I was probably about your age when I first came to Amsterdam. I found it to be a city of vices. There were two kinds of people there- those who sought these vices, and those who provided them, and quickly I perceived that if I was to remain there, I would have to become one or the other. As you probably would guess, I became a provider. And since I wanted to resist the dangers of the drug trade, having seen firsthand the effects of substance abuse during my time on the streets, and being fearful of it, I turned to the selling of the only other thing that I possessed, and of which I was the undisputed owner, namely myself. He paused, seeing the expression on Tad’s face as the comprehension began to dawn, and he laughed. Yes, that’s right. You’ve got it. It was certainly naïve of me to think that the flesh trade was any safer than the drugs, but I found out the dangers quickly enough, you may be sure. I suppose they were much the same then as they are now. For safety’s sake, I might have thrown in with a pimp, or run with a gang as many of the other streetwalkers did, but I preferred not to. I still found it so difficult to trust anyone. Despite all the risks inherent to the lifestyle, there was much about it that appealed to me too. It was all fast talk and fast money. And as for the work itself, well…he smiled faintly, his eyes once again on his lap. His hands had resumed their work, seemingly independent, as they often were, of any thought on his part. I have to say I enjoyed that too. Frankly, I had an appetite for it. Not only the sensations, but the sleazinessof it. I liked being treated as an object. It corresponded to the image I had of myself, as something less than human. A societal castoff, living on the fringes.
Generally I serviced any clientele, as long as they could afford me. Male or female, old or young, it didn’t matter. But there was something that I discovered, the longer I went on and the more I learned about the business. The straight lay was the most common, but it didn’t pay much. What was really my bread and butter was the, shall we say, specialtyjobs. Amsterdam was a hotbed of perversion, and there was an endless supply of customers with seemingly nothing better to do than dream up scenarios that they wanted to play out. It was all fantasy, you know, wish fulfillment. I could relate. There was plenty in my life I wanted to escape from. When it comes to sex, I quickly discovered that the only limit was the imagination. Sadomasochism, bondage, you name it; there was someone who was into it. There were those who wanted only to watch me, or only wanted me to watch them. Cross dressing. Water sports. You get the idea. He glanced up at Tad and laughed. Or maybe you don’t. It doesn’t matter, it’s not important. The point is, it seemed like these specialty jobs paid more, so eventually they were the only ones that I would take. Now, this was a more specialized part of the industry, you see, so it attracted a more specialized clientele. If they had the money to pay for more elaborate, dressed up sexual acts, then it often meant that they held more prominent places in society. The perversions of the rich, you see, are always filthierthan those of the poor. You know why? Because they can afford it. And while the poor might think they have problems, I’ve found that they pale in comparison, across the board, to the problems of the rich. That’s because the poor need only be concerned with the simple problems of day-to-day survival. The rich allow themselves to become consumed by existential angst. And let me tell you, the simple problems of what you’re going to do for money and where your next meal is coming from are always preferable. The poor don’t know how lucky they have it.
Now, dealing with customers in a higher strata of society, I also began to become gradually familiar with the others providers of my particular service who had been able to rise to the point that they had customized their trade as I had. There were those who had tailored their craft so that there were only a few specific things that they were willing to do. As you can well imagine, when you’re beginning to deal with these incredibly specialized areas, the rate of pay also rises exponentially. Also, the caliber of people that you’re dealing with, both those providing the services and those paying for them, changes dramatically. We’re no longer talking about common whores who’ll spread their legs for a few measly dollars. We’re talking about the comparison, now, of boxed wine to Chateau Latour. We are talking about sexual performers of the highest caliber, sometimes even classically trained as actors or dancers. Many of them well educated and highly intelligent. And as for those requesting their services, you can well imagine who that select group consisted of- old money, politicians, crime figures. The social elite, the crème de la crème.
As for myself, I was somewhat of an anomaly. I was still young, and I was able to cultivate the innocent look quite well, but I was experienced, and, I am not afraid to say, shameless. I was perfectly willing to take part in group acts, performances for parties, say, or elaborate underground soirées thrown and attended by some of the most influential figures in European society. Sometimes those purchasing the entertainment were satisfied to watch with their guests. If they wanted to join in, that was okay too. As long as the price was right, there was almost nothing that was not permissible. At that time, I suppose I thought I was engaging in some strange, perverse activities. He chuckled, shaking his head slowly from side to side at the memory of it. But that was nothing. I was shortly to learn what perversity truly meant. And let me tell you, my lad, sex was only the beginning. The tip of the iceberg. It all started when I met…her. Madeline Crawley. He paused again, and looking into his face, Tad could see him traveling back. As he did so the face of the older man seemed youthful, as if the recollection itself was all it took to carry him back over the years. It was at a party I was attending at the home of a very reclusive artist. I remember he hadn’t appeared in public or left his estate in over two decades. It was a breathtaking mansion. He had the most incredible collection of paintings and sculptures that I’d ever seen; of course at that point I could only dimly appreciate it all. The lifestyle of those that I was rubbing elbows with was still so new to me. I might have been experienced in acts of carnality, but as for being polite and refined, I was as fresh and wide eyed as a newborn lamb. I’d borrowed formal wear from someone for the event, and I felt completely out of place in it. But I’d learned what it was to play a part, and I kept myself calm by immersing myself in the role. I watched those around me and did as they did. I was picking it up as I went along. I dare say I was doing rather well. I was composed. I was charming. Until I saw her, that is.
I was on one of the upper floors of the place, on a veranda overlooking the grounds. One of the passions of the owner was gardening, and the intoxicating scent of roses was thick in the air so that my head was swimming with it. I was drinking champagne, and I was giddy with the luxury that was in display all around me. I remember I was thinking about the hard times, the nights spent in doorways, running from the law, pocketing goods from stalls in the marketplace. I was mentally congratulating myself on what I had become. But underneath it all was a feeling that I could not deny, especially in such company as that; it was the feeling that I was wearing a mask, and the fear that if I was to remove that mask, I didn’t know what I could expect underneath it. Perhaps nothing. And that is when I turned, and saw her from across the room. A moment I will never forget, as long as I live. To attempt to describe Madeline in terms of her physical beauty would be an insult to her, although she wasbeautiful. But she was so much more than that. She was full of vitality, yet she was more than that, too. She wasvitality. She was life itself, given form. She had such an air about her that I felt as though I was looking at royalty, a veritable queen that stood before me radiant and proud, immeasurably fair, and kind, and strong, and wise. I felt ashamed of myself, and every other person in the room. We were unfit to be in her presence. I could have died, at that very moment, for having seen her. She was the sun, coming out from behind the clouds. I wanted to go to her and kiss her hand, or grovel at her feet; I scarcely knew what I wanted to do. I was gazing at her, I suppose, with such an expression that when she happened to glance in my direction she felt compelled to come over to me, just to see why I was looking at he
r in that way. She smiled at me, and put a hand on my arm, and spoke to me, and I melted. I don’t even know what it was she said. I was so terribly frightened at the intensity of my feelings. I was your age, and I was a teenager in heat, but what I felt went so far beyond the sexual. But suddenly she laughed, and when she did, it was like the spell had been broken. And she introduced herself, and I told her my name, and for the rest of the party we were inseparable.
Of course I knew who she was. Her name was mentioned often in the circles I traveled in. Just as the greatest in any field are spoken of with reverence, when she was mentioned, it was as someone who had transcended sex as the awkward bumping of sweating bodies against one another, or even the higher levels of sex as art that some aspired toward. She was spoken of as a performer who has found another level that was unknown to have existed. There wasn’t even a name for what she did. She performed for only the highest echelon, turning down ninety percent of the jobs she was offered. She was an idol in her own time, a name around which rumors circulated so fantastical that I’d taken it all for some sort of modern fairy tale. I’d hardly believed that she existed. But she did. And I was speaking to her, and she was speaking to me. It is not hyperbole when I say that it was the thrill of a lifetime.
And she was, by far, the most fascinating person I had ever met. She was stunningly intelligent, and well read, and well traveled. She’d been all over the world, spoke a dozen languages fluently, and the love and admiration she received wherever she went could hardly have been less had she actually beena queen. But despite it all, I found her so easy to talk to. She was so engaging, and within minutes I’d come out of my shell, and we were getting along famously. I can’t imagine what she thought of me…well, actually, I can. It was obvious, she could see right through me. She was so observant, and just one piercing glance of those dark eyes and I felt sure she knew everything about me, down to my deepest fears and desires. Then, of course, I was perfectly willing, even eager, to tell her everything about myself. She had such a free and easy way about her that even the greatest introvert would open up to her without finding it the least bit strange. Within hours of meeting her I had told her all about the details of my early life- the hard times on the streets, my own travels, my first awkward introduction to the industry.
From that night on, we were involved. It was a strange friendship, but a friendship is what it was, none the less. Sex did not enter into it, at least not at that point, though the Gods know I wanted it too. And she was conscious of my desire, which I could not conceal, but it never made her uncomfortable. She thought it was funny, but never made fun of me because of it. What you have to understand is that everybody wanted her. They saw her, that quality that she projected, and they all wanted her for their own. And they could have her, for the right price. But they were only renting her. No one could possess her, could ownher in the way that they so desperately wanted to. And me? Simply put, I was infatuated with her. She became my life. I would have done anything for her.
It was she who introduced me to the strange sort of collective of which she was a part. She and the other members referred to it as a “polygamist tribe.” There were something like two dozen members, male and female, of all different backgrounds. There were some things they all had in common. For one thing, they were all extremely affluent. None of them needed to perform as a way of supporting themselves. Collectively, they owned sumptuous dwellings across Europe and other parts of the globe. Madeline herself was independently wealthy. She had inherited a vast fortune from her parents- I never knew who they were, exactly. All the members of the group were very bright too, like Madeline, and, like her, they had come together because they were intent on exploring everything that could be achieved through sex and the doors that they believed the act itself could open. I admit, at first I didn’t understand exactly what they meant when they spoke of such things. What doors, I thought? I started out by thinking that they meant doors of perception, but that was only part of it. As it turned out, they were referring to doors in reality as well. This was a group that had come to believe, through their travels, experiences and observations, that sex was akin to a holy act, and could lead to awakenings of the mind and body that could be attained through nothing else on this earth. And they wanted to share it with others. That was what the performances were, you see. They were like religious services. They were like sermons. And that wasn’t all. They were social commentaries. They were acts of rebellion against all that was puritanical and restrictive. In these performances, nothing, absolutely nothingwas taboo.
As he’d been speaking, it was almost as though he’d forgotten Tad was still in the room with him. His face wistful. His hands went skillfully about their work. Click-clack, click-clack. Over the time that I was there, it was all still new, and it was still being refined. Nothing like it had ever been done before. There were acts that we developed, that the group practiced, that became like our signature pieces. Like the performances of a stage company. We had a list of them, like a menu. And when we were hired, whoever was paying for our services could pick from the list like a guest at a restaurant ordering an entrée. The tone of each was different. There were some that were much more elaborate, and theatrical. Many of the group had worked in the theater before, in various capacities, and had been trained by master thespians. They helped to devise all the detail that went into each piece- the costumes, the sets, the blocking, the dialogue. There were some that were more straightforward in terms of sexual content. Some were meant to be humorous, sexual farce. Others were more serious, containing elements of tragedy. Some were like erotic fairy tales. Others were commentaries on the political or religious climate of the time, or current events, with prominent world figures represented by the various cast members. It was part stage play, part burlesque show, part pornography. All in the name of liberation, and we only performed in very select circles, for what we judged to be the rightkind of people. Sometimes those watching wanted to participate. That was okay. We could modify our roles so that they could take part, or we would improvise depending on the situation. Some of the performances, as you might expect, gave way to what resembled orgies. You have seen something similar, at Decadence. Some of these times might be considered the predecessors of that event. They laid the groundwork for what was to come.
Sometimes we would consult with the purchasers of our unique product beforehand and construct a viewing that was tailor made for them. We would talk about what they were interested in seeing, and come up with ways that we could make it happen. Some people wanted to see reenactments of events in their own lives, or see fantasies that they had always had played out. These were more wish fulfillment than anything else. Sometimes, with older buyers who were no longer capable of the sexual act, we performed so that they were living out their physical wishes vicariously through us. We had repeat clients, certainly. Oftentimes the group would become good friends with those who we performed for multiple times. They became like extended members of the family. In situations like that, we would sometimes let them see a sample of our wares, or try out new material and see what they liked best.
We traveled, staying in Amsterdam often enough, but also moving throughout Europe as word of our wares spread. Satisfied customers (and they were always satisfied) told their friends about us, and if occasion warranted, they would make inquiry. We would then send an ambassador from the group who would judge whether we would be able to provide what the potential new client was looking for. More often than not, the ambassador would be Madeline. I’ve already explained that intangible quality she had, and she was best able to carry the flag for us, putting the hesitant at their ease. Always I traveled with her. The majority of the time I did not participate in the actual performances. I had another function in the group; I provided security. Within three years of my meeting Madeline that fateful night at the party, I hit a growth spur of monumental proportion. I’ve no way of knowing how old I was, exactly- seventeen, perhaps, eighteen? Who could tell? But in
that time I shot up to the height that I am now, and I was, shall we say, much better proportioned. I was formidable, and I knew the business intimately, and the group had become, at that time, my extended family. I loved them all dearly. I looked after them, seeing to their needs when they traveled, and stepping in on the rare occasions that a gig didn’t go according to plan, or I or the performers thought themselves in danger. It didn’t happen often. Our screening process was so selective, and Madeline was such a fine judge of character. Or at least, that is what I thought at that time.
Those were probably the happiest times of my life, I expect. It is difficult to explain the inner workings of the family, for family was what we were, the most open minded group of consenting adults you can possibly imagine, all of us caring deeply about the others. I need hardly tell you what a strange dynamic it was. But family is family, even one as strange as that, far removed from the husband and wife, two-point-five-kids-and-a-dog type model. We traveled together often, had all the money we needed, and we were doing something that we were passionate about. There were children born into the family, and we raised them, taking them along with us and nurturing and educating them along the way. We all took care of them and helped with the child rearing process. Every so often one of us would drift away, and every so often we took on another member, but for the most part, the nucleus of the group remained the same. We had a bond, the oddity of which I think was its greatest strength. We were freaks, harmless outcasts who had found each other.
Woods Page 38
