Strip Me Bare

by Marissa Carmel

  “Yeah girl, that’s all you,” I yell to her over the music and she laughs.

  I wonder how much laughing she’s going to do when it’s her on that stage.

  Hugo reappears, announcing the next girl, Holly, and she looks absolutely petrified. She too, has blonde hair, but I think it’s natural; no dark roots. She’s wearing a white eyelet dress and fresh faced makeup. She looks almost virginal and I feel sorry for her already.

  Holly sits in the folding chair, wound tighter than a spring and littered with dollar bills all over her body. I couldn’t do it. I could never sit up there and have some guy I don’t know hump all over me. It would just feel wrong. For me. I admire the other women in the room who are rearing to go. Maybe I am a prude?

  The lights dim as Holly sits alone on the stage, but no one comes out the camouflaged door. There’s low haunting music playing and smoke curling up from the floor. Then I notice Holly’s face. She’s gone pale. Everyone turns around to see what she’s looking at. And there, sauntering toward the stage is a guy dressed in black leather pants and a mask covering his whole head, a whip in his hand.

  Holy BDSM.

  “Ladies, the Dominator,” Hugo announces and Holly absolutely shits. I can’t say I blame her. All I want to do is run up there and rescue her.

  The Dominator gets onto the stage and starts doing a seductive dance over Holly, grabbing her hair and yanking her head back as he straddles her with his mask on.

  My mind goes numb as I watch; it feels like an out of body experience, it’s so far out of my sexual scope of understanding. The Dominator then pulls Holly to her feet, bends her over and starts smacking her ass, hard. Then he mercilessly pumps her from behind and I have to look away.

  I think I’m scarred for life.

  After that he sits her back down in the chair. It looks like she’s just smoked up, she’s so starry eyed. Then he rips off his mask and starts again with the intense humping; his crotch right in her face. Good lord.

  He’s not bad looking with his bald head, big light eyes and a really nice smile. Like, really nice. Almost endearing, which is weird.

  Then he does something that actually impresses me. Somehow, he gets his feet over her head, planting them against the back wall of the stage, his ass facing the crowd and humps her from upside down. For a guy who’s tall, bulky and muscled, he’s limber, I’ll give him that. Then he kicks himself down and pulls Holly to her feet. He picks out all the dollar bills with his teeth, and then plants a huge kiss on her cheek. She was a damn good sport. I would have bolted the moment I saw him walking my way. Given you could actually pay me enough to get up on that stage in the first place.

  Now it’s Emily’s turn.

  “Okay ladies,” the charming Hugo announces. “You’re in for a real treat,” he says as Jill, Beth, Liz, Jen and I dress Emily in dollar bills. She’s by far the sexiest and most trendily dressed girl in the room. She has on a tight black body suit that’s short sleeved and high collared. A flared mini skirt and a pair of black stockings that give the illusion of thigh highs; hooch couture is what I call it. With her tiny little frame she rocks the outfit perfectly. We were able to get twice as many dollar bills on Emily compared to the other girls. Even her black bootie high heels have Washington’s sticking out of them. She looks like a scarecrow stuffed with green straw.

  “Next up is one of our premier dancers. So get ready, set, wet for Jack the Stripper!” he says as he hops off the stage.

  The beginning beats of Ginuwine’s Pony blasts through the speakers as a shirtless guy with a cowboy hat and eye mask grooves his way out of the black door. Now him I could be into. He’s tall and lean, totally toned, with sun kissed skin and a hot looking mouth. Emily got lucky with this one, thank God. I watch as he dances to the stage in a pair of loose fitting blue jeans with rips in the thighs and knees, the elastic of his underwear peeking above the waist of his pants. As soon as Emily sees him, a big smile spreads across her face and I breathe a sigh of relief. She’s into him. And seriously, who wouldn’t be?

  The melody changes to a house rendition of As Long As You Love Me and Jack the Stripper moves seductively to the beat of the music, grinding sensually on Emily; his fluid body undulating all over her. I’ll admit, I’ve never equated Justin Bieber to stripper music, but this guy makes it work, and damn can he move. My mouth is getting dry just watching this. The entire room is responding to him; pleasured screams and erotic moans are echoing from every which way as he works Emily on stage. No wonder Hugo called him premier; it’s as if he knows exactly what a woman wants and exactly how to give it to her. He’s already broken down the entire room with just his confidence and sexuality. That’s impressive.

  In the middle of his dance, with his hat and eye mask still on, he lifts Emily’s chair, with her still in it, and flips her up and around, inducing screams and shouts from the audience. With a big smile he places her back down, and then starts to undo his pants, teasing her and us with glimpses of his ass. Before he drops his jeans he rips off his hat and flings it into the crowd revealing thick, brown hair that’s short on the sides and longer on top; his bangs spilling over his forehead hipster style. Hot. Then he kneels in front of Emily, only his side profile visible. He whispers something into her ear, she glances at him oddly then slides two fingers under his eye mask; she rips it off and turns white. I can’t really see his face from my angle, but whoever he is, he spooked her. They both seem to freeze for a fraction of a second; his back muscles tensing. What the hell is going on? Then she nods her head yes, as if encouraging him on. He stands up, faces the crowed and proceeds to take off his pants. That’s when my heart drops dead in my chest. I glance at Emily and she’s staring straight at me, a manifold of emotions churning on her face because we both just witnessed my past strip to life.

  I’m no longer inside a New York City nightclub.

  I’ve been transported back five years to the summer of my freshman year of college. It’s early June and I’d just turned eighteen. Emily and I spent every day at the Ocean Club, a beach club on the Jersey Shore both our families have belonged to for years. It had all the amenities - private cabanas, pools, spas, tennis courts, and an all access pass to the beach. We also spent every night partying. It was the best summer of my life. New Jersey has an ‘eighteen to party twenty-one to drink law’ which meant Emily could drag me to almost any nightclub she wanted. She’s four years older than me and more like a big sister than a cousin, and she made sure that just because I lived under my father’s roof didn’t mean I always had to abide by his rules. Emily was my saving grace growing up. On the outside I was - still am, actually - the good girl, the polite girl, the girl who doesn’t break any rules, but on the inside I’m restless.

  Our favorite hangout was TradeWinds, a dance club right on the beach. One big room with high ceilings, dark carpets, panoramic windows and an awesome DJ; it was a place where all walks of life mingled; where spoiled rich girls and privileged firstborns meshed with your average Joe. No one really cared about your social status as long as you weren’t flaunting it in anyone’s face. You were just there to have a good time. And have a good time we did. I had only just broken my late-night debauchery cherry when I met Ryan. It was accidental really. I was outside on the patio smoking a cigarette when some drunken girl bumped into me, slamming me right into him. I ended up burning a hole through his t-shirt and singeing his chest. After apologizing profusely I offered to buy him a new shirt. He said he’d rather if I bought him a drink instead. I laughed and held up my wrist, “Coke or Sprite?”

  I was only eighteen and everyone knew you were underage if you weren’t sporting a neon wristband. It was sort of history after that. It wasn’t easy at first though, we fought a lot. And I don’t mean screaming matches, break-up make-up kind of fights. I mean he fought to open me up emotionally and I fought like hell to stay closed off. But Ryan, he was different; he was everything my world wasn’t. He was warm and caring and energetic. And he was the realest thing
in my entire life. I can still feel the emotions he stirred inside me. I’m reliving them right now as I watch him drop his pants in front of thirty screaming strangers.

  Our relationship was short, but it was intense and physical and borderline obsessive. And I was head over heels, undyingly in love with him.

  Was, is, still - maybe?

  It’s like I’m caught in some weird time loop. I see Ryan in the present while simultaneously flashing back to the past. I remember our last night together. It was a hot August evening, and we were alone in my family’s cabana. It was the only place we could steal time away with each other. My father never came to the beach club, unless it was for tennis in the morning, and he was usually off doing whatever it is judges do, so it was basically my home away from home. My solace place. It was a modest-sized room, decorated in creams and whites and oranges, giving it a very beachy feel. With a flat screen on the wall, a stall shower, a wet bar and an extra wide couch that could double for a bed I didn’t need much more. The ocean being sixty yards away didn’t hurt either. You could hear the surf crashing against the shore and smell the salty air as it wafted through the tiny windows. There were candles lit all over the small room casting a romantic glow. Ryan and I were just about naked and so close to the edge. My body was pulsing for him and every touch felt magnified. But for some reason, he was hesitant.

  “What’s wrong?” I remember asking him between kisses.

  “Nothing,” he told me, while running his thumb down my cheek; his eyes shining from the flickering candles. “This is your first time, I just want it to be perfect.”

  I couldn’t help but smile, “It will be, it’s with you.”

  And that was all it took.

  After one, slow, torrid kiss he was moving inside me. It was the most concentrated, scorching hot moment of my life. But that was the only time I would experience such a feeling.

  My body still throbs when I think about it and it’s been five years. Five years since I’ve seen him last, since he disappeared into thin air only to materialize here.

  Here, of all places.

  “Alana!” Emily pulls on my arm. “Are you okay? Do you know who that was?” she asks frantically. I shift my eyes to look at her and catch a glimpse of Ryan disappearing into that black, camouflaged door.

  “Yes,” I answer vacantly, before I realize my body is on a mission. I take ten steps and burst into that little room, four heads swing in my direction. Someone yells at me to get out, but I can’t. All I can mutter is “Ryan?” as I stand there like an idiot, gawking at him. He doesn’t say a word as our eyes meet. Those dark blue, cobalt eyes that tell me my presence has rocked his world like a magnitude 7 earthquake.

  Then I turn around and bolt, out the back door and up the stairs two at a time towards the street. I think I’m going to be sick. I make it to the sidewalk then disappear down the first alley I find and lose my dinner right beside a foul smelling dumpster.

  Oh God.

  I wrap my arms around myself and bump my head against the brick wall. This cannot be happening. This cannot be happening.

  Suddenly I hear someone yelling my name. I look over to see Ryan on the sidewalk, he has a small towel wrapped around his waist and a pair of sneakers on his feet and that’s it.

  “Alana!” he calls nervously when he sees me.

  “Leave me alone!” I snap.

  “Hey,” he says tenderly, like he’s approaching a wild animal. I can’t even look at him. I recoil. “Are you okay?” he asks completely invading my personal space.

  “Am I okay?” I repeat. “Am I okay?” I yell, shoving him away from me. He doesn’t budge. He just stares down at me with a determined face that looks like he’s ready to engage in battle. “No. I am not okay, I spent the last five years wondering what the hell happened to you, and when I finally find you, you’re, you’re…” I can barely say the words, “Jack the fucking Stripper?”

  If I could cry, I would.

  “This isn’t happening.” I breathe rapidly, “I think I need a cigarette. No, I think I need like five, actually just shove the whole pack in my mouth and light it on fire.”

  “Hey, it’s okay,” he wraps his arms around me and hugs me. He smells so good. Like sweat and deodorant and Ryan.

  “Five years,” I mutter against his chest.

  “I know,” he holds me tighter. “I know, I’m sorry. I want to explain everything. Just not now.”

  “Not now? Then when?” I urge, terrified if I let him go he’s going to disappear again.

  “Tomorrow. Will you meet me tomorrow for coffee?”

  “Coffee?” I ask peculiarly. This is the guy who disappeared out of my life with no explanation, no phone call, no goodbye and now he wants to meet casually for coffee? WTF?

  “Now, Ryan,” I demand.

  “Tomorrow Alana,” Ryan pleads. “I’ll tell you everything, tomorrow,” he says, and his voice sounds like a dream; a very bad, intriguing, promising dream. “I think you’ve had enough bombshells dropped on you tonight.”

  “Bombshell?” I sneer, “It feels more like a meteor hit me.”

  Ryan steps back and I just stare at him. My head is spinning as I try to process everything that just happened in the last twenty minutes. The guy I gave my heart and soul to -not to mention my virginity- has just reappeared in the most unanticipated way my subconscious could have ever imagined. Of all the scenarios, this never even entered the atmosphere.

  “Alana, say something,” Ryan utters anxiously.

  I take a long, slow look at him; starting from his sneakers and working my way up, passing over his legs, the makeshift cover-up, his stomach, his chest, his face, his eyes. I know I shouldn’t believe what I’m seeing, but it’s here, in front of me, he’s really here and… “Your penis has tassels,” I snivel.

  For a beat he’s stunned, but then he lets out a huge laugh and wraps his arms back around me; one around my neck, the other under one of my arms. My traitorous body tingles all over.

  “I never thought I would touch you again,” he says smoothly, his tone laced with emotion.

  “That makes two of us. I hold onto him tightly. We stay clinched together for I don’t know how long.

  “Do you want to go back inside?” Ryan asks after a while. “I’ve had enough of the dumpster stench.” He looks down at me with a pew face then slides his hands down my arms, intertwining his fingers with mine.

  “Back inside?” I curl my lip, “Ah, no thanks. I think I’ve had my fill of inside when I watched you dry fuck Emily.”

  He opens his mouth as if to protest, but then falls silent. Smart move, I’m a loaded cannon right now.

  “Then where are you going to go?”

  “I’ll wait in the limo and probably smoke a carton of cigarettes while I do.”

  Ryan grimaces and I recognize that face, he wants to argue with me. But he’s resisting.

  “Then I’ll stay with you.”

  “Don’t you have to go back to, work?”

  “They’ll be fine without me for a little while.”

  “Is that what you thought when you bailed on me?”

  Ryan clenches his jaw, “Alright, I deserve that.”

  “You deserve so much more than that.”

  “I’ll take whatever you want to throw at me.”

  “If I could pick up that dumpster it would be flying towards your head.”

  Ryan puts both of his hands up against the wall, trapping me in. “Do you want to hit me Alana? Would that make you feel better? Because I’ll let you. I’ll let you hit me until I’m dead.”

  “I don’t want to hit you Ryan, I want to understand.”

  “You will. Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrows scare me,” I say grimly, staring straight into his eyes, “and I can’t stand the thought of you being dead.”

  Ryan presses his body closer to mine and my cheeks catch fire; he’s eerily quiet as he looks at me. I want to reach out and touch him, just plant my hands right on his bare chest,
but I don’t dare.

  “I’ve been dead for five years Alana.”

  “You look pretty alive to me.”

  He shakes his head, “I came back to life five minutes ago.”

  I’m trying to deny it, I don’t want to admit it, but I feel the same way.

  How is it possible he can still infiltrate my emotions so easily after all this time?

  “I really need a cigarette,” I tell him, desperate for some separation.

  He doesn’t move immediately, he just lingers over me a few moments more as if reluctant to let me go. My stomach is in knots.

  He pushes off the wall and steps back, never taking his eyes off mine. Then he grabs my hand and walks me back to Culture. I feel like I’m in some bizarre alternate reality, feeling Ryan’s skin against mine; his eagerness to touch me, his forthright attitude, his up-front mannerisms, it’s almost as if no time has passed between us at all.

  The line is even longer at the main entrance now, and when Ryan and I get to the black velvet ropes women start screaming. At first I thought something bad must have happened, then I realize they’re screaming at a half naked Ryan. It feels like we’re standing in front of a construction site. Ryan just does a little wave then turns his back on them. He gives me an uncomfortable grin and I just stare.

  “Shit, my purse is inside.” I realize, about to throw a hissy fit.

  “No problem,” Ryan whistles to someone behind him. “Hey Lorenzo! You got a smoke for my girl?”

  His girl? Say what.

  A moment later a big, roly-poly Hispanic guy with a goatee and black hat walks over from the main entrance. He looks like he can regulate some shit.

  “Sure, bro,” he pulls a pack of Parliament lights from his pocket. He grabs one from the pack and goes to hand it to me, but Ryan snatches it up first. Then he takes Lorenzo’s lighter and burns the cigarette, taking a long pull then hands it to me. His blue eyes shining as he looks at me.

  “Thanks,” I grab the cigarette and quickly do the same. The nicotine is like oxygen to my lungs.