Prometheus, Advertisement, Model, Lord Wickham
DAVID 574
STRYDOM MANOR, OUTSIDE LONDON
Nine old men. Nine very expensive, bespoke suits. Nine snifters of vintage cognac. Nine Swiss watches. Nine Savile Row shirts. And among all of them, a mixture of the poshest accents from various parts of England.
Miles Dawbrey turned to his host, Lord Wickham, “Now Henry,” he said, clearing his throat. “What’s this announcement you’ve got for us. And why all the fuss about not telling the others?”
“Well, I suppose it’s time,” said Lord Wickham. “I didn’t tell the others because, from prior conversations, I was sure they’d think my plans too shocking. And perhaps some of you may as well. But from our last little dalliance in London I thought it was worth a run through.”
“I say,” said Lord Bramford, “Is this about hiring one of those young muscle chaps we saw?” Because I think, with a little planning, we could pull it off if we’re discreet.”
“It’s about more than just hiring a bodybuilder to ogle, Charles,” said Lord Wickham. We talked about setting up an art class and pretending to need a model…”
“I’m going to do it whether you all decide to do it or not,” said Percy Bellesley, one of the richest men in all England. “And I’m not just going to ogle him. Enough money will buy anyone’s silence.”
“Well that’s what I’m getting to Percy,” said Lord Wickham. He placed his cognac on the table and smoothed his tie. “We may not have to pay for his silence. There again it’s not the money I’m concerned about…it’s what will happen if our little escapade becomes public knowledge. We’d all be ruined. Now, if you’ll remember, I mentioned the progress of the new drug Hypnotilol that my firm is researching. I just received word yesterday that the MHRA will not grant clearance to the drug.. The American FDA won’t even consider it unless it has preliminary clearance from the MHRA So it’s dead. No further research, and of course no dispensation to anyone.”
“Oh, too bad,” one of the men said.
“Well,” another said, “there are always other projects.”
“True,” said Henry, “but I’m not upset. You see, I knew it would never be granted approval. Development stopped precisely where I intended. Outside of the laboratory, Hypnotilol does not exist for all practical purposes. Therefore there are no methods of tracing it.”
“Too powerful, was it?”
“Yes, and no,” said Lord Wickham. “It renders the subject unconscious, but their brain goes into overdrive into an almost hypnotic, dream-like state. They lose almost all muscle control, yet their involuntary muscles, for instance those used for breathing, remain unaffected. They cannot open their eyes and are aware of all bodily sensations.”
“But they can’t move. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Correct,” said Lord Wickham. “And,” he said with a wry smile, “in addition to their brain’s dream function going into overdrive, their sexual response is also hyper-stimulated.” He waited for a response. He could sense the other men’s imaginations processing the possibilities.
“So,” began Percy, “they’re incredibly horny, they can’t move…”
“So,” began Miles, “if someone were to…” he shrugged, “oh…touch or play with someone who has taken this substance, the subject would feel everything but not be able to wake up.”
“Correct,” said Lord Wickham.
“I see,” said Percy. “Well now…are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
“We wouldn’t have to wear masks,” said Lord Wickham.
“He’d be no danger to us,” said Charles. “We wouldn’t have to restrain him.”
“Oh but we could if we wanted to, couldn’t we? I do so love the way rope can accentuate a physique.” Reginald Crawley smiled and looked around for approval, but the other men were lost in thought.
“How is it administered?” Percy asked.
“It doesn’t dissolve in water. It has to be dissolved in alcohol A glass of wine, a snifter of brandy…”
“The kind of men we’re interested are hardly interested in brandy!” said Percy.
“Well, you never know,” said Charles.
“Percy,” began Lord Bramford, “we could still use your art studio, hire him as a model, offer him a glass of wine or a beer, and then have our way with him.”
“Um, you do realize don’t you,” said Reginald, “that if we do that we’ll have to produce some sort of sketches or paintings. Otherwise the entire ruse will be apparent.”
“That’s all right,” said Lord Wickham, “the worse the sketches are, the better. I don’t want to be seen as an expert in drawing naked young men.”
“True.”
“There are several hundred doses of the drug in the laboratory. It won’t cost much for me to find someone to switch them with something inert so that when the MHRA orders their destruction, we’ll be getting rid of worthless vials and we will be the sole owners of–”
“The ultimate Mickey Finn,” said Charles.
“This is date rape!” exclaimed Terence Brown.
“Oh bloody hell,” grumbled Percy.,
“I knew it,” sighed Charles.
Terence stepped forward. “I can’t believe you’d go through with something like this!”
“Well,” said Percy, “you were the one that fantasized about oiling up an unconscious muscle man.”
“Yes, well……I…..then it was just a fantasy, you see.”
“Suit yourself,” said Percy. “Henry, cross him off the list.”
“No!,” shouted Terence, “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. I just mean we have to be careful. I can’t risk scandal.”
“None of us can, Terence!” grumbled Percy.
“Well,” said Lord Wickham, “we have two things to decide. First, who’s with me?”
Everyone raised a hand.
“Splendid. And now, who shall our first subject be?”
“Michael Betts!” shouted Charles with a lascivious sigh.
“The football player?” asked Terence. “Oh yes. But I thought we were agreed that it would have to be a kind of ultimate specimen. Remember? Like one of those Mr. Universes or something.”
“I hear Muscleworks in central London is the place with the ripest pickings.”
“Oh darn,” said Terence sadly. “I thought we were going to get an American. I do fancy Americans.”
“Why an American?” asked Lord Bramford.
“Well, they’re bigger,” said Terence. “And I just think they’re handsomer.”
Percy scowled. “Terence,” he began, “what about the fact that they’re thousands of miles away?”
“I just meant–”
“Now, now, now,” said Lord Wickham, attempting to calm the two men. “Deciding among all the “candidates” could be a very pleasant chore. We needn’t quarrel.”
“Sorry Henry,” said Terence.
“What about that chap on that American soap opera?” someone said. “The one that’s always taking his shirt off?”
“I know who you mean!”
“Oh! What about the one on the shirt commercial? The one that rips open his shirt and exposes his hairy chest.”
“Oh! You mean Captain Magnificent?”
“I do love a hairy chest.”
“Yes. Quite virile.”
“No, no. I nominate Manny Pembroke!”
“The boxer?”
“Wrestler.”
“Oh yes yes. I meant wrestler. Oh, have you seen him Henry? He’s magnificent. I concur. I definitely concur!”
“But he’s bald.”
“So?”
“I want someone young and handsome. A prince charming with muscles, or a superhero.”
“Dane Watts.”
“Who’s he?”
“The latest Mr. Britain. I attended the show last weekend.”
“Oh no. He looks like a bulldog.”
“Why don’t a few of us go down to the Muscleworks on the premise that we’re thinking of buying or investing in the place. Perhaps thinking of starting a chain of them? We could look around…inspect the–”
“Out of the question! The papers would have a field day. English Lord Buys Central London Muscle Harem.”
“I think he should be blond.”
“No tattoos! I despise tattoos!”
“This is against the law,” said Terence.
“Oh no,” said Percy. “Here we go again. Laws are for the common folk!”
“But–”
“We have the money to buy what we want!” said Percy. “Now if there were thousands of us that would be one thing. But we are the select few. I don’t know about you, but I worked too hard to have someone tell me that I can’t–”
“You’ve never worked a day in–”
“Shut up!”
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” said Lord Wickham.
“I just want to know,” said Terence, “are we going to have sex with him?”
“No!” cried out eight voices.
“Yes!” shouted Percy. “I have been spurned too many times by the beautiful men of the world. They owe me. I may not be the young lad I used to be, but I will not, I simply will not be satisfied until I torture a magnificent specimen of manhood with pleasure, make him writhe in sexual agony for hours, and make him–force him to cum at my command.”
“Gentlemen! Please!”
“That’s what I want to do too.”
“Me too.”
“Me too. Oh what I would give…”
“And no mercy.”
Lord Bramford wandered over to the sofa. There on a table was a collection of magazines. Henry always did have nerve. He subscribed to every men’s magazine on style, fitness, actors…anything that might feature handsome, muscled men. It always made Lord Bramford smile when Henry would say that he only had them for the articles. One of the magazines caught his eye. His mind was drawn away from the shouts of the other men. Their shouts faded away, and suddenly, in his mind’s eye, he found himself standing in front of the man depicted on the back of this magazine, his panting face level with the man’s enormous, muscled chest. He ran his hands across the hairy chest, the massive shoulders, the gigantic arms. Without any fear, he slowly removed the skirt of a Greek god and fondled high, round, oiled buttocks.
He shook his head to come out of his daydream. “Wait!” he shouted, and he turned towards his friends. “What about him?” He thrust the magazine towards the men.
Percy grabbed it, turned it over and looked at the front.
“No, no, no,” sighed Lord Bramford, turning the magzine over so that Percy could see the back cover. “Look at the ad on the back.”
“Prometheus cologne,” whispered Percy. “Oh I’ve seen these. Good god, man…that’s no doubt the pinnacle of manliness, but–”
“I have every one of those ads hidden in a sock drawer,” said Terence.
“Oh of course,” said Miles, “What about models? We could go to–”
“But he’s not real!” exclaimed Percy.
“Yes, he is!” said Miles.
“No he’s not. He’s one of those computer generated………constructions……you know…”
“No,” said Terence. “He’s real. I know the agency that does the travel arrangements for the ad agency. They’re going to Greece next week to shoot for next year’s campaign. His name is David………………..something or other.”
“Yes!” shouted Miles. “And he’s an American. Stunningly tall I hear. So wide in the shoulders that sometimes he has to turn a bit and duck to go through doorways.”
All the men gathered around Percy and gazed at the magazine. Their eyes went wide. There was a collective gasp, and then they stood, silent.
Lord Wickham picked up his brandy and took a sip. Smiling, he said, “I think we’ve found our man.”
2013