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Rated: 18+ · Prose · Erotica · #774032
"I am young, undeserving of my newfound fortune."
         Twirling the pick that held the onions of my gibson, I stirred my drink in a daze. Supposedly, I did this because I couldn't cope with everything I had seen. I guess this was true, but I gave up thorough analysis a long time ago. That sort of activity got me into too much trouble.

         I sat there recalling what got me into this mess. Looking back, I realized how stupid it was. I had accepted a bet from my friend Josie that I wouldn't sneak into the (in)famous Club 69 to watch a rumored orgy. However, this was a several thousand dollar bet, and if I won, I'd have the money to buy this super chic Armani pantsuit. Jesus. I traumatized myself to get myself yet another new suit.Why did I do this to myself?

         Anyway, so I went out on that doomed Saturday night and headed to Club 69. I hadn't expected it to be invitation only, so I waited patiently until a gaggle of ruffians hassled the bouncers in an attempt to get into the club. While the bouncers were occupied, I dashed to the entrance and stealthily got inside.

         Once I was there, my first instinct lead me to the bar. I picked up my usual drink, a dirty Belvedere gibson (straight up), and found out where the VIP rooms were from the bartender. He told me the Reinmen's Room on the east side of the building had the best view. I took his advice and headed up. When I got there, I was greeted by another bartender, whose name was Moe. I couldn't really see Moe; it was very dark in the room. However, he and I chatted as I watched the orgy and consumed cocktails. At one point, I arranged with Moe to get me pictures of the orgy in order for me to prove to Josie I indeed attended. Moe came through on his promise, and in a way, I wish he hadn't.

         Before I left, Moe handed me a manila envelope and told me to exit via the room's fire escape. Seeing that I'd had three gibsons, I fought him on it, but in the end, he practically kicked me out. He then placed me in the Ocean Winds Hotel two miles away to ensure I didn't get my car and attempt to drive home while intoxicated.

         The next morning, I woke up in the hotel room trying to figure out how I got there. I then saw the envelope and grabbed it, hoping it would offer some clues. Needless to say, it did. They were the orgy pictures, a little fuzzy in detail but still depicting some indescribable atrocities. However, the last picture scared the shit out of me. It was one of Josie in congress with a hermaphrodite, her boyfriend watching. As he was watching, he was being fellated by a chubby transvestite. I lay on the bed studying the picture before I finally snapped. I leapt up and hugged the porcelain god for a good long while before I made my way back to the club to get my car.

         The days after the orgy weren't pretty. I met with Josie for lunch at Chloe's (a favorite gourmet cafe we frequented) to prove that I had indeed attended the orgy. While we waited, I presented my pictures and bar tab to her as my proof.. When she got to the last picture, she became so upset she hastily wrote me a five thousand dollar check and ordered me to leave.I gave her a surprised look but departed anyway. Later, I found out someone else had obtained the same picture I had, which resulted in Josie losing her job at the law firm of Mann, Wiley, and Sakowitz. Not too long after she lost her job, I was offered a partnership at Chase and Abrams (the law firm that has employed me both now and when I was still an associate). When I accepted my partnership, I discovered Moe was behind my promotion, creating that photo of Josie as a way of seeking justice. He wanted to right the wrong of Josie getting a better paying job than me by pleasuring the partners at her firm as I toiled endlessly at my firm.

         A gentle breeze blew as I sipped my gibson. I asked the bartender for my check and looked out to the ocean. Looking back, I realized I paid a very heavy price for what I had: my Armani suit, a partnership at a reputable law firm, and these regular outings to this upscale oceanfront bar. Was it worth it? I stopped trying to answer that question long ago. Seeking an answer held no reward, except to be tortured by more guilt than I already had weighing on me. I leaned my face into my glass and cried.

         It wasn't worth it.
© Copyright 2003 Elisa the Bunny Stik (soledad_moon at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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