* * * * *
The blaring music was the first thing that brought Spencer's sleepy senses awake and he allowed himself to be ushered into the club, a laughing Mickie pushing him from behind.
"Come on, Spence! Wake the fuck up!"
He'd had too many cocktails at the reunion party and he wasn't really up to this now. He had been an hour ago, when the excitement of seeing old friends and rubbing his success in their faces had fired his veins. Now, with Mickie Mathews, the world was rapidly dulling, the edges rounding and spilling over, punctuated by her laughter. "I think I ought to go home, Mickie."
"No fucking way!" She maneuvered him toward an empty table and beckoned a waiter over to take their orders. "I didn't just pay fifty bucks to get into the NightClub School for nothing."
"I'll pay you back. Just take me home."
"Nope. Here. Drink this." She shoved a glass into his hand and pushed a pill into his mouth. "Swallow this. It'll perk you up."
Spencer did as she said and drank most of the drink, waiting for the pill to work. And work it did. Within minutes, new energy was coursing through him and he came to life with slightly blurred eyesight, slurred words and a wicked high that left him floating inches off the floor. "Thanks. I needed that."
"I bet you did." Mickie winked, her eyes roaming across the sea of half-naked bodies, smiling as the heavens opened up and chunks of foam came cascading down. "I'm going to dance. Join me?"
"In a minute." He sat back, giving her a saucy grin as she doffed her shirt and went running into the soapy mess. Within minutes, she was embraced by another half-naked woman and was French-kissing her seconds later. Spencer threw his head back and laughed. Mickie was such a free spirit. It was hard to believe that Darrin was her brother. Passionate and reserved.
Yes.
That kiss. He could still feel Darrin's lips on his, strong fingers in his hair. Why was it that he couldn't get a simple kiss out of his mind? Why did it make his cock harden to granite-like proportions? And worst of all, why did he suddenly wish that he'd never met Scot Sampson?
The music changed, slowing to a deep throb and a plethora of multi-colored bubbles began to drift around the dance floor, just as he appeared. A well-muscled man wearing a Batman-like mask stepped onto a raised platform, high above the dancers and a collective sigh of awe swept the floor as he ripped his shirt off, revealing a chiseled chest. God, was he hot! The dancer began to gyrate to the music, his oiled torso twisting and undulating to the music while his hips ground against an invisible lover.
A crowd collected below the elevated stage, encouraging him with shouts as he pulled the zipper down on his frayed blue jeans and shoved his hand inside. When he threw his head back, the cowboy hat slid off, revealing spiked blond hair and Spencer gasped.
Darrin?
He moved slowly, clearly enjoying the hand job he was giving himself, his features displaying the wanton enjoyment. The denim jeans were the next to go, sliding down around his ankles and remaining there when he turned his back to the audience, displaying his taut ass.
Spencer glanced down, finding Mickie who was hollering in concert with the others, then returned his gaze upon the stage, watching him kick the pants away, then turn, displaying a sizable lump in the shiny thong. "TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF!" He ignored the crowd's chant, opting to continue to please himself, alternately drawing his hands across his nipples, then down over his erect cock. Spencer felt himself hypnotized by the dancer's movements, his fresh drink untouched as the man moved to the beat. "TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF!"
He did. The thong came down and a long, thick cock sprang into the floodlight. The music disappeared behind a raucous cheer, gaining volume as he resumed his dance, his prick bobbing deliciously between his thick thighs. Spencer forgot to breathe when he turned to the stanchion, treating it like a partner and pumping it slow, then fast, then deep. The song ended and the lights silhouetted him just as ropes of cum shot out, arcing and landing at the base of the pole.
The floodlight was extinguished and the crowd roared. Spencer sat mesmerized, his own cock throbbing in response. It was Darrin. It had to be. And he had to find him and apologize.
* * * * *
"Thanks, Alfie. See you Tuesday."
Darrin pocketed the money, pulled his hood on and slipped out the back entrance, happy that dance had gone well and that it was over. Alf was usually good about these things, allowing Darrin to retain his anonymity while earning a bit of side scratch and the bouncers always kept the back entrance clear of overzealous 'fans'. It was for that singular boon that he always came back to Alf's; that and the fact that Alf always paid under the table in cash.
"Hi, Darrin." Darrin whirled around to see Spencer emerging from the shadows and proceeded to continue to walk to his car. "Darrin, please let me explain."
"I told you that there was nothing to explain. Now if you'll excuse me ... "
"No. I don't want to excuse you. I don't want to excuse me, either." Spencer walked closer to Darrin, flashes of his performance cascading through his mind. "I was a bad boy and I want you to punish me."
