There were a lot of reasons Jimmy could've used to explain why he was at an S&M club.
The primary one was that the girl in his advanced algebra class – Trish, the one with the slew of tattoos decorating her left arm and ink-black hair – had been talking about it. He overheard her telling a friend about getting drinks at a place called the Funhouse on Friday. Even if it might've been a little creepy, him just showing up in case she dropped by, there was no reason he couldn't explore this part of himself. He'd always thought this "sort of thing" would be reserved for the real weirdos, and granted he'd never had the motivation to look into it. But then he met Trish.
A lot of things had changed since he broke it off with Zoe. It might as well have been mutual. When they graduated from Bullworth, they had to consider their futures.
After the fiasco that concluded his sophomore year, Jimmy had been able to enjoy a relatively peaceful junior year. Gary was expelled, Petey was Head Boy, and Jimmy resumed his title as King of the School. Clique disputes were down, bullying was kept to a minimum, and even school staff corruption was at an all-time low. And miraculously enough, Jimmy's grades picked up as soon as he was able to focus on his school work instead of breaking up fights and defending himself from drama stirred up by the resident sociopath.
In his senior year, he became a Prefect. No, he didn't see it coming either. But Petey was a good friend, and had been the one to put his name forward, though he was unaware. Although, he wasn't a perfect fit for the role, the school respected him and he was good at capturing troublemakers, even if he let it slide for students when he saw fit. He was demoted after sneaking Zoe into the boy's dorm one too many times.
He had a rude awakening at the end of the year, once it finally hit him that he had to start thinking about life after graduation or risk spending his life doing something that made him miserable. He couldn't very well go on through life using his fists to persuade people into playing nicely. The world outside of Bullworth was a very different place.
Jimmy didn't know what he wanted to do after graduating. But he did know one thing: He didn't want to stay in this fucked up town. And he definitely didn't want to be at Bullworth his whole life.
But most of all: He didn't want to be trapped under his mom's roof. He doubted the latest guy duped into being his step dad would tolerate his presence, especially now that he was legally an adult.
He got some help applying for colleges in the area, and was accepted at one in the next state over. He declared his major in Criminal Justice, though he was only taking one class that might even be a little useful. His schedule was mostly made up of lame-ass "prerequisites." It was just the same old shit.
Meanwhile, Zoe's options were just as limited. Bullworth Academy alumni didn't impress many universities, and Zoe was less inclined to obtain a Bachelor's degree. She decided to go into nursing at the local community college. It all boiled down to one question: Did they want to try a long distance relationship?
Short answer: No. Long answer: If they finished college and wanted to get back together, they would. But until then, well... college turned out to be full of opportunity. And hot chicks.
Namely, Trish. She was a college sophomore, and she had a ring going through her nose and liked to wear black lipstick. Maybe she was a goth chick. Jimmy didn't really have a thing for goth chicks, but there was something primal and appealing about the way she eyed up all the other guys in class. Jimmy was intrigued, swept up by the notion of making out with a college girl.
And that's why he was at the Funhouse.
He'd walked through the front door, unsure of whether this was even the right place. It was just a little brick building with blacked-out windows. His only clue had been the faded letters printed on the front glass. As soon as he opened the door, though, he knew this was the place. He was hit with the smell of latex and cheap perfume, and with the sound of industrial metal played at an ambient volume. Just at the entrance was a table, where a woman with dyed-burgundy hair sat in casual clothing beside a man in frilly black and pink panties. Jimmy had half a mind to walk right back out the door.
They took a ten dollar bill from him, checked his ID, and drew an X on the back of his hand with a permanent marker instead of the little cherry stamp that the rest of the patrons wore. He eyed it momentarily before glancing at the bar. There was no point, if the bartender knew to deny him service.
A second later, he took in the rest of his surroundings. There was a stage in the center, where a naked woman was being suspended from the ceiling in intricate rope knots, the tips of her breasts dangling centimeters from the floor of the stage. Not too far away was another woman with her skirt bunched up around her waist, and her bare ass out for all to see. Already, he could see her ass cheeks turning raw and red, while a thin man in glasses wailed on her with a whip made of thick strands of leather. The patrons sat at booths and tables, or stood mingling with one another. Some watched the "show" while others chatted noisily, or were highly engrossed on sucking each other's faces.
For one thing, Jimmy felt awfully underdressed. He'd at least put on a black shirt with dark jeans and his leather jacket, plus the nice shoes and stylish hat he'd bought at Aquaberry back when he had money burning a hole in his wallet. There were patrons wearing formal vests, some with top hats and several with corsets. There were men and women wearing shiny black leather, body suits made of latex or lace, just a thong, or silk dresses. There were young women with perky breasts and diamond pasties. There were fat, old women wearing velcro harnesses and purple dildos. There were men whose nipples were pinched by metal clasps and drooping chains. There were people he couldn't tell were male or female, in blonde wigs and high-heeled boots. Televisions all around him played muted BDSM pornography, where women gaped in silent orgasms.
He was awfully torn between feeling horny and feeling horrified.
Even if Trish was here, he wasn't sure he'd have the guts to stay. Not that he was wussing out, but this place just seemed weird. Whips and chains might've been something he could handle, but the half-naked old people in lingerie was kind of pushing it.
Yet, he was interested in what might happen to the blonde girl getting handcuffed to the pole in the back. He watched for a moment, as a man with a ponytail placed a silk blindfold over her eyes. Jimmy weaved through the crowd to get closer, tipping his hat down to avoid making eye contact with any of the patrons.
From his new vantage point, he had a nice view of the blonde's ass. It was nice, and little, and round. Like a couple of apples that would fit perfectly in each of his palms. He scanned the room for Trish again, while the blonde's boyfriend (master?) took a patch of what looked like soft rabbit fur out of a bag and started gliding it up each of her tanned legs.
Watching a guy rub fur on a chick in panties was only fun for a while. He would've preferred to participate – as the guy, of course – rather than merely watching.
The bar was near enough that he could stand in line while waiting for the blonde's boyfriend to do something else. He eyed the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's on the bar shelf with envy, licking his lips. When he got up to the counter, the bartender eyed the X on his hand and he asked for a coke. It was five dollars and mostly ice, but it gave him something to do with his hands. And just in time, too, as the blonde's boyfriend just took out a leather paddle.
But as he turned to leave the bar, he spotted a familiar face in the queue. Unfortunately, not Trish. He easily recognized the militant, buzzed hair, and the scar interrupting his left eyebrow.
Jimmy nearly crushed the little, plastic cup in his hand.
Brown eyes met his own, when the asshole was done pretending not to notice him. His face split into a grin.
"Jimmy-boy," he said, in that same derisive tone. "So good to see you."
"What the hell are you doing here, Gary?" he spat.
"I could ask you the same thing," he said. "D'you mind stepping aside? This is the line for the bar, after all."
"You're not twenty-one." Jimmy obliged anyway, stepping aside and glaring as Gary stepped up to the counter.
"Au contraire, my Cro-Magnon friend." Gary casually scratched at his eyebrow with his right hand, displaying a red stamp of twin cherries on his skin. "Jack, straight," he told the bartender.
Jimmy fumed.
Of all the freaky bondage joints in the city, Gary just had to walk into this one.
It had been two years. Two years after Gary had the entire Bullworth student body dancing to his twisted tune. Two years after Gary had the town crying out for his blood, after Jimmy chased him on the roof and threw bricks at his head. Beating Gary to a pulp had been the most satisfying feeling he'd had in a long while, but he had been thoroughly content to be rid of the conniving son of a bitch. Gary was just too much crazy to put up with.
And now, he was here. Like it was no big deal. Just dropping in to, what, get a bit of a lashing?
For a moment, Jimmy thought that might be something he might want to see. But considering the circumstances, Gary might like it too much, being handcuffed to a pole and flogged. He pictured Gary switching places with the blonde. Unable to escape, red-faced and wearing nothing but a pair of—
Nope.
"You look spooked, Jimmy. What's wrong? Did you see a ghost?" Gary sipped whiskey through a coffee stirrer, smiling.
"I won't ask you again," he said through gritted teeth. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Gary strolled back towards the wall, in view of the blonde now getting paddled. She let out small mewling noises each time leather met skin. It did nothing for his temper, perhaps even fueling it. He followed, intent on getting an answer. Not that that would satisfy him. Pushing Gary off of a building again might.
"Same thing as you, I imagine." He gestured at the girl. "Enjoying the show."
"Don't be a smartass."
"Am I wrong, Jimmy? Are you here to watch co-eds indulge in their kinks, or are you here for another reason?"
"Don't avoid the subject."
"Perhaps, you're just a virile, young man looking to explore his sexuality to the fullest," Gary suggested, taking a sip of whiskey. "I'm sure our Momo-chan here would be happy to help."
He gestured at what Jimmy was certain was a man in a red wig and a school girl outfit.
"Bears a striking resemblance to your townie trash, doesn't she?"
Jimmy grabbed Gary by his shirt collar and slammed him up against the wall. The room seemed to go silent, though music continued playing in the background. There was the sound of shuffling, as bouncers approached the two.
"What the hell are you doing here, huh? Is this a trick? Step one to your big revenge scheme?" Jimmy growled.
"My, a little paranoid, aren't we?" he mocked, unphased.
"HEY," came a shout in his ear. A moment later, and two huge men were pulling them apart. The black dude, head bald and shiny, stood in front of Gary as though he were somehow worth protecting. The bigger guy, with an untamed gray beard and glasses, had Jimmy by the arms. Jimmy shrugged him off, taking a step back.
"Sorry, man, sorry. Won't happen again," he said, brushing off the front of his shirt.
The two men stared him down. Baldy crossed his arms.
"I promise. I'm good." He put his hands up in surrender.
The bouncers said nothing, returning back to their posts. Gray Beard gave him intense eye contact, wordlessly conveying, 'Consider this a warning, jackass.'
"There, now we can speak like civilized gentlemen." Gary raised his plastic cup, taking a sip. "Well, civilized gentleman and well-trained gorilla."
"I guess it shouldn't surprise me that you're here," Jimmy said, coolly. "A fucked up guy like you would be into stuff like this."
"And yet here you are," he started, knocking his head back to finish his drink. "Bumbling around trying to understand something you won't even admit you're curious about. I hope for your girlfriend's sake that you aren't thinking about incorporating paddling into your usual dog-humping."
Jimmy squeezed his hands into fists. "Fuck you, man. We broke up."
He immediately regretted it as soon as it came out of his mouth.
"Ahh," Gary sighed, that shit-eating smirk right back on his face. "So you thought the Funhouse would be a great place to pick up girls."
The blonde's whimpering started reaching a crescendo, accompanied by the louder clap of leather on red, raw skin. Gary seemed bored. Jimmy started to wonder why he was standing here talking to this asshole instead of dedicating the view to his memory.
"Like you're not here trying to do the same thing," he growled.
"I'm not," he said simply. He set down the now-empty plastic cup. "You see, Jimmy-boy, this place might seem like a refuge for the desperate and depraved. But people come here because they're smart enough to know what they need, and where to find it."
Gary removed the suit jacket he'd been wearing, rolling up the sleeves of his white collared shirt. Jimmy had barely noticed Gary was here in a tailored suit. What a fucking weirdo.
He crossed his arms. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means, James, that the people here are several notches above the mouth-breathers at our alma mater." He slid on a pair of leather gloves. "Here, I am their god."
Jimmy wrinkled his nose, watching Gary leave his side to approach the platform. He'd been distracted enough by the blonde – who was now being carefully unlatched from the pole by her master – that he didn't notice that the girl in the ropes had been switched out by a new girl sitting on a chair.
He didn't recognize her at first, wearing a black cincher and frilly satin shorts. It was Trish, with her tits out, wrists handcuffed behind the chair and face painted in her usual dark eyeshadow and lipstick, her black hair in a blunt bob. Her pale nipples sat low on her breasts, starting to heave as Gary stepped up onto the stage.
Every bone in Jimmy's body pleaded to leave. He wanted to do anything else but watch someone like Gary Smith indulge in his sadism on the girl he came here to see. And yet, his feet were fixed to the spot, unable to rip his eyes away. On the one hand, it was Trish, wearing a lot less than what he was used to seeing her in during class. But even Gary had this look on his face that was completely unfamiliar – peaceful, focused. Not like the crazed and wide-eyed sociopath that Jimmy was expecting.
He stalked around the chair, circling like a predator. Trish looked up at him with lips parted, watching, eyes glistening with anticipation. Gary stood behind the chair, slipping a leather-gloved hand around her jaw and under her chin, pulling her head back and stretching her throat so that Jimmy could see her take a gulp from where he stood. He realized the room had gone nearly silent, watching each of Gary's movements.
Shit. He really was their god.