RYAN
The Kitty Cat Club.
Pink neon sign. Black shiny doors. Everything is tacky and nasty but I’m thinking about going inside anyway.
I shouldn’t be in this part of town, especially without my security detail, but I need to get away. There’s something so necessary about sitting behind the wheel of a car that’s expensive but not too showy and just driving. I like having a chauffeur most days, but today I need my foot on the accelerator and the wind in my face.
I decide to just go where my journey takes me, to travel to parts of town that I haven’t visited before. I eat a burger in a small run-down looking family restaurant and it’s the best burger I’ve had in a long time. I drink a beer in an Irish pub and it’s delicious. Now it seems my night will be rounded off with some low-class strippers.
I say that and it makes me sound like a judgmental prick. I’m not one. I came from a place like this. I know these people and they are mostly good. Shitty circumstances are just that. Some people rise and some people fall and it’s mostly fate that decides who goes where. I just mean that this isn’t the kind of place I’d normally frequent. Five years ago I’d have booked someone to come to me. A dancer from an exclusive service.
Tonight, though, this seems like a good idea.
The bouncer eyes me carefully. I’m not wearing flashy clothes or accessories but I think he can tell I’m not the standard clientele. He lets me in, never taking his eyes off me as if he wants to let me know that he’ll fuck me up if I step out of line. I don’t have any intention to cause trouble. The last thing I need is to draw any attention to myself while I’m here. It could have some very serious repercussions. In business, reputation is everything.
I make my way to the bar and order a beer. The barman looks bored and I wonder for a second what it must be like to work in a place like this. He’s facing the stage; tits, and ass on display for his whole shift. Maybe he’s become desensitized because he doesn’t even glance at the action. Three girls are on the main stage, gyrating in just their tiny panties.
I sip my beer and make my way to one of the high tables, taking a seat on a tall stool and inhaling deeply. My cock twitches in my pants when the girl in the middle bends over and runs her hands over her pussy. She’s got great legs and an ass as round as a peach, but her fake tits are really off-putting. I like my women natural. Big or small doesn’t really matter so long as what they’ve got going on is all their own. The beer tastes a little like the glass still has dishwasher fluid on it but I sip it anyway.
Then I see her.
She’s walking through the bar looking hot as hell but like she doesn’t want to be here. It’s not that she looks bored, more like her thoughts are somewhere else more interesting than this seedy strip joint. I’ve always had a thing about red underwear, especially on a blonde. Something about it says dangerous, and I like my women with sharp edges. Makes for a more interesting ride, whatever journey you might be taking. She has a soft sway to her hips. Nothing exaggerated. The spiky heels she’s wearing have her calves contracting and fuck me if that doesn’t make me hard. Way harder than the obvious sexual displays of the women on the stage. This girl is something else.
She takes a seat at the bar and talks to the barman. He brings her what looks like an orange juice. Maybe it’s a screwdriver or maybe she doesn’t drink while she’s working. I find that I don’t care either way. I’d just like to lick that citrus taste from her lips or maybe let some of its sweetness drip onto her nipples.
Jeez.
It’s been a long time since I felt this kind of attraction. Corina was a bombshell to look at but not in the bedroom. I thought it didn’t matter. I told myself you don’t fuck the woman you’re intending to marry. You make love to her. You treat her like a princess and hope that all that devotion is going to make for a good union. It was good but it wasn’t great. I’d have lived with it, though, for the rest of my life. I’d have stifled all my baser urges to keep her next to me, but it seemed that fate had other plans.
So here I am, thinking dark and dirty thoughts about a strange woman. I can estimate her cup size but I don’t know her name. I can see that she used to wear a belly button ring but I don’t know her age. She’s physically revealed to me, yet a total mystery.
I like mystery as much as the next man. Mystery is sexy. Mystery has your mind whirring and your body humming, but all of that can only go so far.
It’s been long enough.
I tell myself that but I don’t know if my mind truly agrees.
Maybe that’s what this trip has been about; finding a way to move on. Finding a way to find myself again despite all the grief that clings to my heart.
I loved Corina but she’s gone.
And for all the money I have, there was no saving her, and there’s no bringing her back.
This woman is a stranger.
I intend to change that.