The Only Rule: The Casual Rule 3

by AC Netzel

  “Saw me what?”

  “Flirting. Seriously, Allie? That’s the way you act in front of the man you say you’re in love with.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “I watched you at the bar, practically hanging on that guy. And so you know, Vince saw it too. He looked pissed.”

  “He was.” She crosses her arms and smirks.

  “How can you do that to him?”

  “Do what?”

  “Blatantly flirt with someone else right in front of him? It’s incredibly disrespectful.”

  She smiles.

  “You think doing that to him is funny?” I ask, annoyed at her smugness.

  “Who do you think told me to flirt with that guy?”

  “Wha…?” I frown.

  “Yeah, morality police. Vince told me.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “It makes him insanely jealous. He can be a real possessive fucker.”

  “And he likes that?”

  “Nooooo.” She shakes her head. “He hates it.”

  “I’m confused. Why would he want you to do something he hates?”

  “It’s simple. Watching me with other guys gets him off.”

  “Really?” I lean in a little closer to her. “Sex too?” I whisper.

  “Of course not,” she says indignantly. “No one but Vince touches me.”

  “So he sends you to flirt with other men then gets jealous? And hates it, but likes it.”

  “Now you got it.”

  “No, I really don’t think I do. This seriously turns him on?”

  She nods enthusiastically. “Big time. He had dinner with a granite pole in his pants,” she says matter-of-factly.

  “And you know this because…”

  “He put my hand on his crotch when I sat back down.”

  “Of course he did.”

  “Know what else he did?”

  “You’re going to tell me anyway, so just say it.”

  “Fingered me during dinner,” she says mischievously.

  “No,” I say in disbelief.

  “Jules, the risotto wasn’t that good.”

  “Oh my God. You’re freaks.”

  She chuckles, nodding her head. “You have no idea.”

  “Hey, baby,” Vince comes out from nowhere, gives a quick peck on her shoulder then continues to an unoccupied bathroom.

  Allie cracks a broad smile.

  “What’s that smile about?” I ask.

  “He’s probably off to spank the monkey. He was so hard. It had to be painful.”

  “Ugh, really?”

  “Chill out.” She rests a hand on my shoulder. “He’ll wash his hands when he’s done.”

  ~o0o~

  “I love you guys. I can’t wait for the wedding. I’m finally gaining a brother-in-law.”

  “Stuart, I’m already your brother-in-law. You’re gaining a sister-in-law,” Ben tells him.

  Stuart is a glassy-eyed, hot mess drunk. And apparently a lightweight. Two drinks were his limit. He had four.

  “Oh yeah. What you said. Did you know that Julia is my friend? My secret best-est friend in the whole wide world. Shhh.” He leans in toward us, putting a finger to his lips. “No one knows,” he whispers.

  Stuart and I became ‘secret friends’ when we bonded last Memorial Day. I was feeling insecure about Ben and his past relationships. Stuart laid them to rest in the kindest, most reassuring way. But since Elizabeth and Cam-eel are best friends, we decided it was in his best interest to keep our friendship on the down-low.

  Ben turns to me, amused. “Secret friend, huh?”

  “Shhh. No one knows.” I giggle.

  “Your wedding will be the event of the century.” Stuart babbles on. “I’m making the most glorious centerpieces. It’s going to make the New York Botanical Garden look like grandma’s flower box. I’ll call the editor of the society page from the New York Times to send someone to take photographs.”

  “I’m taking the photographs. It’s what I do,” Marcello blurts out.

  “You’re a photographer?”

  Marcello nods, grabs his beer, and takes a swig. “I’m amazing.”

  “You’re something,” I add sarcastically.

  It’s always entertaining when two inebriated minds meet. In the case of Marcello and Stuart… I’m going to sit back and listen to their thoughts unravel. As far as I’m concerned, this is the opening act. And it’s pure comedy.

  “Don’t listen to Julia,” Marcello dismisses. “I have an idea, Stewy.”

  “Tell me, tell me.” Stuart claps his hands excitedly.

  I’m glad I stopped drinking. I want to remember this intoxicated rambling and use it as blackmail at a later date.

  “You bring rose petals to my studio,” Marcello tells him. “Then Ben can recreate that American Beauty movie scene where the girl is naked except for the petals covering her privates.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Ben says.

  “Once he’s naked in a room with me,” Marcello smirks. “I’ll steal him from Julia.”

  Peter shakes his head. “Sweetheart, remember that filter we talk about when you drink too much? It’s been compromised again.”

  Marcello has never made a secret about his crush on Ben. It’s been a running joke for a long time. Peter never bats an eye at Marcello’s ogling. He’s the most secure guy I’ve ever met.

  “Pffftt… fine. Allie, will you pose?”

  “I’m down.” Raising her beer, she turns to Vince. “You want to watch?”

  “Fuck yeah,” Vince answers.

  “You’re okay with another man seeing your girlfriend naked?” Elizabeth asks Vince in horror.

  “Mistress, I’m not interested in what she’s selling,” Marcello deadpans. “Anyway, I photograph nude models all the time.”

  “Maybe Allie can pose with another girl. Then we can take it back to my place,” Vince suggests with humor in his tone.

  “You like that dick of yours, Cowboy? ‘Cause if you do, you better keep your mouth shut before I take it and detach it,” Allie says matter-of-factly. “That’s my dick. I lassoed it, I own it, and I’m the only one who rides it.”

  Vince laughs and kisses her cheek. “I’m kidding. It’s just guy talk.”

  “It’s not guy talk. It’s asshole talk.” Allie says he’s a possessive fucker, but it looks like it goes both ways.

  Satin returns to our table. “The show is about to start in a few minutes. Can I get anyone anything?”

  “A round of everything!” Stuart shouts, flailing his arms wildly in the air. Stuart’s a fun drunk.

  “I’d like to get around your everything,” Satin murmurs.

  “Excuse me, Sir and/or Missy.” Elizabeth wags a finger. “He’s still taken.”

  “Are you going to spank me for misbehaving, Mistress?” Satin jokes, holding up her hands in surrender.

  “Spank? Of course not.”

  Whoosh, over her head again.

  “I’m going to the ladies room before the show,” I tell our friends. Once I open the peeing floodgates, I have to go ten times.

  “I’ll walk you,” Ben offers.

  We walk to the bathrooms and wait at the pre-show line. Ben wraps an arm around me, pulling me close and kisses my neck.

  I giggle, arching my shoulder up when his lips tickle my skin. “Are you having a good time?” I ask.

  “Yes. I plan on having a better time later when you give me that lap dance.”

  “You’re not letting that go, are you?”

  “A deal’s a deal.”

  “I don’t mind. I like stripping for you.”

  “You can strip for me now.” I know that tone. He’s not joking.

  “Right here? Are you crazy?”

  “In the bathroom. They’re single rooms. Gender neutral. No one will walk in.”

  “No.”

  “Give me a little show. Something to look forward to later.”

  I twirl
out of his arms and take a step back, shaking my head.

  He nods, his eyes dancing with mischief, slowly inching closer to me.

  “We can’t.” I take another small step backward.

  He steps forward again. My heart leaps when he touches a few strands of my hair. “We can.”

  He’s pursuing me, and dammit, I like it. I’m tingling everywhere, and it’s not booze related. This is a pure hormonal rush. I like being hunted. Doesn’t hurt that the predator’s hot… and smells so good.

  There’s something about the idea of a public sex act that gets me going. Maybe it’s the danger of getting caught. The forbidden.

  I shake my head again, taking one final step back until I’m against the door. He takes a step forward and leans in toward me.

  “Get in,” he mutters, the hum of his voice sending a straight line of pulsating lustful waves directly to my sex.

  “Ben,” I plead. We both know I don’t mean it.

  “Open the door,” he whispers in my ear, inciting a small moan from me.

  I reach behind, turn the door knob, and we practically fall in.

  “What if someone saw us come in together?”

  “They’ll think I’m one lucky son-of-a-bitch. Now let me look at you. Take down your top.”

  “Ben…”

  “Give me a little preview for later.”

  “Ben.”

  “Julia. Take down. Your top.”

  Fuck it, if he wants a show—he’ll get a show. Slowly, I slide my shirt’s spaghetti straps across my shoulders and down my arms until it puddles around my waist. I stand in front of him in a white lace bra.

  He bites down on his lip and exhales. “Keep going,” he cajoles. “Your bra too.”

  A small smile curls from the side of my mouth as I reach behind my back and unhook my bra, leisurely sliding the straps down my arms and hand it to Ben. I stand before him, topless, vulnerable, and horny as hell.

  “So fucking perfect.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as his intense gaze focuses on my breasts. He looks like he’s about to eat me alive. And I think I might let him. Lifting my chin with a finger, he says, “You kill me.” He leans in and kisses me, his tongue wet, warm, dancing with mine.

  “I’m so turned on,” I whisper. Closing my eyes, I anticipate the caress of his strong hand. I take a deep breath, my insides tingling, awaiting the brush of his fingertips against my naked skin and…

  Nothing.

  “Don’t you want to touch me?”

  “Yes.” He drinks in my current state of undress, touching me only with his gaze. My nipples are hard, my insides yearning for connection, and my hands are fumbling with the button on his pants. He shakes his head and grabs my hand. “Get dressed.” He tosses my bra back to me.

  “What? We’re not going to…?”

  “We’ll build the anticipation for later tonight.”

  “Anticipation is overrated. Instant gratification is here for the taking. Take it.” I straighten my posture, jutting out my chest just enough to grab more of his attention.

  “I got what I want. All night long you’re going to drive me crazy.”

  “You’re not going to touch me?”

  “No.”

  “Ben, I need a little…”

  “Relief?” he asks.

  I nod. “Please.”

  He leans in and kisses behind my ear, taking a quick nibble of my earlobe. “Later. I’m leaving now. I’ll wait for you on the other side of the door.”

  “I hate you,” I hiss.

  “I know.” He opens the bathroom door slightly, and turns his head to me. “Don’t touch yourself.”

  He leaves, shutting the door behind him. What the fuck? That sexy bastard left me hanging. I flip my middle finger to the closed door then re-hook my bra.

  ~o0o~

  Once we’re at our table, the room lights dim. I cross my legs, frustrated, and horny. Ben pretends he’s cool and collected, but the fact that he escorted me to my chair then snapped my bra strap tells me exactly where his mind is solely focused.

  It ain’t drag queens.

  A single spot light shines on the hot pink velvet curtain. Music fills the room and the curtains open. A vision in a red velvet gown and a tall jet black beehive hairdo sashays to the center of the stage. The crowd goes wild as she grabs the microphone off its stand.

  Softly, she sings the first few words and I recognize the song immediately. “All that Jazz” from the play Chicago. As she sings, her voice steadily gets so powerful, I’m moved. By the time she reaches the last note, there’s a hush spread across the room. She’s spectacular. Our table stands with the rest of the audience, wowed and awed by her supreme talent.

  She smiles and takes a dramatic bow, batting her long, thick lashes.

  “Good Evening, my lovelies. Welcome to ChaChas. I’m Ellie Ganza. Nice to see so many regulars with us tonight.” She waves across the room, then over to the bar area. She looks down at our table and blows an air kiss to Vince. I do a double take when I see my boss Vivian and her husband Jim waving back from the bar. Vivian is decked out in a whole lot of black leather. She looks wasted, hanging on her husband. I knew she had a wild streak in her.

  “For the drag virgins,” the MC continues. “There’s only one rule around here. Don’t steal my spotlight. And we’ll get along just fine.” The crowd laughs as she continues. “So many delicious men in the audience tonight. I approve. Do you think I’m pretty?” she asks the audience.

  “Yes,” a few shout out.

  “Then put in your contacts, darlings. I’m drop dead gorgeous. You may adore me while I judge you.” She does a three-sixty turn, while the audience claps and whistles. This Queen sure knows how to work a crowd. “A little birdie told me this table,” she points at us, “is celebrating a special occasion. Who are the future bride and groom?”

  Crap.

  Allie nudges me with her shoulder. I raise my hand oh-so-slightly. Ben just smiles.

  “Girlfriend, is that your man next to you?” Ellie asks.

  “Yes,” I squeak out.

  “Oh honey, he’s delectable. Do you share?”

  I smile and shake my head.

  “He’s taken,” Elizabeth scolds with a cold scowl.

  ‘He’s taken’ may be her new catchphrase. I’ll sell T-shirts after the show to commemorate it.

  I should be grateful she’s defending us… I think. But the girl needs to calm the hell down and loosen up a little. No one thinks anyone, especially a drag queen named Ellie Ganza, is going to steal Ben from me.

  The first time I met Elizabeth, Ben referred to her as “the funny one.” He must have meant funny as in deranged. This girl has zero sense of humor. Zippo. Zilch.

  Stuart is a happy drunk. Elizabeth lives on the opposite side of the drunk spectrum. She’s a naggy drunk.

  I hate naggy drunks.

  “Well, that’s a dick shriveler.” Ellie Ganza chuckles. “Everyone has a man but moi. All I have to keep me company are my liver spots.” The crowd erupts in laughter.

  She introduces the next Queen, a petite, curvaceous vision in a gold sequined raincoat and a purple retro flip wig named Pussy Whipped. She blows kisses out to the audience then breaks out into a super raunchy version of “It’s Raining Men.” Four shirtless dancers, in the skimpiest, tightest Speedos jiggle their stuff behind her. Their bodies are hard, oiled, and magnificently muscular, but damn… all that bouncy man junk.

  No. Just no.

  I can’t. And no one else should either.

  Ben rests his hand on my thigh, stroking it up and down then squeezes it. I smile to myself as I catch him peeking at my cleavage.

  “Bet you wish you touched them,” I whisper to him.

  “Not as much as you wish I did,” he whispers back.

  I glance around the table. Everyone is focusing on the stage. Except for Ben and me. I casually skim my fingertips across the top of my cleavage.

  “Perfect,” I mouth.

  Hi
s eyes are hooded as he runs his index finger back and forth under his bottom lip.

  I smile, well aware that right now I own him. My tits own him, anyway. He smiles back at me with the same knowledge.

  ~o0o~

  We’re a little over an hour and a half into the show. It’s been a blast. And a whole lot cruder than I expected. These Queens are downright vulgar. I don’t think I’ve ever heard the word ‘cock’ so many times. Elizabeth’s mouth gaped through most of the acts. And I’m pretty certain I saw her clutch her pearls in horror a few times. Stuart’s face was a steady shade of red, fanning himself with his hand most of the show. The poor guy was so unnerved—he adjusted his bowtie a dozen times.

  The rest of us just laughed.

  Occasionally, I peek over at the bar where my boss Vivian is still seated. It’s weird seeing your mentor in a different scenario, like bumping into your teacher at the grocery store when you’re in the fifth grade. Vivian is usually so pulled together. A perfect model of professionalism. Tonight she’s obviously tossed back a few. Dozen. She’s practically straddling her husband, Jim. They’re making out like teenagers in an empty house. I laugh to myself. Another couple who are childless for the night and making it all about sex. I love it.

  Vivian is a sloppy whore drunk. I always suspected she had a bit of naughty hiding under that polished persona. Now I know for sure.

  Ellie Ganza’s voice snaps me out of my spying and redirects my attention back to the stage. Four Queens who had entertained us with their vocal abilities, lip-synching, and pornographic humor are on stage together.

  “Darlings, it’s time for our night to come to a close. Just one final thought before our last song… Be kind to yourself, be kind to each other, and believe in love.”

  The music starts and the four Queens begin to sing Cher’s “Believe.”

  Stuart’s droopy drunk eyelids perk up, his mouth opens wide. “Cher’s my jam!” he exclaims, slapping his hands to his cheeks.

  Allie, Marcello and I stare at each other and mouth in unison. “His jam?”

  Stuart surprises us when he pushes his chair back, jumps on it, and sings along with the Queens, belting out the lyrics at the top of his lungs.

  He hops up and down on his chair, fist pumping high into the air. The center of attention.

  Satin Chiffon struts over to our table and surprises everyone when she doesn’t pull him down for stealing the spotlight. Instead, she dances around him like he’s a stripper pole. The Queens on stage continue singing when Satin waves them on. I guess that’s the “he’s cool” code. Ellie tosses Stuart her hot pink feather boa. He catches it and wraps it around his neck, grabbing each end and pulling it side to side as he continues to belt out the song.