Written by P.M. Wortham
Rating:

Share/Bookmark
Print this

Monday, 23 November 2009

image for Spoof Club Part Six Naomi's Boots with a surprise about 3 feet north.

The Bondage-A-Go-Go

Escaping from Extremist Catholic Mimes can wear on a fella, and both Warren and I were exhausted from the experience. Where hearth and happiness can only be found at or somewhere near home, we both booked returning flights from Milan back to the U.S. The trip from Tremezzo and the Grand Hotel back to Milan was adventurous, trading paint and a couple of "Fungoos!" with teenage drivers on the A4, but we arrived at the airport no worse for wear.

Redlich was off to New York and home, but I opted to continue my Spoof Club adventures on the left coast. My connection would take me from New York LaGuardia to SFO with only a short layover.

I had about 90 minutes to kill so I opted to satisfy that monster craving I had back in Amsterdam after getting baked on Hawaiian Chronic. Standing in line at Nathans, I wondered how many dogs I could actually eat before boarding the plane. I decided on four, without the fries.

These are the times I wish someone would take a picture of me, because I am absolutely sure I was carrying my "Happy Face" all the way to the condiment counter. Onions, mustard, never catsup or relish or the other vegetable garden crap the Chicago people put on theirs. This is the perfect Hot Dog. Unless we're talking about chili dogs, then the criterion for perfection is different. I could smell the dead flesh, beefy goodness rising up from the bag as I looked for an open seat near my gate.

Finding an open spot with a seat open on either side of me, I noticed an older gentleman with a stylist grey beard, mustache and overcoat. I removed the first of my dogs and gave the man a wink and a nod. He responded, "Vottz new pussy cat".

"Victor? Victor Nicholas?"

"Why yes, young man, and how would you know my name?"

"It's your tag line, your motto that gives you away. That and you look like the picture you've posted for yourself in the Spoof discussion forum."

"Ah, yes. The forum. Odd discussion playground, that. Too bad an education, good taste and common sense are not required to post there."

I didn't want to bring up my recent series of postings on yeast infections and the many practical uses of other forms of vaginal discharge. Maybe it was because I just liked the man's stories and thought I could learn from his exploits. "Yes, I agree", I said. "Too bad more people couldn't write like you do". Clearly pandering to Victor's favor.

"What is your screen name?" Victor asked.

"P.M. Wortham", I replied.

"Hmmm", Nicholas said as he looked upwards trying to remember where he had seen the name. "You did the piece on lost hikers in the desert using vaginal yeast to help bake bread, thus avoiding starvation."

I was thrilled to have gotten the story recognition until he followed with,

"Horrible topic, poor visual fabric, disappointing onomatopoeia".

"I also did the story on bad Haiku?" I said, looking for a hint of acceptance.

"Rubbish", he said. There was a pause. "But I did like your limericks in the joke section, especially the one about the Hooker named Gail."

"Ah, yes, well I am just a struggling writer, looking for a good story." I said.

"Then you should accompany me to San Francisco and the Trocadero Club", Victor said.

"You're kidding right?" I said. "That is exactly where I am headed. Wednesday Night, Bondage A-Go-Go. Lots and lots of people watching and story ideas."

"Yes quite an experiment in the human condition, reasonable nudity, and things done to nipples with electricity I've never quite seen before." Nicholas said with a slight upturn of the mustache. "And there's a private back door for the Spoof Club as well."

"Excellent! I was sort of rescued by the Spoof Club in the St. Moritz club a couple of days ago. It would be good to enter one without the police chasing me for once."

"St. Moritz you say, and how is the Queen?" Victor asked.

"She is the epitome of class." I responded. Forgetting my manners for a moment, then remembering that I aspired to be the sort of guy always sensitive to his surroundings, I offered a hot dog to Victor.

"No I couldn't possibly. Oh, well, alright then. Just this once. Spicy brown mustard, eh? Good choice."

The flight was uneventful, which is the one true measure of successful transcontinental travel. We grabbed our bags and headed off to the Trocadero Club in the warehouse district of San Francisco.

It was near 8:00 PM by then, and a line had started to form to the left of the entrance. We had missed the part of the dress code that said "Black Leather or Latex Only". Nobody was there to give us a hard time, but we were not dressed for the theater of the "Latex Mind". I heard part of the conversation in front of us and recognized the voice, though I didn't recognize the butt sticking out of the ass-less chaps. Good thing I'm not into hairy cheeks, because this was more like fur. He was bound head to toe, gagged and shackled while being led by a young pretty in bustier and boots. Wait a minute, I recognize those hairy arms.

"Monkey Woods, you bastard. What are you doing here?"

"Wafum oo noomee, agg om urop?"

The young lady next to him took exceptino to his attempt to speak, lashed him with a cat-o-nine tails arcoss the buttocks, lifting Woods up onto his toes with a muffled yelp. She removed his ball gag while introducing herself.

"Call me Shea Lo. I'm Monkey's Canadian girlfriend, whenever he decides to visit Canada that is. We're on a little vacation here and hope to visit the back club."

"Nobody talks about that in public dearest", Woods said after wiping the ball gag drool from his mouth. "What's up Wortham, Hanging around with old men of poor upbringing?"

"Woods you're lucky you've managed to figure out the use of your opposable thumbs, dirty ape." Victor replied.

"Why Victor. Nice to see you too."

Allowing only that small exchange, Shea Lo gagged Woods once more, sparing us from any further eloquence. At 8:15, the line began to move and we were in. I was approached almost immediately by a tall and thin woman with long red hair and a partial mask. Her black stockings led all the way up to a rubber mini skirt, just long enough to hide the goodies, and her breasts were hidden nicely by a rough looking underwire bra covered in black Latex. I couldn't see much, but it all looked pretty good in the strobe lighting and loud music. I grabbed a couple of beers and offered one to the lady, when I saw Victor waving at me from what looked to be a pool table.

Clearly a multi purpose club, the Trocadero had a pool table towards the middle of the floor, in front of a staircase leading to a second floor. Victor pointed to a sign that said "SALE, Everything 50% Off". The table was covered in hand cuffs, whips, studded collars, riding crops and masks.

"How does one know if $20 is a good price for a riding crop?"

"Beats me", I responded without hesitation.

"Exactly", said Victor.

We headed up the stairs and the exhibitionism continued with couples all in various stages of undress, torturing each other on pommel horses, up against walls, and partially hung in the air. Victor's eyes lit up when he say a man wearing a rabbit fur mitten. Sure enough, the man had a static electricity generator on his belt and the sparks were jumping off the mitten onto his partner's body. Everything touched by the shock was hyper sensitive and pointy from her goose bumps to her nipples.

"Electrifying" said Victor. Neither of us were able to look away.

Just then my red haired love interest for the evening came up stairs and Victor spotted her first. "Quick, come with me". He said.

"Wait a minute, I've got to get me some of this."

"You'll learn." He said.

She tossed her hair to the side and leaned into me. It was then I felt something not quite right down below. A natural reaction really when positioning two bodies in order to get as physically close as possible. Primal really to want to work your legs in between hers and rub a little thigh against the honey pot while she does the same to Mr. Happy. But then, it was all wrong. I pushed my thigh a little harder to make sure I didn't misinterpret. I looked up to see the Adam's apple, and Mr. Happy suddenly wasn't.

I pushed whatever it was away and yelled "False advertising", then saw Victor laughing and waving me towards the back of the room.

"I could have saved you the embarrassment there, but you seemed to be on a mission."

"Yeah, thanks for that. I've got deuce chills now."

"Let's find a more reasonable party eh?" Victor said.

At the back of the room was a door marked PRIVATE OFFICE, which only led to a hallway and another door on the opposite end. "I never got the local password", I said in panic.

"Relax son, I had it sent to my iPod this morning. We're all set."

Three knocks later followed by a declaration of "IN SEINE", we were in. The club layout was very much the same as the European clubs except for the beer specials. Over there, Miller was considered an import. Over here, a little Kilkenny Lager or Harp was welcome over Milwaukee River water any day. The corner table was full of blokes trading paper, and the menu was geared for American cuisine. Burgers, fries, 239 bean soup, and an occasional Reuben sandwich. All was right with the world.

Reaching into my pocket for some cash, I noticed a business card with a picture of our red haired switch hitter on the front. It said:

Naomi Imoan - Dominatrix
"Spank You Very Much"
"Anytime Day or Night"
"Your Wish is Too Fucking Bad"

(415) 555-6969

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

If you fancy trying your hand at comedy spoof news writing, click here to join!
Print this

More by this writer

View Story
View Story
View Story
View Story
View Story
View Story

Share/Bookmark

44 readers are online right now!

Go to top