure of law school, and the uncertainty of starting his law practice. But the tenuous fabric of the marriage between Jack and his wife began to break down when his practice in corporate law took off, earning him a salary that allowed them to buy luxury homes and cars and brought them in contact with many illustrious and powerful clients. Jack’s wife had felt that running a million dollar home, having to entertain clients and colleagues, and rubbing elbows with the monied class was not what she had signed up for when she had decided to marry Jack. Seven years ago, she decided she had enough, packed up, and went back to the small town in Alabama where they grew up. Jack had remained single since the divorce, finding little time to date and little energy to nurture another relationship. The best he could do was to date here and there, and go to upscale bars occasionally after putting in a twelve hour day at the office, and sometime he was able to drag his old college friend with him.

  “What do you think we’re going to find there that we can’t find down here in the city,” Heron asked.

  “Who knows. It’s a new place to check out. Besides, maybe it’ll help us improve our sex life”

  “I’m not looking to improve my sex life.”

  “Alright, then, just humor me, and go with me. We can use your limousine. That’ll take the hassle out of the driving. Don’t say no. You’re going.”

  The next evening, Heron reluctantly got into the limousine with Jack and instructed his chauffeur to drive the sixty miles north to Santa Rosa. He did not bother to dress for the occasion, as Jack did, who wore pale blue silk trousers with a loose silk blazer in pale lime green, a cream colored silk dress shirt under the blazer with a bright blue tie. Heron had on faded jeans that molded his hips and long legs, a taupe silk tee-shirt with a black leather jacket over it.

  He didn’t really know why he was agreeing to go to a club that held little interest for him. He certainly had no desire to run into his ex-fiancée’s sister. But Jack had been right. He was currently bored in his life now that his marriage was off. The thought of dating other women didn’t pique his interest either. So, he might be in a perfect state of mine to welcome some diversion into his life.

  When the limousine pulled up in front of the bar, they saw that the line of people who were waiting to get in stretched clear around the block, the people shivering in the crisp winter chill.

  “That could take hours to get in,” Heron commented. He looked at his watch and saw that it was close to ten-thirty. “By the time we get in, the bar will be closed.”

  Jack pulled out his wallet. “Not so fast, good buddy. We’re not rich for nothing. Come on, give it up.” He waved is hand at Heron, who with a sigh pulled out his wallet and handed over a hundred dollar bill. Jack gave him an impatient look. “Give me a break. Come on, dig deeper.”

  Heron handed over two more one hundred dollar bills. Jack added his own three one hundreds. The two men got out of the car and walked up to the two door men who were controlling the crowd. As they did, a few of the women in line whistled at Heron. One of the guardsman barely looked at them as he scrutinized the ID of a pretty young woman in a skimpy blue sequined dress who looked no more than fifteen.

  “You’ll have to get back to the end of the line,” the guard said dismissively.

  Jack flashed the six one hundreds under his nose. The guard became instantly attentive. He looked at the money warily then at Jack. “Are those real?”

  Jack flashed a smile. “Yeah, they’re real. Three hundred for each of you.”

  The guard smiled and took the bills and gave three to the other guard. They carefully pocketed the enormous tip.

  The first guard said, “We can’t let you in, though, until two people come out. It’s filled to capacity, so we have to go by the fire safety laws.

  Heron tilted his head at the entrance where a young couple was exiting. “Those two look like they’re leaving.”

  When it appeared that the couple were wobbly making their way to the parking lot, the first guard pulled back the rope. As he let Heron and Jack pass through, there was collective groaning and yelling of frustrated protest.

  “That is so way unfair,” the woman with sequined blue dress whined aggressively. “I’ve been waiting here for nearly two hours. That should have been my turn.”

  “Well, if you can flash a few hundred bucks in front of me, I might consider it. Are you sure you want to go in there, though, Miss? It’s crowded in there, and someone as small as you might get crushed. How tall are you?”


  The young girl automatically said, “I’m five feet three inches.”

  The guard pursed his lips as he looked over the driver’s license. “Right. It’s says here on your license that you’re five feet eight inches. What’s your sign?”

  The girl realized her mistake and tried to grab the license back, but the guard snatched his hand away. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I’ll keep this, if it’s all the same to you. In the meanwhile, you are excused.”

  The girl gave him a venomous glare and stalked away, but not before she hissed, “Bastard!”

  Inside, Heron and Jack made their to the main bar, managed to find two empty seats, and ordered their drinks.

  Jack felt like he was a kid again being at a candy store for the first time. With so many beautiful women dressed in scantily cut outfits, it felt as if he was being bombarded with treats that were coming at him from all directions. He couldn’t decide which way to turn his head or which woman he should watch. They seemed all beautiful, built, and all wearing come-hither looks. What made it even worse, many of them were wearing outfits that exposed one or more parts of their anatomy, wearing bras that had cut outs for their nipples, or bras that had no cups so that their breasts were lifted and jutted out proudly. Others wore only g-string panties with stockings so that their bare buttocks twitched openly as they walked. Some of the women donned on tight dresses made out of see-through material providing provocative glimpses of their curves. To heighten Jack’s excitement, he saw that some of the women were carrying whips, or had a leash that was hooked to their collar, the leash being held by a man, or a woman.

  “Oh, man, oh, man,” he laughed, feeling giddy. “Man, did we hit pay dirt!”

  Heron looked around his surrounding, sipping his scotch, carefully avoiding the looks that several women were giving him.

  Jack suggested, “Do you think we can bribe someone to let us go upstairs? I want to see what they call the tool room.”

  Heron wasn’t too sure he wanted to take the evening any further than having a few drinks. “Let’s just stay here for the moment. If something comes up for you, go ahead.”

  For the next half hour or so, the two men sat at the bar, sipping their drinks, watching the people around them. A tall red-haired woman dressed as a dominatrix sidled up to Jack He stared down at her, his eyes widening as they took in her leather corset that left her buttocks bare, the patent leather thigh high boots with their four-inch heels, and the cattail that she brandished.