Chapter Twelve
Boyd came back to the strip club the next night as well. He told his driver that there was a stripper with double-G melons that he was trying to bang. "Yeah, she said if I came back tonight, she'd be happy to give me a private ride out back," he told Jimmie with successfully faked enthusiasm.
"Man, you really do have it made, don't you! Lucky bastard."
"Hey, do you want me to pay a stripper to suck your dick while you're driving? That's a pretty easy thing to do; they don't exactly have the highest morals, you know."
"Yeah, my wife wouldn't cut my dick off with a kitchen knife if she found out about that, I'm sure. You go and have a good time. I'll be ready to pick you up whenever you call."
"Sure, if I do pick up anyone to bring home though, can we keep all this talk to ourselves?"
"What, are you planning to marry a stripper?"
"Fuck no. I think this one's going to need a little bit of white lying to convince." After he'd gotten out of the limo and headed inside, there was that familiar smell of alcohol, stale cigarettes, and what might have been sweat or bodily fluids. Naturally the whole lot of it was white washed with an offensive amount of antibacterial cleaner. It stank like a retirement center for sex addicts.
"You're back then," said Opal when she saw Boyd. And the pretty thing didn't seem entirely upset about seeing him either.
"Have you been waiting for me?" he said. To that, she made a funny face, like he'd just caught her doing something naughty. "Wait, you have been, haven't you? I knew it! I tend to have that effect on women, whether they're good girls or the very worst."
"Are you trying to impress me by telling me how many bad girls you've been with? That's not really the best way to start, I'll tell you that for free."
"Can I please get a beer then?" he said with a pathetically polite voice. He knew it, but didn't care. She was going to fall for him no matter what. If he had to play nice to get that, he'd at least meet her half way. It was already too late to fool her into thinking that he was totally clean, however. And his bad boy image might also work in his favor. After all, she was working in a strip club; she'd already fallen pretty far below her usually sparkling life, that was obvious.
"Thanks," he said, handing her a fifty. "Keep the change as your tip, and keep 'em coming please." If he was going to try and stay clean, it would be a good start to stay off the hard liquor at least. Of course, after he'd finished ten of them, it was becoming more difficult to keep himself out of trouble.
"Tell me how you wound up working here," he said to Opal.
"You know how it is. Some asshole screwed me over and I took the blame for something I didn't do." She put another beer down and took yet another fifty-dollar note from him. "Thanks for these tips, by the way. You have no idea how much I need the money right now."
"I think a girl like you working in a place that smells this bad must be pretty desperate for cash. I'd love to take you out for a meal some time, on me. Think about how much you would save, and you'd only need to put up with me for a few hours to do so."
"You're not nearly as belligerent when you're drinking the softer stuff. I like this version of you a lot more than the dickhead who was in here last night."
"Thanks for that. I'll take it as a compliment, I guess. Do you ever wonder how many fights you'd get into if you were a guy, saying shit like that to people?"
"Are you saying you want to fight me?"
"Only if you secretly have a penis, you're doing a good job of tucking it away with that cute skirt you're wearing."
"You like it? I didn't know what the hell to wear. You know, last night was my first shift here. But don't you think it's a bit sexist that you'd only fight me if I were secretly a dude, or if I'd had a penis added to my body?"
"I don't know how to respond to that. I was just making a joke." He choked up, like a nervous kid or something. That kind of thing didn't happen to Boyd Houston, no way. He was the biggest ladies’ man New York City had ever seen! "I mean, what I was saying is--"
"Hey, Opal, can I get some help over here?" Rupert was dealing with a group of guys who all wanted their drinks served at the exact same time. It was like they had blinders on, but they were just blind-drunk more likely. Boyd was glad for the distraction, because she was looking at him like he was a complete idiot after seeing that crack in his armor of coolness.
"I'd better get over there before I get myself fired on my second shift."
Boyd went over and sat at a table by himself, watching the show. He found it beyond relaxing to see the girls work their stuff on the stage. There was a sort of Zen-like experience to the whole thing. Sex and nudity was his Mecca, some might say. That didn't stop him from looking over to see if Opal was watching him; or just trying to see if she'd come out from the behind the bar to take care of some random cleaning, and he could sneak a peek at her amazing body.
The main show that night featured three women, who licked chocolate sauce off each other's nipples and practically made out on stage. Yeah, they always held back just enough to keep the guys in the audience howling for more. It was still one hell of a show, that gave Boyd a raging hard on. He felt it rubbing against the inside of his pants through his boxers. Time to finalize this, he told himself.
"So, how about that dinner?" he said to Opal. There were less people at the bar. Everyone was probably nursing their own trouser tents and not eager to get up just yet to grab another drink. But Boyd didn't give a shit about that. He wanted his new target to look at the gift he'd been born with.
"I'm sorry … I just can't do this," she said. "It's not your fault. I have to go, my shift has just finished." She left through the back and he didn't see her again that night. Figuring she must have been married or something, Boyd thought about finding out which of the strippers was willing to expand their professional reach into prostitution. He resisted though, and left in the limo with Jimmie driving. It didn't have anything to do with the bartender, Opal, he told himself. He just didn't feel like spending money when he could get good sex for free any night of the week.
But he didn't go to another place that had more female clientele. He didn't try to find another lay. Instead, Boyd called it a night and just went home alone. He tried to remember the last time he'd gone home without getting his dick wet first, but couldn't.