by T L Swan
“Hi Natasha,” he smiles at me.
“Oh hi, Adrian,” I push out. “Ben,” I nod to him and he nods back. I smile at Joshua and he just glares at me. Shit. This is uncomfortable. Unable to control myself I take a quick peek at him, why does he have to be so damn attractive in his grey pinstripe suit? Looking all flawless. His dark olive skin and square jaw only accentuate his piercing blue eyes. His body radiates power and at the moment… anger. I can feel the contempt dripping from his every pore. Of course, I look like total shit in my scrubs and no makeup. This is a total disaster. I drop Simon’s arm like a hot potato.
“Um, this is Simon.” I introduce him to the three men.
Adrian shakes his hand first. “Nice to meet you, Adrian.”
Simon smiles, “Pleasure.” Then Ben holds out his hand, Simon shakes it and then Simon holds out his hand to shake Joshua’s hand. Joshua stares at him blank–faced and keeps his hands in his pockets, unwilling to shake his hand. I frown uncomfortably.
Simon raises his eyebrows. “Problem?” he says to Joshua.
Joshua glares at him. “You tell me,” he snaps. Oh shit, what is he playing at?
Adrian cuts in, “We had better be going.” He seems embarrassed. “Lovely to see you Tash,” he smiles and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. Ben smiles and Joshua storms off. Simon and I look at each other. I am unable to hide my horror.
“Who was that?” Simon frowns.
“Ex–boyfriend,” I mutter.
“I know why he’s an ex. He’s a prick.” I smile and nod nervously. I hardly taste my damn sushi. I just stare into space. Simon is oblivious, rambling on and on about crap, who cares whatever. For ten minutes I listen to his constant jabbering. He is really starting to annoy me now. Just shut the fuck up, I’m trying to think here, I’m holding my temples. What an absolute bastard, I am boiling mad. How dare he be so rude to my verbal diarrhoea friend? I take out my phone and text the number I have for him, not even knowing if that is in fact still his number.
You’re an asshole.
I wait and scowl. It probably isn’t even his number. I stole it off Mum’s phone about two years ago. Bloody Mum, can’t even save a number right. My phone beeps a message.
No, you’re the asshole.
What! Is he kidding? How am I an asshole? How dare he? Who the hell does he think he is? I text back.
You have got to be kidding.
I smile. There, that showed him, how dare he say I’m an asshole? I am definitely not an asshole. He is unfucking believable. My phone beeps a message.
FUCK OFF
What the fuck? Red steam is shooting out of my ears. No guy, or anyone actually, has ever told me to fuck off, and especially not in capital letters in print. I am infuriated. I want to throw my new iPhone across the restaurant. I start to drum my fingers on the table, doubletime. Simon is still oblivious to my rage, god he really is docile.
“Come on, let’s go,” he smiles.
What shall I text back? I need the upper hand. I am tapping my front tooth with my fingernail while I think. Simon is right, he really is a prick. I sit in Simon’s car, silently looking out the window as I troll my brain for a good comeback. I’ve got nothing. Use your brain Natasha, I’m sure there’s one in there somewhere. I just know at 2 am tomorrow morning an awesome comeback is going to pop into my head and it will haunt me for the rest of my life. I have to text now or it will look like I am thinking about my reply, even though I am. This is a total disaster. In the end I text the lamest reply in human history.
Gladly
That night at Oscar’s, Bridget and Abbie laugh as they read the texts.
“How did it go from you’re an asshole to fuck off?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head as they continue to pass my phone to each other.
“And why does he think you’re an asshole?” I slump on the table and put my face into my hands. “Probably because I am an asshole, a stupid beyond belief asshole.”
They laugh again. “He knows you better than you think.”
“Thanks a lot,” I sigh. “This isn’t funny, bitches.”
“Yes it is.” They both huddle together and giggle. “It’s frigging hilarious.”
Wednesday at work drags. I’m still fuming. I have thought of nothing else since I saw him yesterday. Fuming is a lot more satisfying than pining. I’m just so off him. After lunch I get a text from Bridget.
We are going out tonight. Spying on Jeremy, time to bust a move.
Great. I smile as I read the text. I need some NCIS action and it will take my mind off prickface. I text back.
Sounds good. Is Abbie coming?
She replies.
Of course, meet me at mine at seven.
K
We are standing together in a line in Bridget’s bedroom, looking at our reflection in the mirror. “We look like hookers,” I grimace.
“That’s the point,” she replies.
“Are you sure you read the email right?”
She nods. “Yes, what do you think? I just thought this shit up?” Jeremy accidentally left his email open last night and Bridget snooped. Apparently he is going to an upmarket strip club tonight with his work friends and we are going to sneak into the joint to bust him in the act.
“What time does it open?”
“Half an hour,” she replies. “We had better get going.”
An hour later we are sitting at a table in the back corner of what is probably the classiest night club I have been in. The walls are a deep smoky grey and the lounges and pendant lights are all in black velvet. Huge silver gilded mirrors hang on the walls and giant palm trees are in massive ceramic pots surrounding the perimeter. Whoever the interior designer was hit the target. It can only be described as sensual. I have never been in a space like this before, it screams opulence and fantasy. The sound system is amazing, and the music seems to be surrounding us.
“This wig is itchy,” I scratch my scalp.
“Why did you wear it then?”
“Because I don’t want to run into one of my patients. I’m in disguise.”
“Oh phooey, you look like Natasha with a long blonde wig on.”
I nod as I sip my margarita, “Yeah I know. Mmm this is good, it’s super icy. Do you see him?” We all look around.
“No, it’s pretty empty actually.” We all relax.
A cute blond bartender comes over. “Can I get you beautiful ladies anything to drink?”
“Sure, three more margaritas thanks.” He smiles and nods. “What’s upstairs?” I ask as if interested.
“Just more booths with views to the stage.” We all nod, trying our best to look cool and uncaring. “Is anyone up there?” I ask. He smiles and shakes his head—he is so onto us. “No one yet,” he gives me a wink. We all nod, a little more than relieved. At the end of the bar there is a second set of stairs and there is a large red velvet rope across the bottom of the stairwell.
“What’s up there?” I ask.
“That’s the VIP room for private parties.”
Abbie frowns, “Private parties?”
He nods and smiles. “Yes only one group at a time.”
“What goes on up there?” Bridget asks.
He shakes his head and smiles. “You don’t want to know.” We are all shocked to silence.
“Is anyone up there now?” Abbie asks.
“No, it costs $5000.00 just to get up there.” We all look at each other.
“Do people really pay that?” I question.
“You would be surprised. It’s used every night.”
“What do you get for five grand?” Bridget asks.
He smiles as he walks off. “Anything you want, pretty much. But mostly sex and cocaine.”
“Wow,” I mouth to the girls, and they nod in agreement. “Shit, anything you want.” I chew my ice. “This place is a high–class brothel.” Oh shit, a disturbing thought enters my brain. Panic sets in.
“Bridget, what are you going to do if
we do see him here? Please don’t cause a scene.” I’m beginning to regret this decision to come here. It could get embarrassing.
“I’m not giving him the satisfaction,” she sneers. “I am just going to watch him and then dump him tomorrow and tell him I’m sleeping with someone with a massive dick who rocks in the sack.” We all laugh. Good plan, I like it. The music starts, and the song ‘Bad to the Bone’ blares through the sound system, and we all smile. Of course this song is playing, so typical strip joint. A beautiful blonde saunters down the catwalk. She looks like she just stepped off a Sports Illustrated cover shoot, all muscly and oiled up, although the fake tan is to the extreme. She oozes confidence. She intimidates the three of us as we all sit in silence, entranced like she is dancing just for us. As she gets to the end of the runway she slams into the side splits. Shit, she’s flexible too. She comes straight up into a bend back to handstand up. Yep, she’s good alright. She slowly but surely commands everyone’s attention in the room, including ours. We watch, riveted, as she slowly peels every piece of clothing from her hot body. She’s a dancer obviously, and I have to say she is blowing the preconceived idea of what a stripper looks like out the window.
“Fuck, she’s hot,” Abbie whispers. I nod, unable to take my eyes off her and Bridge answers, “I know, right.” She doesn’t look easy—she looks alluring, sexy. She takes off her bra to expose the best set of fake tits I have ever seen. We all sit mesmerised, mouths open.
“That’s it,” Bridget whispers. “Decision made, I’m getting my boobs done.”
We all nod. “Good idea,” notes Abbie. She slowly turns around to turn her back to the audience and bends over without bending her knees and slides her G–String down her legs to reveal her beautifully pink vagina and anus, not a hair in sight.
“Holy crap,” Abbie whispers. “I think I’m in love.” The whole club including us are collectively holding their breath, and as she slowly starts to touch her breasts with both her hands we all lean in towards the stage.
“Fuck, this is hot,” Bridget whispers. I nod, still too entranced to speak. She lays on her back with her legs spread to the audience and starts to finger–fuck herself in time with the music, groaning and writhing on the floor. We all look at each other wide–eyed, and a little shocked to be honest. I don’t know what we were expecting but it wasn’t intimately watching an attractive woman bring herself to orgasm. She slowly brings her fingers to her lips and starts to suck them in her mouth. The audience makes a collective groan, shit. We are so out of our depth here. She rolls to her knees and puts her rear to the audience still going hell for leather with her fingers. We all sit shocked, silent and wide–eyed as she brings herself to a screaming orgasm. Moment pass and she sits up onto her knees and sucks her fingers dry. The crowd goes wild with everyone rising to a standing ovation, including us. She stands and bows, the room is a buzz. The atmosphere is suddenly pumped full of testosterone and pheromones. We clink our glasses together and giggle.
“Holy shit,” I whisper. “Why am I turned on?”
“I know, right.” Bridge nods.
Abbie laughs while draining her glass, “I have a good mind to give her my number.”
After about our sixth cocktail and having lost any inhibitions we ever had, we realize we are actually having a really good time. “Girls, I don’t want to sound pervy but I actually love this place. The girls are all gorgeous, classy and entertaining. The cocktails are amazing. And look at the crowd,” Abbie gestures around the room with her hands. “The crowd is all well behaved, all staying silently in their seats. If this was a male strip show the women would be screaming like lunatics and jumping on stage, trying to rip clothes off.” We all pulled a disgusted face.
“I know, I always assumed strip joints would be the same, but they are definitely not on the same page. This is top shelf though remember.” We all nod. A few acts of more beautiful girls and I make a surprising discovery.
“Did you notice something?” I lean in to whisper to my friends. They both quickly scan the room with their eyes, thinking I’ve seen Jeremy. “No, not that,” I shake my head. “There is not a welcome mat in this place.”
The girls both frown and look around, “You’re right, this place is pubeless. Not a pubic hair in the joint.”
“Why is that?” Bridge frowns.
“I don’t know—do men really like this?” I hunch my shoulders.
Abbie smirks, “Really, if I had to choose between a waxed one and a hairy one I would go waxed every time.”
“I suppose.” We all nod.
“Anyway,” Abbie puts both of her hands onto the table. “I am booking us in tomorrow afternoon to Beautiful Behinds.”
“What for?”
“We are going to get Brazilians and Anal Bleaching.”
I choke on my drink. “Anal Bleaching, are you mad?”
“No, did you look at these girls?” I nod. “Their bits are all porn star pink.”
“What, so it isn’t natural?” Bridget frowns.
“No, it isn’t natural. They get everything bleached so it’s a pretty pink colour. Guys love it.”
“Fuck off, do you get it done?”
“Of course,” she smirks. Oh I’m shocked, how do I not know this? “If you want to look pretty for Mr Stanton you had better get it done too.” She grabs my arm on the table, “I’m pretty sure he is used to pink bits.” I frown as I drain my glass. Mr Stanton looking at other girls’ bits is not something I want in my head.
“Knowing my luck the bleach will give me a third–degree burn and I will end up in hospital with a ring of fire.” The girls laugh.
“Bags not changing the dressing.” They clink their glasses together.
Every time a new group of men filter in we all put our drink menus up in front of our faces as they walk past.
“They should rename this place,” I scoff. The girls frown. “The Drycleaners.” They frown again. “You know where you would go to pick up a suit.” They both laugh. “Seriously, look at the demographics of this place. All men, rich, over thirty, in very expensive suits. Where do their wives think they are?” We all narrow our eyes as we take in our surroundings.
“Shit,” Abbie whispers. “They are all on frigging work conferences.” We nod.
“You’re right, these are all men who work together. Fuckwits,” Bridget snaps.
Blondie bartender comes over, “Last drinks at half price, ladies.”
“Half price, these cocktails are $20.00 a pop,” I answer.
He smiles. “I know, at 1.30 am they double in price.”
“Why?” we all ask, mortified.
“That’s when the shows start.”
We all frown, “Haven’t we been watching shows all night?”
He smiles and shakes his head. “No, I mean the real fun.” Sure enough, over the next 15 minutes we watch as group after group of men in expensive suits fill the place. So many, in fact, we are flat out trying to keep up our spying duties and some are slipping through the cracks.
“Shit, is he here?” Bridget whispers.
“I have no idea,” I answer. “I’ve lost track. I think the place is full,” as I crane my neck to look around the crowd.
“I know, this is crazy. The drinks are hell expensive. Rich men are seriously stupid.”
We are all feeling quite tipsy and at 1.30 exactly the lights all go out except the stage spotlights and silence falls over the audience. We are all experiencing a serious case of the fuzzies and very loudly shh, shh each other. We’re holding hands under the table and giggling, feeling quite apprehensive about what is about to unfold. Thankfully, it looks like Jeremy is a no show. The track ‘My Pony’ rings out on the high–powered sound system, a remixed version. Two girls walk out onto the stage and the crowd goes wild. Some of the men chant their names—it seems they have a following. The three of us sit still in silent amazement as our eyes are transfixed by the stage. A stunning brunette dressed as a hot policewoman complete with hat and
baton leads a beautiful redhead dressed in prisoner get–up onto the stage by the handcuffs.
“Oh, fuck,” Bridget whispers as she squeezes my hand. The redhead is led out and sat in a chair at the end of the runway. The policewoman walks around her a few times, sizing her up. She bends down and grabs her by the hair. Pulling her head back, she bends and gives her a slow passionate tongue kiss and the crowd goes wild. Bridget hits me on the leg and when I glance at her she nods at Abbie. I look over and Abbie is so into it her mouth is open. Bridget and I get the giggles.
“Wow,” I mouth to Bridget, and she nods. The policewoman stands and walks around her again in a slow torture kind of build–up, and the crowd goes silent again. She very slowly starts to undress the prisoner, and my heart is in my throat. After what seems like an eternity she slowly slides her G–String down her legs as she sucks her breasts—this shit is hot. My god, I’m getting turned on, what the hell? She slowly starts to finger–fuck the prisoner who lies back in the chair. The audience are collectively holding their breath and we are sitting forward in our seats. The brunette drops to her knees and the crowd goes crazy—oh no, don’t tell me. Oh my god. She starts to go down on the prisoner. The audience falls silent again, listening for the sound effects. I am interrupted from my lesbian fantasy as Bridget taps my leg again. I look at her and she nods towards the door and pulls up her drink menu. I grab mine quickly and peer out to see him, but to my horror the face I’m looking at isn’t Jeremy’s. My stomach drops as I watch Joshua Stanton, my Joshua Stanton, walk in with a group of men. They are laughing with the girls on the door and I sit still, too stunned to react. He puts his arm around one of the girls and whispers something into her ear. She giggles and slaps him. What in the hell did he say? This night just went from hero to zero in a millisecond. Abbie has just noticed what we are looking at.