Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Should I have brought single dollar bills to stuff in his very tiny thong? Would the guy at the front have allowed it even if I had any idea this was how my night would go?
"Do you like working here?" I ask, angling my head up so he can possibly hear me better.
He gives me another wide smile, but he doesn't verbally respond.
"Are they nice to you?"
His dance moves don't waver, and it makes me wonder if he can understand me or even hear me.
The music isn't so loud that my voice didn't reach him.
Shit.
Is it possible he's deaf? How would he keep the beat if that's the case? Does he not speak English?
"Do you—"
"I like working here," he says.
"Do you always dance?"
"I do a lot of things," he says, his smile locked in place, but it's the increasing creases at the corners of his eyes that give away the irritation that's growing in him.
When the song changes again to one I don't know, he runs his hands down his chest and further over his crotch, making my unease grow by leaps and bounds.
By the middle of the song, I swear I can see that the tip of his penis is hard and peeking from the top of his shiny underwear.
This is not something I ever experienced when I went out with friends in college. Those guys wanted to party because they saw the amount of money we were throwing around, and they wanted as much of what we had to offer as possible. Not once did I notice them getting aroused on stage while dancing. Hell, there was more than one occasion where I swear I saw some type of stuffing or packing material peek out, as if they wanted to appear larger than they actually were. They sure as hell never revealed their private parts.
I keep my eyes on him because I paid for this, after all, and I'm supposed to be into this sort of thing, but I'm regretting coming here in the first place. Maybe the cuddling, item 1b, was a better bet, but at the time, I just couldn't imagine touching someone else or having them touch me. I still don't want someone to touch me, but I also don't know if being subjected to watching this is a very good idea either.
By the end of the song, he has stripped fully naked, and now he's leaving no doubt just how ready he is for more than a little dancing. I follow the arc of his shiny underwear as he tosses it across the small stage, finding my attention locked on it. That's better than staring at this naked man who seems right at home, stroking the length of his penis right in front of me.
But then again, who am I fooling? This is exactly what I paid for, isn't it?
This is a transaction. I paid, and he's performing. It makes my skin itch as his shadow dances on the wall, all hip rolls and sensual movements.
This is no way even close to fun like it was in my twenties. When he inches forward, I dart my eyes in his direction but then I have to look away because my cheeks are on fire. This is so damned awkward.
"I was wondering how long you've worked here," I say, my gaze on the far wall.
"Listen, lady, I'm just here to pay my way through college. It's just a job."
I snap my eyes to him, and I can see the immediate regret in his. But it isn't regret for what he's doing, just that he responded the way he did just now.
I hold my hands up when he tries to come closer to me, as if he needs to apologize or get me to understand his reasoning.
"I'm so sorry. I know you only ordered 3a but I can throw in 3b if you don't tell anyone I lost my shit."
I watch in horror as he dips two fingers into his mouth and holds them out to me. My thighs clamp closed as I scoot back further into my chair. 3b is not something I'm interested in from this young man.
"I'm fast," he insists. "I can make you come faster than anyone has ever before."
"No thank you," I tell him. "That'll be all, Ben."
"There's an assortment of toys if you'd like a few moments alone after I leave," he says in an even voice as if he's reading from a script.
He pleads with sad eyes as he gathers his things. He gives me one more final look over his shoulder before he leaves the room.
I don't even bother to look in the direction he indicated because I don't want to know what he thinks I'll be doing after he leaves.
He's just trying to get through college? It was too familiar of a reminder about my younger brother Christopher.