The One With The Dirty Piece Of Man Meat
The club was more packed than usual for a Wednesday night when I arrived. Cars were parked ridiculously close to one another in the tiny parking lot, and, with nowhere else to put their cars, customers had taken to parking on the grass and street. Inside, it didn’t look as if there was an empty seat anywhere, and women of all ages were milling about.
Eduardo, our resident Latino, was on stage doing his routine to “Living La Vida Loca;” a large amount of dollar bills littered the stage, with more sticking out of the waistband of his silk briefs. It was no surprise: Eduardo was quite good looking, as far as male strippers go, with that nice, tanned Latino coloring, short, black hair, and deep brown eyes. He was also more built than Taylor and I combined, and his dance moves were spicy enough to make your eyes water. Howls, cheers, and hoots came from the women as Eduardo rocked his hips back and forth to Ricky Martin’s smooth voice, growing just a fraction softer as I went in to the dressing room.
As usual, Taylor had already arrived and was staring at the costume rack, and as usual, I ignored him while I got myself ready. I was just buttoning the leather vest that went with my biker costume when Ruby came rushing into the room.
“Do you see all those women out there?” She gushed.
“Was hard to miss them,” I replied, absently.
“This has worked out far better than I had anticipated,” she continued. “You do realize all these women are here because of your little party? That bride called up on Monday–she was so impressed with your work, she told all of her friends… and when it was time to open, there was a freaking line down the sidewalk. A LINE of women! They’re all talking about you guys!”
“See, Zac? I knew this was an awesome idea,” Taylor’s voice came out of nowhere, and when I turned to look at him, he was miraculously dressed and standing far closer to me than I had realized, his hand on my shoulder. I shrugged him off, turning Ruby’s words over in my head.
While I appreciated his and Ruby’s excitement regarding our new job, and the tips I had shaken out of my costume after the party, I still couldn’t muster the emotion out of myself. On stage at Double Entendre’s, I was performing. I didn’t have a drum kit or a microphone, and I had to dance and wear ridiculous costumes, but there was a line that divided me from the audience.
Sure, I would allow for women to stick money in my pants, or even take it from them with my teeth, but there was still a definitive divider. Even the lap dances–which I had manage to avoided participating in–still came with black and white rules: no touching the talent unless you are explicitly invited to, and even then there’s no touching the jewels.
These parties, on the other hand, left me without a buffer zone. Outside of the protection of the clubs walls (and bouncers), there was no assurance of personal respect, and being entrapped in a circle of drooling women blurred the clear-cut lines of Ruby’s rules. The party we had done on Saturday exposed me to more groping than I’d ever experienced, and though most of the women there were at least cute, I didn’t appreciate having my ass pinched every time I turned around.
So, when Ruby announced that not only had she already booked us for another party that upcoming Saturday, but for the next month’s worth of Saturdays as well, I almost lost it.
“Look, a large number of the women out there came here to see the two of you,” Ruby defended. “I’ve had about ten individuals and three groups of women ask me what your schedule is like, and when you’re available for private parties. I even had a woman ask if she could rent the club out for a fundraiser, with the two of you as the main act! What was I supposed to do? Turn down all that extra business?”
“Of course not, Ruby,” I sighed, feeling guilty. I knew that for the last few months, Ruby had been struggling to keep Double Entendre’s afloat. It was only by sheer luck–and the help of a few high-brow customers–that she was even able to keep the lights on in that place. “I just wish you’d have talked to us about it before filling our calendars up.”
“Well, I am sorry about that. I’ll be sure to include you in the booking decisions from now on. But, as of right now, y’all are on!”
Ruby rushed from the small room and a minute later, I heard her announcing our act. I glanced at Taylor, who was smiling stupidly from ear-to-ear. He didn’t say a word, just wiggled his eyebrows and walked past me toward the stage. I still couldn’t understand how he could be so enthusiastic about being objectified. Then again, when I thought about it, Taylor had a tendency to objectify himself on a regular basis, so it clearly made him feel good about himself somehow.
Perhaps it was knowing that he could get by on looks alone that was comforting to him; he did, after all, lack what most of us call “common sense.”
As our music began, I pushed all negative thoughts from my mind and focused on the drum beat. It was nice to feel the anxieties over these parties melt away and I just danced. Come to think of it, it was nice to be able to just dance without being self-conscious like I used to. It was a long time coming, but I guess I was starting to relish the lights and the audience. I supposed I could chalk that up to being away from music for so long.
I was putting a mental reminder in to contact some of the guys for a jam session when I felt eyes on me. Granted, there were a good seventy-five pairs of eyes on me at any one particular time, however these eyes felt different; these eyes felt glued. Most of our customers would transition their attention from myself to Taylor (who was now twirling his vest above his head like a lasso), taking in the entire act. Every once in awhile, one of our customers took a liking to one of us over the other and mainly watched whichever of us they chose, but still turned attention to the other occasionally. The stare I felt on me now, however, was the stare of someone who couldn’t see anything else but me.
My eyes searched the crowd to see if I could find the person who was sending chills up the back of my spine, and sure enough, seated about three tables back, I found the culprit: a big, muscular dude wearing a close-fitted button down and dark washed jeans. Despite the dimness in the room and the distance, I could see the sparkle of blue in his eye.
It was the guy from the gym.
Groaning, I used the silence after our song to pick up a few stray bills before hurrying offstage. Back in the dressing room, I dumped the money from my hands and waistband into the “money jar” I kept on my desk, and quickly changed. I was itching at the collar of my cape when Taylor’s dance ended and he bounced offstage, waving his hand to the audience like he was Miss America. He slapped my shoulder as he passed me, winking and nodding toward the audience; I could only imagine he’d seen my stalker.
When I emerged onstage again for my own solo, I saw the guy, still sitting in that same seat, talking with Ruby. A knot formed in my stomach, a thousand and one reasons for why he was here running through my brain. It could be as innocent as he wanted to check out the club, maybe he was scoping for a date from one of the other guys. I continued to dance around the stage with my THOR hammer, using the head of it to block my line of site to my admirer. When I finally dared to bring it down, I was surprised to see he had moved to the front row, and was waving a ten dollar bill at me. It wasn’t the first time I’d had an admirer show up at the club–it’s happened quite a few times–however, it was the first time a guy who had admired me showed up. It wasn’t as if we’d never had gay men come in to the club before, either; as a matter of fact, we usually had at least a dozen of them come and go every night.
Hell, he wasn’t even the first guy to ever hit on me before.
So, why was I so nervous about him being there? I couldn’t find an answer, so I put on my best acting face, slowly took the ten spot from his hand at the close of my routine, and walked off stage without bothering to collect the other tips that had fallen. Taylor was already waiting by the side of the stage as I disembarked it, ready for our finale together. I quickly changed and made it back just as the song started, and Taylor all but pushed me on stage ahead of him.
I managed to avoid making eye contact with him the whole dance, and practically sprinted off the stage afterward. Taylor took his time gathering our tips, and came walking into the dressing room with his arms full of dollars. I was hurrying to get changed so I could get out of there, but Ruby came rushing in before I was able to duck out the back.
“Guys. GUYS!” she was so excited she was actually bouncing. “Lap dances!”
“What?” Taylor and I both asked at the same time.
“Lap. Dances.” she repeated. “I’ve had about ten people ask me if you offer lap dances.”
“Ruby, we’ve never once given lap dances,” I reminded her.
“There’s a first time for everything!” Ruby announced, clapping me on the back. “Sunset Room is open; you can either work as a team or break ‘em up, but I’ve got a line, boys. OH, and in case you weren’t sure, you’ll probably get more tips as a duo than solo.”
Taylor, who had been silently listening, a huge smile spreading across his face, grabbed my arm and dragged me back out on the stage. He stood there, beaming, waiting for the crowd to settle down. Our lighting guy put a spotlight on us, and Taylor stepped up to the front of the stage. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen!” he announced, his voice projecting loudly through the room. “Thank you for joining us here at Double Entendre’s! Tonight, we have a special treat for you all. Thor and I will be joining Valentino for the first time ever, offering some lap dances!”
A roar went up from the room. Taylor paused to let them settle down. “Valentino is in the Moonrise room, while Thor and I will be in the Sunset room. Dances are $25 per song. We’re taking names now; just go see Ruby!”
He jumped off stage motioning for me to join him. I slowly walked toward the Sunset room with him, settling myself against the wall as our first client rushed in. She was short, with mousy brown hair and thick, emo-style glasses. She was alarmingly average. She nervously sat on the provided sofa, and Taylor slid in beside her, taking the offered money from her and riffling through the jukebox until he found a good song. “What’s your name?” He asked as he pressed play.
“Bren…Brenda,” she squeaked. I could already see drool forming on her lips.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Brenda. I’m Adonis, and this is Thor. We have only one rule: no touching,” he winked at her as he started to dance around the small room. He stopped his dancing in front of her, turning around and flexing his ass. I rolled my eyes, but gently pushed him out of the way to do my job.
Taylor had selected an old Backstreet Boys song I despised, if for no other reason than because I couldn’t imagine Nick Carter being remotely skilled enough to do half the things he was singing about. Even still, I gyrated my hips to the song, trying my best to pretend I was enjoying what I was doing. Brenda’s eyes were open so wide, I thought they might actually bug out of her head; it reminded me of the way Roger Rabbit’s eyes would always pop out of his head when he saw Jessica Rabbit. She slipped a twenty in my waistband, sheepishly looking away.
We finished Brenda’s lap dance and she giggled her way out of the room, obviously embarrassed. A few minutes later another girl came in and we repeated our previous performance. This cycle went on for what seemed like hours, but really was only about forty-five minutes. In the time frame, I had four women break the rules by grabbing my arm, three who reached for my goods, but were thankfully thwarted by Taylor’s impeccable timing, two whose fingers made contact with the back of my thigh, and one who made contact with my ass.
Using her teeth.
I felt used and dirty, though my knickers bulged with currency. And I was dying for a drink.