Kill Me

by Alex Owens

Vera was drooling over the round ass just inches from her face, and I could picture what she was seeing up close and personal. Firm cheeks, split by the tiniest bikini bottom ever, allowing the woman’s lips to peek out from the sides of the fabric. Caramel hips swayed back and forth, teasing with every shift of the pink fabric.

  My face flushed and my mouth watered. I wanted to taste her. No, that wasn’t right— Vera wanted that, not me. She wanted the woman in front of her, and somehow, I seemed to be in Vera’s head, or at least her emotions, or her desires, or something equally unexplainable.

  Cassidy put her face to mine, touching our foreheads together, effectively blocking my view of everything else in the room.

  “Breathe,” she said. “Just focus on me.”

  I felt myself returning to normal after a few seconds of staring at Cassidy. Her focus on me was intense, like she trying to needle around in my brain. Never one to back down, I kept the weird pose and tried to emulate Cassidy’s determined look.

  She smelled like spring rain and I could see her kneeling in a garden, hands turning rich dark earth, caressing tender stalks of green. When I also pictured Cassidy biting into a fresh picked tomato, I tasted it myself. I backed away quickly, whacking my elbow on the bar and stepping on a stripper’s toe. I turned to mumble my apologies, but the young brunette with doe-eyes and cleavage up to her chin totally ignored me, choosing instead to focus on her round, sweaty sugar daddy.

  “Was that the first time that’s happened to you?” Cassidy said quietly, turning me back towards her.

  “Yes...no...I don’t know.” I gulped down the nearest drink on the bar, not caring who it belonged to, or what it was for that matter. I would have downed motor oil to get the taste out of my mouth. To me, the only good tomato was a cooked one.

  I let the fire spread down my throat as I thought about what had just happened. Chances are, that had happened to me before and I just hadn’t recognize it for what it was. Just because I couldn’t recall anything that obvious, didn’t mean more subtle instances hadn’t occurred without my notice. Heck, maybe that was why I was so good at my job. Maybe I’d been using the little bits of information I absorbed to win over clients.

  “Hey you, where did you go just now?” Cassidy asked.

  I snapped out of my own head and signaled the statuesque bartender that I wanted another drink.

  “Just thinking. Trying to make some sense, you know.” I took the amber colored shot placed in front of me and gulped it greedily. I was just so damned thirsty all the time.

  “Feeling tipsy yet?” Cassidy asked, with a bemused smirk. “You’ve had what, three drinks in ten minutes, right?”

  Yes, that sounded about right. But it also sounded very, very wrong. I was a lightweight. I should be halfway to hugging a toilet bowl by now.

  “I feel fine. Why does everybody keep asking me that?” I said.

  “Who keeps asking you that?” Cassidy asked.

  “Bette,” I said, then I finally caught that I’d missed something Cassidy said earlier. “Why can’t I get drunk?”

  She looked surprised, and then thoughtful. She took me by the hand and led me into a dim hallway at the back of the room. It was a full minute before Cassidy spoke.

  “I’m not sure and I can’t explain how I know that. It’s odd, I know, but I just know.” She shrugged her shoulders.

  I wasn’t buying it, but I also wasn’t not buying it. I was beginning to think there were plenty of things out there that I didn’t have the experience to understand just yet. I stayed silent, hoping that Cassidy would continue. She waited a few beats and then spoke again.

  “Also, I think you’re extremely empathetic— almost like a sponge— possibly telepathic, and who-knows what else. I just know I’ve never met someone like you.”

  Cassidy was animated as she talked, clearly excited that I was a freak of some sort. I, on the other hand, was not so pumped. The last time that I’d considered how cool it would be to have any kind of supernatural ability was way back in elementary school, when I read the book The Girl With Silver Eyes. I’d dreamed of waking up telepathic for months. Alas, I stayed perfectly normal. I was still normal, right?

  “I don’t even know what those words mean.” I shook my head, like I could merely disagree and it would all go away.

  “Who’s Bette?” Cassidy asked, squeezing me up against the wall to let two dancers pass by. They could have been sisters, blonde, leggy, blue-eyed sisters. I watched them walk away, their hair cascading down tanned backs, their hips swaying in tandem. My face grew warm as I thought of how to answer Cassidy’s question.

  “She’s the client I’m meeting with.” I settled for simplicity. “I really do need to find her. She probably thinks I stood her up.”

  Cassidy looked defeated, and I wanted to reach out to her, but I stopped myself. With everything going on, how in the hell was I supposed to know what it was that I really wanted to do, instead of just more of the empath-tele-bullshit?

  “Okay, but until I can help you figure things out, I want you to take this,” she said, holding out her hand to me. “It should help block some of the outside interference you’re taking in.”

  She’d handed me a necklace. More precisely, it was a pendant, with gemstones set in silver and hung on a silver chain. The pendant itself was a full-moon with two half-moons flanking either side, waxing and waning. The stones inside the moons were light blue and black

  “That’s black tourmaline.” She pointed to the dark center stone before pointing to the matching half-moon stones. “And these are Aquamarine.”

  “Thanks,” I said, wasting no time in putting the necklace on. I needed all the help I could get at that point. “I really do have to find my client, but maybe we could meet for breakfast in the morning?”

  I waited nervously for Cassidy’s reply, though I don’t know what made me feel so twitchy. It’s not like I’d asked her out on a date or anything.

  “Sure. And in the meantime, I’ll see if I can dig up some answers for you.”

  She embraced me there in that shadowed hall, and for the first time in ages, I felt the bonds forming of a friendship. It was nice, and I relaxed just a little knowing that I didn’t have to figure everything out on my own anymore. Maybe between her and Bette, I could finally get a handle on everything. If they could just help me with Pete then I’d be set.

  Cassidy pulled away first. “Don’t worry girl! We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  I smiled weakly as she left me standing in the hallway. I suddenly felt very tired and hungry and the night was still young. I dreaded finding Bette and I was pretty sure that whatever she had in store for me would make the last hour seem easy-peasy.

  Chapter 11

  When I re-entered the main lounge, it was more crowded than before, and things seemed to be heating up. The customers, however, were more diverse than I expected. Respectable men in business suits chatted jovially. Small clusters of fashionable men and women enjoyed the company of beauties. Even numerous couples and few single women seemed to be at ease in the club.

  A chocolate diva with some junk in her trunk knelt on stage, money raining down on her oiled body. Two guys stood on either end of the runway with stacks of singles in their hands, pulling off bills and tossing them at her to the beat of “Get Low.” The crowd cheered as she ended the dance with something I’d never seen before— ass clapping. And yes, that is just like it sounds.

  Everyone seemed relaxed, so I figured I might as well go with it. I scanned the room, looking for Bette and didn’t see her. Vera was still right where she’d been earlier, though her current entertainment had switched out. Seated beside her was Cassidy, who seemed to be enjoying the company of the perky hippie-stripper seated across her lap. The girl whispered in Cassidy’s ear and I felt my body warm. So much for the charm, I thought. I hadn’t even realized Cassidy was gay, so maybe she’d been wrong about my so-called gifts as well.

  I forced myself to concentrate, which was a hard
thing to do while the lights flashed, the music drummed and the sea of flesh undulated before my eyes. I had to find Bette. But first, I had to get another drink.

  I sidled up to the bar and ordered a kamikaze, figuring I’d gladly go down in flames if I could just take the edge off. Drink in hand, I made a choice and it surprised me. I decided not to go poking around in the back rooms looking for Bette. I was avoiding, yes, mainly because I didn’t want to see anything that required eye-bleach, but also, I was becoming frustrated. Bette wanted me here so badly, well then damnit, she could just come and find me.

  I headed to the low runway up in the front of the room. It was built into the corner and had barstools with only one view— whoever was doing the spotlight dance. I sat there, putting the rest of the room to my back. A dancer finished up her act and scurried around the floor grabbing up her tips and stuffing them into a pink fedora. She blew kisses to a few customers who must have tipped well, pulled the fedora to her exposed breasts and made her way off the stage.

  Within seconds, a new dancer arrived as Rhianna’s S&M began to play over the speakers. She was short, maybe 5’4”, wore black boy-cut shorts and a black studded halter top. Her long auburn hair cascaded over her tanned skin, but it was her eyes that held my attention. They were big, green and fixed on me—maybe because I was the only single woman sitting by the stage. She smiled and began to dance, starting at the opposite end of the bar.

  First, she untied the halter, letting the straps fall to reveal a skimpy silver bikini-top. She shimmied to the beat, pushing the halter down her lithe body, eventually stepping out of it and flinging it at a guy by the stage. Next, she bent over languidly and played with the sides of her boy shorts, pulling them and pushing them for a series of tantalizing sneak peeks. Finally, she removed her shorts, right when I was about to die from anticipation, revealing a teeny-tiny silver g-string.

  She untied the bikini top, covering her breasts with her arms while the top fell to the floor. Again, she teased and taunted, letting glimpses of nipple be seen here and there before blocking the view once again. She jumped on the chrome pole in the center of the stage, back to me, and climbed up to the top. In one fluid set of motions, she hooked her legs around the pole, flung her upper body backwards and slid down the pole upside down, back arched and hair whipping. The catcalls kicked into a frenzy.

  The dancer dismounted and all I could think was how cold the pole must have felt against her warm skin. Goosebumps prickled my arms. She climbed on the bar, putting herself into positions that looked so painful I felt myself flinch. She bowed and arched and flexed and split herself in two. She spent only a little bit of time in front of each person at the bar, enough to warrant a tip without encouraging conversation or touching the merchandise.

  She finally slid over the bar in my direction. She knelt in front of me and leaned in close, so very close. I could smell the cocoa butter on her skin, the flowery shampoo on her hair as it brushed by my face. And I smelled something else, something tangy and sweet. Her breathe came as a whisper in my ear, sending chills down my neck.

  “I saved you for last.” She licked my ear, purred like a freaking cat, and rocked back away from me. She went from kneeling into a full split, and then sat back on her tail with her legs spread out before me. I tried not to look, I swear. But I don’t care who you are. If you’re sitting there and even a passably attractive woman does that, you will look, dammit. It would be impossible not to.

  She arched and moved to the rhythm of the song and her full breasts began to entrance me. Her nipples were dark and large and hypnotizing. All the alcohol I’d had must have finally kicked in, because I sure felt buzzed.

  Her bottom slid towards me and I felt silky flesh bump into my hand that rested on the bar. I didn’t know the protocol about touching, but she didn’t seem to mind that my hand was touching her ass, so I left it there.

  She was practically sitting in my lap, and her hair blocked out most of what was going on around me. Her face was close enough to mine that I could have kissed her. And I wanted to, or at least I think I did. But it was impossible to tell what was real and what wasn’t anymore. At the moment, it didn’t seem to matter.

  With both of her hands, she touched each side of my face softly. “First time?” she said, removing her hands and leaning back on the bar. Her voice was bubbly and wholesome. “Don’t be shy. The body is a beautiful thing.”

  I nodded, searching for something to say, anything, but all I could do was stare. I licked my dry lips, wishing I had another drink. She put both feet on the back of my chair, one over each shoulder and pumped her ass into the air. It was quite an impressive move, made more so by the fact that her barely-covered vagina was just inches from my face.

  I swallowed hard as she pumped up and down in front of me. Through her tiny g-string I could pretty much see it all, even the little patch of hair above her cleft. My breath quickened and my body clenched down low. I was sure my face was beet red and that everyone as looking at me. But I didn’t really care.

  From the other side of the stage I heard someone yelling, “Bring that sweet ass back over here, she doesn’t have what you need.” Deep, manly guffaws followed.

  Mercifully, she sat up draping her legs over my lap. But before I could feel any real relief from the burning sensations that pricked my throat and quickened my groin, she made things for me so much worse. The kind of worse that comes along after a horny, frustrated working mother sees somebody else’s kibbles and bits for the first time and realizes that she likes it.

  In one fluid motion, she lay on her side, kicked one leg straight up in the air, and tugged the g-string out from her body. From watching her earlier, I knew that I was expected to place the tip under the snip of fabric. Actually doing it, not so easy. I had to move, and my body wasn’t listening to my brain. I had to place the bill without crossing a line. And worse, I had to watch myself do it.

  I slid a bill out of my pocket, not even looking to see what it was. I’d not come prepared, so I had nothing but larger bills. The green-eyed dancer stopped gyrating and pulled her money-keeper further away from her body. As I slipped the bill under the fabric, I could see the manicured slip of dark hair which dipped into her dewy pink folds.

  My breath caught in my throat and I jerked my hand back like she’d bitten me. She regarded me for a long second before she kissed me full on the mouth. I was confused. I didn’t think strippers did that? Or was it hookers I was thinking of? Damn Julia Roberts for not making that clear.

  While she collected her tips from the stage behind the bar, I pulled another bill out of my pocket. I threw the twenty on the bar and stood to go get another drink, since they were obviously helping me out so far.

  A hand clasped mine and I turned to see the dancer whose vagina had recently been in my face. She pulled me toward the private rooms with a smile.

  “Come with me,” she said, wrapping her arm around my waist and guiding me down the dark hall. It felt awkward, me walking like a normal person, with a mostly-naked goddess draped around me. Worse still, her breasts bobbed as we walked and I couldn’t take my eyes off them in all their jiggling-splendor.

  In a moment of self-consciousness, I scanned the room as we left to see if Cassidy and Vera noticed my wanton display. I didn’t see them anywhere and I could only hope that they hadn’t seen me. I wasn’t worried about them telling anyone. I mean really, what could they say that wouldn’t also place them in a strip club too? Rather, I was more worried about what they would think of me. Hell, I was beginning to worry about what I thought of myself. Looking in the mirror wouldn’t be the same tomorrow—that I was sure of.

  A stripper took the stage sporting spiked hair, a dog collar and a pink ballerina skirt over four-inch-heeled combat boots. On cue with her entrance The Dollyrots belted out attitude. As Bad Reputation rocked the room, I smiled at the timing and entered the hallway with my stripper clinging to my side.

  Chapter 12

  Once in the darke
ned hall, I felt the stripper’s hand slip under my jacket and cami, stroking the curve of my hip. She must think that I’m loaded, I thought. Why else would she be corralling me into a private, high-priced room? Oh well, I went with it.

  At the third curtained room, she motioned for me to go ahead as we passed through the narrow opening. I felt her press up behind me, her arms snaking around my waist as I stopped. It felt both comforting and clingy at the same time, almost like she was hiding behind me. Of course, the room wasn’t empty.

  Why hadn’t I considered that?

  Inside the ten foot square room was a low bench that ran along three of the walls. A handful of people were seated on the bench, scattered around the room and partially obscured by deep shadows. To my left were two dark and handsome men in tailored suits that looked somewhat familiar, and in the back a pretty blonde socialite lounged, each with their own private dancers. To the right was one more person, seated alone like she was waiting.

  “Ah, Morgan, I see you found my Clara!” Bette said.

  The dancer, whose name was apparently Morgan, peeked around me to nod quickly before hugging me tighter.

  “Bette.” I nodded. My vocabulary was stunted by the press of Morgan’s breasts into my back.

  “Please, have a seat,” Bette waved her hand to the stretch of bench between herself and the back of the room.

  With Morgan still attached to me, I crossed the room and took a seat down the bench a bit from Bette. Morgan sat on the other side of me, curling up under my arm. I wasn’t sure what was going on with her. She’d gone from a confident temptress to clingy child in less than a minute.

  “Have you met Clive and Gregor?” Bette nodded to the two men across from us. Both men leaned out from behind their matching strippers and offered up a cursory “h’allo.”

  I wasn’t sure which one was Clive and which one was Gregor. The men were similar in height and athletic build, but that’s where the similarities ended. With black, gelled hair, the man directly across from Bette looked polished and decidedly upper crust. The man across from me however, had closely cropped hair, a five o’clock shadow, and a slight scar interrupting his brow line.