Lenkley: Chapter 1

This was the part of the day that Terrence Lenkley hated the most. He hadn’t seen the sunlight for an entire 24 hours and he knew that when he swung the rusted metal plated side-door open, the stinging brightness of the 7A.M. sun would damn near blind him. When he got there it was already night time so he did not bring any sunglasses with him. Stepping into the sunlight would also usher in the official end to a glorious night of sloppy debauchery. But before he could stumble into the heavy door and come out the other side a normal member of society, he would take a moment and stand in the corridor that led to the side exit, and savor the warm fleshy smell of the night’s bacchanalia.

He had gained access to this place by lurking in the forums of Gnostic websites. Turns out one of the faceless members of one of the forums worked at a piercing and tattoo parlor not too far from Lenkley’s studio apartment in the fashion district. He walked in, pretended to be interested in getting his first piercing (he hated needles and thought only douchebags and goth queers got piercings) but more importantly he pretended to be interested in Gnosticism. Truthfully, he really had been mildly interested in the principles of Gnosticism. Many hours at work were misused reading through Wikipedia portals and blogs about Gnosticism. But this lasted for a week and a half tops. The next quasi-intellectual distraction from the monotony of work replaced Gnosticism in short order and damned if Lenkley even remembered what it was. But he surely remembers how this fleeting Gnostic interest changed his life. In that week and a half of scouring forums he began an online correspondence with one “Bythos45” who, along with a penchant for the counter-culture, shared a ZIP code with Terrence. So he ventured into the piercing shop nervously after being informed by Bythos45 that among other things, Gnostics sometimes observe seasonal orgies and that she may or may not be part of a group that adheres to such practices. She left the tip cryptic enough to be titillating but playful enough to imply a wink and a nod. So the day he actually visited her at her place of business, he made sure to brush up on his Gnostic jargon and vocabulary. He wanted to be able to talk shop with at least some fluidity. When he walked out of her shop he was smiling ear to ear, completely content with his performance. The Oscar for bullshit would have been awarded to Terrence Lenkley on that day if such an award existed. He had somehow dumbed his way through a short conversation with Bythos45 and convinced her that he was genuinely “into the Gnostic teachings but just needed a little guidance from some people that have studied it for longer than he had.” It was a good enough performance to secure Bythos45’s real name-Lydia-and a date: Thursday, May 12th 2001 would be the date of Terrence Lenkley’s first Gnostic mass.

Months of sheer boredom passed as he became a trusted member of the Pistis Core: a concentrated group of Gnostic enthusiasts in the Los Angeles area. Lydia had failed to mention to Terrence that initiates must actually practice abstinence in their Gnostic infancy. So it took a couple months worth of attending masses for Lenkley to even see his first orgy much less participate in it. But it was worth the wait. Each one was better and more addicting than the last and the previous night’s hedonistic cabal did not disappoint. Lenkley relived every moment in a flash as he stood there in the hallway inhaling the stale sex. The amphetamine fueled night kicked into gear as usual. Small, talkative cliques formed in the basement of the old burnt down bar that was their meeting place. A few groups of five or six people who gravitated toward each other because they had grown comfortable with one another over the months and in some cases, the years. The effects of the Ecstasy and cocaine soon became apparent in the room. The small talkative groups were becoming languid throngs of groping and playfully caressing bodies. That’s when clothes started coming off-the veterans wore robes. True, there was more queer sex going on than Lenkley would have liked-the first hour or two always ensured that Terrence would be relegated to voyeurism until as someone in the hetero pockets of fornication would grow too tired and there was room and opportunity for him to slip in-but when one of the Gnostic “priestesses” really got going, it was magic. Tonight it was Bythos45 who got rolling the best. She was taking on four at a time. bent over, splayed out, and stretching apart at the seams, humming for more with every ejaculate deposited in or on her. When the party started rolling like this all the discipline and mysticism of the early evening’s lectures dissolved in stagnant sweat and smeared cum. There was nothing disciplined or mystical about four dudes railing the living fuck out of a wailing she-banshee in the throes of pain masked by pleasure and diluted with amphetamines. Yes, their goal for the night was to “become the animal and reach true humanity by shedding any semblance of it from your being if only just for a few hours,” but Lenkley knew that bullshit was the furthest thing from anyone’s mind while they were feverishly pounding each others’ bodies together. There was very little spiritual about it. Nothing divine. When the show really got started, there was almost an atmosphere of ill-will in the sex acts that were performed. But Lenkley couldn’t care less and he suspected that no one else cared either.

He really went to work on Bythos45 that night once it was his turn at bat. He relished demolishing someone he had developed an acquaintanceship with. He resisted the drugs telling him to release too soon. Instead, he pulled out before he reached critical mass. He was given permission to invade her mouth as every other orifice of her body was being occupied. She was being jerked and pulled too much to give him any kind of consistent rhythm so Lenkley took it upon himself to create his own. Grooving his bare hips into her mouth and pulling out until his brain and body could take no more enticement. In the end he gripped her dyed black hair close to the scalp and held her face in place as he created a splatter art painting on it. It was the most assertive and aggressive thing he’d ever done in his meek life. He staggered backwards and dropped himself on one of the old bar stools from upstairs, leaning his upper body on a table that doubled as one of the many small shrines to various bullshit deities. He sat there, breathing deeply as he watched a recharged male member of the Pistus Core take his place in Bythos45’s mouth.

It was a terrific night but now it was over. Terrence had been coming down from the E for about an hour and a half. Now it was time to come face to face with the comedown’s natural enemy: sunlight. This was the part of the day that Terrence Lenkley hated the most. The moment before stepping through the portal that would take him from the world where all of his hidden characteristics were let loose, and into the world where he was just a normal member of society. He leaned into the door, pushed it open and immediately shielded his eyes and stepped into the bright disorienting world. The sun beat misery into his brain, he just wanted to get high again but miserable comedowns were routine for him at this point. So he reigned in his stumble to a respectable gait by the time he reached the sidewalk from the alley and disappeared among other respectable pedestrians making their way to work or some other respectable destination. As he walked, his head was bent forward and filled with satisfying fantasies of kneeing the square walking ahead of him and kicking his face as he was doubled over in pain. Cracking his ribs under his business-appropriate blazer. Lenkley saw a pair of stockinged legs in formal heels walking fast up on the right. Fantasies of bludgeoning Mr. Businessware gave way to ripping those stockings in half at the pussy and shoving himself between the long smooth legs that were walking so purposefully alongside him. Then he imagined how sweet it would be if Stockings and Mr. Businessware were actually husband and wife. He’d make bloody Businessware watch as he ate his wife dry, shoved a triple stack E up her ass, and finish in her mouth. Mr. Businessware with the Bluetooth in his ear faded from sight and the click-clack heels of Stockings marched out of an earshot but these sadistic fantasies persisted in Lenkley’s head as he walked himself home form an all-night, intoxicated, pagan orgy in a dirty basement in dire need of a bleach tidal wave. Just a normal member of society.

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