"Dude! You should call her over and have her dance for us!" There was a chorus of resounding cheers and jibes from his supposed friends. He wanted to lay out the ringleader flat for that crack and it must have shown because most of the group lapsed into uncomfortable silence. "Cummon. We've had strippers, hell even whores, over before. What's so different now?"
"I'm dating her.
That's
what's different."
"So we wouldn't even have to pay her for it!" The stupid fucker was grinning ear to ear and suggesting that his girlfriend come over and give them all lapdances. The bastard couldn't get himself laid so he was probably even hoping he could finagle a deal for that too, like he had with strippers at private parties before.
His arm cocked back, fist clenched, muscles tense. Every other face looked horrified by the idiot's latest attempt. Jokes were alright but he'd gone too far and they all knew it. All except the dumbass himself. He took a deep breath, held it and released it slowly, letting his arm remain prepared to strike. Finally he relaxed it with a disgusted wave as he stormed out the door and into the warm night.
He'd had it with his supposed friends and their perpetual immaturity. Either he needed to find some new ones or break with her insistence that he spend at least one night a week 'with the guys'. Most nights he sat at home on his computer, watching TV or some similarly antisocial behavior. He understood the club's rule that boyfriends (and girlfriends for some) were permitted only a single night every week as patrons. They even tried to encourage this attendance on amateur night, the night their girls wouldn't be dancing, simply waiting tables. Unfortunately he was growing more and more distant from the pastimes and simple pleasures of his friends.
She adjusted her schedule to make sure she had at least one night off a week. The club hadn't liked that one bit but she insisted. He'd tried to talk her out of it briefly, insisting that her job was far more important than an evening with him. After all they could spend so much other time together. It took her a few days of explaining and assuring before he finally accepted and understood that she had needed a day off anyway, his presence simply being the catalyst that inspired her to stand up for herself.
She asked him once, after the wonderful first date, if he was uncomfortable with her dancing. He shrugged and admitted a little with private dances, but he trusted her implicitly that's all they were. Besides, a little jealousy was good for the soul. It helped to remind him of all he had to lose in her. He even went for another dance in the back room, although the two had to wait until after she got off work to vent their tension. Apparently the owners knew about the 'do not disturb' signal and insisted it never applied to boyfriends. More than one dancer had been surprised by a jealous, rather than horny, boyfriend and been injured on the job.
He swore that the sexual tension coursing through her only strengthened her dance that night. During the predictably, and insultingly, short dance some of the regular patrons had actually noticed her and tipped her as she danced, writhed and slithered across the stage and squirmed around the poles. Near the end of the dance he'd tipped her well himself and was surprised to find her thong soaked through and her muscles quivering from contact with the various poles. That had been another of their seemingly endless incredible nights together.
He smiled as he looked up and realized he was just about to pass her building on his way home. He decided to stop by. Likely she wouldn't be home, or at best was just about to head out to the club. Either way didn't bother him since he had nothing but time to kill and loved every moment, however brief, basking in her beauty.
He was up the stairs and into the building in moments, admitted by a resident on his way out. He started up the stairwell when the sight of her stopped him in his tracks. She veritably floated down the stairs in her short, forest green dress. With her hair pulled up, the sleeveless dress displayed her soft shoulders before dipping low to emphasize her perfect breasts. The design was cut such that he couldn't see her slight belly, but he didn't mind, his brain added all of the delightful details hidden underneath.
She stopped floating and stood at the top of the stairs staring back at him, her expression a mixture of the wondrous joy he felt upon seeing her and panicked concern that he wasn't where he should be. For a moment he feared she was cheating on him but the simple happiness he felt radiating from her disabused that notion. One thing was certain, that wasn't what she wore to work. Usually she threw on jeans or sweats and a t-shirt over whatever pair of lingerie she selected for the evening's dance. Everything else she needed was already at work. This was clearly party attire.
Before his beauty-addled mind could form words she succeeded. "What're you doing here? I thought tonight was 'guy's night'?"
A direct question, the best way to crack through a testosterone induced fog. "It is. I mean it was. Well, technically still is." Her arms crossed her chest unconsciously propping up her breasts. She tapped her foot, a bemused expression creeping onto her face. He still found himself babbling around her as his mind had done that first night when she entered the back room. He sighed and tried again. "It really isn't for me anymore. Hasn't been for a while now."
She smiled gently, as if humoring a child. "And what were they thinking of doing tonight?"
He couldn't meet her eyes, deciding on a half truth rather than the brutal facts. "They were talking about hiring a stripper."
