Stripped

by Allie Juliette Mousseau

  Drying off, I take my jeans and a t-shirt out of my bag and am reminded of the third gift I got her.

  I set it up so she won’t notice it at first. It’s a surprise!

  A big one.

  She’ll love it. I can’t wait to hear about it when she finds it.

  Shit! My watch alarm goes off.

  “We’ve got to hurry,” I call out before opening the bathroom door in a cloud of steam.

  “Vi’s back and we’re all ready. Just waiting on you.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  We take my Jeep and get to Foreplay about twenty minutes before I need to perform. I’m sure Maggie is giving Glenda shit, as if she somehow has control over me.

  I throw on a pair of Ray Bans and my ball cap before we go through the door. “You guys find a seat and get some drinks. I’ll meet up with you after my number,” I instruct after I get them in with no cover charge.

  I rush to go, but I can’t. Now that we’re here, the tension in me has increased a thousand times over.

  “Em.”

  “Yes?”

  Jesus, am I really the only one feeling this? She’s killing me. I can’t read her fucking mind.

  “You’re okay, right?” I try.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You know…” I pull her away from Vi and Raphael for a private word. “There’ve been no other women since I’ve been with you. You know that, right?”

  “Yes, I believe you.” She’s fidgeting—she never fidgets—that’s when I can tell she’s on edge too.

  “I’m going to have to take off my clothes.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you… okay with that?”

  “I knew you were going to be doing that before I came.” She’s trying to play a good game, but her body language is betraying her. Her shoulders are stiff and her complexion has gone pale.

  “Em… I want you to know…” Oh God, really, Stone? Like this?

  Maggie comes snaking between the two of us. “Dirty Aussie, you’d better get out of the front of the house before someone recognizes you. You’ve got a job ahead.”

  “Sorry, Mags.”

  “I’m good, Stone,” Em tries to reassure me. “I’ll be waiting for you in the audience. I’ll be your loudest fan.”

  My face relaxes into a grin as her words create a flood of relief through me. “Alright.”

  Stealthily, I duck into the back and get behind the stage.

  “What the fuck, Stone?” Thompson lays into me. “You think you’re a fucking bigshot because you bring in the ladies? We’re still running a business here, and if you’d been late or decided not to show the fuck up, a lot of tickets and cover charges would have to had to be refunded.”

  “Looks like I’m here on time. You know I’ve never missed a show time, Thompson, so you can take the stick out of your ass,” I say, more merrily than mad. Em’s cool, I’m cool.

  Thompson steams off and yells at Jay to get onstage.

  “Man, that guy is a first rate douche.” Colin—another stripper—comes over to stand by me.

  “What the hell is his problem?”

  “Who the fuck knows.”

  Jay takes the stage.

  I think back to how I used to go out there in the front of the house and rile up the clientele. He should be glad I don’t do that anymore. I haven’t since I’ve been… dancing with Emelie.

  “Did you hear that we have a bachelorette party out there tonight?” Colin asks.

  “No. I didn’t have much of a chance for information exchange when I came in.”

  “There’s a group of hot and horny chicks waiting to be grinded over. Want to double team?”

  “Oh man, I’m not going to be doing that tonight.”

  “Why the fuck not?”

  “I’ve got a…”—A what, Stone? What have you got? What is Em?—“a girl out in the audience. I’ll be dancing only. We’re not understaffed, right? We’ve got like twelve blokes taking their clothes off tonight.”

  Colin confirms, “Yeah, we’ve totally got enough to serve up the heat.”

  The house lights flicker and I know what that means—I’m next.

  “Ladies… are you ready for the thunderous, the one, the only, Dirty Aussie?” the master of ceremonies—Thompson—announces.

  “That’s my cue.”

  “Kill it, man!” Colin gives me a fist bump and I bounce up onto the stage, ready.

  “Foreplay’s very own Australian treasure of one-ton-hung tungsten, ready to take each and every one of you on a wild outback ride…”

  The shouts and cheers of the audience fill my ears, and I feel that welcome rush of adrenaline.

  “Ladies, give a hot and bothered welcome to the rock solid, Stone Wright!”

  50 Cent’s “Candy Shop” starts spinning and I do the dance I’d shown Emelie at Long Beach. It’s so smooth—with all of the rehearsals we’ve been having, the dance happens more by muscle memory now. Which is great, as it makes each step feel much more natural and fluid.

  I find Em and her friends sitting at a side table. I fucking love her face.

  It doesn’t matter if she’ll admit it or not, she fucking loves me and she knows it—she wears it all the time in her expression, and right now it’s fucking glowing like light beams from her eyes and smile.

  I hear the crowd lose it, and their energy moves me—but Em, she’s my driving force.

  Letting the music take me over, I transcend to another world.

  Finishing the piece and get ready as the house lights fade. The stage lights go black and Thompson comes up with my additional costume—white dress shirt and black leather vest—stripping with layers adds sensual tension.

  The next song—Nine Inch Nails’ “Closer”—pounds through the house’s sound system. With it, un-categorically high, soaring, levels of awkward.

  Oh fuck! I was not prepared for how wrong this would feel.

  Laying my emotions aside, I dance, and dutifully remove my clothes as I go. I try to imagine that it’s an audience of one and Em is the only one I’m taking my clothes off for. That helps. I seductively peel off each layer while swaying my hips, shaking my arse, and squeezing the abs.

  This is cool; Em is cat-calling me, the crowd is great, they’re really getting into it, and by the verse I’m feeling way more relaxed. So much so, I add a few audience-pleasing back flips and full body twists in midair.

  I’m down to just my trousers when my eyes catch Maggie’s glare from the side of the stage. When she sees she has my attention, she lets her gaze float to the audience. I receive the memo loud and clear—get out into the house.

  Got ya covered, Maggie, I think and vault off the stage in a soaring somersault.

  I dance for the tables closest to the stage first, moving in closer so I’m giving a dance for each woman. Then it happens—they run their hands over me—my abs, my legs, and my arse. I quickly break away and head to the next table, trying to keep it all under control.

  That shit’s fucked on so many levels. Right, keep it under control, with a hundred screaming, horny, drink-lubed ladies who want cock, and now. The past couple of weeks when Emelie didn’t show up, I let them touch me—clothes on—like they wanted. That was it, no extras, like I promised her. However, tonight, she’s sitting about thirty feet away.

  It’s all for fun, I remind myself. Em is cool with it. It’s just a show.

  “Let me suck your dick, Dirty Aussie!” a lady with a white bride’s veil screams and shoves a Benjamin at me.

  Aw, Christ. I fold the bill back up in her hand and give her wrist a peck with my lips, hoping the gesture will express my no thank you nicely. Club rules state guests may not solicit dancers and the dancers aren’t supposed to allow that kind of thing, but with enough drinks and sensual music sometimes those regulations are overlooked.

  Maneuvering away, I don’t look back. I get to the next table and dance on the surface. I remember the night Emelie was here and I was t
rying to make her jealous by working sex moves with a woman at a table. I won’t be doing that again.

  This table, however, is fucking rowdy and everything that can go wrong, does. Half the women sitting around me douse me with their drinks and scramble to lick the alcohol off my abs.

  I get away as fast and as graciously as I can and stop at the next group of gropers. Last time, I was searching out Em’s eyes, but this time I’m avoiding them.

  Not good. Gotta fix this shit.

  I follow the map straight to her, offer an apologetic look for my behavior—my mother would be sick—and pull her up onstage with me.

  Sitting her in the chair we call the throne on the center of the stage, I give her a sizzling lap dance. She laughs and throws her head back. I figure I may as well kiss her here while I’ve got the chance. Em kisses me back with feverish intent.

  Huh. Maybe this stripping thing isn’t so bad for the two of us after all—maybe she’s claiming me in front of all these other women.

  I’m good with that. In fact, I’m totally down with the idea.

  When the song ends, I escort her back to her table as everyone cheers and then I run off backstage.

  Colin’s up.

  Jason—another stripper—tosses me a towel. “Dude, you reek of appletinis.”

  “Yeah, I just got showered in the shit.” We both laugh.

  We all hang out in our briefs or thongs until Colin’s number is finished.

  Before we have a chance to get to the dressing room, right as his song ends, Thompson pulls an all-call.

  Fuck, I mutter under my breath. It means all the strippers have to go out on the floor for a special encore.

  Nickelback’s “SEX” burns up the speakers. Each of us goes out and dances in a line up—easy arse-shaking shit. A couple of the dancers bring it into the audience, visiting tables and giving lap dances or facial grinds. I lag back to avoid the inevitable groping until—

  Jay, who’s obviously had Emelie in his crosshairs, gets to her fast.

  Motherfucker! He saw me on stage with her earlier.

  I make a straight line to the table. As I get closer, I can see her shaking her head and mouthing the words, no thank you while putting her hands up to halt him. It’s not stopping Jay or slowing him down in the least—he’s getting all up in her face with his junk.

  In a fucking second I’ve got my hand on his shoulder and yank him back. “The lady said no thank you.”

  “Fuck off, Aussie. I don’t see your name written on her.”

  Jay pulls away and gets back to it. Em turns her head, curls up defensively, and squeezes her eyes closed to attempt to miss the worst of it.

  I grab him by both shoulders and remove him from her. “Pick another girl.”

  “Fuck’s up with you?” He shoves me back.

  “The lady’s taken.” Each of my muscles is coiled and on fire.

  “By you?” He smirks.

  He moves in towards her again. This time, though, he won’t get a chance to touch her before I break all his fucking fingers.

  Gripping his hand, I bend it back, forcing his body to follow. Off balanced, Jay stumbles over his own feet.

  I slide in between the two of them and make myself a wall. “Get out of here,” I aim at him.

  “Make me, fucker.”

  Shoving him hard with my shoulder in his gut, I move us both away from Emelie’s close proximity. He crashes against the floor, scrambles back to his feet, and throws the first swing. He misses by a mile. I throw the second. It connects hard against his jaw.

  He stays on his feet, but turns his head and spits out a mouthful of blood.

  “Oh, I love the show, hot stuff!” the bride-to-be who wanted to suck my dick a bit ago and her entourage come and surround the two of us.

  Their hands are all over me, running over my shoulders and chest, on my arse and abs and cock. My adrenaline is still in fight mode. I try to maneuver away, but bridezilla gets her hand down the front of my trunks and grabs hold of the anaconda.

  So not cool!

  “I’d love a last night fling to remember,” she croons. “I want you to fuck me, big boy.”

  Before I can react, her drunken, sloppy mouth is on mine and her hands latch hard onto the back of my head like she’s giving lifesaving mouth-to-mouth.

  Grasping her arms to gain control of her upper body, I try to firmly but gently extract her, but she’s like an octopus suctioned to my face!

  Finally, she relents and I’m able to slip from her tentacles.

  As if by some miracle, the song ends and whatever mind control it had over the female population of the club is broken.

  Scanning the table where Emelie and her friends are sitting, I see Violet and Raphael are talking, sipping drinks, and laughing. Em isn’t there, but I figure—since her mates are chilled out—maybe she is too. She’s probably in the loo.

  I sprint to the dressing room and have it all to myself. The guys are still on the floor entertaining.

  Only one girl I want to entertain.

  Hastily, I pull my clothes on and disinfect my mouth with several shots of Listerine, don my disguise of sunglasses and ball cap and stride back out to Em’s table. Her seat is still empty.

  “Hey, guys, where’s Em?”

  “Dude! You alright?” Raphael begins. “That was a sick fight.”

  “Not a scratch. He’s lucky we got swarmed with guests or I would’ve pummeled him.”

  “No doubt. What a douche!” Violet remarks, sipping her pink cocktail. “But you were all brave and swoony.”

  How can I not smile at that description? “Where’s Em”

  “Bathroom.” She rolls her eyes. “Where else?”

  “She’s been in there a long time.”

  “Come to think of it, she has.” Violet seems to just notice.

  “How many of those pretty drinks have you had?” I ask with a grin.

  She laughs. “Too many.”

  “Could you humor me and check on her?”

  “Oh yeah!” She grabs her purse—’cause that’s like a requirement for all women going to the loo. She adds with a giggle, “I didn’t even notice she went.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “Might be dangerous for you, Dirty Aussie,” she cautions, wide-eyed.

  She’s right.

  “I’ll wait out the side door.” I need some fresh air. It’ll help me clear my head, especially before I have to talk to Maggie.

  By the time she comes back to me, she wears a concerned look on her face. “I’ve looked everywhere. She’s gone. She’s also not answering her phone.”

  Goddammit. “I blew it.”

  “No you didn’t, Stone. She knew what she was getting herself into, coming here tonight.”

  I don’t think I believe her—she’s just being kind. “I’ve got to go after her.”

  “You take off,” she tells me then digs in her bag and passes me the house key. “Me and Raph will hang here and take a taxi later. That way, if she does show back up, we’ve got our bases covered.”

  “You’re awesome, Violet.” I about-face and jog towards the door.

  “Stone!” Violet’s voice stops me in my tracks. “If she’s not in the apartment, try up on the roof.”

  Her best friend was right, she’s not in the apartment, so I climb the fire escape to the roof. Before I get to the top, I hear “Pillowtalk” by Zayn playing and find her there—

  Dancing.

  I stay in the shadows and watch as she soars.

  She looks so free, so fluid, so rapturous. Her hair is tossed with the swings of her head and the movement of her sleek, lean body. At once, she is elegant and sensual.

  Em spins, kicks, sways, and tilts her head. She’s mixing up styles in a dance I’ve never seen her do before. Time stops as I watch her.

  Her dance digs deep, expressing powerful emotions. It’s so stirring, my eyes become bleary and I can’t move for fear she’ll stop her performance.

  Le
aping into the air, she kicks to the side while arching her arm above her head. Then she immediately slows it down into a graceful ballet pose—she stands on one foot while her other leg rises slowly until she’s in a standing forward split and her lovely foot points to the night sky.

  I’m lost in her.

  When the chorus hits, she pirouettes en pointe! This is the first I’ve seen her up on her toes like this. In the pretty pink dress, she looks like the tiny figurine ballerina that pops up and twirls delicately when a child opens her jewelry box.

  When I think she could captivate me no further, she busts out some street moves that rival my own. She’s created and choreographed an alloy of styles to near perfection.

  She’s flawless.

  She’s a masterpiece.

  Em freezes mid-dance. “Who’s there?” She sounds frightened.

  “It’s only me.” I show myself quickly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt… or invade your sanctuary.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Emelie

  Stone did what?!?

  (I seem to say or think this a lot)

  “That was the most exquisite dance I’ve ever seen.”

  “Thank you.” I’m quiet and can’t quite meet his gaze. I wasn’t expecting an audience.

  “Emelie, I was looking for you everywhere. I’m so incredibly sorry—about everything—from Jay being a complete arsehole to getting mauled by that woman.”

  “I know. Neither of those things were in your control.” I wipe my hair from my face but keep my eyes glued to the roof floor beneath my feet. “Thanks for protecting me from the guy.”

  “Em, please look at me.”

  “I can’t,” I whisper painfully.

  “Emelie.”

  “I’m not… tough,” I admit.

  “I’ve been training with you. You’re tougher than you look.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  He takes a step closer.

  “No, Stone, I really don’t think you do.” I still can’t look at him. “When I left the studio the other day to run out for coffee, it was because I don’t think I can keep working with you. I know I made a deal, and I don’t mean to back out, but you’re ready without me.”