SIX

by Marie Skye

  My hands grabbed at my ribs and shoulder again and I turned a bit to look. There wasn’t any more visible trauma. There wouldn’t be after all these months. The bruising was gone, everything was supposedly healed, but I still felt it.

  Now the only thing I could see in the mirror as I turned was the wall of tattoos I had gotten across my upper back and shoulders. Drake had the same ones. Memorial tattoos we had done together when we volunteered to help during Hurricane Katrina. The firefighter rescue tattoo was all I had left of him. That and some memories.

  I needed a drink.

  From one cupboard to the next I went fishing for a bottle I knew wouldn’t be there. But I checked anyway. Every possible storage opportunity was checked, and rechecked, until I finally found it. The only thing left, sitting in the freezer, was a bottle of Crown. Drake gave it to me when I passed the exams and got on the department. I told him I wouldn’t drink it until he or I made battalion chief at the station – then we could celebrate.

  Wasn’t dick to celebrate now. I opened the bottle and turned it up, but there was nothing. I didn’t remember draining it but I must have at some point. A single, ice-cold drop hit my tongue and I snapped, whipping the bottle across the room into the wall just over the sink. I expected a shattered mess but instead the sturdy little bottle of royal buried itself in the wall, busting a chunk into the old, aging plaster that held this shitty apartment up right.

  “Fucking hell.” I headed for the door, snatching a crumbled shirt from the table.

  2

  Normally I would have just taken a cab but I was just about out of money, and what I had I wanted to spend on other things.

  I had no idea where the hell to go though. The usual routine was to walk a block to the liquor store or grab a cab and tell him to take me to the nearest bar. The destination didn’t change much, but I never really paid attention to the route.

  It didn’t feel like the ride took very long so there had to be something close. The liquor store was fucking closed.

  Imagine my delight after spending nearly an hour wandering without finding a single damn bar. Everything was already aching. I was getting pissed. It took all I had to focus on my irritation and keep my mind from wandering to the why. To the cause of all this shit.

  Hell, I was the cause of it. It ain’t easy to turn attention from yourself.

  I couldn’t even remember where the hell I was at or the roads I had taken. Back tracking felt wrong so I rounded another corner. That brought me square into view of a neon display like I’d never seen. There was a lot of tail hanging around outside, and it gave off the distinct impression of a club.

  “Fuck. Finally.” I started to jog but felt my back rebel against me and settled into a stiff powerwalk across the empty street. I’d worry about getting home later, or where the hell home was. Couldn’t be too hard to find it when the city is laid out like it is. Hard to get lost in a grid I guess.

  I was getting all sorts of eyes from the women outside. Didn’t surprise me. I may not be at the gym anymore, ripping doors down, crawling all over the rig at the station but I was in damn good shape and I had thrown on one of my tighter shirts. I guess I wasn’t exactly in club apparel so who knew if the women were eyeballing the meat, or the man.

  Slinking through them I caught the hand of a bouncer at the door who gave me the once-over, furrowing his brow. He was dressed in a crisp suit like something out of Men in Black and had about a dozen sessions of fake bake too many. Guy was a well-dressed Cheeto with spikey hair and frosted tips. “You lost?”

  “Nope, right where I want to be. You mind?” I pointed past him and started to move again. He still blocked me and looked me up and down again. “What’s the deal?”

  He started to speak when a woman appeared from behind him, slapping his bicep. I got a full dose of her resting bitch face as she slowly let curls of smoke roll up out of her mouth to mingle with the blonde hair. She was weathered, a little aged for my taste, but was still fifty shades of MILF. She flicked the remainder of her cigarette at the ground and took me in as she looked at the bouncer. “Let him in.”

  “Thank you, damn.” I shot the bouncer a look, shaking my head as he stepped to the side to let me by. The woman gestured for me to follow and opened the door for me. I didn’t really need an escort but if she wanted to attach herself to me, whatever. She seemed like she had some pull here and if humoring her cougar ass would get me a few drinks then I was down.

  At least, I was until she led me through a set of interior doors and I was hit with a resounding wall of noise. Women were cheering, music was blaring, and there was a trio of guys dressed like fucking cowboys getting money stuffed into their junk.

  I use the term “dressed” loosely. It was more like assless chaps, a cowboy hat, and a healthy lather of shiny oil.

  Shit, it was a strip club with a bunch of dudes hanging brain for money.

  I sighed and started to leave when I felt her hand close on my bicep. She had a firm grip that dragged me back a step.

  “Where you goin, meat?”

  “What?” I could barely hear her over the music and cackle of horny housewives.

  “Where are you going, meat sack?”

  “Did you just call me meat sack?”

  She winked at me and let go of my arm, leaning in so I could hear her better. “You threw a fit to get in here, you’re not leaving yet. C’mon, first one is on me.”

  My eyes went to the stage again. One of the guys was trying to rope another dude with a lasso. “No thanks. I’m straight.”

  “I’m not trying to pop your cherry, meat. I just offered you a drink. Get over here and sit down.” She didn’t wait for an answer. She just walked straight for the bar. The throng of women that made up 99% of the place were parting for her without a word. She clearly had influence, so I’d have to be stupid not to follow. That woman controlled the tap for this watering hole.

  Out of the corner of my eye one of the male dancers was swatting at the air with his hat while dancing. The muscles in his shoulders and his pecs were bouncing and glistening.

  Gross.

  I tried to tune it out and followed her, stepping up to the bar – or trying to. There were women everywhere. I was initially distracted by the… roosters. Now that I was relaxing a bit and taking in the scenery the variety of women meant there was something for every guy here.

  But I was the only guy save for the Solid Gold Boners working the stage. I couldn’t even get to the bar with the way the women were gathering in front of it. They weren’t even ordering anything or drinking. It was just a vantage point for them to eye fuck the cock jocks. MILF was on the other side of the bar and gave me an annoyed look before slapping her hand twice on the bar top. The girls didn’t waste time looking back. They scooted off without missing a beat, leaving a hole at the bar for me to fill.

  Any other time I might try to get something out of this woman. She obviously wanted something from me. But not tonight.

  Just gimmie my drink.

  “Anything you want, meat. Just name it.”

  Jesus Christ, I wasn’t really a fan of the mouthy ones and the nickname was pissing me off. “Why do you keep calling me meat?” I still had to raise my voice a bit over the noise of the place.

  “Because,” she leaned forward over the bar and gave me a coy look while adjusting her posture. “You haven’t given me your name yet, stupid.”

  I smirked, and nodded to her. Attitude bugged me but she wore hers well. I didn’t hate her. I hadn’t socialized much or said more than a few words to anyone in over a month. The banter was a little energizing. It felt good.

  “I’m August.”

  “August?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like the month?”

  “It’s a family name.” I shrugged and tapped the bar. Hated her a little more now after that. I was proud to be named after my grandfather. He pulled himself up from nothing and was one hell of a firefighter.

  “I’d have stu
ck with meat.” Her eyes were playing with me more than her words were. It was fucking magnetic how she was pulling me in even though I really just wanted to walk out. She had me fish hooked that’s for sure. “What are you drinking?”

  “Ah… Corona, with lime.”

  “Jesus, you do need help.”

  “Hey, what’s your problem? You said anything I want. You let me in to talk shit or can I get a beer?”

  “You can have anything you want, and you pick that? You don’t have to play it safe. Now, tell me what you really want, August.”

  My eyes stayed on her a moment before wandering to the long shelves behind her along the wall. I could barely read the labels on some. I didn’t know what was what. I didn’t drink shit like that much. I really preferred my beer. I shook my head as I scanned bottle to bottle.

  “Today, junior.”

  “I got it, I got it.” I put a hand up and pointed to a glass bottle that looked like it was wrapped in strands of silver. “That one. I’ll try that.”

  She turned around and looked at the bottle, looking back at me with a quirked brow. “That one?”

  “Yeah, that.”

  Without hesitating she took it down and poured a small glass. “You want me to leave the bottle for you?”

  I’d never had a bartender offer that, but whatever. A few shots down and I’d walk home since she offered. I wouldn’t be too greedy about it. She seemed cool enough that I felt weird about taking advantage of the offer. I nodded to her as I lifted the glass and tossed it back. It was like silk when I swallowed it and had a strange flavor that was almost like hints of wax and orange peel, but it was amazing and it kicked my ass all the way down.

  She offered another and I nodded, but only because I felt like if I tried to speak I would choke on the heat rolling up from my stomach. I caught another smirk from her as she poured and set the bottle down. And then she was gone - replaced by some guy as I watched her wander out into the crowd.

  The cowboys were gone, and as another guy took the stage I heard the voices in the room rise into a chorus of “Jag” being chanted ritualistically. Whoever this dude was these women were familiar. He hadn’t even started dancing. He was just fucking standing there like a marble statue in a basic suit and it was whipping them into a frenzy.

  Another shot down in hopes of the buzz drowning out the noise. Free drinks or not, I wasn’t about to linger much while this guy pranced around swinging his dick. That’s probably all he had going for him was the chiseled golden tan and muscles that looked like he was straight off a body building cover mag.

  No way this guy could actually dance. Guys built like that weren’t exactly limber. That explains why there was a slow, melodic and almost romantic tune playing over the club speakers. He’d play this crowd of late night cougars and they’d give it up because they were thirsty. You could put just about anyone up there and get the same results.

  I blinked as lights exploded in the club. The bass drop of the song ran me over like a train and he started moving. I stood there fixated, my eyes locking on Jag while I held the glass up halfway to my face. I was the statue now. Jag transformed, like his body was made of liquid.

  The rapid synthetic beat fueled him, driven by dubstep from one side of the stage to the other. His clothes were off. When did he take his clothes off? I downed the shot in my hand and set it on the bar, looking back to him. The light show matched the music, the colors and lasers dressing his skin to replace the slacks and dress shirt he had been wearing.

  The women were literally throwing money at him.

  I couldn’t really remember the last time I had an actual meal and was broke as shit, and here this dude was showing off his shit with nothing more than a speedo between his cock and their reaching hands – and there was money covering the stage floor. I rolled my eyes and turned back to the bar, reaching for the bottle but it was gone. So was my glass.

  She was back though, hands on the bar, smirking at me. “You like what you see?”

  “You’re alright. Am I done?” She laughed in response, shaking her head as she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Not me, meat. Jag. You like what you see?”

  “I’m not gay.”

  “You keep saying that. You sure you’re not trying to convince yourself of something?”

  “I’m just not really into watching dude’s dance for money. Can I get another drink or is that it?”

  “I think you’re good. I can’t have you too drunk.” She leaned forward and spoke louder as the volume of the dubsteb track seemed to kick up a few notches. “Six hundred.”

  “What?” I had to raise my voice, practically yelling so she could hear me. She leaned over the bar toward me to get closer.

  “Six hundred. For the drinks.”

  “Six hundred? Dollars?!” My eyes darted around, looking to the male bartender and back to her. I turned and looked to the door, wondering if I could get through and take off before she could sick a bouncer on me. Glancing back to her the look on her face said she was dead serious. “How the fuck was that six hundred bucks? I had a couple shots? Are you fucking with me?”

  “You’re the one who picked a ten thousand dollar bottle of hooch, meat.” She smirked, taking me in as she eye-fucked my shoulders and chest.

  Shit.

  “Whoa, you said I could have anything.”

  “And you can. So can everyone else. And then they pay for it. That’s how business works.” She was still smirking at me as she leaned on the bar. The other bartender kept glancing at me as he worked. I couldn’t tell if she was fucking with me.

  She had to be fucking with me. I wiped a hand down the side of my face and up to rub the cropped hair on my head before shrugging at her. I held my shoulders up mid-shrug. “I don’t have any money.”

  “I figured.”

  “Well why the fuck did you let me have that bottle?”

  “I’m not your mama, meat. You can make big boy choices on your own.”

  Jesus Christ “So, what now? I don’t have cash. You gonna call the cops or have your bouncer break my leg?”

  “Nah.” She sighed, looking perfectly content and almost pleased with herself. Even if I were a half-blind illiterate retiree I’d be able to read the mischief in her eyes. She came around from behind the bar, her eyes never leaving me as she walked the length of it before leaning up to speak near my ear. “You’re gonna dance for it.”

  3

  “Look, this is a bad idea. I don’t dance. I don’t do stuff like this.” There was a ball of fear and uncertainty growing in my gut. Mingled with the liquor it was a nauseating sensation that left me reeling.

  Fucking shame considering how good the stuff was. This was killing the buzz I had managed to build up. My headache was gone, replaced by a desire to die in a corner. I’d take anything over getting on that stgte.

  This crazy fucking woman wasn’t evening listening as she peered out through a curtain to look over the room. “I’m serious, you don’t want me out there. I’ve got a bad back and I don’t move li-”

  “You’ll be fine, meat. You need to go out there and get me my money. Sinclair has one more set then you’re up.” She stepped back and spun on me, smiling smugly and touching her palm to her cheek while taking me in. “Your costume is in the changing room.”

  “Wait, what costume? You didn’t say anything about a costume. What costume?”

  “…though I’m tempted to send you out in what you have on.” She scrunched her face up as she looked at me, tilting her head before shaking it. “Nah. Costume is more fun. I’m gonna enjoy this. Move it.”

  She pawed at me and turned me by my shoulders, pushing me toward a room in the back. I was stuttering and laughing but there wasn’t dick about the situation that was even remotely amusing. With one more shove from behind I was into the dressing room. There wasn’t much to the space. Just a number of cabinets and lockers with some plush seats and full-length mirrors.

  “Whoa. Hold up.” I tur
ned to comment after I spotted the costume, but she was gone. Leaning out of the room I glanced about and saw one of the other guys strolling by. He was dressed in a pair of white baseball gloves, a baseball cap, and a speedo with the same pattern as referee’s jersey.

  That was it.

  “Hey… I’m not wearing that thing. Is she serious?” He stopped outside the door as I spoke to him. Another bronze, shiny-skinned, hairless sex-monster looking like he jumped right out of some men’s calendar.

  “Who? Wear what?” He looked over my shoulder into the room and his face lit up with a grin. “aaaaah… Betty got you with the drink thing. Nice.”

  “Yeah looks like it.” I rubbed my forehead trying to look anywhere but at this guy’s mostly-naked body. The bulge on the fucking referee speedo was ridiculous.

  “How much she get you for?”

  “Six hundred.” My stomach churned at the thought. There was no way I was gonna make that kind of money, especially not wearing that shit. His eyes went wide and he started to laugh before covering his mouth with his hand for a hot second. My shoulders sagged at his reaction and he cleared his throat, composing himself.

  “Put it on. You’ll be alright.” He clapped my shoulder and walked away. I closed my eyes and turned back into the room. It was hanging clean and straight from a large hook all by itself in the middle of an empty rack.

  It was the pinkest rabbit suit I had ever seen complete with a hood and two giant furry ears that hung partially limp. Most of it looked like it was pink spandex except for the massive furry pink cock attached to it.

  Christmas Story used to be my favorite movie during the holidays. It was never gonna be the same after putting that costume on.

  I don’t really know how to describe what happened. I’m pretty sure the mixture of fear, nervousness, and adrenaline made it impossible for my brain to process everything. Either that or I was actively trying to suppress the memories.

  At no point in my life did I ever think a club full of women would be so turned on and inspired to turn out their pockets for a guy in a mother fucking rabbit suit. But that’s exactly what happened.