Free Shudder by Harry F. Kane Page B

at a dozen half-naked men, who were ‘snaking away’ from her on the dance floor.
    He flicked through the channels. News, dancing clips, a dancing clip, interview with singer, a film about the making of a film “It was such an experience to work with such great actors. The director was also fantastic...” a documentary about the collapse of North Korea. An ancient sob-doc about dolphins, a dancing clip, someone falling out of a car while shooting with both hands, someone shooting at a police helicopter, a dancing clip, a rerun of an old superhero movie, the government of Uganda denouncing western plots to turn its schoolchildren into rabid homosexuals.
    Dave picked himself up. It was obvious that yet again he would have to take his entertainment into his own hands. He rummaged in the cupboard box below the TV and found the memory box on which
Old Sci-fi Flicks
was written.
    He plugged the memory box into the TV and settled back into his couch.
    All the Sci-fi movies from the twentieth century, which he could buy, download, or copy from someone, were there.
    Should he watch
Plan 9 From Outer Space
? That always cheered him up but he knew it by heart by now.
    Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea
? Naaah.
    A
Doctor Who
?
    Maybe watch the
Devil Girl From Mars
? That evil alien appearing in a Scottish pub, looking like a ruthless middle-aged dominatrix from Munich. No wonder the poor bastards were scared shitless of her. Of course, she both figuratively and literally paled in front of the legendary impeccable thighs of Lieutenant Uhura.
    He jumped out of his couch again. He wasn’t fooling anyone. He was feeling restless, and very, very horny, and if he remained at home, he would spend the night curled up in front of some inane porn film. Which was demeaning in itself, apart from being a dangerous mixing of business and pleasure.
    If he allowed himself to be sucked in by the material which he was supposed to examine with a clear mind—that would the beginning of the end.
    He was, after all, a grown man, with his own apartment, and his was a quite a stressful line of work. Why lay hands on himself at home, when urban civilization provided one night stands for just such people?
    He went to the bathroom, inspected his genitalia, which turned out to be still not completely overgrown, so there was no need to shave. Just for good measure, he rinsed the little fella with some soap, dabbed some perfume behind his ears, and went to his wardrobe.
    It was obviously going to be a phallic night, so he chose the leather jacket and the shiny black pseudo army boots. After some deliberation, he also put on his left wrist a leather bracelet.
    He studied the studded stud-trinket for a moment. Of course, he had still been a small kid, when studded leather bracelets and belts had left the territory of punk, heavy metal, and fetish sex-shows, and entered mainstream fashion, but where he was going, the message would be clear.
    He examined himself once again in the mirror, this time in full gear, squinted his eyes in a manly manner, did it again in order to be certain that he remembered the exact coordination of facial muscles, and left his home.

    * * * *

    Forty minutes later Dave entered the bar he usually used for such occasions. Above the entrance, neon letters a foot across announced, The Faceoff Night Bar.
    The ‘E’ in the Faceoff was not working, so for someone not acquainted with the nature of the club, and just a touch of dyslexia, it could sound like a skinhead or a nomie hangout. It wasn’t. It was a swinger club.
    The music inside was, unfortunately, always a mix of popular sexy hits and mechanical tribal monotony with distorted guitars, which passed for heavy metal these days, so he quickly downed three small beers in a row to dull the pain and gave everyone around the manly squint.
    There were more men than women sitting and gyrating in the shadows, but almost all of these men were sitting and gyrating