seemed welded in place, so slowly did they move. I didn't know whether to fear what was coming, in the way of a disclosure of my perverted tastes, or to hope that John understood my desires and knew of a way to provide actual satisfaction for me, better than just daydreaming myself into ecstasy.
When I entered his private office, he calmly told me that he had arranged things for my visit at The Club. We casually left the building, as at the end of any normal business day and he led me in a short walk across town toward the east side where the neighborhood was very middle-class, with lots of small stores containing delicatessens, laundries, beauty-parlors, dry-cleaning establishments and similar small businesses.
In front of a row of these nondescript stores, John stopped by a small panel truck, and quietly said, “Here is our transportation. We'll just hop in the back and start on our ride.”
We climbed in and found comfortable padded and upholstered benches on each side. The door slammed shut behind us and the truck immediately started up. I started to ask John about all this secrecy, but he cut me off. “Until you are a full-fledged member of The Club, you cannot know where it is. Such knowledge would be potentially too dangerous for the other members, and possibly for you, too. Just trust me and I think you'll find it worthwhile.”
The truck turned and twisted and stopped and curved so I had no idea even as to the general direction we were taking. John kept talking to distract me, and after about twenty minutes, the truck slowed, seemed to drive down a ramp or runway, and came to a stop. I heard muffled voices and then the back door swung open.
We climbed out, into a small room that had sliding doors which closed immediately. Then I realized that we had been delivered directly into an elevator within some large building. After ascending what must have been several floors, the rising car stopped and the sliding door opened again. We stepped out into a pleasant lounge such as might have been the entrance of any smart exclusive club in the city.
A dignified gray-haired man greeted John, but did not call him by name. John only said, “This is the friend I phoned that I was bringing. I'm certain that he will be interested in The Club and the opportunities which it offers for the expression and acting-out of artistic and emotional creativity in all its meanings. We will sit over there on the divan while I show him our catalogue and find out his particular field of interest. I'll let you know our plans later, but you can arrange for us to have dinner here.”
I was led by my friend over to the luxurious leather sofa at one end of the lounge, and on the way he picked up a thick bound portfolio. We sat down and he leafed quickly through this catalogue till he found what he was looking for. My casual glance showed that the album consisted of photographs neatly mounted under plastic protectors, but when John handed me the big book opened to what he had found, I nearly dropped it when I saw the pictures on those pages.
The photograph on the left sheet showed a young girl of maybe six, completely naked so that her undeveloped body was revealed in every detail, being flogged on her bare ass by a grown man with a short quirt in his hand, while he forced the child to suck his huge erect cock with her dainty mouth. The dark welts where the whip had stung her cute round ass-cheeks, and the tears streaming down her face from her pain and fear and humiliation, were all clearly revealed in the picture. The man's face had been obscured beyond any chance of recognition when the picture was printed, but the girl was shown with superb clarity.
The opposite page of the album was even more exotic, for it showed another child, this time a blonde, as distinguished from the brunette first one, being cruelly raped on a huge bed by an adult man, obviously old enough to be her father, or even her grandfather. This child was about eight years old, and her hands were stretched wide out toward the sides of the bed and held there by tight ropes around her slim young wrists. From the position of her legs, it was obvious that she was fighting her attacker as well as she could, but the photograph clearly showed that his big stiff prick was being driven into the hairless pink slit between her thighs, and her mouth was open with the scream which announced the agony of her rending defloration. Again the man's face had been effectively disguised by the photographer but there was no question as to the age or beauty of his childish victim, or what he was doing to her.
“What do you think of these pictures?” asked John.
“They're fantastic.” I answered sincerely. “Is this what your club does? — collect terrific pictures of unusual sex activities with young children? And how do you ever get them to pose for the photos?”
“Those pictures aren't posed,” replied John, smiling at my mistake. “Those pictures were taken by a concealed camera and they record exactly what they seem to, — men getting thrills out of abusing young girls in any way they like. While I go see about getting us a couple of drinks, you can look through the rest of the catalogue.”
He rose and strode off, and I began to leaf through the large leather-covered album from the beginning. It contained at least a hundred superb photographs, and each one depicted with amazing clarity and detail some bizarre and perverted form of sexual activity. Just as a collector's item of pornographic pictures, the album must have been worth a small fortune, for I'm sure that every imaginable variation of exciting sexual possibilities was illustrated. And John had assured me that they were not posed but had been photographed during their actual performance.
There were pictures showing men horribly mistreating beautiful women and girls, and also being mistreated by sternly dominating beautiful women. Every possible position for screwing was illustrated, and the same went for cock-sucking and buggering. There were men enjoying sex with other men, and with young boys. There were sex- acts involving animals, and also involving complicated machines and instruments. There were scenes showing women playing intimately with other women, and with young girls and with young boys. There were pictures of children of both sexes toying with each other in the lewdest possible ways. And there were several examples of the type of sexual variance which I enjoy, — men attacking very young girl-children and subjecting them to terrible indignities and rape.
When John returned with two drinks, I was boiling over with questions. He silenced me with a gesture and said, 'I'll tell you everything, you can know about The Club now. Later when you decide whether you want to join, you will learn more, including where it is.
“Membership here is restricted to wealthy men who enjoy variations from so-called normal sex. You saw that there were no pictures of regular sex in the catalogue, for we assume that a man can get all of that without coming here for it. The catalogue merely shows the types of off-beat sex which we have provided for our members, and which we are prepared to provide at any time for them. Whenever anything new is developed, we photograph it and put it in the catalogue, just in case any other member wants to try it.
“The men's faces are all disguised, as you saw, during the processing of the pictures, so that there is no trouble about embarrassment for the members with the other members or guests. And you will understand why I said that our clientele are wealthy men when I tell you that the initiation fee for the club is $10,000 and that the charge is $100 for every time you come here for some sexual stimulation. This service fee is the minimum fee, and in addition you have to pay any extra charges which the management has incurred in meeting your special requirements. It costs $100 to bring in a guest, and we have to be very careful about the guests we introduce, for obvious reasons, arid I am personally responsible for you and your behavior, since I brought you here. Now, have you any questions?”
I was stunned at what I had seen and heard, but my excitement and curiosity were so great that I could scarcely contain myself. “You mean that if I become a member of this organization I can have any imaginable kind of sex-fun here, as long as I can afford to pay for it? And that as your guest this evening I can take my pick of any of the different forms of sexual enjoyment shown in this bizarre catalogue? This whole setup is so crazy and impossible that I almost think you are pulling some kind of a weird practical joke on me. Is this for real?”
John smiled at my amazed doubts, and signalled me to accompany him down a nearby hall. He drew a keyring from his pocket and opened one of a row of small lockers that lined one wall of the hall. He removed a large manila envelope, relocked the metal vault, and then we went back to the leather couch in the lounge. While opening the envelope, John said to me, “As you can probably guess from my name, Murphy, I come from Irish stock, and am a Roman Catholic. Due to some unfortunate incidents in my early childhood, I grew up with a great fear and hatred of all official representatives of my religion, such as priests and nuns. Since both of these classes of religious devotees are supposedly dedicated to celibacy and chastity, my neurotic distaste for them is all mixed up with sex. Now take a look at these personal pictures of mine which I just go from my private safe, and you'll see my kind of sexual abnormalcy, and believe the truth of what I've been telling you about The Club.”
He handed me a dozen or so large clear photographs, and as I glanced through them, the truth of what I had heard became all to evident. Each photo showed John, clearly recognizable, as indulging in some form of sex,
