I close my mouth quickly as he smirks and picks up his garment bag. He drapes his bag on the couch, opens it and pulls out a navy blue suit.
He begins to undress as if he’s alone in the room, and all three of us are standing there watching with anticipation. It isn’t until the faint beat of Ginuwine’s “Pony” comes through Deena’s phone that he looks up from unbuttoning his pants. He looks to me and when I shrug, he continues pulling at his buttons, but now with a smile and the knowledge that he has an audience. When he just drops his pants, I hear two sighs off to my left. Then as quickly as Malcolm steps out of his pants, he has his slacks on just as fast. His shirt follows and I watch as every button is carefully placed through their slots.
Fuck! I knew watching him take off his clothes wassexy, but so is watching him put them on!
Malcolm
I sit beside one of the other bridesmaids’ blokes and we get to talking while we wait for the wedding to begin. Once the wedding starts, we are in awe of the sights – our women. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I wasn’t expecting Rebeckha to outshine the bride, at least in my eyes. She is lovely. The bride looked stunning, but I am definitely devoted to the lady beside her. Beck periodically looks out to the crowd during the nuptials and when her eyes meet mine, I shoot her a smile. She smiles back at me and then refocus her attention on the bride and groom.
After the ceremony, when all guests congregate in the reception room, I find my seat at one of the front tables beside Rebeckha and place my jacket on the chair.
I notice a few ladies looking my way and whispering. They must be wondering who I am and why I’m sitting at the wedding party table, when they know I was not in the wedding. I don’t mind the attention until one of the women come to standing front of me.
“You look familiar,” she starts out, her pointer finger on her chin, tapping as she thinks.
“Hello ma’am. Name’s Mal.” I reach out my hand, in proper introductory fashion, and remind myself to try and quell my accent.
“My god,” she gasps, as our hands clasp in a shake.
“You’re…you’re…” She turns and motions for one of the other women she was previously standing with to come to her side. “Mary, you remember that show we went to last year, the one with the men who dance and take off their clothes?” she loudly whispers the last part. Her friend Mary’s eyes grow as wide as saucers and she puts her manicured hand over her mouth.
“You’re one of them dancing fellas!” Mary says from behind her hand.
“Yup.” I nod.
Mary’s face pales, then she turns and motions for another pant suit-wearing older lady to join us. She whispers something into her ear and, as she finishes, the new arrival’s jaw is practically on the floor and she mimics the hand-over-mouth gesture the others did.
“Do you know Deena?” she asks, her voice a loud whisper.
“I do. I’m Rebeckha’s boyfriend. Name’s Mal.” I offer my hand out again.
“I’m Deena’s mother, my name is Abigail. Any, um, friend of Beck’s is a friend of ours. Welcome,” she says, giving her two friends an odd look.
“Thanks,” I say in return.
I’m fairly sure she’s saying it simply to be nice, because I can see her jaw ticking and can sense her discomfort as we shake hands. I’m not quite sure what just happened.
Suddenly, the lights go down and the sconces along the wall glow. A spotlight shines on the double doors at the end of the room. My new companions and I turn when the Black Eyed Peas’ “I Gotta Feeling” blares through the speakers.
The wedding party begins to enter the room, and each pair dancing. The bridesmaids have a lot more coordination than the blokes do and I’m eagerly anticipating the moves Beck brings when she saunters out. She appears in the doorway and slinks down a bit then shimmies herself across the floor for a few counts, turns and breaks out the running man, pumps a few hip thrusts, and then her partner is waiting with his hand out to spin her. My focus is entirely on her, so I don’t even hear the roar of the guests as the bride and groom enter the room.
When her eyes find mine, they are smiling – yes, her eyes smile at me – and then they widen when she notes the three older women by my side. She takes her place in the line that the rest of the wedding party creates as the bride and groom do their thing for a few beats. When the MC announces the new couple, the guests cheer and then the group disperses.
I watch as Rebeckha strides for me. She is wearing an overwrought, not-quite-genuine smile on her face. When she reaches me, her hand reaches to grasp my forearm as she nearly trips over her dress.
“Whoa, you ‘right?” I ask her, as both my hands go to hold her and help straighten her out. She nods.
“So, I see you’ve met my mother,” she says quietly.
“Your what? No, I met Deena’s mother.”
“My mother is that one.” She points to the one closest to Deena’s mother.
“Mary?” I ask.
“You even know her name? Oh my gosh, what did they say to you? What did you say to them?” she whisper shouts at me, worry evident in her eyes.
“Your mother called me a ‘dancing fella’.” I smile, as I reach my hand around her waist and pull her closer.
“Oh, god. That was not the way that I wanted you and my mother to meet.”
“She seemed to know who I was.”
“Well, you realize your face, your everything is on a billboard here and there around town, right?”
“Yeah, but who really looks at those things?”
“Middle-aged women in heat,” she deadpans.
“In heat? This is Vegas, babe, not just middle-aged women are in heat.”
“You’re cute, you know that?” she smooths out my shirt across my chest.
“Are you patronizing me?”
“Not at all.” She smiles as her mother and friends approach us.
I feel Rebeckha’s body tense as her mother reaches her arms out for a hug. They hug each other and then separate. Her mother looks back to the both of us.
“So, Beck, darling. How long have you been hiding your boyfriend, here?” Mary asks.
“Not for long,” she says quietly.
“I see.” Mary doesn’t look happy and Rebeckha’s posture is tense. “Well, enjoy your evening. I hope to see you again,” Mary directs to me.
“I’m sorry about that,” Rebeckha breathes.
“About what?”
“My judgmental mother. She judges a book by its cover, and I’m afraid you’ve been judged.”
“She didn’t really say much.”
“She doesn’t have to,” Beck says quietly.
“She’s seen the show,” I say.
“What?” Rebeckha’s eyes bug out as she takes a step away from me.
“She and her lady friends, they’ve been to the show. Or they at least implied they had.” I smile, as pull her body back to me. She’s shaking her head and trying to not laugh.
“Great, my mother – and likely half of the country! – has seen you dance in your G-string.”
“It’s a mixture of briefs and G-strings, love,” I correct her, knowing I’m poking the bear already.
She rubs her palms over her face and groans out in frustration.
“No more talk about this. I want tonight to be a fun night.” She straightens. “And we’re going to mingle.”
“What about if someone asks me what I do, or recognizes me?” I ask sincerely.
She rolls her eyes and then just looks at me with an exasperated look on her face.
“I’m just worried, about what people may think. It’s shitty of me, I know that, but just for tonight?”
I put both my arms around her, pull her against me fully and kiss the top of her head.
“I’ll play along, babe. I don’t like it, but I’ll play along.”
Chapter Nine
Rebeckha
What do you say to the woman who has always wanted you to date and marry someone who wears three-piece suits eve
ry day? A woman who judges individuals by their appearance as soon as she meets them?
Sorry, Mom, my boyfriend wears a G-string and he looks better in them than I do. When my mother first approached us, that’s all I wanted to do. Then I became an even bigger jerk when Mal told me that my mother and her friends have seen his show. When that happened, I had a ‘holy shit’ moment and realized that it was likely that anyone who’s come to Vegas could have purchased tickets to one of the shows. One part of me was trying to reason with the other and remind myself that there’s more than one all male revue show that happens around here.
How comfortable am I with the fact that so many women have groped him in one way or another? How unaccepting can I possibly be of him?
Ugh, I’m a horrible human being.
As we dance, his embrace is a welcome cocoon. My head rests against his chest just under his head.
I feel remorse for treating him this way and I need to resolve the issues that I have regarding his occupation.
“I’ll play along, babe. I don’t like it, but I’ll play along,” he says against my hair, his arms strongly wrapped around me.
I feel like a shitty person.
The remainder of reception is drama-free. During several conversations, I wanted to run whenever someone would ask Mal personal questions, while he took it in stride. Whenever asked he’s about his job, he would say he’s a personal trainer. I notice a few females’ lingering looks and whispers, but thankfully no one approached him during the evening.
We are walking towards my apartment hand in hand, when he stops in the doorway, placing both hands on the wall.
“Listen, I get that you aren’t fully okay with my being a dancer. But you knew who I was when we started this thing,” he says, his hand tugging through his hair.
“I’m sorry. I’m a jerk,” I say apologetically.
“Yeah, tonight you were. Look, I really like you, Beck. Like an intense amount of like.” He leans against the wall. “But tonight, I felt like you were ashamed of me, who I am and what I do. I’m not really feeling too good about that.”
“I know. I really don’t have any excuse for my actions. I need to figure out how to not be a brat about it.”
“A brat?”
“A disrespectful brat, who had no right to be so bratty tonight,” I state while he nods in silent agreement.
“So, the next couple of days will be super crazy since I took off tonight. I have rehearsals, shows and some management meetings. Maybe over the next few days, we just take a pause and you figure out if you can be comfortable with what I do and not ashamed of me? Even when I’m done with dancing, I will still be in the entertainment field,” he says sweetly. More sweetly than how I would have if roles were reversed and definitely more than I deserve right now.
I wasn’t expecting this. I was hoping that we would come back here and maybe, very possibly, we would reconcile our feelings and I would make up for my behavior tonight.
“What… what does this mean?” I am fighting the quiver that my voice wants to do.
He steps forward, crowds me and puts both hands on my arms then lowers himself to meet my eyes.
“I just want you to really think about what we’re doing here. I’m not going to dance forever. But right now… right now, this is what I do. If you’re going to be with me, you need to be okay with it. I don’t want to hide who I am. That isn’t fair to me. But know this, you’re my girl. Not any of those faceless women at the club. You are the one I am with,” he says carefully.
“Okay,” I say meekly.
“This isn’t over. We aren’t over. I wouldn’t let that happen without a fight. I need you to just think about that for me.”
“Okay.” I’m fighting tears. While he’s saying this isn’t the end, I could easily make the wrong and stupid decision and it would be just that.
“A couple days, that’s all. Unless you need more time?” he asks. I shake my head and look at him. “Peach, this isn’t done, I just want you to think about this.”
“A couple of days,” I repeat slowly.
He kisses me lightly, brushing his lips against mine and adding light pressure. Then his hands on my arms releases me.
“That won’t be our last kiss,” he assures me and then moves away from my door. With a look back, he smiles and then he’s gone into the night.
I keep myself busy for the rest of the evening in order not to cry. I stare at the television screen, unsure what I’m watching, while holding a bowl of soggy cereal. It is nearing three in the morning and I am still trying to wrap my head around what transpired tonight, starting with Malcolm’s assurance that he was giving me space to figure out my thoughts.
My overall attitude tonight as soon as people in my life began speaking to him makes me a coward. I’m the furthest thing from an open-minded person right now that I surprise myself. I’ve always prided myself on being non-judgmental about everything and everyone. Then I date a male stripper and I become close minded and a complete asshole. Assuming the worst because of a perceived stigma that I cannot get past. Judging when I shouldn’t based on archaic perceptions.
I’m a jerk. I’m a complete hypocrite.
I don’t deserve Malcolm.
But I want to. I want to deserve him more than anything.
Malcolm
I’m dragging ass, more than I usually am when I’ve had a late night. Except, in this case, my late night had nothing to do with partying and everything to do with the stress of feeling like a prick for hitting the pause button on Beck and me. After I left Beck’s place, I drove around for an hour, then came home and passed out, tired from the day and from the constant thoughts in my head. I know in my gut I did what was right, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t suck.
I hit the pause button to give her a few days. While she didn’t do anything outrageous at the wedding to set off anything, she did act ashamed of me and what I currently do – that part was evident. I know she cares for me, and she knows I am crazy about her. But maybe a step back from everything to appreciate the person and not the occupation is the right thing to do. While I know her actions were not meant to make me feel demeaned, they did. I wasn’t happy with the way she was reacting. If she can’t indeed handle the fact that I am a male entertainer – dancer, stripper whatever you want to call it – then maybe this relationship just isn’t meant to be.
I didn’t lie to her when I said that I had a busy few days ahead of me. In addition to the standard rehearsals, and training clients, I do have an important meeting with the bank and my financial advisor that I need to make sure I am prepared for. I mentioned to Beck that I’m looking at other options but, while that’s true, it doesn’t mean I will be getting out of the dancing profession all together. Rather than being on stage taking off my clothes, I will be the guy who pays others to. I will still be in entertainment, so if she wants to be with me, she will need to come to terms with that aspect.
Male revues in this town are becoming plentiful, some are successful and some are barely hanging by a thread. There are several clubs in the city catering to both the male and female audience, I’m hoping that having a singular club offering up the full buffet will help create a buzz and to make my club stand out from the rest.
I’ve done by research, I’ve come up with several different business plans and I’m hoping that my final idea will be the idea.
I have invested my earnings wisely over the last several years and I have enough money to start up my own shop and to make my vision real. My credit score is aces and I just needed a bank to help me out with the rest. This is my chance.
I straighten my tie, grab my shoulder bag with all my reports and personal information needed for the meeting, take one last look in the mirror and then head out the door to the appointment that can make or break my future.
Still flying high from the meeting yesterday – which turned into three meetings – I stroll into the rehearsal space like I am weightless, that nothing can sour my go
od mood. I quickly change into my workout clothes and hit the floors.
I am seducing myself in the mirror when I notice JD and Micah staring at me strangely.
“You’re acting weird today,” JD says to my reflection.
“Nah, he’s acting weirder than usual,” Micah jokes.
“Guys, leave him alone. Can’t you see he’s trying to score a date with himself,” Jacks laughs, coming up beside them.
As all three of them watch I lick my lips and roll my hips seductively, with my hand cupping my junk, and then I thrust.
“Just opening the gates. Letting my pelvic floor do the talking,” I say, remembering something I overheard once in a yoga class.
“How was that wedding? That’s why you ditched out the other night, right?” Jacks asks.
“It was fine. A couple of ladies recognized me, which didn’t sit well with my date. Apparently they’d been to a show before.” A slow grin forms on my face.
“Yikes. See, we please both the young and the old,” boasts JD.
“One of them was my girl’s mum,” I say with an even bigger grin.
“Shit! That’s awkward. I betcha she was one of the cougars who clawed you that one night.”
“Speaking of which, some cougar took a chunk out of my hip last night. She fucking got down on her knees in front of me and started rubbing her face all over my shit. Her fucking claws dug into my hips like crazy.” JD turns and lifts his tank top to show us the marks. Sure enough, nail marks lined both sides of his lower back.
“You missed a rowdy crowd. A bride got ushered out because she tried to climb the stage during the Tarzan number.”
“Another woman tried to start a fight with one of the bouncers. Last night was intense. There was a lot of booze flying around, more than usual it seemed,” Jacks replies.
“Sounds like a good time to me.” I smile at them and then go back to smiling at myself in the mirror wall as I practice a few more moves.
It’s well into the night when I emerge from rehearsal. I take out my phone ready to dial Beck, but stop myself. I need to give her space, give myself space, and just wait out the next few days. Even though I want to share the success of my meetings with her, I need the assurance that she can accept me for me and not judge me on her thoughts of what a male dancer is. I need her, but I cannot force myself on her.
The Night Moves Boxset: (Stripped, The Hook-up, The Night Manager) Page 8