One Night Out Part III: 120 Minutes in Sodom

By Sigge S. Amdal © 2008

The night had a peculiar smell of exhaust and blood so we were quick to put the streets behind us, and sooner rather than later the neon lights of Blaze shone at us like the glow of a holy grail welcomes the tired and weary. T&A comes to those who wait, but we couldn't wait, and ducked into the basement establishment upon arrival.

"I'll take care of it," Koew said and paid the underdog behind the counter. The fresh, unclean air of Oslo had cleared up Kornelius who was tapping his foot anxiously in the rhythm of the bass drum.

"Take it easy now, we don't want to get thrown out of here judging by the cover charge."

A couple of footballers half-ran out of the door with lust and testosterone twitching the flesh of their faces ready for Nigerian love.

"Pigs fucked the pope," Kornelius said.

"No fault of mine!"... Me and Koew completed, before we headed straight into heaven. At least it used to be. Now after several anti-smoking, anti-fun laws passed in heart of the EU, it smelled of sweat and cock and heated beer. You should never visit a strip joint in daylight. It's truly disgusting. But at night, when the lights are low and the alcohol boosts your chest and your participation, it's pure magic. If it hadn't been for steep prices there wouldn't ever be a way to know if you'd been dreaming.

The place was packed and there were no seats left. We went to the inner sanctum, ordered up some beers and took in the atmosphere. The scene was easily seen from our position, mirrors and ballroom balls, spotlights and framework of genuine fake gold.

A show came on and six little dancers brushed past us from the dressing room. Barely legal naked nymphs with eyes too predatory for my liking. Reptile folk with nice legs, ripe breasts and hands long into your pockets. The moment our over-priced beer arrived, in slender glasses akin to lab equipment, my phone rang.

It was Lady C.

I ran outside to take it.

"Hi! Where are you?"

"I'm not at a strip club!"

"... Alright... Listen, there's a nachspiel at my father's place right now and I was wondering when you were gonna show up?"

"Oh. Meet the parents, huh. I'm not so sure about that."

"Oh come on Sigg3! The pubs are closing in twenty minutes anyway!"

"They are!? I'll be damned. Fucking government. Well, I guess I could come by."

Sobriety took hold with cold hands.

"There's a lot of free beer here," she said. "Free Beer!"

Free as in beer?

"Okay, I get it. I'll be over there pretty soon."

I rejoined my soldiers slung over the bar. They had a gloom to their faces.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"No money no show," Kornelius sighed.

"I really need to take a piss," Koew said.

"What's wrong with the bathroom?"

"Cocaine all over the place. Cops can't be far away."

"I'm getting out of here."

The guys weren't too happy with the concept of Visiting the Parents to Secure more Beer, and I couldn't blame them. Instead they headed to Vår Frelsers Gravlund cemetery to urinate on Ibsen's remains.

Cut short from backup and all alone in the world I took to the streets with a new outlook. Yes. Better to go with the flow than grow bald from boredom I reckoned, and cleared my head up before circling in on The Father's apartment. I'd heard stories, but I didn't know exactly what to expect. Not only was he a flaming homosexual, his partner was one of the most prominent gays of Norwegian television. They were familiar names in the average household. Regular faces in the tabloid press. And father of the girl I was shagging.

"Gotta play this right," I said to myself and pressed the doorbell.

While I waited for the Buzz of Doom I felt like a lab rat ready for inspection.

"Hi! Come on up!" the voice was garbled through thumping pop music and women shouting. The door buzzed and up I went.

There was a flock of girls cackling like geese by the entrance and Lady C barely got though the crowd to shower me with kisses. Poor girl was starving for love, see.
The other girls dissected me visually head to toe in a manner of split-seconds.

"Hey everyone, this is my boyfriend," C said.

"He's cute," they said.

"Yes, he is."

"I'm still standing here," I said.

"Awwww. Come here, let me show you around."

She stopped me once again to make sure no spot was left unkissed.

"Who's your daddy?!"

"He's right over there!"

"Oh."

A bearded middle-aged man with dyed hair and bright clothes extended his hand.

"So you are Sigg3?" he asked.

"Sigg3, Associated Press."

"Nice to meet you."

"You, sir, look most terrifically like a producer of smut porn. Do you have any?"

He laughed with me and put a firm hand on my shoulder. That would be the bear.

"Let me show you around."

I was nervous. Here was a well grown man showing me around his private after-party who, incidentally, also was the biological origin of the girl I'd wake up with, naked and aroused, the following morning. Stop it. Stop thinking about it.

Luckily the marvels of richness soon had me distracted.

"Here's the people, the living room, here are some hors d'oeuvres, guy under the table - my boyfriend - you may know him from television."

"I don't watch television."

"Oh."

"Is that a genuine Nerdrum?"

I pointed to the painting above the sofa.

"Yes, it sure is! And we've got the self-portrait in the bedroom. Care to see it?"

"Oh thanks. But no thanks."

"Hang on a minute," he said and went to stop some giggling broads from bringing lobster into the loo.

I looked around. Lady C was already out on the veranda smoking. Good. She handed me a cold one and threw away a groupie who was dozing off in one of the seats.

"Nice place they've got here."

"It's actually two apartments built together."

"Huh."

"So... What do you think?"

"Like a bit of weird art."

"No, about my father!"

"Yeah, that's what I meant."

The conversation was interrupted when a strangely familiar face came through the glass door crawling.

"That's -"

"That's my father's boyfriend."

And that would be the cub. He sat down next to me. Daddy came too.

"Oh, having a fag?"

"Nah, just a cigarette."

Daddy sat down opposite to me and we talked some about current scandals, the new opera house, his fascination with Wagner, the North, television and work.

"You work in IT?" he asked.

"Gotta put bread on the table."

"Listen, I've recently been in the market for a new phone."

"Oh yeah?"

"I thought about one of them iPhones."

"'Course you did. You're a homosexual."

"So what do you think?"

I confessed my general ignorance regarding telephone technology before I gave a bullet point presentation of the Maddox article 'The iPhone is a piece of shit and so is your face'. Alas, as so often happens, reason was put aside for fancy, but at least the choice reflected his sexuality.

"Come!" he demanded and stood up. "You haven't met my chameleon!"

Lady C nodded to me. With a free beer in hand I followed him back into the living room. A couple of groupie teens were making out on the sofa.

There! Behind a table stacked with assorted snacks and lobsters, in a dark corner of the room loomed a great terrarium in night mode; branches, rocks, grass, leaves and artificial sun.

"Whoa, you really meant a chameleon when you said it!"

"Of course."

"I thought it maybe was some gay slang or something."

"No, no, no. I've kept chameleons since I was a boy."

"Can we-"

"Take it out? Sure!"

With the gentle hands of a loving father Daddy reached into the glass box and lifted out the creature. It gripped onto his arm with tripod-like feet. They weren't webbed like a duck's or claw-like like an alligator's but just real soft. As soft as baby skin. Three soft big toes.

"Oh my god, its feet are so soft."

"Yeah. You see that there? The little thing behind the heel. It's the only way to tell one sex from the other if the head ornaments are the same."

"So what is it?"

"Oh, we haven't checked. Wouldn't want to impose any roles on it, would we? Want to hold it?"

I swallowed and nodded. My heart stood still while the lizard clung onto my clothes, eyes darting in several directions simultaneously. Its "skin" of small, small scales changed to a darker hue as it crossed over to my fine black suit. It approved of the suspenders, pressing its head cosily between those and my chest. I could feel the heartbeats through my shirt. It was longer than my forearm head to tail, but he curled the tail around my overarm as he sought out my inviting armpit.

"Strong tail."

"Most important tool it's got. Tongue and tail. Just like us."

"What?"

"Men.. tongue and tail?"

"I don't want to know."

"Let's see if it's hungry."

Daddy quickly returned with a drowsy cricket.

"Looks drunk."

"Kinda passed out. Just out of the bag. Let's see now. This is so cool. The tongue is longer than its body."

But the little critter was tired, and the cricket too. We put the latter in the bag and the former on the sofa, scaring away some groupies, and it headed straight for a lamp standing in the corner.

"He staring at the roof?" It had parked itself in a vertical position.

"Sleeping. They always sleep like that."

"That was really awesome!"

"Have you seen the fish tank?"

"Uh?"

We turned around and, hidden from the entrance was a giant fish tank with something akin to an alien facehugger sucking on the clear glass.

"It's a sting ray. We just call it Raymond."

"No shit. Same as killed Steve Irwin?"

"A lot smaller, but essentially yes, I think it was."

"Kick ass."

It gulped up a tiny goldfish skeleton.

"Err.. I think it ate Nemo."

Daddy shrugged.

The other fish looked worried. I shook my head. Fish always look terrified. Maybe they were okay with it. Or thrilled even. Nemo the fuckup always making a nuisance! Good riddance! But how do fish cheer? Could be just like that.

We headed back to the veranda where there was a heated discussion on group sex positions. There was no knowing where this was going.

I looked at C looking at the ashtray.

She was composing thoughts, I could tell, drunk like a wedding maid left at the bar.

"I could do you from behind while you lick the teens," said the cub overconfidently.
Was he fishing or kidding?

"I'm married. Gee, I even have children," said the other guy.

"So do I. Was married too," Daddy said with a tone of gentleman's sport.

I so seriously didn't want to see where this was going. One of the groupies came out and sat down on my lap without invitation. She started rubbing her butt on me table-dance style. On the other hand...

From behind a veil of sweet liquor breath I could see C's eyes turn to ice, before she simply said: "Move." The girl to girl red flag was immediately effected and I crossed my legs to hide La Tour Eiffel, smiling as thankful I could. The web was closing in, but I knew C could outperform these young'uns any day. Just not today.

"Sigg3, can you take me home?" She asked with a slur.

"I think the time is nigh."

Morning birds were chirping all around us and the low sounds of traffic crept in with the early-work commuters. I pocketed a beer for the road and helped myself to a pack of cigarettes someone had forgotten. "Let's go."

And not a moment too soon. When we got out the door C needed some support for the troublesome footsteps up to the highway. I put her up against a wall before I waved in a shiny cab that had just had a wax job judging by the look of it.

"Oh my god! It's full of stars!"

"That's right. Get in."

And so, dear fellow fliers of the night, was the course of this particular cul-de-sac, my One Night Out all over and out. The rest, as they say, is history.


Sigge S. Amdal is a word wanker from Olso, Norway. Feel free to read the other two parts to this trilogy... Part I and Part II.