bradley
It was late on Thursday night, and Bradley was examining and admiring his reflection in the dressing room mirror. He was topless, and had just finished oiling himself up to give his muscles a subtle sheen.
He had broad, muscled shoulders, and a torso that ended in a V above his groin. It drove the ladies crazy. His arms and forearms were perfectly chiseled and masculine, and his abs were rock hard and flat.
What woman wouldn’t want this magnificence? On her, in her, anywhere around her. He flexed his pecs. No wonder women pay for the pleasure of watching this body up on the stage. Bradley danced for a living. Not just any kind of dancing. Oh, no. He was a stripper, one of the best in the state, and voted most popular in New York City. Every weekend, women of all ages and backgrounds filed into the club with a stack of bills, ready to have a good time and admire that hot boy toy dancing and grinding away on stage.
He’d been at the job for almost a year. At first, it was a huge rush getting up on stage to the screams of hundreds of horny women who admired him and got wet for him. It was still fun, and it paid very well, but the novelty had worn off some time ago.
His thoughts were cut off by Roman, his friend and fellow dancer, who walked by and slapped him on the shoulder. He tried to wipe the oil off his hand using a towel lying on the dresser.
“Hey, what’s up man? I haven’t seen you down at the bar in a while.”
There was a popular bar down the street that all the dancers frequented, usually before the shows.
Bradley tensed up a bit. “Roman, you know I’m not crazy about socializing too much these days. I mean, it’s fine once in a while, but we don’t all have to be best friends, all the time. I have a life outside of this place, you know.”
Roman’s face took on a serious tone. “I know, I know. But don’t be such a hard ass. It’s starting to look like you think you’re too good for the rest of us. You don’t wanna look like a buzz kill, do you? And if some of the fans want to party after the show, we need to make the effort. We’ve got an image to maintain, according to the boss.”
Bradley paused before answering. He was getting tired of always trying to maintain the party boy image. “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe I could meet you guys before or after work on Saturday.”
“What about Friday night before the show?”
Bradley ran a hand down each tricep. “Nah, that’s no good for me. Meeting with a special lady friend. I took the night off long ago. I need a break.” He winked at Roman. He wasn’t particularly discreet when it came to his conquests.
Roman chuckled. “You beast. Don’t you get enough action from this place? Why do you have to go ruin perfectly good girls out there for the rest of us?”
Bradley made a face. “To tell you the truth, I’ve almost had enough of this place. And I’m definitely done dating girls from here. It’s just not happening anymore.”
“You mean fucking girls from here. When did you ever date a girl?”
“Whatever you want to call it, I’m done. I’ve got other things on my mind.” He ran a hand through his thick brown hair and fell deep in thought.
Roman was silent for a minute, and then asked, “How’s your little sister?”
Bradley froze, not expecting that question. After a silence, he answered in a softer tone and with downcast eyes.
“She’s had better days.” He didn’t offer more information and remained silent.
“Alright man, let me know if you wanna grab a beer sometime. I’m up next.” He slapped Bradley on the shoulder again and headed for the stage.
Bradley was glad he left. The last thing he wanted to think or talk about right now was his little sister’s illness. Emily… He got misty eyed as he thought about her. She was only 6 years old, with brown curls and bright blue eyes. She was diagnosed with cancer a year ago, and it broke his heart as well as their mother’s. He knew he shouldn't be thinking of her now; it was too depressing, and he had a show to deliver to hundreds of his screaming fans.
He shifted his thoughts to Victoria. Sweet, sweet Victoria. He hadn’t been able to forget about her since the night he met her at Sips. He had assumed that she’d go home with him, just like the other 99% of the women he hits on do, but she liked playing the part of the ice princess, he guessed. I’ll melt her, her panties and everything it covers, he thought with self-satisfaction.
He didn’t believe for a minute that she’d be able to resist him; no woman could, at least not for long. He wanted to lift that little skirt up and show her just how hard she made him. He liked her sassy and difficult attitude; it made the chase that much more fun.
His thoughts were interrupted by someone calling his name from the doorway. He was up next. Friday, just wait until Friday. There’ll be wetness running down your legs, but it won’t be a martini.