While trying to deprogram a Hari Cult member, Darby remembered the Scientologist who captured him once.
Darby was on a mission while in college studying sociology and cult deprogramming once the children who were taken astray were kidnapped, brought home, de-programmed!
Sometimes, it got scary as kids would scream at their parents about taking them away from their new family. They had found them in the airports, the friendliest kids, bald, in beautiful silk wraps, colorful handouts, teaching the passengers that wandered through by the thousands to travel, especially impressionable teenagers off to college, leaving small towns for the first time and ripe for “Enlightening.” Darby was watching an instructor as a helper, listening to him asking questions to break the fractured logic patterns of thinking that had cemented their place in the minds of the kids who had responded to the touch, the kind feeling people who swiftly took advantage of the Oxytocin hormones racing as strangers touched them kindly, on the hands. The arms, with the growing comfort of kindness, learning the repetitious chants of the word God in a new language, exotic for kids off, away from the constrictions of small-town thinking and anxious to see the world. Hari Krishna, or in ways to hear, Hari Christ-na, which was so similar that few young kids at 18 could understand that any more than the Scientology Centers set up outside the entrance to colleges from Florida where they set up headquarters in 1976. Wow… the days when Scientology took over the town, and Darby was taken over by some of the Scientologists who came to visit from afar.
Yes, he worked as a Cocktail Waiter in a great bar where Darby had lied to get the job, pretending he knew all the mixed drinks he would have to fetch at the bar as a waiter. Yes, it was a male-on-display sort of bar, where the servers were allowed to dance with the girls, often three at a table, in from far away to study at the Scientology Institute that had opened downtown Clearwater, Florida, two blocks away. Yes, the girls were hungry for some American Fries, an opportunity to have memories no one back home would ever know about, and no one would surprise them with the story once they got back to Sweden, France, Germany, and other faraway places. One of Darby’s crazy girlfriends had told him of her escapades there while on Quaaludes, an abused prescription drug that made people feel like they were drunk, dropping inhibitions like small change on the floors of the bars, and she was bragging about having the Head Waiter serve her in the bathrooms, the Men’s room, since there were no male customers to speak of. Darby pretended he knew how to do drinks to tables on a tray, a trick he had never tried as opposed to food.
Soon after starting, three beautiful girls in sexy skirts ordered three tall boys. He had to smile as he thought of them taking a swig, saying, “No Glasses!” with a wink as he walked away, and they giggled.
“Three Heinikens straight-up bottles only,” he said to the bartender, pretending he knew what he was doing. He said to get the squares to help Darby prepare for a fast return, seeing the girls looking that way. He was old, balding, fat-waisted, but still liked to look and lick his lips, and Darby grabbed the three beers to put on his tray, feeling them wobblier than plates of food and as he gallantly returned and stopped swiftly, just short of the table as he leaned to reach and take them off, all three bottles kept going, faster than the tray, spilling onto the table with all three, not just one girl, getting a dose of beer on her lap as if Darby had planned it.
“He Did NOT! OMG!” He jumped into action, snagging the bottles up almost in time to not get the girls wet as beer poured from the table, not a lot. Still, as they jumped up, breasts bouncing and patting on their crotches to get the spillage off quickly, Darby could not help but joke, asking if they needed any help with the cloth napkin he had in his belt, and surprisingly, they said yes. He bent down on one knee and wiped the front of each slim-waisted, short-skirted girl, and when the last one pressed against his hand extra hard, he got hard too when he looked up and saw her smiling. !Wow! He could see the hairs through the sheer skirt, wet from the beer, and she was guerilla, no undies; he was patting on her pussycat. He got up sheepish, for his tight pants reflected his excitement as the bartender, old fart that he was, got a hardon just watching Darby clean up the mess he had just made and wondered, “If that boy did that intentionally, and does that again, I am going to teach that trick cause it was wonderous to see.
Darby got up, and the two girls reseated themselves, but the last one had put her hand over his, holding the cloth against her skirt to get the previous moisture off… what he could see. The head waiter, over chatting at another table, saw what was going on and came by to whisper into Darby’s ear loud enough for him to hear, her too, that the bathroom was accessible if he needed his station covered for a few minutes. Just lock the door,… he said as he wandered by and bent over to say hi to the other girls. His hand was pulled toward the bath, still clutching the cloth napkin held against her crotch; luckily, she was tall. He did not have to bend over as she reached back and took his hardon. “Did she not have any shame?” He gasped as his resistance to temptation was left with the tray on the table outside the Men’s bathroom, a very classy one with a lounger handy, imagine that.
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