Chapter 4 #3
What the fuck? Red steam is shooting out of my ears.
No guy, or anyone actually, has ever told me to fuck off, and especially not in capital letters in print.
I am infuriated. I want to throw my new iPhone across the restaurant.
I start to drum my fingers on the table, double-time.
Simon is still oblivious to my rage, god, he really is docile.
“Come on, let’s go.” He smiles.
What shall I text back? I need the upper hand.
I am tapping my front tooth with my fingernail while I think.
Simon is right, he really is a prick. I sit in Simon’s car, silently looking out the window as I troll my brain for a good comeback.
I’ve got nothing. Use your brain, Natasha, I’m sure there’s one in there somewhere.
I just know at two tomorrow morning an awesome comeback is going to pop into my head, and it will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I have to text now, or it will look like I am thinking about my reply, even though I am.
This is a total disaster. In the end I text the lamest reply in human history.
Gladly.
That night at Oscar’s, Bridget and Abbie laugh as they read the texts.
“How did it go from you’re an asshole to fuck off?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head as they continue to pass my phone to each other.
“And why does he think you’re an asshole?”
I slump on the table and put my face into my hands. “Probably because I am an asshole, a stupid-beyond-belief asshole.”
They laugh again. “He knows you better than you think.”
“Thanks a lot,” I sigh. “This isn’t funny, bitches.”
“Yes, it is.” They both huddle together and giggle. “It’s frigging hilarious.”
Wednesday at work drags. I’m still fuming. I have thought of nothing else since I saw him yesterday. Fuming is a lot more satisfying than pining. I’m just so off him.
After lunch I get a text from Bridget.
We are going out tonight. Spying on Jeremy, time to bust a move.
Great. I smile as I read the text. I need some NCIS action and it will take my mind off prickface. I text back.
Sounds good. Is Abbie coming?
She replies.
Of course, meet me at mine at seven.
We are standing together in a line in Bridget’s bedroom, looking at our reflection in the mirror. “We look like hookers.” I grimace.
“That’s the point,” she replies.
“Are you sure you read the email right?”
She nods. “Yes, what do you think? I just thought this shit up?”
Jeremy accidentally left his email open last night and Bridget snooped. Apparently, he is going to an upmarket strip club tonight with his work friends and we are going to sneak into the joint to bust him in the act.
“What time does it open?”
“Half an hour,” she replies. “We had better get going.”
An hour later we are sitting at a table in the back corner of what is probably the classiest nightclub I have been in.
The walls are a deep smoky gray and the lounges and pendant lights are all in black velvet.
Huge silver-gilded mirrors hang on the walls and giant palm trees are in massive ceramic pots surrounding the perimeter.
Whoever the interior designer was hit the target.
It can only be described as sensual. I have never been in a space like this before, it screams opulence and fantasy.
The sound system is amazing, and the music seems to be surrounding us.
“This wig is itchy.” I scratch my scalp.
“Why did you wear it then?”
“Because I don’t want to run into one of my patients. I’m in disguise.”
“Oh phooey, you look like Natasha with a long blond wig on.”
I nod as I sip my margarita. “Yeah I know. Mmm, this is good, it’s super icy. Do you see him?” We all look around.
“No, it’s pretty empty actually.” We all relax.
A cute blond bartender comes over. “Can I get you beautiful ladies anything to drink?”
“Sure, three more margaritas. Thanks.” He smiles and nods. “What’s upstairs?” I ask as if interested.
“Just more booths with views to the stage.” We all nod, trying our best to look cool and uncaring. “Is anyone up there?” I ask.
He smiles and shakes his head—he is so onto us. “No one yet.” He gives me a wink. We all nod, a little more than relieved. At the end of the bar there is a second set of stairs and there is a large red velvet rope across the bottom of the stairwell.
“What’s up there?” I ask.
“That’s the VIP room for private parties.”
Abbie frowns. “Private parties?”
He nods and smiles. “Yes, only one group at a time.”
“What goes on up there?” Bridget asks.
He shakes his head and smiles. “You don’t want to know.” We are all shocked to silence.
“Is anyone up there now?” Abbie asks.
“No, it costs five thousand dollars just to get up there.” We all look at each other.
“Do people really pay that?” I question.
“You would be surprised. It’s used every night.”
“What do you get for five grand?” Bridget asks.
He smiles as he walks off. “Anything you want, pretty much. But mostly sex and cocaine.”
“Wow,” I mouth to the girls, and they nod in agreement.
“Shit, anything you want.” I chew my ice. “This place is a high-class brothel.” Oh shit, a disturbing thought enters my brain. Panic sets in.
“Bridget, what are you going to do if we do see him here? Please don’t cause a scene.” I’m beginning to regret this decision to come here. It could get embarrassing.
“I’m not giving him the satisfaction,” she sneers.
“I am just going to watch him and then dump him tomorrow and tell him I’m sleeping with someone with a massive dick who rocks in the sack.
” We all laugh. Good plan, I like it. The music starts, and the song ‘Bad to the Bone’ blares through the sound system and we all smile.
Of course, this song is playing, so typical strip joint.
A beautiful blonde saunters down the catwalk.
She looks like she just stepped off a Sports Illustrated cover shoot, all muscly and oiled up, although the fake tan is to the extreme.
She oozes confidence. She intimidates the three of us as we all sit in silence, entranced like she is dancing just for us.
As she gets to the end of the runway, she slams into the side splits.
Shit, she’s flexible too. She comes straight up into a bend back to handstand up.
Yep, she’s good alright. She slowly but surely commands everyone’s attention in the room, including ours.
We watch, riveted, as she slowly peels every piece of clothing from her hot body.
She’s a dancer obviously, and I have to say she is blowing the preconceived idea of what a stripper looks like out the window.
“Fuck, she’s hot,” Abbie whispers. I nod, unable to take my eyes off her, and Bridge answers, “I know, right?” She doesn’t look easy—she looks alluring, sexy. She takes off her bra to expose the best set of fake tits I have ever seen. We all sit mesmerized, mouths open.
“That’s it,” Bridget whispers. “Decision made; I’m getting my boobs done.”
We all nod. “Good idea,” notes Abbie.
The stripper slowly turns around to turn her back to the audience and bends over without bending her knees and slides her G-String down her legs to reveal her beautifully pink vagina and anus, not a hair in sight.
“Holy crap,” Abbie whispers. “I think I’m in love.” The whole club including us are collectively holding their breath, and as she slowly starts to touch her breasts with both her hands we all lean in toward the stage.
“Fuck, this is hot,” Bridget whispers. I nod, still too entranced to speak.
She lies on her back with her legs spread to the audience and starts to finger-fuck herself in time with the music, groaning and writhing on the floor.
We all look at each other wide eyed, and a little shocked to be honest. I don’t know what we were expecting but it wasn’t intimately watching an attractive woman bring herself to orgasm.
She slowly brings her fingers to her lips and starts to suck them in her mouth.
The audience makes a collective groan, shit.
We are so out of our depth here. She rolls to her knees and puts her rear to the audience still going hell for leather with her fingers.
We all sit shocked, silent and wide eyed as she brings herself to a screaming orgasm.
Moments pass and she gets up onto her knees and sucks her fingers dry.
The crowd goes wild with everyone rising to a standing ovation, including us.
She stands and bows, the room is abuzz. The atmosphere is suddenly pumped full of testosterone and pheromones.
We clink our glasses together and giggle.
“Holy shit,” I whisper. “Why am I turned on?”
“I know, right?” Bridge nods.
Abbie laughs while draining her glass. “I have a good mind to give her my number.”
After about our sixth cocktail and having lost any inhibitions we ever had, we realize we are actually having a really good time.
“Girls, I don’t want to sound pervy, but I actually love this place.
The girls are all gorgeous, classy and entertaining.
The cocktails are amazing. And look at the crowd.
” Abbie gestures around the room with her hands.
“The crowd is all well behaved, all staying silently in their seats. If this was a male strip show the women would be screaming like lunatics and jumping on stage, trying to rip clothes off.” We all pull a disgusted face.
“I know, I always assumed strip joints would be the same, but they are definitely not on the same page. This is top shelf, though, remember.” We all nod.
A few acts of more beautiful girls and I make a surprising discovery.
“Did you notice something?” I lean in to whisper to my friends. They both quickly scan the room with their eyes, thinking I’ve seen Jeremy. “No, not that,” I shake my head. “There is not a welcome mat in this place.”
The girls both frown and look around, “You’re right, this place is pubeless. Not a pubic hair in the joint.”
“Why is that?” Bridge frowns.