4 Aubie
SOMEONE’S ALARM IS BLARING. Since I have no reason to use one, that must mean I’m not alone. I open my eyes and stare blearily around the room. The blackout curtains are closed, but the bathroom door is open, providing enough ambient light to make out my surroundings.
My bed. Someone’s leg stretched across mine. I follow it up to a tempting as hell half-erect cock. My eye wanders further up. Nicely toned chest. Scruffy face partially hidden by a tangle of dark hair.
Oh, now I remember.
At least, some of it.
We flirted, I asked him to come home with me. He was interested but was with someone. They came as a matched set, and they both adored me–their words.
How could I refuse?
I glance past him to the shapely curves of his…girlfriend? I rarely sleep with women, but I know my way around enough to keep them happy. And as I recall, she was more interested in watching us.
I search around for the offending phone and spot it on the floor. The alarm is still spearing a hole in my head. I pick it up and toss it over my shoulder at him.
“Wakey wakey. Time to go.”
It’s rare that hookups spend the night. Usually I boot them out after I’ve had my fill. Hey, they knew what they were getting into when they followed me home.
That must mean I outdid myself last night. The headache that’s rapidly making itself known attests to that.
The cutey next to me groans and stabs at the phone until it finally shuts up. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
“Yeah,” I say, sitting up. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.”
I drag my naked ass out of bed and head for the bathroom. I hate sleepovers. Awkward doesn’t begin to cover it. It’s like, we all got what we wanted so could you just not be here anymore?
They’re both stumbling around the room looking for their clothes when I emerge from the bathroom.
I ignore them and make my way out to the kitchen in search of coffee.
That’s when my own phone starts shrieking Steph’s ringtone.
I finally find it in the livingroom on the coffee table after the sixth ring. Damn she’s persistent today.
“What are you doing up so early?” I demand with a wince. My head is really banging now.
“It’s after eleven.”
Who sets an alarm for eleven on a Sunday? “Like I said, early.”
She chuckles. “Everything all right there?”
“Fine. Why?” I know she’s fishing.
“Well, you had a full Uber last night. I want to make sure you didn’t get in over your head.”
I snort. “Girl, that’s amateur stuff.”
Cutey and his girlfriend appear and look at me. “Hang on,” I tell Steph, then meet his eyes. Green. Pretty. Nice to know my standards haven’t slipped when I’m drunk. “You need me to call you an Uber?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “We got it covered.”
Nice voice. I could listen to that… “Okay then. It was fun.”
“Yeah, for sure.” He threads his fingers through hers and leads her to the door. Like I said, awkward.
When I hear the door close, I exhale. “Okay, where were we?” I ask Steph as I start the coffee maker. “Oh yeah, I was just telling you how sorry I was you went home alone.” Anything to move on from that scene.
“Don’t think I’m going to let this other thing slide, but who says I went home alone?”
My inner slut perks up. “Do tell.”
“It was just a quick fuck.”
“Those are the best kind. Where did you find a straight one in there?”
I’ll admit, I kind of lost track of Steph and Jerome after the revue. The last I saw of Jerome he was practically fucking that guy under the table. It got me so hot and bothered I had to wander. Must be how I met Cutey.
“He had come with his sister, if you can believe that. She just bought a membership and didn’t want to come alone the first time. And he’s not exactly straight. He’s bi.”
“So he must’ve been pretty desperate for a hookup.”
“Fuck you, Aubie,” she laughs. “Actually, we both were.”
“A quick explosive fuck. Even better.”
I couldn’t say if that’s what I’d had, but since I’m not sporting morning wood, I guess I must have been at least satisfied.
Is it true it doesn’t count if you don’t remember it?
Because that would mean I could break my own rule and have a do-over with Cutey.
Between his sexy voice and that luscious ass I could be convinced to invite him back.
With my spotty memory, it would be like the first time.
“Aubie, are you listening to me?”
“Sorry, what?”
“That good, huh?” she teases.
“Not sure.”
“Oh my god, you don’t remember?” She chuckles. “You were pretty wasted.”
“Who ordered that second bottle of Patrón?”
“That would be you.”
“Oh yeah. You were matching me shot for shot. And you had a head start.”
“I can hold my liquor.”
I snort. “Right. Since when?”
“It’s a proven fact that women can tolerate more liquor pound for pound than a man.”
“You’re just making that up.”
“I’m a doctor. I know what I’m talking about.”
“You’re a wannabe doctor, and you’re full of shit.”
She laughs. “Hey, don’t ruin my game.”
The coffee maker beeps, eliciting an almost Pavlovian response in my body. I suddenly crave caffeine like a junkie. “Okay as much fun as this has been, I need to go nurse my hangover. Was there a point to this call?”
“No, just thanking you for last night. Maybe next time we can come when you’re dancing.”
I lower my voice. “Babe, everyone comes when I dance.”
“Your bedroom voice doesn’t work on me.”
“No? Think you can handle watching me take off my clothes?”
“Like I haven’t seen you naked before. Come on, I’ll bet you’re naked right now.”
I look down at myself and grin. Guilty. “Want me to Facetime you?”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you, too.”
“Talk to you later, slut.”
I hang up laughing and pour a cup of coffee before reaching for the Tylenol. I’ll give myself an hour to put this hangover behind me before working on my routine for tonight. I’ve got a good idea of what I want to do, I just have to find the right music and work out the steps.
Like most things in my life, I rarely do the same routine twice.
A lot of the guys have two or three routines they rotate weekly, but I like the variety.
Once I’ve done it, I’m over it. Plus it gives my audience something to look forward to.
If they know they’re always going to get new content from me, they’ll keep coming back, which means higher tips.
Not that I do it for the money. In fact, I donate my tips to the dancer’s pot. I just get a kick out of earning my own money. Another fuck you to my father.
You’d think I’d run out of ways to take off my clothes, but I’ve always got new ideas. Some inspired by hookups, some other dancers. I admit I watch a lot of stripper porn. Yes, it’s a thing. Some of those guys in Europe are creative as hell.
There’s no video of Eros since they don’t allow it, but from what I’ve seen from other places, the concept is unique.
Not too many clubs in this country feature stripping to the boner.
And I do mean boner. Daryl doesn’t even mind if we stroke ourselves.
As long as we don’t have actual penetration we’re fine, though with that many eyes watching, there are nights when I don’t know how I don’t come on stage. It’s great for building stamina.
My mind wanders down that rabbit hole for a few minutes, wondering if Daryl ever thought about shooting video in Eros. It would be a big earner. He could make more from that than the club itself.
But I guess I can understand him not wanting to call attention to the business.
Piss off the wrong guy for the right reason, and you’re suddenly irrelevant and broke.
I did pay attention occasionally in college to get the gist of how business works.
And growing up under my father’s roof, I learned how it really works.
There’s also the chance that it could get him shut down. There are a lot of narrow-minded people in this city who would annihilate their pearls at the thought of a naked cock being wagged in their face.
That thought stirs my own naked cock. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to send Cutey away, because now I have to take care of this alone. But inviting him to stay would’ve set a bad precedent.
No seconds.
It’s one of the few rules I live by.
Well, except for with my fuckbuddies, but that’s different. There’s no danger of catching feelings there.
? ? ?
Good thing I remembered I left my car at the club, because I got so involved working on my routine I kind of lost track of time.
Jesus, where did the day go? I had planned to grab something to eat on the way, but I doubt the Uber driver will be down for that.
He doesn’t look like the type who would be into me buying him dinner, though who can tell?
It’s not like it would be a date. Just two guys who need to eat.
I keep the thought to myself and arrive at Eros with my stomach growling.
The parking lot is full. I locate my car from where I parked it last night and pull it around back to the employee parking lot, nosing in next to a flat black Busa.
Yeah, I know who owns it. I look around for the asshole, but I’m the only one out here until a white Cherokee swings around the corner.
I wait, watching the man get out and grab his bag, heading my way.
“Aubie,” he greets with a nod.
“Dominic. How’s it going?”
“Good. You?”
“Can’t complain.” He pulls the door open and stands aside for me to enter ahead of him. “Thanks.”
The back hallway is buzzing with activity.
Sunday evenings are always more chaotic than any other night.
The revue dances, along with a few regulars, but they also open up the floor to a few guest dancers.
That’s how I ended up here. I’ve met guys from all over the world in the short time I’ve been here, meaning I rarely leave the club alone on Sundays.
Which is why I look forward to them, taking extra care with my routine and costume on those days. I usually go on at 9:45, right before the revue, so I’m like the warm-up act. I kind of resent that, but they are the stars of club.
There’s barely a place to sit in the dressing room. I squeeze onto a stool between Daniel and Ace, another one of the solo dancers. Daniel gives me a peck on the cheek and asks about my day. We chat for a few minutes until it’s time for him to go on.
“Wish me luck, darlings,” he calls as he eases out the door.
I get my make up the way I want it then head over to the mirrored wall to get dressed. Tonight’s ensemble features red lace and black leather.
“That’s hot,” someone whispers in my ear.
I glance up to meet the ice blue eyes of one of the guest dancers.
Speaking of hot. Like a Viking come to life.
Hair so blond it’s nearly white, just the right amount of scruff, and a hard chiseled body that’s way too distracting under that thin white T-shirt and tight, low-slung jeans.
He looks like he just walked off a construction site, and damn, it’s working for me. My dick stirs.
His smile is brilliant when he says, “You can call me Sven.”
Little on the nose, but no one said we were original.
“Chaton,” I say, running a finger over the back of his hand. I lick my lips and drop my eyes. “I can’t wait to see what’s under those jeans.”
“Maybe I’ll let you see more than that.”
Definitely hard now. “Oh, honey, I am here for it.”
“I go on at eleven.”
You can bet I’ll be watching that. “Come find me afterward.”
He leans forward and drops a kiss on my cheek. “Will do.”
I do love Sunday nights.
I watch him strut his biteable ass across the room to join a conversation with two other guest dancers. Guess they’re friends, and the other two are as hot as he is. Wonder if they’d be open to sharing.
A glance at the monitor on the wall tells me Daniel is wrapping up his routine, which means it’s almost showtime for me. The audience will definitely get their money’s worth tonight. I’m as hard as granite. In fact, it’s rapidly becoming an obstacle to walking.
I step out into hallway and take a slow, deep breath.
Dial it back some.
I lean against the wall and close my eyes, letting the rumble of music and the excited chatter in the next room fade into the background. I guess that’s why I don’t hear him walk up. It’s the electricity tingling across my flesh that makes me open my eyes.
The hallway is dimly lit, a sort of transition between the harsh vanity lights of the dressing room and the moody spots on the stage. That’s why it takes me a few seconds to find him.
Why does he always affect me this way?
Espresso eyes so dark they’re almost black. Narrowed at me like I’m the original source of evil in the world. Ordinarily, I’d take that as a compliment, but there’s nothing playful about the way he’s looking at me.
I’d bet my family’s fortune there are secrets behind those eyes. Dark secrets.
That intrigues me.
Curiosity will no doubt kill me someday.
He’s dressed in his usual black–cotton slacks, polo shirt that barely contains a well-muscled chest and arms. At least, that’s what I remember from the only time I’ve seen him without his jacket.
I shouldn’t be looking because I can’t stand the prick, but damn, he is one fine looking man. I’m not ashamed to admit I could put aside my hatred for a quick rumble against the wall with him.
But that’s not going to happen. Along with all the other reasons why it would be a stupendously bad idea, he’s straight. Don’t get me wrong. I’m only too happy to accommodate the occasional bi-curious explorer, but I don’t play with straight men. Not worth the drama.
He seems to realize he’s staring at me and glances away. So naturally I have to say something to piss him off.
“You come back here to make sure no one’s having fun?”
“I was just…never mind.”
Is he flustered? No, not the king of dicks. Nothing cracks that stoney exterior. Maybe I caught him in the middle of something else.
Not that I care.
Or maybe I kind of do.
I can admit I like our little sparring sessions. I guess that’s why I have to push. “What’s the matter, Cutter? Chaton got your tongue?”
“Fuck you, Aubie,” he growls as he skirts around me and strides away.
Did I hit a nerve? I watch him walk toward Daryl’s office and can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
I’d love to.
Would I?
They say hate sex is the best.