Hook
The thump of the base permeated every corner of the club, bouncing off the fashionable exposed concrete and rattling the expensive-looking plush chairs scattered throughout the room. On the stage, a stripper took a bow, cheekily collecting the remaining dollar bills from the floor and from her thong. It was a Monday night, and the club was neither full nor completely empty, a regular smattering of men sitting nearer to the stage: Shift workers for whom it was the weekend, truckers, and men for whom the strip club was a nightly pursuit.
As for me? With my thrift-store blue jeans, worn loafers and rumpled button up, I could be mistaken for a trucker trying to dress up a little, but my reason for being here was a little different.
***
The plush chairs of commander Jackson's office still smelled of cigarettes, despite smoking indoors being banned by the FBI over two decades ago.
I had arrived five minutes early to our meeting, and it was now twenty past. I had gone through all my unread emails and was resorting to getting ahead on my performance self evaluation, even though it wasn't due for another month.
Finally, the door opened and Jackson walked in. A holdover from the cloak and dagger days, he looked like an old spy from central casting: Grizzled lines carved deeply into his face and a chin that could split the atom. I stood up again, closing my laptop as I did, and he gesured for me to sit down.
"Agent Cristoph," he said, "Let me be the first to commend you on the success of Operation Marathon."
"I couldn't have done it without the organization's extensive support, sir."
He nodded. "We're ready to send you on your next mission, but it's going to be a little... unorthodox"
***
I picked a chair close to the stage and watched the changeover. The last dancer left and a new dancer walked on wearing a beige satin robe and red six-inch heels. "Hit Me Baby One More Time" by Britney Spears came on and she smiled and started to play with her robe, opening it slightly and smirking at the audience as she did. Finally, at "show me" she threw the robe off, revealing a blood-red lingirie set. Her legs were strong and toned, her stomach was flat, and her large breasts were almost hanging out of her bra.
She crouched down and crawled up to the stage, rising onto her knees once she got to the front and gyrating while bouncing up and down. She put her finger into her mouth, making eye contact with each male audience member in turn - my heart quickened when her eyes met mine. As she looked at me, she pulled her finger down to her cleavage and tugged at the center strap of her bra. I couldn't help but look down hungrily. When I looked back up, she had a smug, victorious smirk on her face. She slowly crawled to my side of the stage, her ass in bouncing up and down as she moved. She was looking straight at me the entire time.
***
The pictures of the five agents were on the table, along with glamor shots of strippers that looked like they were taken from a porn promo.
"All of the undercover agents just disappeared?" I asked.
"Along with twenty other men that we know of. We believe the club uses some sort of sexual scheme to string them along and move them to another location, where they're imprisoned."
"Sexual scheme?"
"Witnesses report the disappeared men becoming more and more engaged with a dancer, who eventually takes them to a back room, and that is the last time they are seen. We aren't sure if they're drugged or otherwise subdued."
"I see. Have you tried sending in female agents, or gay ones?"
Jackson looked a little uncomfortable, an eerie look for a man of his gravitas. "This is where we wanted to talk to you. Any women or gay men we send in undercover can't seem to get very far or identify what is happening. Even if they feign interest, the dancers don't bite. It seems we need the genuine article"
"You want... someone who will get horny"
"Yes, but ideally do so while keeping his wits about him. You'll have hidden weapons and trackers, and an extraction team ready, but it's crucial you watch out for any attempt to subdue you, while also exhibiting genuine interest in a dancer so you can get into the back room and see what's happening"
"Sir, yes, sir!"
***
I readied my money, starting with one dollar bills. It was important to show interest in the dancer, and the best way to show interest in a stripper was with cold hard cash. As she got up to me, I put three ones down on the stage. The stripper gave me a disbelieving, almost pitying look and swept them up, stashing them in the shoulder strap of her bra. She looked back at me and raised her eyebrows expectantly.
I had a budget, of course, and I was ready to roll big. I pulled out a ten-dollar bill and lay it on the stage. The stripper smiled and reached down slowly, letting her breasts brush the floor of the stage, before picking the bill up and passing it through the center of her cleavage, smoldering at me as she did so.
The mission required that I keep her attention, so I set down two more ten-dollar bills. She smiled more suggestively and licked her lips, then lay down on her side facing me, and gesured for me to put the bills in her bra.
Henitantly, my hands shaking a bit, I reached over and crumpled the bills into her cleavage. As I did, she grabbed my hand and pressed it into her breasts, letting me have a good feel. When I withdrew my hand she propped herself up and leaned forward, her face inches from mine. I could feel her hot breath on my lips.
"Hey big spender," she said, her voice husky and low. "Got anything bigger?"
A jolt of excitement went through my whole body. I didn't know if I should spend all my cash on the first dancer, but it seemed like the right way to show that I was hooked. Also, she was inches away from my face and I had to exercise all my self control not to lunge at her.
Instead, I put down all five of my twenties. She nodded approvingly and started bouncing up and down in front of me, her hand cupping her breast. I put down a fifty, then another.
