I sip my whiskey as one blue-lingerie-clad stripper meets my eyes. “So this is a bachelor party? And you’re the groom?”
I smile. “That’s me.”
“I love grooms.”
Small talk with strippers is not really the norm. Usually it’s more of a transaction: rubbing and gyrating in exchange for a few singles. But this isn’t your typical strip club. And I’m a friendly guy. “How come?”
“They’re always the wildest ones.”
“Not me. Tonight is more for my buddies. I’m just an innocent bystander.”
She giggles and pinches my cheek. “You don’t look innocent.” She gives my face a mini slap. “You look more like the naughty type.”
I wink. “Guilty as charged.”
A curly-haired girl with wide hips, wearing a purple bikini and standing next to Jack, vies for my attention next. “You wanna see a magic trick?”
“Sure.”
Out of nowhere, she holds up a large cucumber. “I’m going to make this cucumber disappear. Watch closely.” She peels off her bikini bottoms, spreads her legs, and inserts the end of the cucumber into her pussy. Then she holds her hands up over her head. Her abdominal muscles clench, and magically the cucumber slides up, disappearing into her twat.
Now all of our mouths are hanging open like Warren’s.
Then, the cucumber peeks out and slides down. She grabs it and says sweetly, “Ta-da!”
I clap my hands. “You are a very talented girl.”
Yes-I’m going to hell. But at least I’ll be in good company.
Jack holds up his hands, fingers spread. “I give it a ten for creativity.”
Matthew adds, “You’d be a shoo-in for that X Factor show.”
She just smirks at me. “How about a private dance and I can show you all of my talents?”
I shrug her off. “Maybe later.”
Images
One hour, a few drinks, and about a hundred $1 bills later, Carla rejoins our little group. “I hope you gentlemen are enjoying yourselves?”
While I pass the time watching two girls tongue-kissing each other at the direction of a middle-aged patron, Matthew answers, “We are, thank you. The service and amenities are impeccable.”
“We aim to please. And now it’s time to give the guest of honor a true Paradise welcome.” She takes my arm. “If you’ll come with me, Drew?”
That takes my attention away from the Female Foreplay Show. “I’m fine right here, thanks.”
She smiles persuasively. “I’m afraid it’s not optional. Your friends insisted.”
I frown at the guys. “What did you douche bags do?”
Matthew laughs sinisterly. “Nothing you weren’t expecting.”
“It’s your last night of freedom, man. Enjoy it,” Jack adds.
Two more girls come up behind me. They and Carla pull me off my stool and guide me onstage as Steven yells out, “It’ll only hurt for a minute!”
I decide to go with the flow. It was too much to hope that the guys didn’t have some sick, twisted event planned. Best to just get it over with now. A lone chair sits empty in the middle of the stage. As three pairs of feminine hands push me down in it, the lights dim even lower. Spotlights dance around the room, and when “One More Night” by Maroon 5 comes on, the crowd cheers.
Two woman bounce out from backstage. They’re wearing black G-strings and sheer, black button-down tops. After a few ass shakes and high kicks for the crowd, they turn toward me. One drops to her knees and crawls around my legs like a submissive-and appealing-kitten.
Her hands slide up my calves to my knees and she pushes-roughly jerking them apart. Then she ties each ankle to the leg of the chair with a surprisingly sturdy ribbon. The girl in back scratches red fingernails down my chest, stopping just above the danger zone. Then she yanks both my arms back and ties my wrists behind me. It’s not exactly enjoyable. Some guys like to be dominated, but as history has shown, I’m much more of the dominator type.
But my interest is piqued. The crowd goes wild as another woman appears front and center-swinging gracefully around the pole, obviously the star of the show. She’s petite, but thigh-high, leather, black boots with insanely spiked heels make her seem taller. Her hair is tucked under a black leather cap, shocking red gloss covers her lips, and dark sunglasses disguise much of her face. The rest of her body, however, is bared for all to see. A black thong with a scarcely there triangle hangs on her hips. Her tits are adorned with stick-on nipple tassels-and nothing else.
With her back to me, she rips off the cap and throws it to the crowd, revealing a cascade of shiny, brown hair. She takes a few more spins on the pole, then turns toward me and stalks forward.
For a moment, I’d swear on my kid that it was Kate. The face and body dimensions are that similar.
Upon closer inspection, I notice the differences, however. Besides the fact that Kate Brooks would never be up on a stage shaking her tits and ass in the faces of strangers-unless she actually wanted me to stick ice picks through the eyeballs of every asshole in the place.
And, yes, that would include the assholes I came with.
But also, this girl’s skin is paler than my fiancée’s, her nose thinner, her hair lighter-not quite the same mahogany shade. Other than that, the resemblance is pretty fucking frightening.
She spins and leans against me, her back pressed up against my chest. Her hair falls across my face and tickles my nose. She smells . . . great. Like honeysuckle and jasmine. It’s a musky incense, like the aroma of a closed room after hours of fantastic fucking. She doesn’t smell nearly as incredible as Kate-but her bouquet is what I would’ve probably defined as incredible if I’d never had the pleasure of Kate’s sublime scent.
Her arms snake around my neck and her ass nestles perfectly against my dick. Then she slides down between my open legs and arches forward elegantly, raising her ass tantalizingly toward my face. She plants her feet on the floor and straightens her legs, while still bent over at the waist. Then she slides the thong down her legs and smacks her right butt cheek hard-in the way I’m sure every guy in the place is chomping at the bit to do.
She stands up and turns to face me again. She kicks one leg slowly up around my head-giving me an unobstructed, detailed display of her bare slit.
I swear I try not to look. Really.
But I do.
Give me a motherfucking break-I’m engaged, not dead.
She climbs onto my lap, facing me. Then she shoves the thong she’d been wearing in my mouth. The crowd roars to a deafening crescendo.
I think the crazy train just jumped the track. I’d like to get off now-and not in the happy way. It’s all fun and games until you have another woman’s bodily fluids on your tongue. Kate would never be okay with this. Remind me to guzzle some Listerine when we get back to the room.
Her red lips smile as she snatches the tie off my neck, and I manage to spit out the thong. Unperturbed, she drapes the open tie around my shoulders and holds each side like a horse’s reins. She wraps the ends around her hands and uses them for leverage. Her hips sway and swivel expertly, the way only an experienced dancer-or expensive hooker-knows how.
To my utter horror-my cock gets hard. He moves quickly into position-rigid and ready.
Since the day Kate let me fuck her, I, and my dick, haven’t given any other women a second glance. No matter how attractive or available, we haven’t been interested. Or aroused.
Not one frigging time.
It feels completely wrong. To use Kate’s words-it’s like a compass pointing south. If that were to happen, it would mean the universe was off-kilter. The end of the world as we know it. That’s almost what this seems like.
Like a betrayal.
Maybe the priests were right, after all. Maybe penises are evil.
I glare down at my lap.
Traitor.
Chapter 13
After the stage lights go dark and I’m untied from the chair, I can’t get off the stage quickly enough. I make a beeline for my happy place, also known as the bar.
The guys surround me, backslapping and laughing like chimpanzees at the zoo. “That was awesome!”
“I’m rethinking this whole marriage thing. If it gets me a fucking show like that, I just might do it.”
“I’ll take those seconds any day. . . . Wasn’t anything sloppy about that brunette!”
A thousand frazzled thoughts race through my head at once, but I put up a solid front.
“It was great.” Talk quickly turns to joining the poker game in the back room. As the others make their way over, Matthew turns back to me, where I’m still sitting at the bar.
“You okay, man?”
I lick my dry lips. “Yeah, I’m good. Just going to finish my drink.”
He nods understandingly and leaves me on my own. Have to admit, I’m a little bit shaky. What was that hard-on all about? Did it happen because the woman grinding on me looked so much like Kate? And most important, do I have to tell Kate about it?
Jesus.
I go from looking at my drink to swallowing it in .5 seconds. There’s no way I’m telling Kate.
Don’t look at me like that. Whoever said honesty was the best policy never lived with a frigging chick. Sometimes, it’s best to keep your mouth shut. Certain things women don’t want to know-things, like this, that will accomplish nothing but upsetting them.
I’m comfortable with my decision . . . until someone taps me on the shoulder.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.