by Ken Gage

Part I: The Miasma Called Marriage
and
Part II: The Loved-in Lair

"It is a woman's business to get married as soon as possible, and a man's to keep unmarried as long as he can."
-- George Bernard Shaw

Prelude to the Project:
When the publishers of Charming Devil Magazine asked me to create an article about Satanic bachelor pads, I initially leapt at the chance. As someone who has sworn an oath to swinging bachelorhood and lifelong revelry (not to mention the Devil Himself!), I felt more than up to the endeavor. It was a feeling like destiny, only more genuine.

But as I analyzed the topic further, it became apparent that the task was not so short and simple. Sure, I held to certain notions of my own, even as I read through various books and articles on the subject. I also talked to strange old men and women about their views on furnishing the ultimate recreational headquarters conducive to single life. And I designed my own Tiki bar along the way. The scope of the project, I quickly learned, was burgeoning beyond that of the bachelor's residence.

In order for my discoveries to be of the most significant utility, I resolved that they must capture the very essence of bachelordom AND convey this essence to print. Then every would-be reprobate could study my blueprint and build for himself the way of the happy bachelor, finally knowing the Art of Living the Worthwhile Life. You will come to embrace the bon vivant's rascality in absorbing these Secret's From Satan's Bedroom: ammunition for the amoroso, tips for the vigilant till-tender and, of course, sundry resources for making you irresistibly resourceful.

The Miasma Called Marriage:

So you've declared yourself a bona fide bachelor, eh? Now just what do you exactly mean by that, buddy? After all, bachelor is a 14th century Middle English word on loan from Old French. It originally meant something like "young knight." At one time back in those dark ages of Church-enforced sissification, the term bachelor was even synonymous with virginity and (horror of horrors!) celibacy. I'm going to go out on a limb and assume you're not THAT kind of bachelor. (And if you are, you can sit in the kitchen sipping Amaretto sours with the other girls while I address the real men.) Because when I use the term bachelor, and I want to make this absolutely clear, I'm referring to a life properly misspent in the pursuit of passion and pleasure, a life roused by the supremacy of singleness and refrained from that miasma called marriage.

Sure, a monogamous relationship is fine -- swanky even! -- for a while, short term. But unless your dame is a robot, she is going to change on you -- virtually go sour. Marriage has the mysterious ability to instantly double the curdle in her girdle. The Italians say, "La donna è mobile"; Virgil expressed it in the Aeneid, saying, "Varium et mutabile semper femina" -- which means a woman is a thing forever fickle and changeable. And in this very article Ken Gage implored, "Just say, 'Hell no!' to marriage."

Now raise your left arm and take the oath: "I hereby affirm that marriage is an act of cowardice and desperation. Those who marry only do so for love and money. When love runs out, there's always the money; but when the money runs out, it's time to remarry. Instead of running the marriage mill, I hereby vow to take love wherever it so lies, in its most physical form, come evening, noon or sunrise." There you are. Doesn't that feel better? You're a full member now, with all the rights and privileges of a regular scoundrel.

To review: Any yahoo can say, "I do." You are no yahoo. You are a complex human being with complex human emotions. But you have been wise enough to eschew most of these and focus instead on the salacious parts of life. This entails getting the girls out of the zenana and onto your banana, lip-locked and, if necessary, half-cocked.

If you can stop playing with your cock and balls for a moment, you can get started preparing your love-in. For this event, the fairest weather is foul, confining the bachelor and his female companion to indoor activities.

The Loved-in Lair:

The cornerstone of bachelordom is the bachelor pad, his quarters for conquest and capitulation. (Ideally his conquest is her capitulation.) His residence should be a cozy extension of the self -- or maybe not. Like with so many things, this depends on the individual.

Assuming that a man knows himself (or at least has made himself), the next question is How much of the self (true or manufactured) should be revealed in a man's refuge from the real world, his santuary for sin? That answer depends on the type of quarry he (you) is after of course; the hunter who understands his prey will select the precise means and weaponry.

The fact that you've already lured some wildcat to your den speaks volumes. Maybe you don't own a copy of Harry Juster's Clothes Make the Man, but she either thinks you do or simply digs slobs. There are all kinds of women out there and you, as you know already, sometimes have to be all types of men when playing the field. Maybe tonight you're sporting the latest fashion look in an effort to snare yourself the trendy type. Whatever the case, the same logic you used while dressing for girl-catching will also apply to your pad. (Later on, we'll look at some basics of manliness, assets that most women want to see in their men -- things like confidence/assertiveness, physical strength, height, ruggedness, a subtle or no-frills style of appearance, ambition, etc.)

Your place ought to be, at the minimum, clean and comfortable. And, unless this potential daughter of debauchery you've picked up is the original Whore of Babylon, you're there under some sort of pretense -- meaning, you'll be entertaining her in a more conventional way (such as listening to music together) before you get anywhere near to scoring between the sheets. Of course, there are exceptions. And those lovely exceptions might save you a fortune in candles, music and incense later on. For now, though, we're dealing with the common gal.

Always save the movie-watching for later (unless she is a hardcore videophile). Remember that pretty women like to be watched as much as you like watching pretty women. Turn off the TV and make her the center of your attention. You can help her mood along with graceful lighting, music, temperature and recreational substances.

As for the lighting, make it sparse. Nothing harsh and bright like fluorescent fixtures and sunlight. Your standard yellowish bulb on a dimmer switch will do. Maybe some candles, too. (Men don't buy a lot of candles, so tell her the truth: "Grandmother gave these to me as a birthday present.") You could get fancier, depending on the broad you're bagging, and warm up the lava lamp. Blacklights and multi-colored "party" bulbs and all that flashy junk from Spencers can be fun as well, as long as it's not too distracting. Of course if you're lucky enough to have a fireplace handy, that should be light enough. The well-known musician and womanizer Glenn Danzig used to employ stained-glass windows to set the mood around his L.A. lair. No matter how dark your dive becomes, make sure you have a clear path from the couch to your bedroom.

Knowing the right music and substances beforehand is tricky. Keep a wide variety of both in stock and read her tastes as best you can. Wine is an example of a good recreational substance and mood-setter for most situations. For mixed drinks and more alcoholic advice, you could consult the book Atomic Cocktails (published by Chronicle Books, San Francisco). Another useful title from this publisher is Hi-fi's & Hi-balls: The Golden Age of the American Bachelor. Other, illicit substances might be available from your neighborhood dope-dealer. Tell him you're hooking up with some college chicks; he'll sell you enough X, dope and acid to clean your wallet and simultaneously put you away for life if caught. On second thought, let her supply any of the risky stuff. You're looking for a solid bang, not trouble.

With music, almost anything mellow and nondescript will work. If she's trendy, try to find something popular she may have mentioned in passing. Lounge music and swing have had a small resurgence in recent years. But these, aside from that faddish bleep on the charts yesteryear, are certainly timeless sounds. Even if she's no retro-geek, she'll probably enjoy the soothing classics of Martin Denny, Les Baxter and Ferrante & Teicher. Yma Sumac and Juan Garcia Esquivel can provide a weird ambience of their own, if she's at all into "weird." In the indispensable Feral House primer CAD: A Handbook For Heels, a fantastically persuasive article called "Sounds of Seduction" considers aspects of musical selection. Read the article; it's a must-know. There is the danger, however, that lounge music and its ilk could spoil your "bad boy" image. Stay consistent -- the bait should match the she-fish you're angling.

Temperature. Turn it up! Not figuratively, but literally. There are a host of differences between the human sexes (which we'll examine in more detail later), one of which is rate of metabolism. Men are, generally speaking, heat machines that are comfortable in a cool environment. Women, though, chill easier, despite their physiological disposition toward insulation in the form of extra body fat stores. Cocktail lounge owners long ago knew the secret to attracting female customers rested on the mere turn of a temperature dial. And why do you think Russ Meyers shot so many films in the desert? So, unless she's an Eskimo, crank up the heat. Give her an excuse to shed some layers of clothing.

Sex toys. Not on the first date.

Dad probably gave you the Talk already, but I want to remind you about condoms. Definitely use one or two or as many as the events require. Repeat after me: "Women cannot be trusted." In the female mind, there's no better way of forcing a respectable man to commit to a woman than through an "unexpected" pregnancy and the application of certain social pressures upon the poor fellow bachelor. Don't be a respectable man; be the kind that polite society does not openly discuss. Don't get duped with any variant of the coyly spoken I'm-on-the-pill routine by believing condom-wearing is dispensable. (Otherwise your bachelorhood might be dispensable.) Whisper back in her ear, "There's nothing wrong with a little extra protection, baby," don your helmet and then thrust away.

Also, keeping condoms too accessible -- and keeping too many on hand -- can send the wrong signal to some women. You don't want her to think she's just another notch on your bedpost. (Do not make notches on your bedpost!) Always, of course, have a full supply of condoms ready, but pretend you have to find them. Put a handful from your mega-stash in a drawer somewhere where you can "accidentally" find them. This not only makes you look less the wolf, it affords you an out should you discern at the eleventh hour that you'd rather be screwing a light socket -- or maybe her sister. Other outs include -- and are far from limited to -- well-timed phrases like, "Hold up, doll, I want to make a call to my mom right now; I just can't stop thinking about her for some reason" and "You don't happen to have a tube of Canka-ease on you?; this sore is killing me today!"

Next time we'll leave our loved-in lair and take an aesthetic look at Part III: Manly Attributes and maybe the yet-unnamed Part IV.

Sayonara ye sin-eaters!

Some Internet Resources:
You should find Vik Trola's Lounge of Self-Indulgence by yourself, but some good lounge info can be found at the following:

Swank Radio
The Dead Lounge
The Retro Cocktail Hour
Cool and Strange Music! Magazine!
Swank-o-rama
Tiki News Magazine

And, finally, here are two official musician sites that deserve examination:
Official Les Baxter Site
Official Man or Astro-Man? Site
Club Velvet Cocktail Lounge