Chapter 4 – Tyler
A girl named Natalia is shaking her very ample ass in my face as I sit in a tiny booth in the lap dance room, flanked on either side by Barry and Moore. The “booth,” is thinner than a bathroom stall with walls that barely come up to my elbows. The club doesn’t want anyone getting up to any funny business, so everything’s in full view of the bouncer standing by the door.
Natalia’s right cheek brushes against my chin, and I hear her whisper to me in what sounds like a Russian accent.
“You like this butt, yes?”
“Uh, yeah. It’s nice,” I lie, my mind drifting back to the ass on that girl with the t-shirt. I dunno what’s going on with me, but I can’t stop thinking about her, even with this chick here shaking what her momma gave her right in front of my face.
“Ty’s an ass man,” Barry chimes in from beside me. His girl, an overly tan chick named Chocolate or Fudge or Caramel or something, has her tits in his face and is rubbing them back and forth at a speed that can’t be comfortable for either of them. She’s either going to suffocate him or knock him out with those things.
“This is good for me,” Natalia says with a smile, running her hands between her legs to stroke the inside of my thighs. On any other occasion, Ty Junior would be at full attention, and I’d be fighting the urge to pick this chick up by the waist, back fist the bouncer and have my way with her in the back parking lot, but I can’t get my mind off the girl from the bar.
She had a lot of sass to her, and I like that. I like a woman who can hold her own. My ex-wife was one of the most assertive, sarcastic women I’d ever known, and watching her tell off some jerk at the grocery store for trying to cut in line or bringing too many items to the fast lane were the best parts of my day.
Am I crazy for thinking that girl reminds me of her?
“Is this the life or what?” Moore says, tapping me on the shoulder. I can’t even remember the name of his dancer. The girls here all have ridiculous names, so I’m sure it’s something like Jasmine or Alexa or something. I don’t know who hired her either. Her legs are covered with bruises and it looks like she hasn’t washed her hair in weeks. Either that or she’s just waiting for it to turn into dreadlocks. She’s “dancing,” awkwardly, and it’s pretty obvious she doesn’t want to be here. But from the look on his face, Moore seems to be loving it.
I raise my eyebrows and nod, trying not to let him see how bored I am. Natalia spins around and drops into a squatting position and presses my knees apart. She’s completely doggy style on the floor in front of me, and my mind should be on what her ass looks like when I’m slamming her from behind, but it’s not. I’m wondering where that other girl went and what she’s up to.
“Hey, uh, what do I owe you?” I ask her, reaching for my wallet.
“Is twenty dollars,” she says, looking a bit surprised. I pull out forty and hand it to her. She takes it quickly.
“Thanks, uh … Natalia? I gotta hit the bathroom.”
I stand up quickly, accidentally knocking her back onto her ass.
“Uh, sorry,” I say, brushing past Barry on my way out the door.
“Hey, where you going, man?” He shouts after me.
“I’ll be right back!”
The guys must think I’m nuts, but I don’t care. I have to know what she’s doing.
The main room of the club is still packed. I can’t even imagine what the owner’s going to be pulling in tonight, let alone the girls. This place is like a money making machine. What the hell am I doing running a struggling tattoo parlor?
I don’t even know where to start. Last time I saw her she was carrying a champagne bottle that looked like it could serve about twenty people, or two very hardcore alcoholics. Maybe the bartender knows.
I don’t have a hard time getting through the crowd. Most guys just instinctively move out of my way when they see me coming. It’s one of the advantages to being a vet and a fighter; people just see the way you carry yourself and know you’re not to be fucked with. That is, unless they’re a drunk asshole, and then you sometimes have a situation on your hands.
The bar isn’t too crowded, and I step up to the bartender, shouting over the noise.
“Hey, pal. That girl from earlier? Do you know her?”
“Which one, man?” he asks back. “’Bout a thousand girls in here.”
“She was carrying a champagne bottle. Thong. Nice ass. T-shirt?”
“Oh, right,” he says with a smile. “That’s Rose.”
These girls with their names.
“Rose, huh? You know where she went?”
“I think she’s working champagne tonight,” he says.
“Champagne? Like delivering champagne?”
“The champagne room,” he says, looking at me funny. “Haven’t you ever heard of the champagne room?”
I shrug, “This is my first time. Just point me in the right direction.”
“No can do, champ. Champagne room’s rented out by the hour. You’re gonna have to wait until she’s done, or hope she comes down for a refill.”
I slam my fist down on the bar in an uncharacteristic public display of anger. I usually don’t let my emotions get the best of me. I don’t know if it’s the drink I had or what, but I’m feeling pretty pissed off right now, and I don’t care who knows.
“Easy, slugger,” the bartender says with a chuckle. “There’s girls all over this place. Take your pick.”
Turning away from the bar, I look over the rest of the club with a sudden sense of disgust. I don’t want any of those other girls. I want the sassy t-shirt wearing chick with the sweet ass that told me I wasn’t a prince.
She’s right about that. I’m a King.
“Why don’t I get you another drink?” The bartender asks from behind me.
“Nah,” I say, getting more annoyed by the minute. “I’ll prolly head out in a few.”
“Yeah? Geez, I thought you may have stuck around and waited for her. Well, let me know if you need anything.”
Stick around and wait for her. Yeah right.
What am I? Some kind of high school virgin waiting outside class to try and work up the courage to ask the hot girl out? What a joke. Girls come to me. This visit to the strip club is a rare occurrence, and I’m basically just here because the boys dragged me into it. It’s bad enough I gave “Natalia” forty bucks to shake her lackluster ass in my face, but to stick around and wait for a chick to give me more attitude? I don’t need that.
“Fuck it,” I growl to myself. “I’m out of here.”
But then, just as I turn away from the bar, she brushes right past me. She doesn’t even see me. Her smell wafts over me, and I take a deep breath.
Look at that ass, I think.
She’s in a hurry, and she doesn’t look too happy either.
“Hey!” I shout, but she’s already deep into the crowd and there’s no way she can hear me. I shove two guys out of my way and head after her, but I can’t see her. She’s not that tall, and the lights are down back here away from the stage. I keep pushing through the sweaty bodies, jumping up to see over the crowd, but she’s gone. I’ve lost her.
“Fuck!” I say, clenching my fists at my side.
Some college punk bumps into me, and without even looking, I shove him hard, sending him flying back into his frat boy buddies.
“Hey, watch it, bro!” One of them shouts. I turn and give him a look that shuts him right up. Can’t stand those entitled little pricks.
This night is a wash. There’s no way I’m spending the rest of it hunting around in a crowd full of losers trying to find a stripper. The boys might wonder where I’ve gone, but they’ll find their own ways home. What a waste of time.
I head for the door.