Kubrick has the word SADIST carved into his chest and it looks someone put it there with a can opener. It’s written in large jagged letters that stretch across his torso, between his neck and his nipples. And I wonder if he really is, or if he just got his wires crossed, because it must have hurt like holy hell.
The Fuck Factory is Kubrick’s place, his creation, his happening. A pansexual laboratory of carnal pleasure where anything and everything goes. There are things going on in here that, hard as it is to believe, you won’t even find on the internet.
If you’re going to name your club the Fuck Factory, you’d better make pretty damn sure it lives up to its name. Kubrick seems pretty confident it does because he welcomes me, saying, ‘I’m telling you, sweetheart, this is the greatest sex club in the world. The greatest sex club there’s ever been.’
Kubrick calls me sweetheart. He calls Anna ‘this one’.
Kubrick’s big meaty arms are wrapped around Anna’s waist and he’s pulling her into him so her breasts smoosh against his chest. He has upper arms like hambones and forearms like Popeye. On one arm, I can see a faded blue sailor tattoo; on the other, some strange-looking sigil or pictogram that, try as I might, I can’t work out what it is.
He gives Anna a squeeze and says, ‘This one, she doesn’t know when to stop.’
Then he laughs and casually slaps her on the ass. And she’s not expecting it so she jumps with a start and then giggles.
Anna puts her hand on my chest and says, ‘It’s Catherine’s first time.’
‘It is?’ says Kubrick, in mock surprise. Then, looking at me, ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about, sweetheart. We’re all friends down here.’
I’m not so sure about that, but Kubrick sounds sincere.
‘Just look within yourself,’ he says, ‘follow what your heart desires and your body craves. And you will find it.’
Kubrick’s suddenly come over all zen and he’s giving me life advice like a New Age guru. He has his hands clasped together in front of him as he talks, so he’s even starting to look like a guru.
‘There’s no big secret,’ he says. ‘All you need to know in life to get some head is that everyone needs to fuck or be fucked. That’s it.’
It’s not exactly Deepak Chopra, but I think I get his drift.
Kubrick’s philosophy, simply put, is this:
Come one, come all.
Fuck one, fuck all.
Fuck whomever you want, however you want.
And that is the whole of the law.
‘Just one word of caution,’ says Kubrick, leaning into me and indicating behind. ‘Stay away from the midget.’
I look over Kubrick’s shoulder at the midget, who’s now on top of the cage, on all fours, growling like a dog. And the girl is curled up in one corner of it on a bed of straw.
Why? I say, he looks harmless enough.
‘He’s really horny,’ says Kubrick. ‘And he may not have much to work with but that doesn’t stop him trying.
‘The thing about midgets is they’re all super-macho and never do anything in half-measures. So they usually either want to beat themselves up because they’re so small or they want to fuck the world. And this one, he’s a real sadist.’
I look over again and now the midget’s holding himself up with one arm, like he’s about to do one-arm press-ups, holding his cock with the other, and pissing through the bars of the cage. The poor girl is scurrying back and forth on her hands and knees trying to avoid the spray and not doing a very good job of it.
I must look shocked because Anna says to me, ‘Don’t worry, that’s part of her kick. She wouldn’t be there otherwise.’
‘OK, kids,’ Kubrick says, clapping his hands together like a summer camp counselor, ‘I have a club to run and people to fuck. Have fun.’
He hops down off the bar stool and we watch him scurry away, off down a passage like the White Rabbit.
Anna turns to me and says, ‘You’d never guess what Kubrick did before this.’
I have no idea, I say.
‘Guess,’ she says.
‘Life coach?’
‘No.’
‘Fitness instructor.’
Anna shakes her head.
‘Librarian.’
‘Nope.’
‘Anesthetist.’
She laughs.
I smile, ‘I give up,’ I say. ‘What?’
‘Accountant.’
I try to imagine Kubrick in a three-piece suit poring over ledgers in an office. And fail miserably.
‘Not just any accountant,’ she says. Then leans into me and whispers, ‘C–I–A.’
The way Anna tells it, back when Kubrick was an accountant, he was living a pretty normal life. House in the ’burbs, married. Healthy, regular sex life, no kids.