Strip Teaser (Naked Night's) (14 page)

Sally

The guys have decided that we’re all going out tonight to a bar called Ghillie Dhu.  It’s at the far end of Princes Street and we’re walking, so I select my flat, comfortable shoes.  It’s a Friday night so I go for smart jeans and a sheer black blouse that shows off the lace camisole I’m wearing underneath.  It’s quite low cut, and with the bra that Alex bought me, really shows off my bust.

I’m thinking it’s a little too much when there’s a knock at the door signaling the arrival of the latest bodyguard.  I sigh in resigned frustration.  I’ve got used to it now, but it doesn’t mean I’ve learned to accept it yet.

Tiny stands there, looking hot in a dark shirt, jeans and a black jacket.  He offers me his arm, and I take it.  Like the gentleman he is he escorts me down to the bar where everyone else is already gathered and waiting for me.

“About bloody time.” Guido mutters, then looks up at me, and his jaw drops.

“Bloody hell, Sally. You scrub up well.” Being Guido I take it as the compliment I think it is.  There’s a murmur of agreement from the rest of them.  Maybe the top wasn’t inappropriate after all.  Then I remember the type of girls these guys are used to and panic again.

“You look lovely.” Alex whispers in my ear. I didn’t hear him come up beside me and it startles me a little. “You look good enough to eat.” I take a deep breath at the mental image I have of Alex ‘eating’ me.  My face must flush a little and Alex just laughs.

In the early evening Edinburgh is still a hustle and bustle of people.  I’d expected that it would have quieted down, but if anything it feels busier.

I settle into people watching as we walk along.  I have a bad habit of making stories up about the people that pass, imagining where they’re rushing off to, where they’ve come from.  An idea starts to form in my mind.  If I don’t manage to get a new job when I get home, perhaps I could start to write a book.  It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.  And being with these guys for the past seven weeks has ensured that I wouldn’t be short of material.

We cross the road and find ourselves outside Ghillie Dhu. It looks a little like an old Methodist church from the outside. We’ve got a table booked to eat here, before a Ceilidh style party upstairs later in the evening.  The interior is dark, yet not gloomy.  There’s a certain ambience to it.

We’re shown to a booth against the back wall, a long cushioned U shape booth.  I find myself squished in between Alex and Tiny as usual.  Sometimes these two take this whole bodyguard thing just a step too far.

The food is enjoyable, but the company is better.  Away from the anonymity of the Travelodge, and the pressure of rehearsals and performing the guys relax.

They’re talking about finding a beauty salon in the morning to top up their fake tans, although if Guido gets sprayed anymore I’m afraid he’ll look like a tangerine, he’s orange enough as it is.

We’re laughing and joking and having a good time.  For a few hours I can forget about losing my job, and just enjoy being me, and spend some time with these new friends of mine.

I may not like the way some of them carry on, sleeping with all and sundry, but apart from that I do really like them as people.  I feel safe and comfortable around them.  There’s a lot to be said for that.

Guido and Jackal come back from the bathroom grinning from ear to ear.  Apparently the male toilets here are stainless steel buckets rather than urinals.  That sounds a little disgusting until Guido shows me the picture he took on his phone.  They look amazing. Very modern and sleek compared to the rustic feel of the bar.

We make our way up the curving stone staircase to the upper bar where the dancing will be.  There’s a long narrow bar against one wall and the guys decide I need to start drinking whisky; we are in Scotland after all.

The whisky burns a little going down, but then fills me with a lovely warm glow.  I could get used to this.  After a few of these I can tell I’m starting to feel a little tipsy. They’re a lot stronger than my normal Tia Maria.  Despite the flat shoes I stumble a little and fall into Alex.  He straightens me with his arm, and pulls me close into his side, holding me there protectively.

“Easy there, Sally.” He croons. “You might want to slow it down a little.”  He doesn’t release his hold, and unsure if it’s the whisky or bravado I never thought I had, I nestle in close.  Just for a few moments I want to pretend.  My body is on fire where it touches his.

I know it’s the whisky when I feel like I want to take my finger and trace it along his strong jawline.  Thankfully, I’m not that drunk that I follow through.  Part of me wishes I were.

The band starts to play and Alex drags me onto the floor behind him. I’m about to protest when the others join us.

I’ve no idea what I’m doing but it’s hard not to get drawn in by the music.  Pretty soon we’re all clapping along and swinging around on each other’s arms.  I’m thrown from partner to partner. I can’t catch my breath from it all.  It’s exhilarating.   The music ends suddenly and I’m standing there, captured in Alex’s arms.

I lose all sense of my surroundings, finding myself drowning in the depths of his eyes instead.  I’m just about to open my mouth and say something stupid, like how much of a shame it is that he’s gay when I’m rescued by Tiny, bearing another whisky shot glass.

I down the shot in one.  I don’t remember any of the evening after that.

Alex

I’m not sure just how much Sally drank tonight but she can barely walk.  Between us Tiny and I get her back to her hotel room.  She’s still humming one of the Ceilidh tunes.  She may be drunk, but she’s had a good evening.

I rummage through her purse until I find her hotel room key, and open the door while Tiny physically lifts her up and carries her over to her bed.

She’s out of it.

“I’ll stay and watch her for a while, make sure she doesn’t throw up.” I suggest to Tiny.  He looks at the limp form on the bed and agrees it wouldn’t be a bad idea.

I pull the armchair over from the window and settle into it.  I’m content just to sit here and watch her sleep.  The low rise and fall of her chest reassures me she’s fine.  She’s going to have a hell of a bad head in the morning though, especially after all that whisky.

I’m so grateful there’s less than a week of the tour left. Spending every day with her is killing me. I promised Tiny, along with the other guys, that we’d leave her alone. Right now that’s the last thing I want to do.

Sally stirs on the bed, she looks uncomfortable.  I move over and slowly remove her shoes.  I hesitate before removing her jeans, but they can’t be comfortable.  I open the button and draw them down slowly so as not to wake her.

Crap. She’s wearing the black lace that I bought her today. She looks even better in it than I visualized.

I remove her jeans and fold them neatly on the dressing table.  I want to trace my fingers all over her delicate skin.  I want to draw aside those lacy knickers and explore her hidden depths.

Shit. I can’t do this.  As much as I want to touch her, I want her to be fully awake when I do. This is wrong.  I throw a blanket over her bottom half to keep her warm, and return to the chair.   I sit there intending to watch her all night, but at some time I must fall asleep because
her cursing wakes me.

“What the hell are you doing in my room Alex!” she gasps.  It’s obviously too much for her hung-over head as she goes very pale, very quiet and holds her head in her hands.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” she whispers.

“Whisky hangover.” I offer. “I did warn you to slow it down a little.” I chuckle.  One look at her poor face and I go quiet.  She’s gone green. I’ve heard of it happening but never seen it.

Sally makes a dash for the bathroom and I hear the sound of her throwing up.  Part of me wants to go in there and help her, to hold the hair away from her face and to wipe her down with a cool cloth to help her feel better.  But this is Sally we’re talking about.  She does have a bit of a temper on her at times and I’m rather too fond of my balls to have her threaten them if I see her like this.

Sod it.  She’s a damsel in distress.  I head for the bathroom anyway.

She’s finished throwing up when I get there and is leaning on the sink with her hands. Her head leant over, hair shielding her face from view.

“I’m dying.” She mutters.

“You’re not dying. You’re just experiencing a whisky hangover is all. They can be pretty brutal.  Best thing for you is a big fried breakfast and a session down at the gym.”  Her face pales at the thought of food.  The mention of the gym makes her throw me a look of utter disgust.

“If you think I’m going anywhere other than my bed today you’re sadly mistaken.” She moves to sit on the closed toilet seat.  It’s then that she notices she’s only wearing her sheer blouse and underwear.

“Where are my clothes?” She sounds worried. “Who undressed me?”

“You looked uncomfortable, so I just took your jeans off.” She looks up at me, as though she’s just realizing something.

“What are you doing in my room?”

“I spent the night.” She’s just about to throw a fit when I add on the end. “In the chair. Nothing happened.”

“No, well it bloody wouldn’t would it?” I’m confused by her words, is that disappointment I hear in her tone?  More likely it just means that I’m the last man she’d think of sleeping with.  I’ve really got to get over this obsession I have with her.

I leave her to shower and freshen up for breakfast, refusing to take no for an answer.  I also tell her she’s coming to the gym with Tiny and me as well.

She looks disgusted at the idea but doesn’t say no.  I think she’s resigned herself to just doing what she’s told today.  I miss the fire of her usual retorts.

I head back to my room for my own shower, although mine will need to be a cold one. My hard on didn’t dissipate all night knowing that beneath that blanket she was wearing nothing more than a strip of black lace.  I’m seriously in need of releasing this tension.

Sally

I’ve got a few minutes before Alex comes back to escort me to breakfast so I log onto the dating site to see if I have any more messages.

There are a couple of new messages from guys I’m not familiar with and they get quickly
deleted.  Do they not read profiles? They’re after one night stands and are a bit too graphic in what they’d like to do with me.  I block them while I’m at it.

I smile when I see another message from James.

Morning beautiful, hope you slept well. How’s Edinburgh treating you?

I tell him that Edinburgh has treated me to my first, and last whisky hangover.  He sends an ‘lol’ message in return.  Very helpful James. Not.  I send a ‘pffft’ in response.  We’re normally much more articulate than that.

I’ll be back in York in a week or so. Think you will be too. Do you fancy meeting up for a quiet drink?

Shit. How do I respond to that?  Part of me wants to meet James.  We connect on so many levels, have a lot of things in common, and share the same sense of humor.  But part of me feels safe and confident behind the screen.  Would that translate into meeting him for real?

I’m not sure. I love our chats on here, but I still don’t even know what you look like? You could be Quasimodo for all I know. Lol. x

I hope he takes that the right way.  He hasn’t replied by the time Alex knocks on my door to take me to breakfast. I’m not sure whether that makes me relieved or disappointed.

Sally

Tiny is a little the worse for wear as well this morning, as are most of the guys with the exception of Alex.  Even the normally sober Eric looks a little
green around the gills today.

Because he’s hung-over Tiny decides to hit the heavy weights in an attempt to sweat it off. That means he delegates my training to Alex. 

Alex is wearing a tight white vest, and short black shorts.  I may be hung-over, but I’m not dead and my internal voice is having a field day telling me what she’d like to do to that body in bed.

This is going to be a long session. I groan.  Luckily Alex mistakes it for a hangover groan.

We’re fine starting the routine off as normal with the treadmill and the cardio stretches.  I’m even starting to feel slightly less embarrassed about them now.  That’s partly helped because I’m already starting to look a little more toned than when we started, and for some reason there are a lot of large people in the gym this morning.

Alex passes me the boxing gloves and puts the pads on his hands.  This might not be too bad. Perhaps I can use this boxercise set to exorcise some of my sexual frustration.

I think I must have misheard Alex, so ask him to repeat himself.

“I’m not Quasimodo you know.”  What the hell does he mean?  I continue punching side-to-side trying to figure out what he just said.

He realizes I don’t understand him and continues.

“I’m JamesT89.” My punches slow a little as understanding begins to dawn.

“But you can’t be!” I state. I increase the speed of the punches, but now I’m putting a lot more force into them. 

My brain is too messed up to understand what he’s trying to tell me.  It can’t be what I think it is.

“We’ll be back in York in a week, and I can ask you out properly then.”

It can’t be, but it is.  Alex is JamesT89, the anonymous guy that I’ve been chatting to on the dating site for the last few weeks.  That’s why he has that funny expression on his face whenever the dating site is mentioned.  That’s why he doesn’t have a profile photo.  I go back through our conversations, trying to see how I didn’t spot it. He was clever; he never lied.  I just interpreted a lot of what he said in the wrong context.

Then another thought dawns, just as I’m hitting an upper cut thrust to the pads.

“But you can’t be. You’re gay!” I state confidently.

Alex drops his hands at the word gay, surprised.  Unfortunately for Alex my brain hasn’t quite caught up and my left hand continues the path of the upper cut movement it was in and connects with his chin.  The force knocks him backwards into the wall. He bangs his head and slides down the wall into a heap.

Oh my god! I think I’ve killed him. I stand there looking down at the crumpled form and start screaming for Tiny at the top of my voice.