by Xavier Neal
Her attention doesn’t waiver. “Mmhm.”
He moves to the wall that Mr. Money Bags, our in house banker, lurks behind and taps twice. When the wooden panel drops down it reveals a man who strongly resembles The Keebler Elf and a bullet proof screen to protect him as he handles the accounting process.
With Fresh Meat’s words fresh on my mind, I cautiously question, “Queen, may I ask a quick question?”
She turns her focus to me and tilts her head. “I take it that wasn’t it.”
“Did I have a gold card on my locker tonight? Fresh Meat swore he saw one, but there wasn’t anything on it when I went to change.”
Queen’s face remains stoic though her stare seems to cloud with annoyance. “You did.”
I patiently wait for her to continue, though she doesn’t. “But…?”
“It was removed.”
“Why?”
The line of questioning causes her to shift in her seat. “A mistake had been made.”
My argument is immediate. “You don’t make mistakes.”
“Never said it was mine.”
Her reply has me ready to prod for more answers when a deep voice abruptly states, “I did.”
I watch Brock enter the room and loosen his tie.
Him making a mistake seems more likely. Being head of security and second in command, though he likes to lie to himself and believe they are equally in command, is all relatively new to him. He was still stripping earlier this year. Hell, they were still tip-toeing around ever being together just a few months ago and now they’re engaged. Time is a funny and fickle thing….
Her eyes give him a brief glance before she states to me, “Compensation will be had for the mistake that was made.”
Surprise floods my expression. “Seriously?”
“Yes. Mr. Money Bags has already been informed to take a smaller cut.”
Considering how miniscule the cut she already takes is, it almost feels wrong to have it become even smaller.
“Queen, I-”
“Take the cut, asshole, and don’t waste your breath questioning it,” Brock commands at the same time he leans against the edge of her glass desk.
I quickly nod and cautiously ask, “Can I mention a concern?”
Both Brock and Queen’s attention hones in on me.
“Speak,” Brock commands.
“Just a pair of clients who got a little too handsy during tonight’s performance. I don’t know if you saw them-”
“Seen and handled,” Queen swiftly insists.
Rather than unnecessary dwell on the obviously handled situation, I call out to Fresh Meat just as he’s about to leave. “Hey, you wanna swing by Cindy’s with me? Spend a little of that cash you’re about to take home?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Too tired. Gonna go upstairs and crash.”
Fourth floor and up are apartments some of the Princes live in. Some prefer to live here for convenience, others laziness. Queen and Brock live in the Penthouse at the very top. With all the amenities there’s rarely a reason they ever have to leave.
Fresh Meat returns to exiting, which is when I ask Brock, “What about you? Round of shots?”
He doesn’t look remotely interested.
“Come on, man! On me! Free booze is the best booze!”
Brock folds his arms firmly across his chest. “Still working, asshole. Besides, after this shift is finished, I plan to put in a different type of overtime.”
His declaration almost causes French to smirk.
I hide my chuckle and cross over to begin the checkout process. “You know, sometimes I miss the old days.”
“I don’t.” Brock’s retort is proceeded with a loving look at his fiancée.
Her gaze momentarily softens for him. By the time it swings over to me it is as hard as ever. “Often when you long for the past it’s because you fear the future or are looking to hide from the present.”
Huh. And I thought I was the philosophical one.
“Just go home to your girl,” Brock suggests.
Instantly, my hands fly into the air. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa, bro. Labels.”
“Yeah. She’s fucking got one. Try fucking using it.”
Not so sure we’re there yet. Then again I’m not really sure where ‘there’ is. I’m not used to seeing the same chick this long or this frequently, though between us, frequently is a term I’m now using lightly. Syd’s always so busy it makes it almost impossible for our schedules to mesh up, yet right when I think The Cosmos is telling me to let her go, things work out in our favor, and I find myself more grateful than ever that I didn’t throw in the towel. It’s just been a few weeks, but um…does that sound like girlfriend shit to you?
Once I’ve finished checking out for the night, I swing by medical to pick up my monthly test results that Queen has us take to insure we are drug and STD free, and stroll out to my car. I stick my keys in the ignition while mentally continuing to debate whether to grab a solo drink or just crash.
My phone unexpectedly begins to vibrate in my cup holder.
Swiftly, I check the message.
Syd: How was your shift?
The simple message has my head hitting the headrest.
She is my girl, isn’t she? Traditionally speaking, this is what a girlfriend would send her boyfriend. She’d make sure he had a great day at work, or if he wanted to vent that she could be there to take that stress away….Maybe this is what The Universe was using Brock to push me towards. Having a different, but no less amazing type of happiness than I’m used to.
Me: Amazing. Thanks for asking babe. Can I come by?
There’s no delay in her response.
Syd: Anytime
My smile grows wide.
Me: C U S
I drop my phone back into the holder, start my car, and head for her apartment. On the way, I make a pit stop at one of my favorite local market stores to grab the ingredients for breakfast smoothies.
Her fridge is almost always empty. It actually makes me wonder if she gets enough to eat. She swears she does, and since she’s not hoarding crackers in her fanny pack when we grab a bite, I feel inclined to believe her, but…it doesn’t make me worry less. Worrying is also a new feeling for me. I trust The Gods and Goddesses. I trust in them to allow spirits to guide and protect those in need. But sometimes it feels as if they’re pushing me to be that person for Syd.
The moment I open the door to her studio apartment an object is hurled my direction. Thankfully, my reflexes are quick and her aim is shit. “Whoa, babe! It’s just me!”
Her hand flies to her chest. “Oh my stars, I’m so sorry!”
I kick the door closed with the heel of my foot, eyes settling on where she’s sitting.
“I’m watching a Jason Bourne movie and always get a little wound up that one of the government agencies is sending someone for me.”
Strolling into her tiny kitchen, I joke, “Do you have a secret identity we need to discuss?”
Syd tucks her knees up to her chest and rests her chin on them. “It wouldn’t be a secret if we discussed it.”
The logical answer to an illogical topic causes me to chuckle.
That’s almost a summary of my feelings about her. Logically, there are so many reasons we should work, but monogamy itself still seems so illogical at times. So…unnatural.
I begin to unpack the grocery bag. “What’d you throw at me, anyway?”
“A whisk.”
Her reply ceases my movements. “What?”
“A whisk.”
“A whisk?”
“You know,” she whirls her hand around really fast in demonstration, “for cooking and baking. The springy thingy on a stick.”
My hands plant themselves on her countertop while I struggle not to laugh. “Why were you protecting yourself with a whisk?”
“I wasn’t.”
Confusion causes me to toss a hand up in the air.
“Okay so, yeah, I was. But it wasn’t lik
e my automatic go to weapon of choice.”
“I would hope not.”
“Birdie called me a couple hours ago asking me random baking questions, so I got up to go check on her. Turns out she was starting to bake her famous Christmas cookies-”
“A little more than early.”
“Exactly. And believe it or not that’s not what worried me. Even the fact she was baking in the middle of the night, isn’t what rubbed me the wrong way.”
“What was?”
“When I went over to check on her, you know since it’s weird to bake Christmas cookies at midnight, she had trouble recognizing who I was.”
The information drops my shoulders.
“She kept asking me if I was the Moore’s daughter from down the street….”
“Who are the Moore’s?”
“No idea.”
I cringe my discomfort. “Yikes.”
Syd nods and rest her head on its side. “She seemed to remember who I was by the time the cookies were done, but it left me a bit shook up. So, once I made sure the oven was turned off, the cookies were put away, the dishes done, and Birdie was back in bed, I came home and started to watch a movie to distract myself. Totally, forgot I even had the whisk in my hand. I was gonna use it to make myself some eggs, but sat down and kind of zoned out.”
“Until you attacked me with it?”
She playfully sticks her tongue out at me.
I return to removing the items from the recyclable sack. “Sorry, I didn’t bring any eggs, but how does a banana split protein smoothie sound?”
A sweet moan graces my ears and my cock immediately prepares to join the conversation. “Incredible.”
“Blender?”
“Cabinet beside the stove.”
Just as I turn around to retrieve it she volunteers, “Need any help?”
“Nope. Just sit back. Relax. And try not to throw any more utensils.”
The teasing receives a good-natured scoff.
While I maneuver my way around the tiny space, collecting the items I need like the blender and cutting board, I try to ignore the ache in my chest at what I discover. Most of the cabinets contain the bare minimum. The few dishes she has are old or dated, same for the pots and pans. Her fridge still has very little in it though there are more frozen dinners than there were last time I went to grab ice.
Look, I haven’t always had cash like what’s popping out of my pockets now. I was raised fairly modestly and to appreciate money as a blessing when it was given. I lived on my own, paycheck to paycheck for a bit while being a nature guide, however, I always had enough to eat or someone to turn to when I didn’t. Syd says she’s fine, and I wanna believe her…I really do, but I can see she’s not. Is there any way to leave her cash for food without making her feel like a charity case or a cheap hooker?
Sounds of the action movie conquer her apartment, and she explains to me the premise of the movie series. I joyfully make us breakfast, clean the items I use, and manage to keep her from helping by asking questions about the film that I know will keep her happily rambling. In between her enthusiastic babbles, she asks me about where I got fresh produce in the middle of the night, which leads me to telling her about my favorite markets, and the crying female stripper I met while searching for the perfect bananas.
She let some of her problems pour out on me, and I somehow convinced her to quit, so she could become a pediatric nurse like she’s always wanted. Life’s so beautifully weird.
Once breakfast is complete, she shuts off the movie, and the two of us sit on the empty floor space at the foot of her bed.
Her long sip of the smoothie is accompanied with another heavenly moan. “Dear Goddess Demeter, this is delicious.”
The reference to the Greek Goddess of nourishment has my heart swelling for a better reason.
We have mutual feelings on many dogmas. We’re both spiritual creatures who don’t understand nor identify with the constraints of organized religions. Neither of us believes any one group has ever gotten it absolutely right and that it is better to appreciate the principles of many rather than to be controlled by the voice of just one.
“Favorite so far?”
Syd stretches her long legs out in front of her. “Mmm….The Peanut Butter Cup one is probably my favorite. And the fact you used actual Reese’s Pieces on top just for me was special.”
I allow my body to take a similar position, my feet resting near her hips. “What can I say, babe? You are special.”
Chick has a total unhealthy attachment to sugar, but in a weird way it’s cute.
She smiles and wedges the cold drink between her thighs. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“I know you like stripping-”
“A lot.”
“Right, but I also know you love healthy cooking, a lot. You love baking and delivering your treats to Golden Hills and to the one local gym that buys from you. Why not pursue that full time? Maybe strip part time?”
After having a sip, I place my drink down beside me. “Doesn’t work like that. There is no part time in what I do. Queen expects all in, or get the hell out.”
Syd nods. “She does seem like she is a demanding woman.”
“I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” I quickly correct. “The passion you have for yoga, that I have for baking, is the passion she has for her business. From the moment I met her she has always insisted on it and expected the best. That’s why there’s no part time option.”
“Do you not believe enough in yourself to think you could bake full time?”
My mouth runs away like it always does for her, “I don’t.”
Her cold hand lands on my calf.
“I’d need a client or several clients large enough to sustain a living. And I’m not talking about the lifestyle I’m currently rolling in. I’m talking about the kind where I don’t have to guess where my next meal is coming from. I’d need full time kitchen availability versus the few I borrow. Distribution. Marketing plans. Permits. A business model and a name….” The ramblings have me reaching for my beverage again. “Maybe someday the force will flow me to a path where that’s possible, but for now…I’m content stripping.”
Syd gives me a gentle squeeze. “Well, when the force does push you that direction, just know I’ll be there for whatever you need. Extra pair of hands. Taste tester. Drive Mable all around town making deliveries. I’d willingly break my own back to help hold you up.”
Her words have me softly saying, “I know, babe. I can feel that.”
Which would be insane to most people, considering we’ve only been together a little over a month….
“What about you?” I swiftly ask, wiping away the whip cream off the corner of my lip. “What is it you wanna do in life?”
“I’m doing it.” She shrugs innocently. “I’d just do it full time if given the opportunity.”
“Yoga?”
“And tantric techniques. It would be a fairy tale come true to have my own studio, but at this point? I’d settle for full time somewhere.” She steals another sip of her smoothie and then places the glass on the other side of her thigh. “That’s the ultimate dream. Teaching class all day. Practicing said techniques all night….”
The burn in her words is so palpable I swear my gym shorts are going to catch fire.
“Have you ever used tantric techniques before?”
I mentally command my dick to stop tapping the inside of my shorts. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“It can not only pro-long your orgasm, but intensify it. I always use them when doing anything sexual.”
And that explains why it takes her so long to get off….No. Of course I’m not fucking complaining. I’m just saying it now makes sense and that I’m not losing my very magical touch.
“Always? Even when you’re masturbating?”
Syd doesn’t shy away from the question. “Especially when I’m masturbating. The breathing techniques allow for it to be a b
it more satisfying without the help of an additional person. Want me to teach you one you can use?”
I wet my lips and counter, “Teach me while you touch me.”
She smirks wildly. “Little rub rub before you have to go bake?”
“And dance. Don’t forget I dance with you, too.”
Pretty sure, the instructor dude hates it, but he’s learning to fucking cope. He uses us like dolls to point to proper positions and poses, then walks around the room helping the couples. Occasionally, Syd breaks away from me to help as well, which is when some of the women beg their husbands to let me cut in. It never fails. Every man looks relieved to not be shuffling around and have their wife still be happy.
“I could never forget our dances….”
I push away my glass and gently tug Syd across her wooden floor so she’s closer to me. “Ready whenever you are.”
A faint vinos shade paints her cheeks. “Remove your shorts and lean back onto your palms.”
Following the instructions should be simple yet doing it under her turned on stare makes it extremely difficult. I do my best to maintain eye contact while keeping the process as swift as possible. Once I’m positioned the way she requested, Syd crawls over my leg and sits in a submissive pose between them.
The sight of her alone has my cock swelling, but having her between my thighs, dark hair shaping her slim face, lips slightly parted in anticipation, and expression eager to please has it so hard it aches.
“Close your eyes.”
I immediately do.
“Clear your mind the way you would to meditate.”
My face scrunches in objection.
Can honestly say my dick isn’t hard during that time.
“Just trust me.”
I nod and start to silence my racing thoughts. Instead of focusing on the numerous things I want to do to Syd before I have to rush off or when she’s going to touch me, I center my attention on the energy flowing through me. The calming nature of being one with a higher power.
“Slow, deep breath,” her voice softly instructs. Just as I inhale her hand wraps firmly around my cock. The temptation to shorten the breath is instant yet Syd commands, “Follow through with it.”