Chapter 9
Rebeckha
What do you say to the woman who has always wanted you to date and marry someone who wears three-piece suits every day? A woman who judges individuals by their appearance as soon as she meets them?
Sorry, Mom, my boyfriend wears a G-string and he looks better in them than I do. When my mother first approached us, that’s all I wanted to do. Then I became an even bigger jerk when Mal told me that my mother and her friends have seen his show. When that happened, I had a ‘holy shit’ moment and realized that it was likely that anyone who’s come to Vegas could have purchased tickets to one of the shows. One part of me was trying to reason with the other and remind myself that there’s more than one all male revue show that happens around here.
How comfortable am I with the fact that so many women have groped him in one way or another? How unaccepting can I possibly be of him?
Ugh, I’m a horrible human being.
As we dance, his embrace is a welcome cocoon. My head rests against his chest just under his head.
I feel remorse for treating him this way and I need to resolve the issues that I have regarding his occupation.
“I’ll play along, babe. I don’t like it, but I’ll play along,” he says against my hair, his arms strongly wrapped around me.
I feel like a shitty person.
The remainder of reception is drama-free. During several conversations, I wanted to run whenever someone would ask Mal personal questions, while he took it in stride. Whenever asked he’s about his job, he would say he’s a personal trainer. I notice a few females’ lingering looks and whispers, but thankfully no one approached him during the evening.
We are walking towards my apartment hand in hand, when he stops in the doorway, placing both hands on the wall.
“Listen, I get that you aren’t fully okay with my being a dancer. But you knew who I was when we started this thing,” he says, his hand tugging through his hair.
“I’m sorry. I’m a jerk,” I say apologetically.
“Yeah, tonight you were. Look, I really like you, Beck. Like an intense amount of like.” He leans against the wall. “But tonight, I felt like you were ashamed of me, who I am and what I do. I’m not really feeling too good about that.”
“I know. I really don’t have any excuse for my actions. I need to figure out how to not be a brat about it.”
“A brat?”
“A disrespectful brat, who had no right to be so bratty tonight,” I state while he nods in silent agreement.
“So, the next couple of days will be super crazy since I took off tonight. I have rehearsals, shows and some management meetings. Maybe over the next few days, we just take a pause and you figure out if you can be comfortable with what I do and not ashamed of me? Even when I’m done with dancing, I will still be in the entertainment field,” he says sweetly. More sweetly than how I would have if roles were reversed and definitely more than I deserve right now.
I wasn’t expecting this. I was hoping that we would come back here and maybe, very possibly, we would reconcile our feelings and I would make up for my behavior tonight.
“What… what does this mean?” I am fighting the quiver that my voice wants to do.
He steps forward, crowds me and puts both hands on my arms then lowers himself to meet my eyes.
“I just want you to really think about what we’re doing here. I’m not going to dance forever. But right now… right now, this is what I do. If you’re going to be with me, you need to be okay with it. I don’t want to hide who I am. That isn’t fair to me. But know this, you’re my girl. Not any of those faceless women at the club. You are the one I am with,” he says carefully.
“Okay,” I say meekly.
“This isn’t over. We aren’t over. I wouldn’t let that happen without a fight. I need you to just think about that for me.”
“Okay.” I’m fighting tears. While he’s saying this isn’t the end, I could easily make the wrong and stupid decision and it would be just that.
“A couple days, that’s all. Unless you need more time?” he asks. I shake my head and look at him. “Peach, this isn’t done, I just want you to think about this.”
“A couple of days,” I repeat slowly.
He kisses me lightly, brushing his lips against mine and adding light pressure. Then his hands on my arms releases me.
“That won’t be our last kiss,” he assures me and then moves away from my door. With a look back, he smiles and then he’s gone into the night.
I keep myself busy for the rest of the evening in order not to cry. I stare at the television screen, unsure what I’m watching, while holding a bowl of soggy cereal. It is nearing three in the morning and I am still trying to wrap my head around what transpired tonight, starting with Malcolm’s assurance that he was giving me space to figure out my thoughts.
My overall attitude tonight as soon as people in my life began speaking to him makes me a coward. I’m the furthest thing from an open-minded person right now that I surprise myself. I’ve always prided myself on being non-judgmental about everything and everyone. Then I date a male stripper and I become close minded and a complete asshole. Assuming the worst because of a perceived stigma that I cannot get past. Judging when I shouldn’t based on archaic perceptions.
I’m a jerk. I’m a complete hypocrite.
I don’t deserve Malcolm.
But I want to. I want to deserve him more than anything.
Malcolm
I’m dragging ass, more than I usually am when I’ve had a late night. Except, in this case, my late night had nothing to do with partying and everything to do with the stress of feeling like a prick for hitting the pause button on Beck and me. After I left Beck’s place, I drove around for an hour, then came home and passed out, tired from the day and from the constant thoughts in my head. I know in my gut I did what was right, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t suck.
I hit the pause button to give her a few days. While she didn’t do anything outrageous at the wedding to set off anything, she did act ashamed of me and what I currently do – that part was evident. I know she cares for me, and she knows I am crazy about her. But maybe a step back from everything to appreciate the person and not the occupation is the right thing to do. While I know her actions were not meant to make me feel demeaned, they did. I wasn’t happy with the way she was reacting. If she can’t indeed handle the fact that I am a male entertainer – dancer, stripper whatever you want to call it – then maybe this relationship just isn’t meant to be.
I didn’t lie to her when I said that I had a busy few days ahead of me. In addition to the standard rehearsals, and training clients, I do have an important meeting with the bank and my financial advisor that I need to make sure I am prepared for. I mentioned to Beck that I’m looking at other options but, while that’s true, it doesn’t mean I will be getting out of the dancing profession all together. Rather than being on stage taking off my clothes, I will be the guy who pays others to. I will still be in entertainment, so if she wants to be with me, she will need to come to terms with that aspect.
Male revues in this town are becoming plentiful, some are successful and some are barely hanging by a thread. There are several clubs in the city catering to both the male and female audience, I’m hoping that having a singular club offering up the full buffet will help create a buzz and to make my club stand out from the rest.
I’ve done by research, I’ve come up with several different business plans and I’m hoping that my final idea will be the idea.
I have invested my earnings wisely over the last several years and I have enough money to start up my own shop and to make my vision real. My credit score is aces and I just needed a bank to help me out with the rest. This is my chance.
I straighten my tie, grab my shoulder bag with all my reports and personal information needed for the meeting, take one last look in the mirror and then head out the door to the appointment that can make or break my future.
***
Still flying high from the meeting yesterday – which turned into three meetings – I stroll into the rehearsal space like I am weightless, that nothing can sour my good mood. I quickly change into my workout clothes and hit the floors.
I am seducing myself in the mirror when I notice JD and Micah staring at me strangely.
“You’re acting weird today,” JD says to my reflection.
“Nah, he’s acting weirder than usual,” Micah jokes.
“Guys, leave him alone. Can’t you see he’s trying to score a date with himself,” Jacks laughs, coming up beside them.
As all three of them watch I lick my lips and roll my hips seductively, with my hand cupping my junk, and then I thrust.
“Just opening the gates. Letting my pelvic floor do the talking,” I say, remembering something I overheard once in a yoga class.
“How was that wedding? That’s why you ditched out the other night, right?” Jacks asks.
“It was fine. A couple of ladies recognized me, which didn’t sit well with my date. Apparently they’d been to a show before.” A slow grin forms on my face.
“Yikes. See, we please both the young and the old,” boasts JD.
“One of them was my girl’s mum,” I say with an even bigger grin.
“Shit! That’s awkward. I betcha she was one of the cougars who clawed you that one night.”
“Speaking of which, some cougar took a chunk out of my hip last night. She fucking got down on her knees in front of me and started rubbing her face all over my shit. Her fucking claws dug into my hips like crazy.” JD turns and lifts his tank top to show us the marks. Sure enough, nail marks lined both sides of his lower back.
“You missed a rowdy crowd. A bride got ushered out because she tried to climb the stage during the Tarzan number.”
“Another woman tried to start a fight with one of the bouncers. Last night was intense. There was a lot of booze flying around, more than usual it seemed,” Jacks replies.
“Sounds like a good time to me.” I smile at them and then go back to smiling at myself in the mirror wall as I practice a few more moves.
It’s well into the night when I emerge from rehearsal. I take out my phone ready to dial Beck, but stop myself. I need to give her space, give myself space, and just wait out the next few days. Even though I want to share the success of my meetings with her, I need the assurance that she can accept me for me and not judge me on her thoughts of what a male dancer is. I need her, but I cannot force myself on her.
Once home, I thoroughly shower and settle on the couch with the remote and a beer. I’m watching some zombie television show that I’d never heard of when there’s a knock on my door. I look around and the knocking echoes through the house again.
I lower my beer to the coffee table and get up.
I rarely have visitors, so a knock at my front door is unexpected. I look through the peephole and am shocked to see Beck. I thought it would be a few more days of her thinking before there’d be any sort of communication. I look again and reach for the doorknob.
I pull the door open slowly and smile.
“To what do I—” Before I can finish what I want to say, Beck leaps into my arms.
Her lips press firmly against mine as her fingers tug at my hair. She pushes her tongue into my mouth and I seek out more contact with my own. Even with my hands bracing her just under her ass, and her legs wrapped around my waist, I still somehow manage to shut the door with my foot and push her against the wall. I grind my cock against her center and she moans in return as I pull back from her.
“I accept you. I need you,” she says, pulling my face back to meet hers in a rush.
Well, fuck.
I growl, then wrap my arms around her again and take her down the hall to my bedroom. I lay her down gently on the bed and lay on top of her. Her fingertips are clawing at my shoulders. I lean up off the bed and pull off her clothing slowly, relishing in every bit of skin revealed to my eyes.
“I’m so sorry. I should have never judged you or your choice of a job. I’m an asshole.”
I lift one finger to my lips. “Shhh. Let’s talk about this later. I wanna fuck you thoroughly and then we can talk. You said the magic words and that’s all I need right now aside from my cock in your perfect pussy,” I say. Part of me knows I shouldn’t let my cock take the lead and we should talk about all this before we dive any deeper, but I shake off those inner thoughts and continue on with my mission.
I stand and remove my clothing, piece by piece, giving her a small show while her eyes rake over my body from top to bottom. I run my hand along my cock, base to tip, and lick my lips. I lean down and capture her lips with mine, as I press my cock against her center. I fist the base of my cock and run it against her folds, then slowly slide myself in, inch by measured inch, until my cock is swallowed by her tight channel. Once I’m buried to the hilt, and our pelvises are flush against one another, I stop to let her adjust to the fullness. Well, that, and I need a moment before I blow my load immediately like an inexperienced idiot.
“I need you to move,” she moans.
“I can’t.”
“You can’t? Is everything okay?” she asks, sounding worried.
“If I move, my brain will be blown and you won’t get yours. You need to get yours,” I say, gripping her hips and pushing her fully down on the bed. Then I slowly pull out, hissing through my teeth. “You feel so amazing.”
My cock rubs against her clit as I pull out of her, before I push back in. I watch where our bodies are connected, loving how her wetness is coating my cock when I withdraw, before it disappears into her channel again. I push and pull as I build up my own orgasm. My thumb circles her clit vigorously until she grabs my wrist, wordlessly stopping me as I feel her pussy contract around me, which spursg my own orgasm.