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placed around the matting, providing another distinctly more comfortable square. Around eleven in the evening, everyone combined as an audience on the cushions. Courtenay’s bearers kept everyone supplied with what they were drinking or whatever else they were on. From the official guest list, only Mickey was absent from the cushioned audience, albeit temporarily. The lights were already dim, but when the main event began they were switched off completely and only a central spotlight provided illumination.
    Then Mickey reappeared, accompanied by another man equally well-built, and a very beautiful girl of twenty-three. I can be precise as to that, as she was one of mine. All three of them were almost naked. The other man carried some short slim lengths of nylon rope. He dropped them on the corner of the matting as he stepped onto it.
    The idea was for Mickey to take on the other two in a boutof wrestling, and although all-in, not of the variety transmitted on Saturday afternoons. For one thing, submission in this little charade had a different meaning; if Mickey emerged dominant, he dictated the kind of submission the other two were to submit to. But before that, he had to be able to have tied them up in order to proceed; and vice versa, if Mickey was the loser. For a lot of the audience, of course, the journey would be just as exciting as the arrival. It certainly had been for Jean. Propped next to her on the cushion, I could feel her body transmit the heat the contest generated as the trio writhed on the matting, the two trying to overcome the one and vice versa, all playing it very much for real, until Mickey decided it was he who was going to submit; he wouldn’t have unless he wanted to. The ropes securing his hands behind his back were finally knotted and the other two went to work on him.
    Then, after it was over, Mickey was released, and the trio were refreshed with champagne before the next event. For this a female member of the audience was to be invited to join, this time with Mickey against the other man. As I’d seen it all before I knew how the plot would work out. This time Mickey would win, and then whoever the girl was, she would help Mickey do to the other man what he had done to Mickey, and after that, unexpectedly, the girl who had previously supported the now subdued competitor would enter the act and attack the participant from the audience with a single mindedness which could only induce a desperate struggle in the audience participant, who invariably lost. In this part of the performance Mickey and the other man took no part.
    This was the part that Courtenay enjoyed best and which excited the audience most; the request for the audience participant was just that, a request. An invitation. Who would have the bottle to take part? Who would submit to this kind of sexuality in front of an audience of household names? Would it be one of the names themselves? And who would survive the unexpectedand total humiliation of the final act of the entertainment provided and then for the rest of the weekend maintain the cool of her usual exterior? This, to the guests, was also a great turn-on. I remember on this occasion catching a glance of Courtenay, Messalina-like in his expectancy, a lady from history whom he resembled not only in the manner of his sexual tastes.
    I also remember receiving Jean’s emotions at this particular point; it was the female member of the trio who touted the audience for its participant of another status, like a conjuror’s assistant. Perhaps every woman in the audience felt the same, but Jean expressed their collective mixed feelings in the way that she did absolutely nothing at all, was absolutely still, hardly breathing. And when, finally, a girl rose from the cushions, there was no great expulsion of breath from her, nor from the rest of the women in the audience, no joint expression of relief. It was as if, now the possibility of choice had been removed, their feelings were a