Semen Hunters

"Because he's a guy. He'll get a big head."

"I prefer the big head between his legs," Yumi laughed.

"You prefer his big load," Sharise countered.

"So what did you think?" Charlize asked me. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Yes, I did, actually."

"I knew you would once you got over your shyness," Dorothy said to me. "You really gave him a great handjob."

"It was fun," I admitted. "But that EJAX drug. God, that's something."

"Probably the greatest drug ever invented," Millie said. "Well, if you're a sperm addict anyway."

Sated, and now lazily enjoying a sumptuous feast of some of Charlize's leftovers, we sat and talked for several more hours. By the time the first ray of sunlight made itself visible over the horizon, I realized only then how much fun I was actually having. The time had gone by preternaturally fast.

It had been an interesting evening to say the least. But the real fun was just about to begin.

************

For several days I heard nothing from my friends. I did meet with Dorothy for lunch one afternoon but other than that my days were spent working on my new novel. Nathaniel was in London on ambassadorial business and would be there for the next few months. He called me without fail every evening, and we talked about many things, especially his recent success in helping to form a coalition government in Indonesia, a country that had long been rife with democratic inequalities. Only during the end of our conversation did he mention that he loved me. I was glad to hear him say it but I wondered if he truly meant it. Had he taken on a mistress? So many diplomats were flagrant philanderers, and my husband certainly would not be devoid of opportunities. Yet, there was something reassuring in his voice that told me my concerns were unwarranted. I told him that I loved him too and hung up the phone. I then poured myself a drink and returned to my book.

Around 9:00 p.m. that evening I was interrupted in my work by a phone call from Millie.

She related to me in a halting voice that her daughter Stephanie, an undergraduate student at Columbia University, had been assaulted the evening before by a male graduate student who lived near her on campus. It seems he had solicited her and two of her female friends on campus grounds after the quartet had left a local bar around the same time. Her rebuffs drove him to manhandle her, but she managed to kick her assailant in the groin and run away. She reported him to the campus police but they had not as of yet been able to apprehend him.

"I spent the whole day with her today," Millie said, her voice sounding thin and hollow. "I begged her to come home but she refused. She says she has too much studying to do; midterms coming up and all that crap. Can you imagine that fucking low-life son of a bitch doing that to my kid?"

"You did notify the police."

"Of course. But they haven't found the little prick."

"Did she know him?"

"Only casually. His name is Richard Blair. The cops came up with a rap sheet on him a mile long. He's a sex predator with a taste for young, innocent-looking girls."

"I'm really sorry to hear this, Millie," I said, genuinely upset. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Sit tight for now. The other girls know all about it. I just wanted to keep you in the loop."

"What are you going to do?"

"What am I going to do?" she replied, hastily. "I'm going to find this fucking guy with or without police help. And I'm going to make certain he pays. I'll call you as soon as I know more."

Before I could reply she had hung up the phone.

Knowing Millie as I did, I took her at her word. But what she said disturbed me. What did she mean by "sit tight for now"? Was she planning some act of personal revenge? Judging by the tone of her voice, it certainly sounded so.

A few days passed without incident. But then on the third day, just as I was coming home after taking a walk on the beach, the phone rang. It was Sharise.

"There's going to be a meeting tonight at my house. Millie found him."

"That Blair guy?"

"Yup. She doesn't want the cops to know what we're doing so keep quiet about it."

"I'm not into doing anything illegal, Sharise."

"Don't worry. Just come tonight. See you at eight."

Sharise's house was in the old town section of East Hampton, where the wealthiest residents lived. It would be wrong to call it a house per se. It was more of a castle situated on a promontory overlooking the bay. It was made of gray brick and stood like an imposing and silent sentinel over the beachhead to its south. When I arrived I found all seven women seated in the kitchen talking loudly.

"Well, I'm glad you finally decided to arrive!" Millie said as I entered the room. "It's twenty after!"

"I'm sorry. When I get started on my writing I tend to lose track of time. And then Nathaniel called."

"Well, sit your pretty ass down because I've got something very important to tell you."

Sharise placed a cup of tea in front of me and sat next to me as Millie went into her diatribe.

"This kid Richard Blair—and I call him a kid because he's only twenty two years old—is a fucking psychopath. He has all the classic attributes: he's charming, cunning, unable to empathize, and he likes to abuse women—including my daughter. He has a long history of committing sexual abuse and I found out that he was convicted of raping an eighteen year old girl three years ago in Baltimore, where he used to live. He got off light on that rape charge because his daddy was mayor of the city. Using my own private connections, I learned that he habitually frequents the clubs in the Soho area; in particular, the Raven House, which is where Stephanie went that night for the first time with her friends from college. He's almost always there on Saturday nights looking to prey on pretty little coeds."

"What are you telling us, Millie?" Ann inquired. "That you want us to get involved with this guy?"

"I'm telling you that it's time for the Semen Hunters to go into action."

Grace growled. "You know bloody well that the purpose of this club is to find handsome young men to milk. We drink sperm, Millie. We drink sperm from the men we choose. We don't go around taking the law into our own hands."

"I'm not asking you to drink his cum," Millie said. "I only want to sexually humiliate him before the people he abused."

"Are you saying that you want your daughter to be a part of this?" I asked.

"My daughter and her two friends who were with her that night."

"And what exactly did you have in mind?" Sharise asked, with a doubtful glance.

Millie crossed her long legs and smiled. "I have it all worked out. For now I just need to know that everyone is on board."

It was with some reluctance that the other women agreed to help Millie. What she was asking of them was not standard procedure and it took a bit of convincing before they agreed to help her. I was the last to accede to her request, but I did so because I did want to help bring this depraved young man to justice. And being part of a team also put certain obligations upon you—obligations that could not easily be avoided if you had hopes of remaining part of the group.

"I knew I could count on you," she said beaming. "Here's the plan."

************

The Raven House was a turn of the century establishment that reached the peak of its heyday in the depression-ridden environment of the late 1920s. It was only during the city's renewal project of the 1950s that the nightclub once again regained its ascendancy as the premier night spot catering to the college crowd. It was a club that attracted all kinds of artsy clientele: artists, musicians, writers, actors, and most of all aspiring filmmakers who went to school in many of the nearby colleges.

Millie, Dorothy and I arrived at the club just before 10:00 p.m., and took a table as close to the bar and as far away from the band as possible. It was crowded, and although we were much older than most of the people there, no one seemed to give us second notice. The band was playing some obscure hard rock tune that I had never heard before and a few people were dancing on the floor in front of them. We learned from the waitress that most of the patrons were students from New York University, the New York Film Academy, the Art Institute of New York, and other liberal arts institutions in the immediate area. The club itself was not very spacious, but it did possess an intriguing bohemian atmosphere that bespoke of an earlier, and more intellectually vibrant, era.

It must have been about 11:30 p.m. when I saw Millie suddenly rise up from her chair and walk towards the bar. She stood still for a moment, trying to focus her eyes on someone or something at the opposite side of the room.

"What is it, Millie?" Dorothy asked. "What do you see?"

Without answering, Millie turned and sat down again. "It's him. Blair."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. I saw the mug shots and I have a photographic memory. It's him all right."

Both Dorothy and I looked in the direction of the bar.

"Which one is he?" I asked Millie.

"The tall one by the cash register."

"The guy in the red pullover?"

"That's him."

Dorothy chuckled. "I hate to say it but he's cute."

Millie frowned. "Cute and dangerous."

For a few minutes all we did was observe this handsome young guy from our table, studying every little move he made. Then I felt Millie's hand on my arm.

"Time for you to go into action, sweetie."

I knew what was coming and I dreaded it. It had been decided the night before that I was to be assigned the part of temptress, a role I had never imagined I would play. But just as Blair had seduced other unsuspecting victims, I was to now do the same to him. All I had to do was to get him to the table.

"Don't be nervous, Lydia," Dorothy said to me as she patted me on the back. "He'll be eating out of your hand in no time."

"I just never did anything like this before," I admitted rather timidly.

"You wanted some excitement in your life," Millie reminded me. "Well, now you have it. Get going. And don't fuck up."

"She's not going to fuck anything up, Millie. Relax." Dorothy said. She then turned to me. "We'll be right here, honey. Go do your thing."

With that vote of assurance I got up and walked toward the bar, never taking my eyes off Blair.

As I moved toward him, he took immediate notice of me and stood up straight. He was indeed good looking: tall, blonde, impeccably groomed, and with the loveliest blue eyes I had ever seen on a man. He moved aside to make room for me as I sidled up to the bar, studying me closely.

"One martini please," I said to the bartender.

"A martini?" the man next to me suddenly announced. "Not exactly standard fare around here."

It was Blair. He smiled broadly, his hands firmly wrapped around his mug of ale.

"I'm not from around here." I replied, barely looking at him.

He looked at me for a moment as if trying to deduce from my appearance if I was young enough to be a college student. In this instance my youthful looks proved very helpful because he seemed to relax and drop his guard, but just a tiny bit.

"Are you a student?" he inquired. "I mean, I've never seen you here before."

"No. I graduated several years ago."

"Oh, yeah? From where?"

"Harvard."

"Really? What was your major?"

"English Lit."

"Cool."

He took a sip of his ale and placed the glass down on the countertop. "My name is Rick Blair. I'm a grad student at Columbia."

"And what are you learning there, Mr. Blair?"

He laughed, seemingly amused to be called by his surname. "Mr. Blair. I like that."

"So?" I continued. "What's your major?"

"I'm into political science."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah, my old man is mayor of Baltimore and I guess I'm just following in his footsteps."

Another politician, I thought. Just what the world needed.

"That's interesting." I said.

"Oh yeah? How so?"

"Well, my husband, or I should say, my ex-husband, was an ambassador. And my boyfriend before him was a congressman."

He seemed genuinely impressed.

I hated lying, but in this case I felt it was necessary. He had raped one girl and had tried to rape another—Millie's own daughter—and he had a myriad of other sex-related crimes that had been attributed to him. I was determined to lure him in hook, line and sinker without compunction.

"I find men who aspire to political heights very attractive." I added, smiling seductively.

He laughed generously and shook his head in agreement. "I'm happy to hear it! You know, not all politicians are bad. Some of them actually care about people. I want to be one of those types. You know, a man for the people."

He was smooth, I thought—very smooth; a practiced deceiver. I could almost sense the psychopath in him coming out; charming his way into the heart of what he supposed was just another naïve female. That was how psychopaths operated. They lured you in with their irrepressible magnetism then knifed you in the back before moving on to fresh prey.

The bartender handed me my drink. It was time for me to make my move.

"My friends and I have a table right over there," I said, pointing to Millie and Dorothy. "Would you like to join us?"

"A man would be a fool to turn down an invitation from a beautiful woman," he replied. "By the way, what's your name?"

"Lydia."

"Lydia who?"

"Just Lydia."

When Millie and Dorothy saw Blair following me to their table, they smiled with satisfaction, knowing the first step in his emasculation was now underway. Millie had not outlined every single detail of her plan, hoping to add some unique element of surprise for the rest of the group. That was her way; always living on the edge. But keeping us in suspense did nothing to assuage my own sense of anxiety. Whatever her ultimate goal, I could only hope that she wasn't going to do anything to this man that she might live to regret.

I made a hasty introduction and motioned for Blair to sit down. Dorothy eyed him suspiciously but was courteous toward him. Millie, for all the anger she must have felt toward him for abusing her daughter, was remarkably cool and poised. Knowing that retribution was not far away in her mind must have provided her with an inner strength to endure his presence. I knew her well enough to see that, despite his good looks and charm, she found him offensive. Like her, my distaste for the man was not for the reprehensible act he had committed per se, but because we could sense that he was nothing more than a two-bit, lying piece of shit.

He was engaging, I had to give him that—and intelligent. He knew just when to stop talking and let others take the floor. But when he did talk I felt as if his words were lines being delivered from a script; that he had performed this act many times before and in front of far less astute women. I saw through him almost immediately, as did Dorothy and Millie. But having dealt with mostly inexperienced women for so long, he had no idea that we were on to him, and so he felt no inclination toward discretion in the things that he said to us. Taking him at face value, I would have been as much seduced by his charm as his less fortunate victims if not for the fact that my years of experience in dealing with men had provided me with a keen insight into the male psyche.

As the evening wore on he got progressively drunk. He grew careless in his speech and manner, sometimes resorting to telling vulgar jokes or making sly sexual remarks. Several times he made reference to his penis, and how it had never failed to please the women with whom he had sex. None of this was wasted on Millie, who saw this as an opportunity to exploit the vast hole in his conscience by turning the sexual tables on him.

"So Dick," she said during a pause in our conversation. "May I call you 'Dick'?"

"Actually I prefer Rick," he replied good-naturedly.

I fought hard to prevent myself from laughing, knowing that "dick" was what Millie really thought of him.

"Okay, Rick. So tell us. Do guys really believe all that nonsense about penis size? It seems men are obsessed with the size of their dicks."

"And some women too," Dorothy added with a snicker.

"Yes, and some women too. But what about guys? Does it matter to a guy if he has a big or small dick? Tell us, Dick...er, I mean Rick."

Under normal circumstances I think Blair might have felt that he had suddenly been put on the hot seat. But his inebriation made him reckless and he simply laughed.

"Yeah, I think you're right, Millie," he said loudly. "Guys judge each other by the size of their dicks."

"Really? And do you have a big or a small dick, Dick. I mean, Rick?"

"Millie!" Dorothy exclaimed, feigning offense. "That's very rude!"

"It's a perfectly legitimate question," Millie countered. "But if I offended the young man, I'm sorry. I was just curious."

"I'm not offended," Blair said, genially. "Hell, I like a woman who speaks her mind."

Inwardly I chuckled. "Well you've come to the right place buddy boy."

"So what is it?" Millie asked him again. "Big dick or little dick?"

Blair fell back in his chair, his legs extended before him. "Did you ever hear of John Holmes?"

"The dead porn star? The guy with the foot-long schlong?"

"Take that and add an inch or two and you've got what's hanging between my legs."

The three of us looked at him and then at each other before bursting out into gales of laughter.

"No!" I said. "Not possible!"

"Very possible," he assured me.

"Oh, my God. I don't believe it!" Dorothy exclaimed. "You're putting us on!"

"I swear I'm not."

Millie sat looking suddenly pensive and then laid her hand on Blair's leg. She was going for the kill and he had no idea whatsoever that he was being so expertly manipulated.

"You know, my dead husband had a big cock. If I remember it was something like eight or nine inches long, I really can't say for sure. But anyway, I loved that thing. And he knew how to use it."

"Well that's the important thing," Blair agreed. "Size is great but you have to know how use your tool."

"And do you know how to use your tool, Rick?" I asked him flatly, feeling every bit the slut he imagined me to be.

"I've never left any woman unsatisfied, if that's what you mean," he replied, beaming with pride.

Millie then did something I hadn't expected a woman to do in a public place—she grabbed his prick through his pants and squeezed hard.

"Do you think you can satisfy me, you little fuck?" she said gritting her teeth.

Blair winced and instinctively drew back. "Whoa lady! That's a mean grip you've got there!"

Millie laughed mischievously but relaxed her grasp and withdrew her hand. "Well? Yes or no?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes or no?"

Blair had been caught off guard. But his macho image would not allow him to show any weakness; certainly not to us.

"Yes," he said finally. "I can satisfy any woman."

"Really?" Dorothy cooed. "Do you think you could satisfy all three of us?"

This was too much for Blair. He sat upright in his chair and looked at my friend as if she were crazy.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he said, looking from face to face.

"No, I'm not kidding you. You said you had a big dick, didn't you? Well, don't you think you should show it to us?"

"Yeah," I said. "I think if a man makes a claim like that then he should back it up. Right Millie?"

"Absolutely!" Millie agreed. "What do you say, Rick? Are you up for it?"

"A three on one huh?" he replied. "That will be a first."

Your first might be your last, I thought.

"We're staying at the Park Plaza," Millie told him. "Let's go."

I had to admit that I felt like a complete whore. I had never propositioned a man in my life, and certainly not with the intention of delivering him into the eager hands of another angry woman to do with as she pleased. A half hour later all four of us were waiting in the hotel lobby while Millie made a private phone call to our friends who were waiting outside. When she returned she smiled graciously and put her arm around Blair's waist. He was being led to the slaughter; a sacrificial lamb offered up in appeasement to the gods of young girls who themselves were powerless to bring one sexual deviant to justice. Millie was now going to see that justice would be duly served.