Finding Us (27 page)

As we drive through Times Square, the lights on the billboards are flashing and droves of people are walking. The city is always so alive; bustling, moving, churning. I love it here. And I’ll love it even more when I live here. I start law school in three months, and I can’t wait.

It’s nearly eight o’clock when the limo pulls up to Culture, the only all-male ladies club in the world. At least, that’s what the website boasts. Already, the line is around the corner with eager women waiting to get in. All six of us step out of the limo into the New York air. Along with Emily, Jill and I, there’s Beth and Liz, the groom’s two sisters, and one of Emily’s roommates from college, Jen.

The smell of hotdogs and pretzels drift in the breeze from the street vendors as we make our way up the sidewalk. There’s a secondary entrance that has a street sign with several shirtless men that reads ‘Male Revue’, and when I look closer I catch some fine print scribbled on the bottom that says ‘lip smackin’ dick’.

Oh man, maybe I am too straight laced for this.

Emily nudges me as we wait in line for the doors to open. “Sorry about Jill,” she whispers.

“Why are you apologizing? She’s right.” I cross my arms. “I do need some action between my legs. I just have to build up enough nerve to actually let someone in.”

“That’s not the only place you need to let someone in.”

I bristle. “Em, I don’t want to dwell on my past. At least not tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” she concedes, the penises bobbling on her head.

“Are you going to wear those things all night?” I ask incredulously.

“No, I’m just going to wait until Jill is drunk enough not to notice I took them off.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be wearing them for too long then.”

Emily nods zealously in agreement. I think she likes the shock value of her headband a little too much.

It’s early May, so the temperature in the city is comfortable. No one needs a jacket or scarf or pants, and I think even underwear is optional. As the line behind us grows rapidly the bouncer finally gives the okay to go inside. I’m bouncing in my shoes trying to muster enough nerve to actually walk through the door. I’m a little out of my element here. We file in one behind the other, all walking carefully down the dark stairwell in our designer heels as we make our way into the club’s private room.

The space is dark but not cold; there are black leather couches and coffee tables spread out in front of a small stage that sits maybe a foot off the ground. Very intimate, very close, and
very
personal. We all sit down on an L-shaped sofa to the right of the stage, and a few moments later someone is popping open a bottle of champagne and handing out plastic cups with pink bubbly liquid in it. I’m suddenly all nerves as the realization of what’s about to happen kicks in. I gulp the champagne; I don’t think I am going to like this one bit. I glance around anxiously at all the excited women in the room. A few have sashes or tiaras that say bachelorette or birthday girl. Emily fits right in with her headband. She seems relaxed; I think I’d be hyperventilating knowing some guy is going be grinding all over me in a few minutes.

I take another sip of champagne.

I watch the bartenders as they mix drinks behind the bar, hear the muted conversations of the girls around me, and feel the temperature rise as the room fills to capacity.

What the hell am I doing?
Just before I get up to go get some air, a smooth male voice washes over the crowd. “Ladies, ladies, ladies,” the MC announces.
Shit
. He’s short, with caramel colored skin and big green eyes; very handsome and very charismatic. He introduces himself as Hugo, walking back and forth across the stage like he owns it. He tells a few dirty jokes to warm up the crowd, some of the women fire back comments fueling his raunchy lip service. “Okay my fine females, this is what’s going to happen,” he says with a tantalizing edge to his tone. “There will be a group performance and then private dances, and then one-on-one time, where,” he smiles wickedly, “you get to mingle with all the fellas.”

I really think I need a cigarette
.

Hugo tosses the mic to someone on the side of the stage then disappears behind a door to the left that’s barely noticeable. It’s been painted black to blend in with the wall. The DJ pumps a hard-core club mix of Rihanna’s
Rude Boy
, while smoke blows over us from different corners of the room, which is cold and smells like chemicals. Then that little back door swings open and four men with no shirts, ripped bodies, and black tuxedo pants file out, bumping to the music. The room goes absolutely berserk. Women start screaming, bouncing up and down, and waving dollar bills over their heads as the four guys bump and grind and hump around the stage in a sexed up routine. They’re hot, there’s no denying it. But I can’t help but wonder how anyone can do this.
Don’t they feel like a slab of raw meat?

When the Chippendales’ demonstration is done, the dancers disappear into the camouflaged door, leaving the crowd hot and bothered and apparently ready for more. The lady sitting in front of us is actually panting.
Really?

I glance at Emily as Hugo reappears. It looks like she’s really getting into this, which I’m silently thankful for. Emily’s not a prude by any means, but I think even this could definitely push her limits. It’s certainly pushing mine, and I’m just watching.

Hugo calls the first bachelorette onto the stage. Lila, I think her name is. She’s a cute young girl, almost innocent looking. She’s wearing a tiara and a pink sash that says bachelorette. Her fake blond hair is loose with curls, and she has on a white button up shirt and jeans. Not very club couture, but whatever. Her entire party is called up on stage with her, and Hugo instructs them to decorate her body with dollar bills. The group sticks money wherever they can; in her pants pockets, between the buttons of her shirt, in her collar, and under her sash. She looks like a walking ATM by the time they’re done. Then Lila sits down on a folding chair on stage. The DJ hits the music again, and a fast version of Sean Paul’s
Temperature
pumps through the speakers as a guy dressed in a cop’s uniform explodes onto the stage, all high energy and sexual, popping his body as he jumps right in front of Lila. He looks legit in his navy blue uniform, aviator sunglasses, and officer’s cap. Sergeant Striptease wastes no time working it; he gets right in Lila’s face, bumping his junk to the rhythm of the music.

I can’t believe I’m watching this
, I think wide-eyed as I down more champagne.

He rips his shirt off displaying his defined chest and six-pack abs, then he straddles Lila with his face towards the crowd. Taking her hands, he runs them down his glistening pecks, over his stomach and then his hips.

I’m not really sure what’s more shocking, the stage show or the reaction it’s getting. Women are bouncing exuberantly on the leather seats, shrieking and clapping almost like a bomb went off.

Sergeant Striptease then stands Lila up and rubs himself all over her; moving up and down against her body, grabbing the dollar bills out of her shirt with his teeth. Lila laughs nervously as she holds on to him by his very nice shoulders.
Very
nice shoulders. Then he does something that takes everyone, especially Lila, by surprise. He grabs her waist and flips her upside down, her crotch ending up right in his face. He slashes his tongue between her legs, causing most of the women in the room to scream.

Like,
bloodcurdling
screams.

I’m not even capable of an auditory response; my vocal cords have shorted out and my jaw has dropped to the floor.

Raunch-y
.

Then he puts her down and whispers something in her ear. She nods back at him with a smile, her eyes wide and alight. He sits her back down in the chair and proceeds to take off the rest of his clothes, which is actually just a quick tug of his pants. All he has on underneath is a black g-string with, holy shit,
tassels
covering his penis.
Where do you even find a getup like that?
He does one more bump and grind on Lila, practically naked, and then the show is over.

Emily looks over at me—her eyebrows lifted high—like she can’t believe what she just witnessed.

“Yeah girl, that’s all you,” I yell to her over the music, and she laughs.

I wonder how much laughing she’s going to do when it’s her on that stage.

Hugo reappears, announcing the next girl, Holly, and she looks absolutely petrified. She too, has blonde hair, but I think it’s natural; no dark roots. She’s wearing a white eyelet dress and fresh faced makeup. She looks almost virginal, and I feel sorry for her already.

Holly sits in the folding chair, wound tighter than a spring and littered with dollar bills all over her body. I couldn’t do it. I could never sit up there and have some guy I don’t know hump all over me. It would just feel wrong. For me. I admire the other women in the room who are raring to go.
Maybe I am a prude?

The lights dim as Holly sits alone on the stage, but no one comes out the camouflaged door. There’s low haunting music playing and smoke curling up from the floor. Then I notice Holly’s face. She’s gone pale. Everyone turns around to see what she’s looking at. And there, sauntering toward the stage is a guy dressed in black leather pants and a mask covering his whole head, a whip in his hand.

Holy BDSM.

“Ladies, the Dominator,” Hugo announces, and Holly absolutely shits. I can’t say I blame her. All I want to do is run up there and rescue her.

The Dominator gets onto the stage and starts doing a seductive dance over Holly, grabbing her hair and yanking her head back as he straddles her with his mask on.

My mind goes numb as I watch; it feels like an out-of-body experience, it’s so far out of my sexual scope of understanding. The Dominator then pulls Holly to her feet, bends her over, and starts smacking her ass. Hard. Then he mercilessly pumps her from behind, and I have to look away.

I think I’m scarred for life.

After that he sits her back down in the chair. It looks like she’s just smoked up, she’s so starry-eyed. Then he rips off his mask and starts again with the intense humping; his crotch right in her face.
Good Lord.

He’s not bad looking with his bald head, big light eyes, and really nice smile. Like, really nice. Almost endearing, which is weird.

Then he does something that actually impresses me. Somehow, he gets his feet over her head, planting them against the back wall of the stage, his ass facing the crowd, and humps her upside down. For a guy who’s tall, bulky, and muscled, he’s limber, I’ll give him that. When’s he finished, he kicks himself down and pulls Holly to her feet. He picks out all the dollar bills with his teeth, and then plants a huge kiss on her cheek. She was a damn good sport. I would have bolted the moment I saw him walking my way. Given you could actually pay me enough to get up on that stage in the first place.

Now it’s Emily’s turn.

“Okay ladies,” the charming Hugo announces. “You’re in for a real treat,” he says as Jill, Beth, Liz, Jen and I dress Emily in dollar bills. She’s by far the sexiest and most trendily dressed girl in the room. She has on a tight black bodysuit that’s short sleeved and high collared. Paired with a flared mini skirt and black stockings that give the illusion of thigh highs, it’s completely hooch couture. With her tiny little frame she rocks the outfit perfectly. We were able to get twice as many dollar bills on Emily as compared to the other girls. Even her black bootie high heels have Washingtons sticking out of them. She looks like a scarecrow stuffed with green straw.

“Next up is one of our premier dancers. So get ready, set, wet for Jack the Stripper!” he says as he hops off the stage.

The beginning beats of Ginuwine’s
Pony
blasts through the speakers as a shirtless guy with a cowboy hat and eye mask grooves his way out of the black door. Now him I could be into. He’s tall and lean, totally toned, with sun kissed skin and a hot looking mouth. Emily got lucky with this one, thank God. I watch as he dances to the stage in a pair of loose fitting blue jeans with rips in the thighs and knees, the elastic of his underwear peeking above the waist of his pants. As soon as Emily sees him, a big smile spreads across her face, and I breathe a sigh of relief. She’s into him.
And seriously, who wouldn’t be?

The melody changes to a house rendition of
As Long As You Love Me,
and Jack the Stripper moves seductively to the beat of the music, grinding sensually on Emily; his fluid body undulating all over her. I’ll admit, I’ve never equated Justin Bieber to stripper music, but this guy makes it work. And damn, can he move. My mouth is getting dry just watching this. The entire room is responding to him; pleasured screams and erotic moans are echoing from every which way as he works Emily on stage. No wonder Hugo called him premier; it’s as if he knows exactly what a woman wants and exactly how to give it to her. He’s already broken down the entire room with just his confidence and sexuality. That’s impressive.

In the middle of his dance, with his hat and eye mask still on, he lifts Emily’s chair, with her still in it, and flips her up and around, inducing screams and shouts from the audience. With a big smile he sets her back down, and then starts to undo his pants, teasing her and us with glimpses of his ass. Before he drops his jeans he rips off his hat and flings it into the crowd revealing thick, brown hair that’s short on the sides and longer on top; his bangs spilling over his forehead hipster style.
Hot.
Then he kneels in front of Emily, only his side profile visible. He whispers something into her ear, she glances at him oddly then slides two fingers under his eye mask; she rips it off and immediately turns white. I can’t really see his face from my angle, but whoever he is, he spooked her. They both seem to freeze for a fraction of a second; his back muscles tensing.
What the hell is going on?
Then she nods her head, as if encouraging him on. He stands up, faces the crowd, and proceeds to take off his pants. That’s when my heart drops dead in my chest. I glance at Emily, and she’s staring straight at me, a manifold of emotions churning on her face, because we both just witnessed my past strip to life.