CONTAINS EXPLICIT LANGUAGE
© By Stacey McCoy
The girls insist they don’t have any surprises in store for me tonight. We’re just going to wander around the casino and see where the night takes us. So I relax, have another cocktail and follow them wherever they go.
It’s so great to hang out with everyone. I can’t remember the last time we had everyone together like this for a whole weekend. There's usually someone who can’t make it for whatever reason. Then I remember Maddie who is at home sick. I send her a quick text, but I don’t hear back from her so I put my phone away. Hopefully she’s in bed resting.
We finish our drinks and start walking again. I’m not paying attention to the direction we're heading until we stop to stand in line out front of a club. It’s only then that I know exactly where we are. I’ve been here three times before and on two occasions I absolutely loved it, but I’m nervous now because I know what goes on in this club.
We’re lined up to enter a club called Xcel to watch The Sons of Seduction. It’s a male burlesque show, with class.
The last time I was here was a little over six months ago now. My dimwit cousin dragged me along to her hen's night thinking it was just what I needed to snap me out of my depression. Her attempts, although valiant, didn't go down well with me.
Cara is the type of girl who is go, go, go the whole time. The woman has no 'off' button and it drives me crazy. I remember her pushing me into the arms of one of the guys, forcing me on him as if he had some magical way to cheer me up and make my life right again. He grabbed my hand and I lost my cool and yelled at her, then at him as he attempted to follow me out the door. The poor guy didn't deserve the spray I gave him, he just happened to be trying to cheer up the wrong lady at the wrong time. And as for my cousin - well let me put it this way- I didn't receive an invite to her wedding. This was just as well because it was in Hawaii. Travelling on my own with two kids was not something I was ready to try then and allowing myself to be dragged along to her hen’s party was something I should never have done either.
The other two occasions on which I’ve been here were for two of my friend's hen’s nights and I’ve got to admit I had an absolute ball on both occasions. But those fun times happened before Sam died. Cara's hen’s was only six months after his passing. It was too soon, but tonight is different. Something has changed in me. Tonight I'm ready to have fun, but maybe not the type of fun my friends have in store.
Nervous flutters fill my stomach as I think about what goes on beyond those dark, mysterious doors. It's all in good fun, I tell myself. Really. It is.
The show is not all about hen's parties. Some women come here for their birthday celebrations too. The hens and the birthday girls are dragged up on stage and made to endure hot, gorgeous men rubbing their perfectly sculpted bodies all over them. Then the light bulb flicks on inside my head. Oh crap, today is my birthday.
“Oh my god you haven’t!” I scream at Alex and Simone.
They try to give me a look of innocence, but they’ve both had way too much to drink to be able to pull that look off. With their arms linked, leaning on each other for support they say, “Yep honey, we have.”
“I’m not going up on stage.” I cross my arms like an angry five year old and I give them my best stern look. Drunk, but none the less stern.
“No, no, no, we wouldn’t make you do that, but we do know how much you love this show so just relax babe. Enjoy.”
“Okay fine I’ll relax, but you two have to promise me that I won’t be dragged up on stage.”
“We promise.” They huddle together trying to hide their laughter. Okay, honestly it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if I got up on stage just as long as I had a one-on-one scene with my favourite dancer, The Son of Sensuality, who happens to be the same guy who tried to improve my mood the last time I was here for Cara's hen’s party. If I get the opportunity, I'll apologise to him for the way I treated him.
Thinking of his sweet blue eyes stirs my memory as well as other parts of me which have been in a dark, dormant state of hibernation of late. Oh my god the man is perfection. I can feel a tingle between my thighs just thinking about him. The way he presents himself on stage with such physical prowess is inspiring. The way he moves and the beads of sweat that glisten all over his muscular body are undeniably arousing.
My thoughts are starting to drive me wild. I need to calm down before I fall down.
I don’t know The Son of Sensuality personally, apart from our little altercation six months ago, but he certainly came across as kind, sweet, honest, devastatingly suave and loveable. If I had my way, I would like him to be the first man, since Sam, to spend a night on top of me. Screwing me senseless for hours on end.
Seriously, I would gladly fuck him till dawn.
He has blonde short hair, blue eyes and abs of steel. Of course he’s perfectly spray tanned, waxed free of all body hair and he’s a good foot taller than me.
I love that he’s always smiling on stage. He really seems to enjoy what he does and he has a lot of fun with it. Although what guy wouldn’t love the attention of hundreds of women every Saturday night and probably every time he walks out his own front door? I know he’s out of reach to a woman of my age, but I can always dream.
Walking into the club with our complimentary drinks in hand I realise I’ve just mentally described my late husband, physically anyway (minus the waxing and spray tanning). I’m sure when it comes to defining the two men in more depth, their similarities would end. Their vastly different choices of occupation sets them apart. After all Sam was a fair dinkum country boy. He lived and breathed country life. Dust, dirt, flies and all. The Son of Sensuality would be a city boy through and through. No doubt he’d enjoy late night shopping, running along the beach, a never ending choice of cuisine and everything else that goes with city life. Two people couldn’t possibly be any different.
We’re shown to our seats which are placed in rows in front of a dark empty stage which promises to be lit up with hot, sexy men anytime now. The lights go down. Every woman in the club bolts upright in their seat screaming while their wide, wild eyes eagerly scan the stage for any sign of hot blooded males. I personally would rather sit back in my chair with my drink and watch with hunger and appreciation as these buff, beautiful men do their thang. So I settle into my seat as the show begins.
It starts the same as last time. Nevertheless we’re entertained more than we could ever have hoped for.
The guys are all dressed in dark cloaks which cover their heads and heavy black boots cover their feet. They descend in a cloud of fake fog. I could watch this show one hundred times and still feel the same exciting build up in my body thatI feel right now.
There’s a pause in the music, then with a loud hard hit of a drum eight perfectly sculptured gods of desire reveal themselves. Our libidos are jolted into overdrive and I swear the temperature in the room has just doubled. The noise certainly has.
We’re treated to a sexy dance with the guys wearing nothing but their tight black jeans and dark, heavy boots.
This look is a massive turn on for me. When I came home from one of the other hen’s nights I’d attended, my husband wanted to know every detail of our night out. So I started by telling him what the guys were wearing while on stage. “Their costumes were simply boots and a pair of nice tight, black jeans. And seriously honey that’s all they needed to wear. Certainly no more, but no less either.”
I remember fanning myself with my hands as I recalled the evening to Sam. My intention wasn’t to make my husband jealous.
One day, my husband greeted me at the door in nothing but his work boots and his rather grubby, torn work jeans. It wasn’t quite the same as The Sons of Seduction, but it did the trick.
Sam had a great body. The body of a man who worked physically hard every day. He was toned and broad. His skin was tanned in all the places his singlet would allow. He had hair on his chest and back like a rugged man of the land and he only shaved once a week. These guys, in contrast, have been waxed, manicured and spray tanned especially for this show. They have to look their best for the ladies after all, but I can’t help but feel that’s what’s expected of them in this day and age, off stage as well as on. It’s just like all women are expected to be a size ten and have big, perky breasts that spill out over tiny, skin-tight tops.
I suffer a quick case of ‘I shouldn’t be here’ syndrome as I look around at the much younger crowd who surrounds me. The room is littered with short skirts, exposed cleavage and fake long hair extensions. I’ve made an effort to look my best tonight, but I can’t help but feel out of my depth here. There are some other women here closer to my age, but they’re not sitting on an aisle seat, which means you’re a bride to be, or a birthday girl, like me, (who probably should be over celebrating birthdays by now.) I feel like I have a spotlight on me, highlighting my insecurities, but to hell with it I say, I’m having fun. Well at least I'm trying to.
My girlfriends are beside themselves. They can’t take their eyes off the stage.
I go back to watching the show. The first dance is just wrapping up when I spot The Son of Sensuality with his eyes clearly on me.
Simone notices too and shouts in my ear, “Someone’s got an admirer.”
“Yeah right. He’s looking at the young piece of ass behind me, Sim.” Isn’t he?
“No, I’m pretty sure he’s looking right at you babe.”
Simone’s smile is full of cheek.
There’s no denying it though. He is looking straight at me and I’m locked in a trance staring straight back at him.
Oh this is ridiculous. He wouldn’t be interested in me. He probably remembers me as the crazy bitch who yelled at him a few months back. And if he's not thinking that then he'd surely be thinking, ‘Damn I bet I’ll get the old girl eight rows back.’
The dance finishes and he exits off stage with the other Sons. He nearly falls over his own two feet trying to look back at me as he’s literally pushed off stage by the other entertainers.
The show continues with a few of the men doing special dances with some of the hens who are there to celebrate their upcoming nuptials and women who are celebrating birthdays.
The Son of Sensuality features in a few more dances. Somehow his eyes again manage to find mine while he performs and he doesn’t seem to be paying attention to any of the other women in the room. My heart beats a little faster as I sit here and watch him watching me. I mentally slap myself for thinking he has some sort of fixation on me. I'm sure he just remembers me as an unhinged human being, but he's smiling each time he looks my way.
A few of the women around us stare at me with evil, jealous eyes.
I know this show. I know roughly how many performances there are and I know they’re coming to the end of the night. I can relax now knowing I won’t be pulled up on stage as there are only two or three more dances to go. The lights dim again to signal the beginning of yet another routine.
And then there he is. The spotlight is on The Son of Sensuality and the room has gone crazy. All of the girls in the club, as well as some guys, are stimulated beyond their control just by the sight of him. They start yelling out for his attention, but he struggles against the spotlight and somehow his intense, blue eyes once again find me. Instantly I’m lost to his enticing good looks and pants-dropping smile. With a slight nod of his head he gives me a wink and melts what little control I have left over my libido.
The music starts. It’s The Time of My Life no less, from the movie Dirty Dancing and he’s Patrick Swayze looking for Baby who’s left to sit in the corner. He starts to come down the stairs off the stage. He dances up the aisle the same way Patrick does in the movie. A fantasy flashes past my eyes, ‘I’m going to get laid by the man of my dreams.’ But it’s not me. He can’t possibly be coming for me, I’M NOT ONE OF THE GIRLS GOING UP ON STAGE TONIGHT!
Then he stops right in front of me and I swear the room has gone completely silent and it’s just him and me. My Man of Sensuality is holding his hand out to me (to call him my son makes me feel uncomfortable as he is definitely all man). He says in a low, hot voice full of sexual intent, “Come dance with me baby.”
I stutter some words, or at least sounds that may possibly represent words, as he grabs my hand and pulls me up from my seat, safely and firmly into his arms. Our argument months ago is now a distant memory as I allow him to lead me onto the stage.
My legs feel like jelly, but I somehow manage to make them work. My handsome, male entertainer seems to pick up on my nervousness and starts to dance around me.
His eyes never leave mine.
He’s gentle yet confident in his moves. He guides me perfectly so that I can’t possibly stumble, or embarrass myself. And his smell. My god he smells divine. He exudes a strong masculine scent that messes with my head and now I realise why he’s called The Son of Sensuality.
The crowd is going wild. Looking out I can see my mischievous friends on their feet singing and dancing to one of the all-time greatest love songs in the world.
All of a sudden I'm scooped up into his strong arms and spun around and around on stage. He’s so strong. He lifts me easily as if I were no heavier than a bag of feathers. I can’t help but feel completely safe in his arms.
I hold on tight and try not to scream into his ear.
The song comes to an end and as soon as the lights go down he leads me backstage. My heart is in my throat, my pulse dangerously high as I’m being led by a man who will from now on feature in my ultimate sexual fantasies. He pulls me into his dressing room which thankfully is the first room off a narrow hallway, so we don’t come across any of the other guys.
This beyond- gorgeous man shuts the door behind him then turns to face me. It’s not a very big room, actually it’s about as big as my bathroom. He reaches me in two strides, grabs me by my waist and pulls me close to his firm form.
“You’ve come back,” he says.
I try to pull away from him.
“You were here about six months ago. I remember you. I can’t believe you’re here.”
His face is serious and he expresses a look of yearning. His hands remain firmly on my body. He won't let me go and I kind of like it, but on the other hand I want him to let me go. I mean what the hell is going on here?
OK so he remembers me. Surely if I play dumb maybe he won't recall the heated conversation we had the last time I was here and he'll release me from his hot hands.
“Oh I don’t remember. Are you sure you’re not confusing me with someone else?”
“Nope, no way. Ever since I saw you the last time you were here I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind and I’ve kicked myself every day for not running after you that night, but I noticed you were wearing a wedding ring so I let you go. Do you feel like you could talk to me tonight and not scream at me?" he asks with a smile that reveals dimples on both cheeks.
Damn it. He does remember me.
"Yeah look about that, I'm sorry I acted the way I did. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. You didn't do anything wrong."
"It's good to hear you say that. All I wanted to do was take you out for a drink and talk to you for a while. I didn’t have any expectations, I just wanted to cheer you up."
"Yeah I know. It's just I was in no mood for that at that time."
Like a child in a lolly shop he grins and asks, "Are you in the mood tonight?"
My knees buckle. He's quick to grasp my waist tighter as I hope and pray that it was his intention to add a little sexual innuendo to his question.
"Maybe. I don't know. I'm here with my friends you see."
He’s still holding me close to him as if letting go of me is the last thing he wants to do.
He laughs lightly then asks me if I want to sit down. After guiding me gently to the blue, two seater couch he makes me a drink from his well-stocked mini bar. Vodka and Orange Juice. It’s what I’ve been drinking all night. How did he know that?
I try not to scull my drink, but I so desperately want to calm my shaking body. After a moment’s silence he sits next to me and asks, “I don’t want to sound rude, and I’m only assuming you’re no longer married, but is there a boyfriend I should know about?”
Swallowing the other half of my drink I stare bewilderedly into his beautiful clear blue eyes.
“I...I...No I don't have a boyfriend." It's not a lie, but it's not answering the truth either.
"Oh great. So you're single?"
He’s excited, I'm devastated to acknowledge the fact.
I’m feeling such a mix of emotions. I don’t know what to do, or what to say.
“The reason I ask is I can't help but notice that you're not wearing any rings tonight. Can I ask what happened? I mean it’s none of my business obviously, but if there’s any chance you’re available I’d love to buy you a drink after the show. Maybe even have a second crack at cheering you up?”
I remember the moment Sam slid my wedding ring onto my finger. I look away because tears are building in my eyes. I’ve had enough crying tonight and I don’t want to cry in front of - him, which makes me realise I don’t even know his name.
My head is spinning. This situation is in every sense of the word, surreal.
“Um my rings are in my room safe, but first things first, what is your name?”
He looks and sounds like I’ve just crushed his heart with my bare hands.
In a flat voice, staring down at the floor with his shoulders now hunched over, he replies, “My name is Jake.”
“It’s really great to meet you Jake and I’m unbelievably flattered but…”
I can’t think what the ‘but’ is going to mean. What do I say after that? Whatever I say after that one word could send my life down one of two very different roads and I fear the difference between the two roads could either be possible happiness, or continued sadness.
I continue talking and decide it’s best to speak from the heart.
Taking a deep steadying breath, I look down at my glass. “Jake, I’ll be honest with you. My husband died nearly a year ago. I still wear my rings because…they comfort me, but technically I’m not married anymore. My girlfriends bought me here tonight in the hope of giving me a good time. I need time to chill out with my friends and just have fun. To come here tonight and be able to meet you again is a fantasy come true. I'm sorry again for the way I acted the last time we met, but I'm happy I had the opportunity to apologise to you.”
Jake looks at me with sympathy in his eyes.
“Jake I would love to have a drink with you after the show, but I’m with my friends, I can’t just ditch them.”
His hope seems to have been renewed as his warm, large hand takes place tenderly on my thigh.
“No of course not, that’s fine I understand. They can come with us. I’m sure a few of the guys would love to wind down and have drinks with your friends. We can make it a group thing…whatever makes you feel comfortable. I’m so sorry to hear about your husband. I had no idea and I hope I haven’t come on to strong, but I really like you and I would love to see you again.”
“Why don’t we take one step at a time? Don’t you have a show to finish?” I ask.
“Shit I completely forgot. Fuck! Um let me show you the way out then I’ve got to get back on stage. I’ll find you after the show.”
We stand together. Jake seems frustrated as he rakes his hands through his hair. I can't help but stare as every muscle in his abdomen flexes. A rush of heat washes over me.
“I’ll see you upstairs for the group photo?” he asks. It’s a plea more so than a request.
“I’ll make sure we get one with just the two of us…if you like?”
I feel a heady warmth between my thighs again, just simply from his words.
“Yes Jake. I would like that very much.”
I smile while Jake takes my hand and leads me back to the side entrance of the backstage area.
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