Shannon has never been to a strip club before.
She is all nerves handing her ID to the club's bouncer, her arm tight around Clay. This is their first time to New York City, and Shannon is not about to be the prude Clay makes her out to be. They had already had a full night, starting with a comedy club with a two drink minimum, a slice of pizza and extra drinks at a nearby martini bar. Now was the moment that Clay had been talking about for weeks: a sleazy strip-club off Times Square.
Shannon is self-conscious about her short dress, which Clay had insisted she wear with just her white lace thong, no bra. She pulls at the hem of the thin cotton fabric and glances down at her white tennis-shoes, embarrassed to make eye contact with the topless waitress that walks past the couple.
"Don't be rude." Clay hisses, grabbing her arm a little too tightly.
"It's a lot..." She starts.
"Just wait until we get into the main room." Clay uses a more playful tone, and Shannon feels a little more at ease.
The couple sits down on one of the plush couches that line the square room. A raised stage dominates the center of the room, where three poles are spaced evenly, lit with blues and pinks. A tall woman with caramel skin and a neon-green g-string gracefully wraps her legs around one of the poles, spinning while bending backwards to showcase her fully exposed breasts. A shiver runs down Shannon's spine as she imagines licking the dancer's Hershey-kiss nipples.
Clay chuckles, and Shannon catches him watching her squirm while watching the dancer.
"I knew you'd like this." He grins, leading her over to one of the wall-backed couches. "Let's get a dance, yeah?"
Shannon nods, saying nothing.
It's true, Shannon has always been attracted to women as well as men, but she has never actually
been
with a woman. Her closest experience was an awkward moment of spin the bottle in high school with one of her friends, who laughed after a quick peck and made a grossed out face. That was enough to deter Shannon from exploring her sexuality in college.
But now, in this strip-club, Shannon feels like this could be a good opportunity to explore her attraction, albeit in a very transactional environment. Plus, she wants Clay to have a good time on their trip to New York. They are long-distance friends with benefits, or as Clay likes to call them "travelling fuck buddies" for two years on and off. Clay tends to push Shannon's sexual limits in a way that she is comfortable with, so their trip to the strip club makes perfect sense to her.
Clay goes off to grab drinks before they order the lap dance, leaving Shannon on her own. She is transfixed by the dancers, all glitter and tits twirling on a colourfully lit stage. She almost doesn't hear the man next to her.
"Sorry, what?" She says, turning to a medium stature, balding man with a weather worn brown leather jacket.
"How much?" He asks, his broken English accented by a vaguely Russian accent.
Shannon blinks at the man uncomprehending. "How much for what?" She asks innocently.
The man scoots closer to Shannon so that his dusty jean clad leg just touches hers. He rests a sweaty palm on her exposed thigh and grins, moving his thumb in a circle on her inner thigh. A mixture of heat and disgust burn through her core, and Shannon is frozen in confusion.
"How much for, ah, kiss?" The man asks earnestly.
"Oh!" Shannon blushes, shaking her head no and cringing away, "I- no, sorry." She says, flummoxed, unsure of what to say.
The man politely nods his head, gets up from the couch and moves on to the other side of the room. Clay returns and Shannon recounts the strange interaction.
"Woah, that guy absolutely thinks you are a prostitute!" He says, laughing and almost spilling his drink on Shannon. They are both a couple of drinks away from being drunk, but Shannon doesn't find this amusing.
"Don't spill!" She takes her drink, a cranberry vodka, and swats his arm. "I'm sure these drinks cost a ton. And honestly, I think he was just confused."
"How much do you think you could have made?" Clay asks, waggling his eyebrows.
"Oh stop. I would make a terrible prostitute." She says, rolling her eyes and sipping her drink.
The idea that the grubby stranger could mistake her for a sex worker excites and confuses her. She isn't one to judge sex workers, it would be insanely hypocritical considering where she is sitting right now, enjoying the array of topless women prancing around her. The idea of selling her body has never crossed her mind and is something she know she would never do.
Yet, the idea of some stranger, a man she has never met before, coldly using her body for pleasure makes her face flush. She feels the familiar stirring of arousal imaging someone putting a price on her, turning the deep intimacy of sexual pleasure into a simple, calculating transaction.
She shakes her head, trying to clear away the emerging images in her head away in vain.
"Is your drink too strong or something?" Clay settles down on the couch, one arm around Shannon. She can smell his cologne, a smokey, earthy scent that makes her want to bury her face into his neck. She can't wait to feel him inside of her later at the hotel room, and imagines ways she can recreate the dances she is watching onstage.
"No, it's good." She smiles, happy to be dealing with him in one of his good moods.
"Lap dance?" Clay grins, waving over one of the wandering dancers before waiting for Shannon's response.
A blonde with D-cup tits and an American flag thong saunters over. Her hair is pulled back in a slick pony tail, long enough that the end of her ponytail brushes the top of her pert ass.
"How y'all doin' this evenin'?" She says, leaning over so that her tits fill Shannon's view, "Fancy a dance?"
Shannon nods, "I think him first," She gestures to Clay, who has removed his arm from around her.
The blonde wastes no time. She straddles Clay, tossing her hair in a circle, pantomiming a kiss on Clay's neck before pulling away. She gracefully rises from his lap and turns, bends over and shakes her cheeks towards him. Clay reaches for her hips, earning him an immediate swat.
"No touchin' sweetie, it ain't that kinda bar."
"Sorry ma'am." Clay replies, his tone even. Shannon can tell that this has not made him happy.
The dancer continues to wiggle, undulate and gyrate on Clay. Shannon can feel a pit of jealousy forming in her gut. The strip club seemed like a good idea, but how could she compete with someone as perfect and sculpted as this goddess of a woman?
The dancer finishes her dance, and Clay's face is flushed. Shannon hopes that after her lap dance they can go back to their Air BnB and she can remind him of why exactly he likes to travel with her. She's thinking of ordering an uber and risking her rating to give him a sneaky blow-job in the back of the car. Clay always loves doing risky things like public sex.
