Chapter 10
Cora
I watch as he moves, well aware that I'm a woman who can appreciate the male form, but there's something a little more unnerving about watching a guy roll his hips and move his body on a stage when I'm the only one in the room.
I picked 3a because it was a simple stripper. I thought I could handle that easily, a lot better than the things on the right side of the menu for sure, but this isn't like the time we snuck away from campus and went to the Chippendale show.
Naomi, who also just happened to be the granddaughter of a former president, had an uncanny ability to slip her bodyguard detail and get us into the best of trouble. It seems like a lifetime ago, and there are days I wish for the easy freedom I had when I was in college.I only went out with that group of girls a handful of times, but the memories of those carefree nights make me smile.
But then so does Ben, the guy dancing for me as sultry music plays from the speakers.
The setup in here is eerily familiar to what we saw when we went to that show, only the lights are on in the room, and the man can see me as easily as I can see him.
I'm not comfortable in the slightest, although I know the unease comes from a different place. Before, when I was younger, I always worried at some point in the night that we would get caught, that someone would recognize us, and we'd be the next scandal for our political families to deal with. It made having a great time impossible without the help of a bottle or two of champagne or wine.
I gave up on the idea of them trying to poison or drug me about fifteen seconds after Ben strutted into the room and asked me what type of music I preferred. Stupidly, I told him country because that's what I listen to in the car, but that left me with having to watch him perform to "Save a Horse" by Big and Rich, and that's just not something anyone should witness.
If anything, I feel bad for him as the song transitions into "Strip It Down" by Luke Bryan.
I almost open my mouth to ask for something different, but from the glazed look in his eyes and the way he seems to be looking over my head as he dances, I don't think the music matters much to him.
Should I have brought single dollar bills to stuff in his very tiny thong? Would the guy at the front have allowed it even if I had any idea this was how my night would go?
"Do you like working here?" I ask, angling my head up so he can possibly hear me better.
He gives me another wide smile, but he doesn't verbally respond.
"Are they nice to you?"
His dance moves don't waver, and it makes me wonder if he can understand me or even hear me.
The music isn't so loud that my voice didn't reach him.
Shit.
Is it possible he's deaf? How would he keep the beat if that's the case? Does he not speak English?
"Do you—"
"I like working here," he says.
"Do you always dance?"
"I do a lot of things," he says, his smile locked in place, but it's the increasing creases at the corners of his eyes that give away the irritation that's growing in him .
When the song changes again to one I don't know, he runs his hands down his chest and further over his crotch, making my unease grow by leaps and bounds.
By the middle of the song, I swear I can see that the tip of his penis is hard and peeking from the top of his shiny underwear.
This is not something I ever experienced when I went out with friends in college. Those guys wanted to party because they saw the amount of money we were throwing around, and they wanted as much of what we had to offer as possible. Not once did I notice them getting aroused on stage while dancing. Hell, there was more than one occasion where I swear I saw some type of stuffing or packing material peek out, as if they wanted to appear larger than they actually were. They sure as hell never revealed their private parts.
I keep my eyes on him because I paid for this, after all, and I'm supposed to be into this sort of thing, but I'm regretting coming here in the first place. Maybe the cuddling, item 1b, was a better bet, but at the time, I just couldn't imagine touching someone else or having them touch me. I still don't want someone to touch me, but I also don't know if being subjected to watching this is a very good idea either.
By the end of the song, he has stripped fully naked, and now he's leaving no doubt just how ready he is for more than a little dancing. I follow the arc of his shiny underwear as he tosses it across the small stage, finding my attention locked on it. That's better than staring at this naked man who seems right at home, stroking the length of his penis right in front of me.
But then again, who am I fooling? This is exactly what I paid for, isn't it?
This is a transaction. I paid, and he's performing. It makes my skin itch as his shadow dances on the wall, all hip rolls and sensual movements.
This is no way even close to fun like it was in my twenties. When he inches forward, I dart my eyes in his direction but then I have tolook away because my cheeks are on fire. This is so damned awkward.
"I was wondering how long you've worked here," I say, my gaze on the far wall.
"Listen, lady, I'm just here to pay my way through college. It's just a job."
I snap my eyes to him, and I can see the immediate regret in his. But it isn't regret for what he's doing, just that he responded the way he did just now.
I hold my hands up when he tries to come closer to me, as if he needs to apologize or get me to understand his reasoning.
"I'm so sorry. I know you only ordered 3a but I can throw in 3b if you don't tell anyone I lost my shit."
I watch in horror as he dips two fingers into his mouth and holds them out to me. My thighs clamp closed as I scoot back further into my chair. 3b is not something I'm interested in from this young man.
"I'm fast," he insists. "I can make you come faster than anyone has ever before."
"No thank you," I tell him. "That'll be all, Ben."
"There's an assortment of toys if you'd like a few moments alone after I leave," he says in an even voice as if he's reading from a script.
He pleads with sad eyes as he gathers his things. He gives me one more final look over his shoulder before he leaves the room.
I don't even bother to look in the direction he indicated because I don't want to know what he thinks I'll be doing after he leaves.
He's just trying to get through college? It was too familiar of a reminder about my younger brother Christopher.
How lucky were we that we didn't have to resort to such things to get through school? I imagine there were people on scholarships who had to work through college, but there wasn't anyone like that in my circle of friends. We all had trust funds and enough money that student loans weren't even a thing. I knew then how lucky I was, but when people mentioned having to work through college, I imagined they did what I did and helped a family member in whatever organization they ran. I helped my mom with Chapter One, the literacy program she started right after my dad was elected as senator to his first term.
Are people really having to sell their bodies for an education?
Maybe Chapter One isn't the best place for me to focus my energies. Maybe a program to help college students would be better.
"Did you enjoy your time with us?"
I snap my head in the direction of the door, finding the woman who escorted me here standing in the doorway.
"It was lovely. How do I tip Ben for his wonderful performance?"
"Tipping isn't expected, Ms. Preston," she says, leaving no room for argument. "If you'll follow me."