Any comments please email the author at joshcee2016@outlook.com
Part One
For most pedestrians taking the short cut between Edward St. and Main St. the sex shop, Aladin's Cave, at most raised a dirty snigger or arched eyebrow if they happened to notice it at all. Despite its name conjuring the bright silks of some Arabian Night's fantasy the shop itself had a decidedly plain frontage with its wooden frame painted in matt black and its windows blanked out by a sort of glaze or frosting. It wasn't the sort of shop that could in good taste or, perhaps even legally show off its product lines in the window anyway.
No, for most pedestrians Aladin's Cave was of no interest at all. But when Jack Martin first caught sight of it the shop held all the promise of the entire world. It fascinated him. The thought of its contents, though he only guessed at its contents, thrilled him and excited him. He had noting in his life that seemed to offer such pleasure as what might be within those walls.
But Jack Martin, at a shy 19, dared not enter those walls. He would just pass by, when he needed to and look at it, never slowing down and always out of the corner of his eye but that was enough. It was strange really that as much as this place fascinated him, he'd never once gone out of his way to even pass it. But when he did pass it and catch momentary sight of it, it almost scrambled his thoughts for the day. His mind would drift from the subject of his lectures to the subject of that place which to be short was sado-masochism. And this was the subject of his desire.
Growing up in the countryside he'd never really encountered such a place. Desire for him was abstract, something he felt was wrong and occasionally permitted himself to look up online. But it was never real, it was never real until those first few days in the city when he formed the daily route which took him by Aladin's Cave.
What if here were to go in? This was inevitably his thought after a few weeks. Well firstly there was that whole layer of youthful insecurity, the same sort of insecurity that came knowing he'd be ID-ed when he tried to buy alcohol. Running the risk of being ID-ed in front of friends in a bar and looking stupid. Would they ID him in the sex shop? Would they ask him to leave? Would they just look at him uncomfortably or worse ask him if he wanted anything in particular as they annoyingly do in regular department stores?
Then there was the second set of questions. What would he want to do if he went in there? Have a browse? Buy something? What would he buy for years he had fantasised about whips and collars, cuffs and arab straps and all sorts of devices. But would he buy such a thing and what? Even he in philosophical moments thought that the objects for sale would never match the fantasies.
So after two and half months of thinking about it he decided not to act. He went home for Christmas, back to the countryside and lived a more or less normal 19 year old existence. He was in truth too busy to think too often about Aladin's Cave.
In January however he resumed university and his daily route. The thoughts came back. The stirrings and fantasies too. A half-second glance of the shop on his way to class would mean a two hour day dream. He wouldn't even hear the boring prattle of the economics lecturer and his mind wandered off on some fantasy which would see him the subject, the victim of whatever it was they exactly sold in there.
The snow came in February. It was under his feet on Edward St. and on Main St. but on the little short-cut in between with it's old stone arch covering, there was no snow. He walked more lightly past Aladin's Cave than anywhere on his whole route. Then one of those snowy days, with no pre-planning or no more intention than any other day he plunged straight through it's doorway.
To be continued...