Joseph Farley

Tradition and Values

“I can’t understand the kids today. They have no respect for good old-fashioned perversion.”

Engelbert grunted towards his friend, Gerald. Engelbert was busy fucking a pig. It would be a while before he regained enough air to properly engage in conversation.

Mortimer’s was the men’s favorite hangout. It was an exclusive club that catered to the special needs of the well heeled. Gerald and Engelbert had been members ever since their wealth first topped fifty million. That had been many years ago, soon after they had graduated from college and gained access to their trust funds.

Gerald was not as fond of pigs as his friend Engelbert was. Management dressed the pigs up in lingerie and made them wear strings of pearls, but this was not sufficient to stir Gerald to partake. He preferred to take pleasure in watching other men fuck pigs. It satiated him in a way other forms of bestiality did not. It calmed him, this inelegant joining of man and pig. It showed the world in its proper balance, at least to him.

One of the reasons Gerald declined to fuck any of the pigs at Mortimer’s was the tendency of swine to bite. Pigs had to be kept securely muzzled. This eliminated the possibility of deep throating a ham. You could still lick a pig, but it would not have been the same as being able to do both.

After the pig squealed and Engelbert finished, the men hit the showers and steam room. There, they were able to talk freely in between other forms of activity.

“I tried to raise my children right, the old fashioned way, with plenty of beatings and time locked in the closet. I tried to instill in them the same values I was raised with. I failed miserably. Look at them now. My sons cringe if I so much as mention a feather or a vinyl body suit. Where did I go wrong?”

“Hah,” grunted Gerald. “My girls threw out my cat and nine tails when they got into high school. It was a family heirloom!”

“My boys, I hate to say, attend marches for social justice. They go around claiming to love the environment and wanting to save it, too.”

“I have the same problem with my daughters.”

After the steam room they rinsed off and hopped in the pool. Each swam a few laps before double teaming one of the help. The screams were delicious. Only at a place like Mortimer’s, the late lamented Epstein’s island, certain private mansions, and a few palaces could you get away with stuff like that in the present day.

After showering again, they dried off, dressed in suits and ties, and headed to the smoking room. They  found comfortable chairs upholstered in red leather next to each other and sat down. Each fired up a cigar. They relaxed and puffed away.

“I could blame the public schools,” Engelbert said, “But my offspring attended private schools, the same ones that I did.”

“Same here,” said Gerald. “If they had attended public school they’d have turned out much worse.”

The friends put their discussion on hold to watch the evening’s scheduled entertainment. There was a stage in the center of the smoking room. All the wood and red leather chairs faced in that direction. It was not always easy to see the stage through the haze of smoke from cigars, pipes, and hookahs. Exhaust fans went into high gear to improve visibility.

Mortimer’s always had the best and most innovative forms of entertainment. On this night Engelbert and Gerald were to be treated to two shows according to the printed program distributed by the wait staff. The first was the semi-weekly flogging of a random individual. Subjects were said to be lured into a car at a mall or on an out of the way street. The unlucky subject was then transported directly to the club and strapped onto the appropriate equipment before the sedatives wore off. The second item on the program was listed as “Something Special”. 

Engelbert and Gerald watched the flogging with some interest. As floggings went, it was not the best or most entertaining one they had ever seen. Still, it was a lot better than sitting at home watching Netflix.

Gerald found himself missing his cat and nine tails even more.

Gerald sighed.

“What’s the matter?” Asked Engelbert.

“It’s these times we live in. Everything is moving so fast, changing all the time. Too many good things from the past are being lost.”

“Yes,” Engelbert said while flicking an ash from his cigar. “It is getting harder to live the way we used to, the way our ancestors did. It has become so difficult to keep the old traditions alive.”

“Young people, especially young people of our class, don’t know what they are losing. Hell, what we had is almost completely lost for the most part.”

Engelbert reached over from his chair. He patted Gerald on the arm.

“There’s not much we can do about it. We can’t stop things from changing. Besides, not all change is for the worst. For example body modification. My family had a strong tradition of disfigurement, both self inflicted and inflicted on others, servants and employees and the like. We are not really supposed to do it anymore. Too many laws and lawsuits. On the bright side, regular people today pay to have modifications and unnecessary surgery.”

Gerald brushed away Engelbert’s hand which had lingered on his shoulder too long.

“I understand all of what you have said,” Gerald told him. “The old traditions, the old values, are going away in general. The loss of traditions and values held by our class is particular disturbing. I worry about the future of our kind.” He gestured to the room around him. “And the future of a club such as Mortimer’s. Personally, I want someone or something I can blame it all on. I need a scapegoat on which I can take out my anger and frustration. That sort of thing always seems to help. I sleep easier at night knowing I have punished some person, group, or institution for my angst and sense of loss. It does not matter if the chosen scapegoat had nothing to do with it. In some ways if feels better if they had nothing to do with any of the trends that annoy me. Random punishment can instill belief in a higher power. That is a social benefit.”

“You mean a belief in a higher power such as us,” Engelbert smirked.

He grabbed a glass of expensive liquor from a tray born by a servant. Gerald took a glass as well.

“Vengeance is good for the soul,” Engelbert said. “I like the idea of a scapegoat. Especially if the target is selected with some degree of random.”

Gerald prodded, “Who or what should we blame for the decline of our civilization? What or who would be interesting to attack?”

“We discussed public education earlier. What else should be added to the list?”

“There are plenty of candidates in addition to public education to choose from,” said Gerald. “Shall we make a list? We could take turns offering suggestions.” 

“That will be fine,” Engelbert told his friend. “I will let you go first. “

“Drugs,” Gerald announced.

“I would only agree in part,” Engelbert told him. “I use quite a few myself. I wouldn’t want it to become more troublesome to obtain any of the products I have come to enjoy. I would offer up the music today as an alternative scapegoat.”

“Yes, definitely contemporary music,” Gerald agreed.. “Although it does make me sound like my parents and grandparents riling against the music I liked as teenager. I don’t think everything is bad about popular music nowadays. I do like some of the dancing that goes with it. Quite entertaining. I would put forth socialism instead.”

“Definitely,” Engelbert agreed. “Socialism has to be on the list. I would add to that taxes, especially taxes on inheritances and capital gains.”

“No argument there,” said Gerald. “I’ll add Democrats to the list.”

“And Rhinos. To hell with so called moderate Republicans.”

Gerald nodded in agreement. “Let’s put aging hippies on there.”

“Environmental laws.”

“Vegans.”

“Broccoli.”

Gerald sought clarification from his friend, “Why broccoli specifically? Why not all vegetables?”

“I would not go so far,” said Engelbert. “I particularly dislike broccoli, but I do have a fondness for carrots and cucumbers. They have multiple uses besides nibbling on.”

“Fair enough,” said Gerald. “Let’s continue this discussion later. The second show is about to start.”

“Fine by me.”

They sat in silence, puffing their cigars and downing drinks, as they watched the stage being set up for the second performance.

“Oh, look!” said Engelbert, pointing at the stage. “I think it is going to be a ritual killing!”

“Fabulous!” said Gerald. “It has been at least a year since I have seen one of those.”

Engelbert laughed and raised his glass. “To tradition!”

Gerald raised his own glass. He repeated the phrase, “To tradition.”

They clinked their glasses before draining them. Each signaled to the staff to bring another round.

Then both men leaned forward in their chairs to get a better view of the stage.