Today I present the latest in an ongoing line of original contributions from writer John Bonnaque that began one year ago. In this tale John describes his escape from an ordeal in the United Kingdom.
As may be expected, the piece is quite entertaining. Though some may find the details a little too familiar. Of course all the usual caveats do apply. – Rockit
“When a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully.” – Samuel Johnson.
As far as I know, no one is planning to hang me. But, when it is late at night, and I open the heavy wooden door to a new massage establishment, I anticipate that I will soon be having unrestrained sex with multiple unknown women. This generates a feeling of heightened awareness and mental clarity, as if I am soon to be executed.
More than one manager has asked me not to spend too much time in the lobby, as it scares away some cashed up customers. It’s not my face that scares them away. I’m not quite that ugly. It’s just that these men find the experience to be so anxiety inducing, that if they merely spy another customer in the lobby, they flutter back out the door.
Their feeling is entirely understandable. Plenty of bad things can happen if you walk in the wrong door. Many years ago, I entered a seemingly legitimate club in London Soho to watch what was advertised to be a live sex show. What I did not know was that it was a complete scam. I waited over an hour for the promised show, but it eventually became clear that there was no show. It was all a lie. And once you are inside the dark underground room, the muscular bouncer will not let you leave. Walk in the door, $20. Sit at the table, another $20. Touch the glass of water on the table, $50. Order a beer, $100. It was quite the unpleasant situation.
As they say in England, here’s the tricky bit. I was not alone; I had a female business associate with me. I had asked her earlier if she was interested in seeing a live sex show after work. She said yes, so we were being held hostage together in the underground club. If I had attempted to push my way past the bouncer, he would have happily and legally beat the crap out of me, claiming that I started the fight. Fortunately, I was too clever or possibly too scared to try this. He clearly outweighed me by about 50 pounds of muscle. It then occurred to me that he wouldn’t dare to rough up a lady, especially in England. The law would come down hard on him if he touched her. The manager would probably be satisfied to have me alone for extortion purposes. I whispered to her that she should try to leave, and once outside, immediately call the police. She headed around the corner where I could no longer see her, and I remained behind to await my fate.
Initially there were two men and two women working in the “club”. After my friend left the room, I waited for a while. I then noticed that staff seemed to be disappearing in various directions. I looked around, and they had all seemingly ran away. The club was now deserted. I headed up the stairs and out the door, once again a free man.
As my lady friend explained to me later, this is what happened to her while I was imprisoned in the dungeon. As expected, the bouncer did not lay hand on her. He stepped aside and let her pass. She went into a nearby pub, and had the staff call the police. The police showed up, but by then, the rats had scurried off in multiple directions. As she was talking with the police, she looked through the window of the pub, and noticed that the bouncer was actually in there, trying to blend in. We later found out that there was an underground passage from the club to the pub. The police immediately entered the pub and arrested him. But he did not go quietly. He put up a fight. When they tried to put him in the wagon, he intentionally fell down and hit his head on the car door sill. He later claimed that it was police brutality.
She and I went to the police station to make a long statement, to be used later in court. We didn’t get out of the police station until 6 am. Just in time to go have breakfast and begin the next day’s work. No sleep for the wicked or the thrill seeker.
Interesting story John. I remember Soho from being an exchange student- ending up in London after 4 hedonistic weeks in Penzance, many girls from “the continent” as you say, and from Brazil. They even had an old short time hotel close to the sea, but also a nice quiet park.
London (it was in the early 70th). Me and my buddy spent money we didn’t have, we had fun with the girls in a seedy joint but the Management just laughed and let us leave.. I kept the menu with the inflated prices for many years, as a memory.
Thanks for the comment Alex. Cheers.