Ricardo Rocko Sanders #2
The card said that her name was “Syren.” When the curtain pulled back, she smiled through makeup meant to resemble her face decaying.
She was thicker than a brick of gold, dressed like a mermaid, and was playing a soft melody on a flute.
Her hips stretched the thin material of the skirt to its full capacity, while her breasts spilled out of the top of the bra that she was wearing.
She did this slow whine that put us both in a trance as we watched her for every second of the minute she was on display.
“Gah damn,” Speedy mumbled, making me laugh as we looked at her.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her. But I noticed there was a fact card, so I read it.
Syren: The mistress of the sea. Known to entice men with her looks and melodies before pulling them underwater, feasting on their bodies, and never letting them be seen again.
Yeah, judging by what it says, we’d be the perfect fucking victims.
I chuckled.
We went to the next display. This woman was even colder. By the second one, I realized that this was a museum of fine-ass women like a burlesque peep show. We had to press a button to reveal each person in the case. Each one of them had a story of their own.
The second woman was dressed in all black.
She was a witch. She had on this tight ass dress that had more glitter than material.
Unlike the last girl, her face wasn’t covered by makeup, and she was pretty as fuck.
She rolled around seductively on the platform, went into a bag, poured “magic potion” over her body, and then put a spell on us.
Venus: The heart eater. The more you want her, the stronger she becomes. When her victims leave, they don’t die. They are just incapable of loving anyone else.
When her show ended, we went to the next.
“This shit is crazy,” I said to Speedy as I sipped from my cup.
“Hell yeah.” He agreed.
We went through the others, but before we could get to the last one, he got a call that he had to take. He stepped outside, but I continued without him.
I pressed the button on the last display, and the woman I saw made me adjust my dick in my pants. She was easily the prettiest woman that I had ever seen, without a doubt.
But her set was nothing like the others.
She was covered in blood and dressed as some doll.
She was staring down at the floor as her legs swung aimlessly.
When she finally looked up, she bit her bottom lip when we locked eyes.
The scene behind her was crazy. It was staged to look like a home crime scene.
A rocking chair swung on its own, a TV flickered on and off, and newspapers and blood covered the cube.
For a second, we just looked at each other.
Then she winked at me and slowly stepped off the platform.
Her skin was shining under the flickering lights, and two braids fell to her waist. She wasn’t as thick as some of the other women before her, but her body was fire regardless.
She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth as she took labored steps from the platform and slowly undid the strings of the corset that she was wearing.
I wasn’t easily impressed; I’d seen enough women to know my reaction to her wasn’t the Don flowing through my system, but she was really like that.
“Come play with me.” She mouthed it just as she got to the last string to undo her corset. Then the window closed, and I stood there for a second, wondering why the hell my dick had a heartbeat of its own.
Before I left, I read her card the same as I had done the others.
Dahlia Doom: The temptress doll. She was made by a lonely doll maker who desired a wife. He put the essence of desire in her. The longer someone looks at her, the harder it becomes to walk away. But every person who gives in loses a part of themselves to her.
The door opened, and I looked toward it. Speedy was standing there.
“Ay Rock, you ready? The museum is closing. I just heard niggas saying it’s a club down a little further.
Let’s go there.” Speedy yelled as he stood in the doorway, holding it open.
I threw the rest of the drink back and then headed in his direction before looking back at the last display case as if it would open again.
I followed Speedy, letting the museum door close with a light thud.
Back outside, the music stopped, and an Atlanta artist was performing. We bypassed the crowd of people bobbing their heads, dancing, and surrounding the stage because Speedy was on a mission to find the club.
“MVP. Mr. Speed. How’s it going?” We heard someone call from behind us. It was Coach, dressed in a judge's robe.
“We good, Coach, this shit is dope,” Speedy complimented as we shook his hand.
“You enjoying yourself?” He asked with pride.
“Yeah.” We answered in unison.
“Good.”
“Ay coach, where’s the club?” Speedy asked, his glossy eyes still searching wildly for it.
“Right there, next to the big yellow sign. Enjoy your night. Glad you got this one out of the house.” He laughed, put a cigar to his lips, and then patted each of us on the shoulder, letting us go.
It was a short walk until we reached the sign Coach had pointed at, and then we were outside a nightclub that had been transformed for the occasion.
The name outside had been changed to “Tricks this was a strip club. About five dancers entertained a semi-large crowd. They walked around completely naked, only wearing costumes that were painted on their bodies.