Hot Sex, Cool Erotica

by Bebe Wilde

  “He’s a nut, bless his heart,” I said. “He walks on the road talking to himself and has crazy hair and dirty clothes… Well, I explained that to you earlier. If they’re not married, usually there’s a reason.”

  “And his reason is that he’s bat shit crazy,” Becca.

  “You are so mean!” I said and slapped her arm.

  “Oh, I forgot, he almost took you to the prom.”

  I held up my plate, pretending to smash it against her head. “I am going to brain you over that!”

  “What is this about?” Nicki wanted to know.

  “She used to work at The Bean, this little diner, and he’d come in there and being the nice person she is, she’d be all nice to him, right? So, during our senior year, he started asking her about prom. She talked to him about it, of course, then asked her to it! When she turned him down, nicely, of course, he threw the cash register through the window.”

  Nicki’s mouth fell to the floor. “Did not!”

  “He did,” Becca said. “And that’s probably why she can’t get a date. Everyone thinks her ex is crazy. And he is.”

  ‘Shut up!” I screeched. “He was not my ex! He was crazy and, like, twenty years older than me! And I could get a date. I dated my ex for a long time.”

  “Maybe that’s why he wouldn’t marry you,” Nicki said, laughing.

  “Bad girl!” I said and gave her a light punch. “Bad, bad girl!”

  She laughed and shook her head at me. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

  Becca gave her a look, then me and said, “No, the reason that asshole wouldn’t marry her is because he’s a selfish prick.”

  I groaned. “Becca, let’s not go there.”

  “It’s true,” she said and crossed her arms. “I told you that you were too good for him. I told you that you were wasting your time.”

  “Fine,” I said. “You were right. I was wrong.”

  “You got a good friend there, Myra,” Nicki told me.

  I smiled at Becca. “Yeah, I do.”

  She smiled back and patted me on the arm. “One day, we will find you a good man. A real man, not some jerkass.”

  “Could you do it, like, today?” I asked and smiled at her.

  “You never know,” she said and grinned. “I think you just need to diversify. You’ll never find anyone back home.”

  “Diversify?” I said. “Like you?”

  “Like me,” she said, very pleased with herself. “I knew there wasn’t a man in that town I wanted to marry, so I waited and when my man came into the office looking for the head honcho, I staked my claim.”

  “So, that’s how you did it,” I said and picked up my iced tea, taking a long sip.

  “He was mine,” she said. “He just didn’t know it yet.”

  We all cracked up and the waiter came by to ask if we’d like anything else. I asked Becca, “Do you want something?”

  “God, no,” she said.

  “Then just the check please,” I told him.

  He smiled and handed it to me. I dug into my clutch purse, then handed him my credit card.

  “Oh, let me,” Nicki said.

  “It’s on me,” I said. “You got lunch.”

  “Thanks,” she said and winked at me. “So, what’s on the agenda for tonight?”

  Becca shrugged. She still looked like death warmed over. I felt bad for the girl. “Maybe we should stay in tonight,” I suggested.

  “Oh, no,” Becca said. “Don’t let me interrupt your good time. You girls go and come back and tell me about all the hot men you see, just like you’ve been doing since we got here.”

  “We just like to rub it in your face,” I said.

  She rolled her eyes at me just as a young man came up on a bicycle and stopped in front of our table. We all stared at him, wondering what he wanted.

  “You ladies like dancing?” he asked.

  “Who’s asking?” Nicki asked.

  He shrugged and pulled something out of his backpack, waving it at us. “Free tickets,” he said and grinned.

  “Free tickets to where?” I asked as Becca grabbed them.

  “An all male revue,” he said. “It’s close by. You can walk, even.”

  “What the hell is that?” Nicki asked.

  “I know what this is!” Becca said and giggled like a teenager. “It’s a man meat showcase.”

  “Man meat?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Male strippers! Duh!” she squealed and waved the tickets in the air. “Hells yeah! We’re going!”

  “But you’re sick,” Nicki told her.

  “I ain’t that damned sick,” she said.

  “I don’t know,” I said with uncertainly.

  “Come on,” she said and held the tickets up. “Wanna go?”

  I hesitated for a second too long, giving Nicki the time to grab the tickets and shout, “Yes! We’re going!”

  So we did.

  * * * * *

  The young man giving us the tickets informed us that we had to purchase at least one drink each, which was fine by us. Hell, we had two each before the show even started and a third round was on the way.

  That’s Miami. You come, you play, you get drunk and you do stupid stuff, like go see a man meat showcase, as Becca so eloquently put it.

  “I’ve never been to a male stripper show,” I said as I sipped my fruity tropical and very watered down expensive drink.

  “Does that mean you’ve been to a female stripper show?” Becca asked.

  Nicki cracked up, shaking her head.

  I glared at little at Becca and said, “No, I have not. Have you?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “But I’m married. Who knows what we’ll eventually end up doing to keep things fresh?”

  “Oh, God, why did you say that?” Nicki asked. “I’m getting married soon!”

  “Just saying,” Becca replied and shrugged.

  Nicki and I stared at her, then shook our heads, then Nicki turned to me and asked, “So, you’ve never been to an all male stripper show before?”

  “I have not,” I replied.

  “I’ve been to a few bachelorette parties,” she said, glancing around the room from our table in the back. “Wow. There are a lot of bitches in here.”

  There were. I mean, a lot. This must have be a popular revue because every woman in Miami, and probably the surrounding county, had showed for it. The room was gigantic, too, almost like a small theater or something.

  “What are they called again?” Becca asked.

  I shrugged, noting that the thought of seeing male strippers had miraculously healed her and she was looking better. She’d gone up to our room to change into a nice striped top and a pair of skinny jeans with heels, almost the exact same outfit that Nicki had on. Suddenly, I wanted my jeans too and not this expensive and very beautiful mini dress that Nicki had let me borrow. What if I spilled a drink on it? Nicki would probably kill me.

  “They’re called Hard Working Men,” a nice looking lady at the next table told us as she adjusted her straight-out-of-the-eighties high hair.

  Her friend in the next seat chimed in, “Yeah, they’re the Men of Construction, that’s the name of this revue. It’s about construction work.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” Becca said a little smart-assed. “Men of Construction. Hard Working Men.”

  “No,” the other one sassed. “They are the Hard Working Men, that’s the group name and this showcase is called Men of Construction. They do different kinds of shows with different themes, you know.”

  We just stared at her, wondering why she was acting so much like a fangirl. I didn’t get it. But I soon would.

  “Thanks for the tip,” Becca said sarcastically and picked up her drink, laughing a little to herself.

  “No problem,” the woman said and nodded eagerly. “You’ll want to come tomorrow, too. We try to come down and see them at least a couple times a month.”r />
  “Nice,” I said and glanced at Becca who surmised her with a raised eyebrow. She stared at me and we hid our smiles. I knew then and there that she was still my best friend and would always be. It was nice to know. I stared at her and exclaimed, “I’ve missed you so much!”

  “I’ve missed you too!” she said and hugged my neck, almost drunkenly. “Myra, you have to move to San Francisco with me! I need my best friend!”

  “Hey! What about me?” Nicki asked.

  “I’m not forgetting about you. All three of us would be so cool together,” she said and stared at me. “We could open a cupcake shop!”

  “Now you’re getting crazy,” I said. “And drunk,” I added and shook my head, taking the drink out of her hand. “You have nothing on your stomach, so stop.”

  “Whatever, Mom,” she said sarcastically.

  “I’ve known you since second grade,” I told her. “I know how you are. If you drink too much, you’ll be passed out in less than an hour.”

  “Fine,” she said and waved at a passing waiter. “A water, please.”

  He nodded and walked past us.

  “When the fuck is this going to start?” Nicki whined.

  “Eight-forty-five,” our friend at the other table said. “We’ve still got five minutes.”

  “Five minutes?” Nicki asked. “Think I have time to run to the ladies room?”

  “No way,” the woman said. “What if they start early? You could miss the opening.”

  “That’s true,” Nicki said.

  The waiter came back with the water. I took it, unscrewed the cap and handed it to Becca. “Drink.”

  “Fine,” she said and took a long sip. “But seriously, get the show on the road, fellas! I want to go to bed and call my honey.”

  “You miss your hubby?” Nicki asked.

  “No, I miss my bed,” she said and pouted. “I just got this divine mattress. It’s this—”

  She was interrupted when a loud noise that sounded like a jackhammer ripped into the room. Then the lights went out, leaving us in total darkness.

  “It’s starting!” Becca giggled. “It’s starting!”

  “Shh!” the ladies at the next table hissed.

  She sat back and shut her mouth. I stared at her and we almost started laughing but I shook my head and turned my attention to the darkened stage.

  “Ladies and gentlemen…” the emcee started, then cleared his throat. “I mean, ladies and ladies please welcome Hard Working Men!”

  He said it like this: Hard! Working! Men!

  And welcomed they were. Every woman in the house was up and out of her seat, shaking ass and screaming as a group of good looking, muscular and, apparently, hard working men came onto the stage. Wow. I mean, WOW! Okay, I’d give it to them. They were a bunch of hard working men who were also man meat. Becca had been right in her description of them. They were also the Men of Construction. And, damn, they looked good.

  The show started. I thought for a second that Y.M.C.A. would start playing but instead, I heard the undeniable sounds of Shake Your Money Maker—the Black Crows version—start playing. And that’s what got my ass out of my seat. It was, like, one of my all-time favorite songs. Ever. Again—ev-ah!

  The first Man of Construction came to the front of the stage with a shovel. He was shirtless and dressed in a pair of blue jeans, work boots and yellow hard hat which, apparently, was the costume for all of the men—and he started dancing with it like it was a very tiny woman. I thought it would be hokey but it was actually very well choreographed and worked. He dipped her, touched her head and then her body as the crowd went absolutely bat shit crazy.

  And we went crazy with them. Nicki, Becca and I were out of our seats, almost ready to climb up and dance on the table as the music pounded in our ears and the men onstage revved us up.

  The next guy came out with a jackhammer and, literally, started jack-hammering. The thing shook him or he shook it—I wasn’t sure which. Nicki leaned over and yelled in my ear, “How’d you like to get jack-hammered by him!”

  I laughed so hard I doubled over. But, yeah, that wouldn’t have been a bad thing. Sure, why not? But then I really thought about it. That would be nice. I noticed how all the women in the room were acting and they were acting like they wanted that, they wanted to be jack-hammered by this guy or one of his coworkers. The energy was palpable and it kept building and building. I didn’t know what it was or what had happened, but since the show had started there seemed to be this personality change occurring. Every woman in there, ourselves included, was acting different. We were acting wild and totally uninhabited. I’d never danced or laughed or, well, felt this hot in my life. And by hot, I mean, sexy. I felt so sexy and alive, I was almost beside myself.

  And the men on the stage were the reason why. They were beyond hot. Sure, it might have been a little sleazy, but who cared? It was fun! It was sexy and it was something I needed. I couldn’t take my eyes off the stage and I never wanted the show to end.

  The next Man of Construction came out with a measuring tape, whipped it out and laid it against his leg, nodding knowingly at the crowd. We laughed so hard we had tears streaming down our cheeks. This really was the most fun I’d had in… Well, ever.

  I picked up my drink and took a sip.

  “I’ll give them this!” Becca yelled. “Those guys sure know how to use their tools!”

  I did a spit-take. Nicki and Becca collapsed in laughter as soon as I did it then I started laughing too, then yelled at them to stop as we were missing the show. We turned out attention back to the stage where yet another Man of Construction came out with a, yes, nail gun. A nail gun! For some reason, I’d always wanted one of those things. I used to tell my ex I was going to get one for when I did projects around my house. And he told me I’d shoot myself in the hand and have to go the emergency room.

  He was always such a killjoy. I was suddenly glad I was free of him. I smiled to myself, realizing I was over him, I was over my ex! And all it took was a few good looking strippers. Had I known this, I would have been going to all male revues all along.

  The nail gun guy pretended to accidently shoot everyone on stage and they fell like flies, then he acted like there was something wrong with the nail gun and started looking at it. Then he pretended to accidently shoot himself and fell down. The stage went dark and a spotlight came on in the middle then fog began to pump in the spotlight and swirl around and then the music died down.

  The crowd went quiet for a long for seconds. What was going on? I had to see. I kicked off my heels and with the help of Becca and Nicki, climbed up onto the table. And there I saw him for the very first time. He came out without any apparatus but he did have a yellow hard hat on as well and was carrying a set of blueprints. While his chest was bare, he wore a pair of khakis with his work boots.

  I couldn’t believe how quiet the room got. I looked around, wondering why, then turned my attention back at the stage at the latest man. He stood in the middle of the stage with his head down as if he were waiting for his cue. And then he got it.

  “Cold! Hard! Cash!” the crowd roared. “Cold! Hard! Cash! Cold-Hard-Cash! Cold Hard Cash! Cold Hard Cash!”

  “What are they saying?” Nicki asked Becca, who shrugged.

  I was about to tell her but I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, this Greek god before my very eyes. His muscles… Oh, his muscles, ripped to perfection and just so delectable. I’d never in my life seen such a man. He had no fat on him whatsoever. But he didn’t look like he’d taken drugs to get that body, either. It looked very natural and strong and just… Yummy.

  He looked up just then, glancing at the crowd from beneath his yellow hard hat. And then he and I locked eyes. I mean, I think we did. Yeah, we did. But it was probably just my imagination. Just like everybody else there, I wanted to be the girl in the crowd that he liked best.

  “Cold! Hard! Cash!”

  I didn’t get why they
were chanting this, but it was okay by me. But did it mean that I was supposed to start throwing money at him? I didn’t know Cash was his name or that he was the male stripper every woman who loved male strippers knew about and went crazy for. I didn’t know anything about him, of course, but there he was and I knew there was something about him I liked. I mean, I liked the other guys, too, but he was different.

  The Nazareth song Hair of the Dog started playing. Swear to God! I hadn’t heard that song in years.

  “What are they saying?!” Becca asked our friend at the next table.

  “That’s Cold Hard Cash, lady!” she screeched, saying it like she was ready to throw down. “He’s the man!”

  “Show some respect!” her cohort snipped. “He’s playing the supervisor! Cold Hard Cash! He’s the boss!”

  Oh, that was his name, his stage name—Cold Hard Cash. That was cool. I kinda liked it.

  “Whatever,” Becca said and turned her eyes back to the stage.

  Cold Hard Cash stepped forward and then turned around. As soon as he did that, all the other men jumped up and got into position and then the show started. The Men of Construction were now doing what they did best and that was giving the ladies a show. They began to dance to the music and then, all at once, they leaned down and pulled their pants off in one fell swoop. I’d never seen such a creative use of Velcro before. Now they were standing there showing everyone their quite stylish black boxer briefs, which were very short. But that wasn’t what everyone was paying attention to. They were all staring at what the men were packing and what they were packing was jaw-dropping good. Every eye in the crowd was on the enormous bulges that were being prominently, and quite proudly, displayed. I couldn’t take my eyes off them, either. They were so big!

  “Thank God they don’t have banana hammocks!” Nicki yelled, laughing.

  I laughed and kept my eyes on the stage, fascinated that not only were they good dancers but they were actually dancing to a Nazareth song, which, in and of itself, was quite a feat. Cold Hard Cash walked across the stage and jerked his head at each of the other men as if he were giving them their lunch breaks. One by one, they stepped off the stage and into the crowd of waiting women. If I were them, I might have been a little scared as the women were almost at a fever pitch. They were getting hot and horny. But how could they not? Those bulges were something else! I mean, were they real? Were all the Men of Construction packing? If so, I wanted to see more and by more I mean, I wanted them to drop trou.