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“Well? What do you think?” Blu asked, his face as excited as a little boy on Christmas morning.
My face must have said it all, because he grabbed my hand and led me to chair that I just about collapsed into.
“Wait right here. I’ll run to get us some bubbly,” he said.
Holy lord. I don’t know what I’d expected, but this was really something.
I loved it.
Oh god. Was that bad?
Tough shit. I was making changes in my life, starting now.
Blu came back with two flutes of champagne. I pressed mine against my forehead for a sec, and then enjoyed a nice, big swig.
It was the good stuff. ‘Course for what people paid to get into Kink Lab, they had to offer top-shelf beverages.
What had Blu told me people paid for each party? Wasn’t it something like two thousand dollars each? If I hosted at my gallery, half of that money would be mine.
I had a feeling he’d negotiated an especially good deal for me due to my situation. And he also knew that made it harder for me to say no.
Lucky for me, I’d gotten in for free. I certainly was not in a position to throw around two hundred dollars, much less two thousand dollars.
So fuck that jerk Devon for cutting me off, and yeah, I was getting more comfortable with the F-bomb. It was a great relief knowing I didn’t have to worry about running into him at Kink Lab. He could barely make love with the lights on, never mind in public, whether participating or just watching. The scene there would have made his head explode, no doubt.
“So….?” Blu asked, clearly hoping for good news.
I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. The champagne was helping. “Whew. It’s really something. I mean, I’m not even sure what to say.”
Somehow, I’d already downed my first glass. “Do you think I could have another?” I asked Blu, handing him my empty flute.
He was up and back in a flash. I guess when you’re one of the owner-promoters, you don’t have to wait in line at the bar.
“Dontcha think it’s hot?” he asked, sidling up to me.
I looked at him. “The question is, why would you think it’s hot? I don’t see a gay man for miles.”
“Ah. Yes. I get what you’re saying. You see, Av, it’s sexy not because I have any interest whatsoever in watching Barbie and Ken over there get it on.” He pointed toward a couple who did, really, look like a human Barbie and Ken. “What I’m getting at is that the sex-positive vibe, even if it’s not my team that’s playing”—he looked around, turning his nose up a little—“is still erotic as hell. Ya know?”
No, I didn’t know.
“Okay. Let me put it more plainly. I’m not interested in watching Ken’s schlong pump in and out of Barbie’s shaved beaver over there.” He craned his neck and shook his head as if he couldn’t imagine how any man would want to do that with a woman. Then he turned back to me. “But it’s really hot to witness their pleasure. I mean, look at their faces.”
“Okay, okay, I get it. Then why don’t you do this for the gay community?”
Seriously.
“Because, my dear,” he said as he took my hand and patted it like I was a senile old lady. “For every one club like this, there are probably a hundred gay ones. Because of that, there’s not the same kind of money in it. We’ve already been over this.”
“I guess. I mean, I can see how profitable this is when people pay two thousand a head to get in,” I said.
“Exactly. You can go to a gay sex club party for nex
t to nothing. Us fags like to hump early and often, and there are many opportunities to do that.”
Good old supply and demand. I’d never been very good at economics, but this seemed like a perfect case study for making some money. A lot of money.
Chapter 10
