by Ty Jacob
Mike was swaying back and forth in front of the customer when Kerry walked in. The strippers always came in the back. Kerry walked out through the door beside the stage and moved over to the bar. He caught Mike’s eye, nodding and smiling, as though this five-dollar dance were for him. Mike kept his eye on Kerry as he danced. Eventually the customer looked over his shoulder to see who Mike was looking at, and he said, “Hey, I paid you,” pointing at himself. After that Mike was careful to keep his eyes off Kerry.
When the song was over, he was happy that the guy didn’t ask for a private dance. The bouncer was still watching. Mike wouldn’t have been able to say no, and he wanted to go talk to Kerry. Although the strippers at Exposé weren’t expected to do overtime, they were expected to do privates if a customer requested it. It was part of the deal.
He walked back up on stage, turned around again and wiggled his rear end, then went backstage.
In the changing room, he pulled the five-dollar bill out of his jockstrap. It was warm and damp. The changing room had lockers along one wall and a long bench in the middle of the room. Mike sat down and waited for Tony to come with his clothes. Tony was the new waiter, and this was part of his job: serve the drinks and pick up the clothes. The waiters didn’t dance, but they had to be handsome. Tony was sexy in an Italian way, and he flirted with the customers even though he was straight.
“That was a good,” Tony said, coming through the door in his waiter’s uniform, tight black pants and a white shirt. He was carrying Mike’s clothes and boots.
“Oh really?” Mike said. “You better stop watching. Your girlfriend’s going to get jealous.”
Tony laughed and ran back out into the bar. There were rumors that he had a daughter with an ex-girlfriend, that he saw her every other weekend.
Mike put the construction drag back on, except for the tool belt and hard hat. He stuffed the five-dollar bill it into the pocket of his jeans and went out to talk to Kerry.
“Hey,” Kerry said. “Damn, you’re the hottest guy here.”
Mike was taken aback. He smiled. “Thanks, but I don’t think so. The hottest guy here is this dancer named Kerry. Know him?”
“Vaguely. What are you drinking?”
“Miller light.”
Kerry turned to the bartender and got Mike his beer. The strippers didn’t pay for alcohol, although part of their job was to get customers to buy them drinks anyway. Mike liked that Kerry ordered his beer.
“You enjoy your walk today?” Kerry asked.
Suddenly worry shot through Mike’s chest. He didn’t want to think about being tested, didn’t want to think about waiting an entire week for the results. “It was fine,” he said, then added, “Have you recovered from that all-night trick?”
“Yeah. Wasn’t so bad. He had a nice apartment. He smelled good. I got an extra hundred for staying.”
“Cool.” Mike looked at the empty stage. He took a sip of his beer. It was the hardest thing, just talking. Not when he was with a customer – that was easy, it was his job. It wasn’t real. But it always felt difficult to maneuver when he was with guys he was attracted to, guys he liked. Ever since he and Kerry had done their trick together, Mike thought Kerry was nice. He’d been gentle when he fucked Mike in front of the English guy, almost kind, like he was handling something precious.
Mike never mentioned Kerry to Sasha. Customers didn’t make her jealous, and neither did simple one night stands. But hearing about a guy he liked – a guy who was tender when he fucked him – this, Mike knew, would upset her.
“You live with that drag queen, right?” Kerry asked.
Mike was surprised. It felt like Kerry was reading his mind. “Yeah. Sasha. Her name is Sasha. Dale, really. He’s Dale.”
“I hear she’s always after guys to do jack-off scenes for her. She’s into video.”
“Yeah. She’s a director. I did a jack-off scene for her. And we shot a movie together.”
“Hardcore?”
“Yeah.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“I wanted to. It’s fun”
“I’m not so into porn.”
“It’s safer than turning tricks. There’s no risk of being beat up.”
”I prefer real sex, without cameras.”
“It is real sex.”
“And some day I don’t want to be doing this anymore.” Kerry gestured around, to the stage and the men in the bar. “I don’t want some video of me having sex hanging around afterward, reminding me.”
“It’s what I want to do. Porn. I want to be a big star.”
“She’s sort of gross. So damn fat.”
“Sasha? She’s not gross. She’s just Sasha. Sort of beautiful, in a way.”
“You think she’s sexy?”
“No, I don’t mean sexy. I mean she’s really nice. She’d do anything for me. I trust her.”
Kerry laughed. “She’s fuckin’ hideous, man.”
Mike stopped. He looked at Kerry sternly, like a warning. “She’s my friend,” he said, his voice short and clipped. He was no longer so sure about this lean, blond stripper in front of him. Where was the tender man who fucked him?
Pascal walked up and tapped Kerry on the arm. “You’re on.”
Kerry nodded to Pascal, then turned back to Mike. Something in his face said that he didn’t want to walk away right now.
“The stage,” Pascal said, watching.
“Sorry, man,” Kerry said to Mike. Then he downed the last of his drink and began walking to the stage.
The change in Kerry’s gait told Mike that he was already performing. It was a loping swagger. His head was high, chest forward, shoulders rocking just a little with each step, first the right then the left. The difference was subtle, but Mike knew it wasn’t Kerry’s usual walk. This was the walk Mike had also learned to do when he was on the streets, so men would recognize he was for hire. Around the bar, customers’ heads were already turning toward Kerry, even before he made it to the stage.
The music started, and Kerry began dancing. He didn’t do costumes. He stripped in street clothes, tight jeans and muscle tees. Mike felt it didn’t convey the same sense of fun, sexy play that costumes did, but it was still good. Kerry had been doing this for a long time, much longer than Mike, and as Mike watched he took note of the expert expression on Kerry’s face.
Stripping, Mike had decided, was as much about the face as it was the body. You had to look like you were enjoying it, or it wasn’t sexy. Of course you had to have a good body. But even if you had the body of a god, if you looked bored or annoyed or self-conscious it wouldn’t come off right, wouldn’t really be sexy. At the same time, if you had just a decent body you could still go a long way with a flirtatious, sexy expression or a mischievous smile.
Mike thought that a large part of what made a guy appealing was not just his body or the features of his face, but how he carried himself, how he held a gaze or turned away just at the right time. There were men, just average guys he’d seen around, whose ability to be attractive was destroyed merely by holding their chin out too far, their neck stiff and tight, or slouching terribly – things that revealed a lack of ease with themselves, and consequently made them ugly. The sexiest men wore their bodies well, like a loose robe. They carried themselves in a manner that implied there was something relaxed and still just under the surface of their skin, some effortless way of being – a thing you could get at and touch, if you got close enough. This was an act Mike had always tried to mimic. Yet at the same time he knew, above all, that you had to come off as genuine. You couldn’t seem affected or cheesy at all. Nothing was as big of a turn-off as an obvious fraud. You had to be completely comfortable with yourself. Then the act became true.
By the time Kerry was done with his two songs, he was standing in the middle of the stage in a tiny black G-string. Mike hated G-strings. They weren’t sexy. Jock straps were sexy. He watched Kerry, watched his long, sinewy muscles stretch down his arms and legs. One of the lechers
against the far wall held up a five-dollar bill. Kerry glanced in Mike’s direction and then walked over to the old man. Mike stood at the bar drinking. When the song was over, Kerry and the lecher walked into the back together. Mike watched them go.
20. The Results
FOR DALE, THE weekend passed with an almost unbearable slowness. After climbing into bed Friday night, he slept for a few hours but then woke up at four am feeling horrible for what he’d done. He thought of the risk of serious illness and hospitalization. He wanted to call Steve’s house immediately to make sure that Phil and Blane were okay, but he knew he couldn’t. It was too late. He had to keep quiet now.
Around 4:30 a.m., he heard the door in the kitchen open and heard Mike come in. He saw the light from the living room flash on under his door. Although he wanted to get up and talk, it would be too hard to face Mike right then. He rolled over and tried to get back to sleep. The next day he made a point of not asking if Mike had gone home with a trick. More and more, Dale didn’t like to know.
He brought out his presents on Saturday afternoon and watched as Mike opened them with an enormous, child-like smile. He felt incredibly happy as Mike took off the shirt he was wearing and slipped on the red sweatshirt immediately. It fit. It looked good. Then, standing in front of Dale, Mike took off his jeans, the sweatshirt, his underwear, and he put on the pair of black Speedos. His lean body was already beginning to fill out with a bit more muscle from his workouts. He turned around and showed Dale his ass.
“Does my butt look big in this?” he asked, laughing.
“Huge!” Dale said, staring at the beauty of Mike’s rounded ass.
Dale wanted to watch movies on the sofa with Mike on all day Sunday, but Mike had plans, although he didn’t say what they were. Dale feared that if he put too much pressure on Mike to stay home, or to spend time together, he might go away entirely. Mike left Dale sitting alone at noon and didn’t come back until after seven that evening.
Dale waited for Mike so they could eat dinner together. Over potatoes warmed in the microwave and some quickly pan-fried steaks, he asked how Mike’s day was, but Mike only mumbled a vague answer about how he’d just been “hanging out.” Dale decided to let it go.
On Monday morning Sasha left for work in an understated yet comfortably glamorous pink velour tracksuit. There was a purple rose embroidered above her left bosom. She might have to work late, and she wanted to be practical.
In fact, she had absolutely no idea what she’d find when she walked in the door of Cougar Studios. She was dying to know the results of her hard work, but it was important not to do anything out of the ordinary. She walked to her desk in no hurry, put her enormous green handbag under her desk, and made a cup of tea before poking her head into Steve’s office. She planned to thank him for the lovely meal at El Mexicano, but she was delighted to find him standing outside his office, shouting frantically at Günter.
“What do you mean, Austin’s not available?” Steve was clearly stressed. “What about Montgomery, can he do it?”
Sasha knew Austin Wagner and Montgomery Boss were directors. She suppressed a smile.
Günter, wearing a dark grey mesh tank top, had a stunned expression on his face. “I called Monty already,” he said. “He’s at Fire Island on vacation.” In the urgency, Günter’s voice seemed to have lost any trace of German intonation.
“Then get me Peter’s number,” Steve said.
“Peter?”
“Peter Wolff. If he can’t do it, we’re in serious trouble. And get the talent book. Start making calls. We need a bottom too.”
Sasha interrupted, sporting her best look of concern. “What’s wrong, Steve?”
“Fuckin’ pain in the ass, Sasha. Both Blane and Phil are sick. Really sick. In bed and moaning. The only time they get up is to run to the bathroom. Marcus is at the house taking care of them.”
“Oh, Steve, that’s awful. They’ll be okay, won’t they?”
“Yeah, we think it’s food poisoning. They ate at some nasty diner on Saturday afternoon. They’re in no condition to work, and we’re supposed to film tonight at Built.”
“Built?” Sasha knew it. Built was the big, gay West Hollywood gym.
“Yeah.” Steve raised his hands to his face and briefly massaged his temples. “But I’ve only got the location for tonight. If I can’t get this scene shot tonight it’s going to throw off our entire production schedule. I’d direct it myself but I’m on a plane at five.”
“That’s terrible!” It was too perfect, Sasha thought. It was fantastic. The goddess had heard her. “Where are you going?”
“I’m judging a talent search at a leather bar in Atlanta tomorrow night, and I’ve got business there the next morning. Local producers.”
Günter handed Steve a piece of paper and said, “Here’s Peter’s number.” Steve turned toward his office.
“Steve,” Sasha said. “I’m available.”
“What for?”
“To direct.”
Steve smiled. “You?”
“Yes, moi. You know I’ve directed before. What’s more, I have the ability to make sure a certain bottom you’re very interested is available.”
“Billy Knight? The one from your amateur movie?”
“It wasn’t entirely amateur, Steve. The problem was budget.”
“How do you know he’s available?”
“For me, he’ll be available. I’m practically his mother.”
“Look, you get him for me, and I’ll owe you a favor. Now I’m calling Peter.” Steve walked into his office.
“No, Steve.” Sasha stepped through the door behind him. He was already reaching for the phone. “You don’t get Billy Knight unless Sasha directs. We come together. So to speak.”
His hand stopped and he looked at her. He seemed to be considering the idea, then said, “In that case I don’t need Billy Knight.” He picked up the phone.
Sasha stood watching as he called. She made another tiny prayer to the great drag queen in the sky.
“Hi, Peter!” Steve spoke into the phone. “Yeah, Steve Logan here. How are you? Look, I know we haven’t used you in a while but I’m in a bind here. It’s short notice, but I need a director for a shoot tonight. Yeah, that’s right. I’ve got a crew and a location and most of my models but I need a director. What do you mean? But Peter, this is for Muscle Party, high profile stuff, good for your career. Can’t you reschedule that? So what, they’ll come another night. You mean there’s just no way you’re willing to do it? God damn it, Peter. Fuck you!”
Steve slammed down the phone, then looked up, surprised to find Sasha still there.
“What’s wrong, Steve?” She was trying hard not to look happy.
“He’s got an orgy at his place tonight.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.” Her voice had turned saccharine. She walked over to him and whispered in his ear. “Sasha and Billy are all yours. You just say yes, and all your problems will be solved, like that.” She snapped her fingers and stood up straight, then walked out the door.
21. Partners
WHEN MIKE WOKE on Monday morning, Sasha had already left for work. He lay with his hands behind his head and looked around the room, at the intense red walls, the ugly feathered masks, the pink sewing machine against the wall.
Sometimes, when Sasha worked on a new costume in the evenings, the sound of the sewing machine reminded him of his mother. But he’d been sleeping on this fake leather couch for three months now, and he was tired of it.
The sheets slipped away and his skin stuck to the vinyl when he rolled over. He wanted a bed, his own bed. He wanted to walk into his own room and close the door, to be able to bring people home, somebody like Kerry, without Sasha or Dale watching. But he didn’t want to leave, had no desire to live alone. He didn’t want Cincinnati all over again.
He sat up and went over the weekend in his head. On Friday night Kerry had left Exposé with the lecher he’d been doing private dances for all night. In a
way, Mike was happy for Kerry. He must have made a lot of money. But Mike was even happier when Kerry had stopped by before leaving.
“Hey Mike,” Kerry had said, reaching out and touching his arm. Mike was standing near the bar with a customer, a teddy bear who was offering to buy Mike a drink. Kerry’s hand was warm and big. “I’m really sorry I insulted your friend,” he said. “I didn’t realize.”
Mike paused. “Sure.”
Kerry turned toward the teddy bear and said, “Just a sec. Do you mind?” He pulled on Mike’s arm, walking a few steps away, so the music of the bar would give their conversation some privacy. Over by the door Kerry’s lecher stood waiting. Mike’s teddy bear watched from the bar.
“Let me take you out to lunch,” Kerry said. “To apologize.”
“I guess that’d be cool.”
“You guess?”
Mike decided to speak the truth but soften it with a flirtatious smile. “Kerry, I’m not so sure how nice you are.”
Kerry took his hand off Mike’s arm and gave a surprised laugh, then nodded.
“Don’t ever say anything mean about Sasha,” Mike said.
“Okay. I won’t”
“Promise?”
“Promise. What about lunch?”
“Yes.”
Kerry looked pleased. “I’m working all day tomorrow, but can you meet me at the Lighthouse Café on Sunday? Say noon?”
“Cool.” Mike reached out and, with the back of his hand, lightly hit Kerry’s stomach. It was tight like a drum. Then he nodded and walked back to the teddy bear, still waiting at the bar.
Now Mike stretched out on the couch and rubbed his chest. There was a pleasant soreness in his muscles from the workout he did with Kerry yesterday. Lunch at the Lighthouse had been fantastic. The conversation was easy. They talked about customers, the ones they liked, the ones they didn’t. They giggled like kids. They talked about where they grew up. Mike didn’t talk about his dad, didn’t tell Kerry what happened the night he left home. He didn’t talk about that with anyone.
They both said they didn’t want to work at Exposé forever. Kerry wanted to save his money so he could quit and travel around Europe. Mike, of course, wanted to become a major porn star. The only uncomfortable moment was when Kerry tried to talk him out of doing any more porn. He just looked at Kerry and said, “Back off.” Kerry did.