Work Hard, Play Hard
FRIDAY NIGHT:
I love these nights, just like you do. It's one of the things we have always loved, how we can shift between spaces. When we are together, whenever we are together we fall into our secret world - a world of knowing glances, touches, the familiarity of each other and the comfort and the calm of knowing that together, us, we, are the eye of the storm. Whatever is happening around us fades away and is manageable, no matter how chaotic. That grounding and peace, that heat, it's inextinguishable.
And tonight we need that, because chaos does not describe it. We love our dates, and our time alone, but we love this as well - work, and working together.
Since I opened this place, a cozy place, a bar unlike others a place where things can happen, well, happen they do. But for all the success and excitement, what I enjoy most is seeing you behind the bar. Here, I am the boss, at least nominally. But I love turning it over to you and seeing you take charge of it, and be in control. We both know that in our private moments, I am the one in control, but when we are working, we are partners in everything we do. That's at the core of everything.
When I pick you up - and I love picking you up, because it means I get to take care of you for a little, your hair is down, golden and shimmering. You always criticize your makeup, and say that you haven't done it well but I've never noticed a thing out of place. You always seem so put together to me, so perfect and thoughtful in everything you do. You're wearing a black dress - you're often in black and it suits you, the contrast against the lightness of your skin and hair. Sometimes I look at you and chuckle, that you're my very own Betty and Veronica, rolled into one, the light and the darkness coexisting. It's fitted but not too tight - I know you have to be comfortable. But it's more than enough for me to see the softness of your curves, and to imagine where your skin, the skin I know so well, touches the fabric.
I'm all in black as well, my usual uniform for nights like this. I try to look good for you, but I have to be comfortable as well. That being said, we know tonight is a bit different. Tonight will be overwhelming: maximum capacity, a band specializing in dance music from the 70s - Parliament Funkadelic, Sly & The Family Stone. We have been preparing for this for months, and it's more people than we can even handle. Tonight will be all about business, and making sure everyone there has a good time. We both know something else: we love the music and we love making sure that everyone has a good time, but we aren't doing this out of the goodness of our hearts, so we want to see the tip box full and that might mean playing it up a bit. So a bit of mild flirting with patrons never hurt anyone, did it? If we've learned anything here, it's that if you treat people like they're special, take care of them, they're more inclined to do it right back. We know the rules, and it's time to get to work.
When we arrive and begin to climb the familiar wooden stairs, I try to let you go first. I could say that it's out of chivalry, ladies first, but you know that's nonsense. I just enjoy the view, and you know that all too well - so you cut me off at the pass, and tell me to get my butt up there. I know when the battle is already lost, so this time, this time, I comply. Predictably, I feel a playful spank on my butt as I do, and I hop up the stairs a bit faster to get away from more that might be coming my way.
I chastise you a bit, "Get your business face on Bella, no time for that tonight!" but it's said with a smile, even if it's the truth.
When we get upstairs, it's chaos. We knew it would be bad tonight, but I'm not sure we knew just how busy this was going to be. There are people everywhere, noise, movement, preparations. Soundchecks, equipment being moved.
There have been quieter nights here, and we like those. The money isn't great on those nights, but that's okay, the company is fantastic. On those nights, we certainly have made use of the time together. Chatting, talking, enjoying the music, and then when everyone goes home - we have had our own party for two.
As we move behind the bar to get stuff ready, we see someone sitting in a booth. We look at each other and smile a little - a smile with a hint of mischief, and touch of knowing and even a bit of embarrassment. Because that's our booth. The one we have held our private parties in. I look at you and wonder which of those times your remember. Was it when you leaned back, and had your legs spread for me across the table? When I was on my knees with my hands on your thighs, pushing them apart as I tasted you? Or are you thinking of being on my lap - you on me. Me inside you?
I quickly banish those thoughts, because it seems pretty clear that there will be none of that tonight. This is busy, and it's going to be about the work. And that's ok, because as much as I love our private parties what I love most is just being with you, being your partner, making life happen.
And life happens. The work happens. The doors open, and the patrons come in, eager to lose their worries for a few hours, dancing and drinking, and dancing some more.
We do our thing, and time becomes a blur - so many people that everything becomes moment to moment. We watch the band, we watch the people dancing - and we serve them. Not just booze or alcohol, but we serve them smiles and a time that they will remember - or won't as the night gets longer.
I watch as a bearded fellow orders a beer and asks your advice. You know as well as I do that your beer knowledge is - well, let's just say it's not your area of expertise. But I see you play the game, and give him some advice, and maybe even say a few words like "smooth" with just a hint of something, a glimmer in your eye for his benefit. It makes me smile. There's no jealousy. I know he's not even your type, and as you compliment his shirt, I see the fruits of your effort in the tip jar, and chuckle even harder. He will be back, of that I have no doubt. And it won't be me he's ordering from.
I pass you, and whisper "nice one" and give you the gentlest of caresses - out of view from anyone else.
You playfully ask what I'm talking about, and I smile.
"Keep going, Bella" I say, as I move back to the bar. This time a little closer. Too close. Anyone watching would miss it, but my hand lands on your hip as I move pass you. A simple gesture that anyone familiar might make to alert you to their presence, but in this case, I hold you for a moment, and press against you. The hand pulls you closer to me - just for a moment. And then I'm gone.
And it's back to business. They keep coming. That's how these nights go. We have fleeting moments where we can be in each other's orbits, seconds we can drift into that place of you and me and then it's back on. I do my best to answer some drink questions, trying hard not to let my lack of knowledge show, but eventually give up and come clean, "I have to be honest with you, I don't even drink, so I can only tell you the basics". Sometimes honesty is the best policy, and they make a selection and go on with their night.
Things start to quiet down. The evening is still going, there's still some dancing but it's not as frantic or as loud, and we have a moment to chat. We even dance a bit behind the bar. Nothing salacious, just us being ourselves and carefree. We start thinking about when to wrap things up, when we are approached again. When she comes up to the bar, I start to ask what she'd like when she interjects. She's pretty coherent, but all the same I can tell that one of us has served her already, and perhaps a few times.
"I heard you say you don't drink" she says. Her eyes narrow. "People who don't drink always have vices."
"Oh, I don't know, I'm pretty boring" I say with a non-commital shrug.
"Doubt it. C'mon, tell me"
I look over at you, and can see your eyes subtly shift from mild fatigue to amusement. How am I going to answer that? You're waiting. Alright. At 11am, my answer would be as inoffensive as possible. But it's late, so the lips get looser.
"Well, don't tell anyone," I say - and at this, her eyes light up. I wave for her to come closer, and she does. Everyone likes a secret. "But when the night shuts down and everyone goes home, when we've kicked everyone out... we open back up as a swingers' club"
She laughs, and you do too. That answer may be closer to the truth than anyone realizes, but I clearly wasn't selling it. She plays along, though.
"How do I get an invite?" she says with a look that seems to indicate there might be a small part of her hoping it's true - but that small part might be very, very drunk by now.
I nod at you. "She's the membership coordinator. She's the one you have to impress".
She looks at you and smiles - a slight slur to her words that take us out of any thought of seriousness.
"For real, tell me. I love hearing people's vices. Tell me. I'll tell you one of mine"
"Honestly? My biggest vice? The thing that I can't resist, and have to have, and can absolutely never get enough of?" I say as she leans closer. "It's her", and I nod towards you. You smile in that way that tells me you like the compliment but don't know what to do with it.
She looks at you and says "I can understand why." And she smiles, looking at both of us. Her look becomes more of an appraisal - and as I watch her eyes on you, I can see the look become more... something. Hungry. "That's a vice I'd like to have" she says with a smile. "But why just have one vice?"
"Your turn" I say. "You said you'd tell us your's"
"What are you guys doing after this?"
Suddenly we stop. This has gone from fun banter to the precipice of something a bit more dangerous, and I look at you - on your face I can see the fatigue that I feel. That hasn't stopped you from looking at her - truly looking at her.
She's a touch shorter than you, dark hair - it's hard to tell whether it's brown or black under the dim light. She's pretty, that is for certain. Not in a magazine-pretty way, but with a pleasant softness, and big dark eyes and full lips. She looks like she has some Latin in her background, too. As she leans over the bar, the cut of her top and her positioning presents, to you, the curve of full breasts. I know you're looking, and it makes my smile even bigger. But we have a reality. It has been a long night, and this woman has clearly had a few. We are no strangers to making mistakes, but we don't like to make them on anyone else's behalf.
"We're tired. Really tired" you say with a little pout. She returns it.
"I know, you guys were working hard tonight. But listen." We listen, but she says nothing else. She reaches into her purse, and our attention is momentarily diverted by the band telling the crowd thanks, and good night. The night is almost over. When we look back, we see her putting something in the tip jar. She winks - at both of us. And walks away.
With things wrapping up, it's a moment lost. Not quite forgotten, but there are other things at hand - most notably getting home. So we start our cleanup. We always, always desire each other, but what we desire most right now is quiet and rest. Everyone has left, and we share a long hug. You whisper to me that you're way too tired for anything more, and I know - I am too. That's fine with me. I hold you in my arms and we share a laugh about being propositioned by the slightly drunk woman.
"So... in different circumstances, would you?" I ask.
"She's cute. Would you?" You answer.
"That wasn't an answer."
