My hoodie falls open, showing the world my hard work. I look down and admire my abs. Suddenly a hand moves across my six pack, and I get my head back in the game. I hold up my fist to signal the DJ. The song fades, and I stand up. Before I do, I kiss First Bill’s cheek. Her friends cheer and celebrate as they return to their table.
I get two songs for my solo−the intro and my chair routine. We cut my intro to ninety seconds. That’s normal for newbies. I just need to be out here long enough for the ladies to get a feel for who I am. But now I’m screwed because the DJ played my main song when that table starting tipping me.
I remove my hoodie and toss it stage left, where one of the duds is waiting to pick it up. DJ Andre is asking the crowd if anyone is celebrating a birthday or bachelorette party. The room erupts as women jockey for attention. It’s all bullshit. My victim has already been pre-selected. They go through a little spiel as Jimmy surveys the crowd. He stops behind the bride-to-be and asks her to follow him to the stage. She pretends to protest for all of two seconds. DJ Andre tells her friends to join her at the stage for encouragement; really, it’s to tip me.
This is how the chair routine works. The crazier I am with the woman in the chair, the more her friends slap money on the wood. DJ Andre starts my backup song as the girl walks onto the stage. She’s almost as tall as I am in her heels. I take her hand; it’s shaking.
“I’m Sway,” I say in my sexy voice. “What’s your name?” The music is loud, so I get real close to her ear when I speak. Giovanni says I’ll know which ones are into the game and which are going to be frigid. I place my hand on her waist to gauge her reaction, and she presses against me slightly.
She’s game.
“Kari, with a K.” Her lips brush my ear, and she presses her sizable tits against my chest. Her breath smells like tequila, Patrón to be exact.
“Kari with a K, sit down.” I guide her to the folding chair. She puts her face in her hands as part of her act. We’re both putting on a show. I pretend I want to fuck her and she pretends she doesn’t want me to.
She’s wearing jeans. Perfect. Her top is low cut and sleeveless. It’s like she dressed just for my routine.
The music starts, and I dance a little bit in front of the stage to entertain the room before I focus on Kari. It’s a popular song, so the crowd is really into it. Singing at their tables and dancing along the edge of the stage. I feed off their energy while I keep one eye on the woman in the hot seat.
The anticipation in her face voids what little fear I was harboring. The doubts about my skills vanish when the chorus drops. I spin back to the chair and sit on Kari’s lap. I pump against her for a few beats. Then I grip the seat of the chair to support my weight and do my favorite move. I hump the air in between her legs a few times then dive between her legs and back up. Kari grabs my head the second time and holds me down. I instinctively jerk back. I wasn’t prepared for her to touch me. I spin away and kick off my Jordan’s. I throw in a few more hip pumps; then I move back to Kari. I place her hands on my waist, then grab her head and pump. Her fingers dig into my skin, and I realize I’m not pushing against her, she’s pulling my dick to her face.
Jesus Christ this chick is too game.
I hook my thumbs into the top of my sweats and start moving them down. This is a pivotal moment in my routine, one that I need to take my time with. Kari is making that difficult. I have to grip her hands to keep her from yanking my sweats off.
“You’re a bad one.” I scold her.
She bites her lower lip and says, “Oh, you have no idea.”
Fuck me if I don’t get half a hard on. Kari looks like an accountant or preschool teacher. A hot preschool teacher.
I finally let my sweats drop to the floor and kick them behind me. Kari licks her lips again, and I feel myself grow a little more. I have full-on wood as I grind my hips in front of her face. This girl with a white veil on her head is staring up at me like she’s dying of thirst and I’m a water fountain. I’m supposed to sit on her lap and do this pump and turn thing.
Pump, pump, pump, turn. Pump, pump, pump, turn. I do this north, south, east, west. When I come full circle, I’m facing the stage, and the song ends. If I have to do all four directions, I’ll probably come all over her.
I sit on her lap, and she grips my ass. I start pumping her, then turn. I pump again and turn one more time, so I’m facing the room. I stand and grab her head just as the music cuts off. Her mouth goes straight for me. I feel her teeth through the spandex.
DJ Andre comes on, and I take my bow. The spotlight is cut so the duds can clear my clothes and money off the stage. As I walk off, I take Kari with me.
“Holy fuck, you smell good,” Kari yells as I pound her against the wall in the storage room.
“Thanks. So, do you.”
She doesn’t.
“It’s Coach,” she says then releases a loud moan.
This is the third time she’s complimented the way I smell. She’s asked me my age, where I went to high school, and my favorite baseball team. Kari went to Marin Catholic, and she drives an Audi, which she parked in an attended lot on Columbus Avenue. She asked if the place was reputable just as I was shoving my dick inside of her.
“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” she says again and buries her face in my neck.
“You feel really good. Do I feel good?” I pound harder and try to encourage her to at least talk dirty; it doesn’t work.
She goes on about how drunk she is, and my delicious scent. I could go longer, but I just want to end it. I’m tired of this conversation. Kari is starting to go limp in my arms. She’s either passing out or bored. I take advantage of this moment of silence and come. She comes again with a lot of moaning—sounds that usually make me feel like a stud. In this case, it feels like a pity orgasm.
I set her down and pull up my sweats. She searches the floor for her jeans and underwear. Apparently, Kari isn’t much for small talk unless my dick is inside of her.
My hand is on the doorknob, ready to open it as soon as she’s decent. The room reeks of sweat and bathroom cleaner. If I spend another minute in the confined space, I’ll probably puke.
“Ready?” I ask as she zips her boot.
She stands up and smooths her hair. “Yep.”
I open the door to find Giovanni, Thor, and Dain clapping in the hall. Kari pushes past me and runs towards the main room.
“You guys are fucking assholes.”
Giovanni puts his hand around my shoulders and kisses the side of my head. “Is it weird that I’m proud?”
I shrug him off. “Proud of what?”
“You getting laid your first night. Hell, after your first performance. I didn’t even get that lucky.”
“And she was hot,” Dain adds and opens the dressing room door for me.
A dud is waiting for me inside. My clothes are neatly folded and sitting in my locker.
“I’m Percy,” he introduces. I think twice about shaking his hand since it was just inside of Kari’s panties. Percy doesn’t look like the type of guy who would care.
“I’m Sway,” I tell him and shake his hand.
“Here’s your tips.”
I take the wad of cash and start counting.
“That was a money table, her friends were dropping twenties,” Percy says. “You lucked out.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it. My boy is a natural.” Giovanni slaps Percy on the back and shoves him towards the door.
“It’s customary to tip the duds,” Dain informs me. “That way, they’ll think twice about stealing from you.”
Giovanni makes a tsh sound and shakes his head in disagreement. I ignore him and flip through my stack.
“Hey, Percy.”
He stops and obediently walks back to me.
“Here.” I hand him a twenty. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” He shoves the money in his pocket.
“That was a money table though,” Dain agrees. “Hopeful
ly, they didn’t blow their wad on Sway.”
“You mean like he blew his wad into the bride-to-be?” Giovanni laughs and pumps the air.
“Maybe you should toss her a twenty too. She can buy herself some dignity,” Thor sneers.
I play it off like it’s nothing. Like that wasn’t the craziest shit I’ve ever done. I’ve had a few one-nighters. That was after several drinks and a couple hours of conversation. I barely knew Kari’s name before I had my fingers in her panties.
“And thanks for the applause, fuckers. She’s probably crying right now.” I tuck the money into my bag and zip it up.
“She should be,” Thor spits back. “She just fucked a stripper. You think she’s gonna go back to that table and tell them what she did?”
“Hell no,” Dain yells. “You can’t trust anyone with that kind of secret. She’ll ride this to the grave.”
Dain’s right. She could’ve been here with her bridal party. Moms and aunts and shit. Even though she went willingly, I feel like it’s my fault. I start to grasp the gravity of the situation.
“I had storage room sex with some dude’s finance.”
“Welcome to the dark side, Sway.” Dain leans in and sniffs. “Damn, you do smell good.”
I push him off me, and he stumbles away laughing.
Giovanni sits in my chair with one leg crossed over the other. He leans back like a gangster or a therapist and points at me as he speaks. “Balance, my son. You can’t go blowin’ your wad for every cute chick that licks her lips at you.”
“I feel bad.”
“Don’t,” Gio demands. “Five years from now, that chick’s gonna be sitting in her cookie-cutter track home with a baby hanging off her tit and another one blowing snot all over her leg. That song is gonna come on, and she’s going to remember this night. You. The way you smelled, the way you fucked her in the closet. That memory is going to get her through the shitty days. Maybe even get her dickhead husband laid on a Wednesday night.” He stands and grips my shoulders. “You just became the most exciting thing that ever happened to her. She should be thanking you.”
Giovanni always makes me feel better.
“When you put it that way.” I grin.
He pats my back and returns to his locker. Giovanni is doing a 50 Shades act tonight. He looks the part in a black three-piece suit, white shirt, and gray tie. Women drive two hours for a chance at being Giovanni’s submissive on stage. Or even better, getting fifteen minutes alone with him in one of the private rooms. Those sessions pay the rent on his Pacific Heights apartment, his leased 7-series BMW, and keeps him in designer everything; from the sunglasses on his head to the socks on his feet. Everything about Gio is expensive, and everything is paid for by the women sitting in the main room of this club. If I can just get a little piece of that, I’ll be set.
Thor hangs from the pull-up bar. I watch him move up and down and start to feel a little light-headed. He drops to the floor, and Jimmy walks in.
“You’re on in five, Thor.” Jimmy hands him a drink and a pill.
Giovanni was adamant about the no-drug policy at the club, so I’m wondering why Jimmy is passing out pills.
“Hey, Jimmy.”
“Yeah, kid?”
I pull out my towel and shampoo then walk towards him. I don’t want to yell across the room and call him out in front of everyone.
“Just wondering about that pill you gave me.” I try to sound like I’m not worried or ungrateful.
“Dramamine,” he says. “It helps with nausea and chills you out.”
“Was I supposed to mix it with alcohol?”
“The booze speeds up the process, nothing more,” he insists. “You’re not gonna sprout horns or go sterile for fuck’s sake. Little old ladies take it when they go on cruises and shit.”
“No, it’s not that. I wasn’t worried or anything.” I shrug and toss my towel over my shoulder. “I just wanted to make a mental note for next time.” I tap the side of my head and walk towards the bathroom.
“There better not be a next time!” Jimmy yells. “If you puke again, you clean it up!”
***
After my shower, I chill in the dressing room and talk about grooming and workout routines with the guys. There’s one more group dance after Dain’s solo. It’s a salute to the armed forces. Jimmy doesn’t really give a shit about the military, but women love a man in uniform.
Dain walks in with a scowl on his face and fires his towel at the wall. “That motherfucker!”
“Let me guess,” Rico smirks.
Dain takes his G-string off and throws into his locker. “I told Jimmy if he did it again I was going to kick his fucking ass!” Dain is slamming shit around his locker. He’s obviously pissed, but it’s hard to take him seriously when he’s naked.
“Who’s ass?” I ask.
“Damon,” Rico sneers. “He’s a dud that works the floor during our shows. Getting drinks, that kind of thing.”
“I wouldn’t have a fucking problem if he stuck to selling shots.” Dain pulls out his costume for the next show. A pair of camo pants and a matching button-down shirt. We’re all wearing the same thing. The pants are tear away. We rip them off at the end of the routine to expose a USA flag G-string.
“What did he do?” I look around and wait for one of the guys to clue me in.
Jimmy walks in before any of them have a chance.
“I know.” He throws his hands up and walks straight to Dain. “I’ve told him before, no dancing in the pit when guys are on stage.” Jimmy looks to the other guys in the room. “That goes for everyone.” As if the other guys do the same thing.
“Fuck you,” Gio sneers offended by Jimmy’s remark. “He’s a disrespectful little shit, and you know it.”
Jimmy nods like he’s heard it all before. “You guys got five minutes.” He walks out, and the room is silent.
I drop and do a quick set of push-ups. Dain heads to the pull-up bar, and Giovanni goes to the bathroom.
Rico stands near my head as I do my set.
“What?” I grunt.
“I’m impressed,” he confesses. “And I’m not easily impressed. You were outstanding tonight.”
I can’t answer him because I’m counting off in my head. I don’t usually count; I just go until my arms give out. Counting relaxes me. I count the stairs in front of my building, sixteen. The number of steps it takes to get from my room to the bathroom, four. How many minutes it will take before Lulu falls asleep while watching Beauty and the Beast. Varies.
I jump up and roll my neck. My arms are on fire, and it feels good. I walk to the utility sink and wash my hands. Rico is waiting at my locker. I spray on a thick layer of my body spray hoping it will repel him.
“That’s a top of the line scent. You have good taste,” he notices.
I don’t tell him it was a gift or admit I have no clue where to buy the stuff.
“I have a side business.” Rico lowers his voice, and he speaks. “I book private events, dates, that kind of thing. I think you’ll do well.”
I’ve always been skeptical of people like Rico. Guys that come on this strong usually have an agenda.
“I have a good feeling about you.”
Rico’s good feeling is giving me a weird feeling. He’s got a pimp vibe happening right now.
“Thanks, man. I’ll think about it.” I walk to the door and get ready to take the stage.
Rico downs a can of Red Bull then joins me at the door. Fuck, this guy is relentless.
“Do any of the guys work with you?” I ask him since he won’t go away.
“They all do.” Rico sounds like a proud father. He thumbs towards Gio as he walks out of the bathroom. “He’ll vouch for me.”
Gio smiles and flips him off.
“The tips you make here are nothing compared to what you’ll score at a private gig,” Rico claims.
“What do I have to do for those tips?” The question is somewhat rhetorical. I don’t expect him to answe
r and he doesn’t.
“When you’re ready to make real money, let me know.” Rico adjusts my cap and walks out the door.
The day I asked Giovanni to help me get a job at Trance, my moral compass took a sharp turn south. Gio told me right from the jump that I had to decide what I would and wouldn’t do. Going full nude, working the private rooms, doing gay night: all things that would pay out bigger dollars. I thought I knew my limits. Rico’s dangling a carrot in front of me, and suddenly I’m a starving rabbit. There’s nothing more enticing than the promise of money.
After the final routine, the duds take the stage in fifteen-minute intervals for the rest of the night. The headliners are obligated to walk the room for at least two hours or do an encore show.
When you work the floor; you have two goals: get these women to buy more drinks, a bottle would be ideal or request a private dance. Since privates aren’t my thing, I’m on shot duty. I’ve already had four by the time Dain and Rico take the stage to do their cop routine. There’s still a lot of money left in this building. They’ll be damned if it goes to the duds.
Especially, Damon. He’s a better-looking version of Will Smith, except he’s got these crazy blue eyes. In the dim club lighting, they almost glow. That isn’t why women fight for time with him. He does a killer Jamaican accent. The kid is from East Oakland, but he sounds like he’s straight from the Caribbean.
I walk the room for an hour and rack up a little over one hundred dollars in tips. Who knew taking drink orders and posing for selfies could be so lucrative.
Got Mine (Men of Trance Book 1) Page 3
