Broken Read online

  Okay, so watching Showgirls has in no way prepared me for what’s going on in the Sahara. Some raunchy hip-hop tune that’s all about oral sex has these three girls writhing and wriggling. They don’t seem to have any sort of real routine or anything, they just twirl around on the poles and strip out of their already scanty outfits. And, yeah, they get down to bare skin, all the way.

  I watch as one girl gets on her back, crotch pointed toward the edge of the stage, and does a trick with her vagina that makes it look like some sort of underwater creature. I’m repulsed and fascinated. I look around at the men in the room, who are all staring at this woman’s cunt like it holds the secrets of the universe, until I turn to look at Joe and see he’s staring at me.

  “Wow,” is all I manage to mutter.

  He smiles and turns his gaze to the stage, where the girls are finishing up and heading into the audience to collect their dollars.

  A few more take their place on stage and the routines begin all over again. I spot two of the girls heading our way and I’m determined not to look like an asshole, even though they’re both naked and their tits are about to poke me in the eye.

  “Thanks, hon,” says one to Joe when he slips a bill into the garter on her thigh. “You let me know if you want a lap dance, okay?”

  After about fifteen minutes, I’ve become numb to the sight of undulating cunts and flopping tits. Joe and I are getting a lot of attention. I’m not sure if it’s because he is, hands down, the hottest guy in the room, or because he’s with me and therefore seems less creepy than the guys who are there alone. At any rate, I’m warming up enough that I’m able to put a few dollars into garters myself, and to laugh a little at the women who flirt like it’s a job, not a pleasure.

  They all ask if we want lap dances. Joe’s so good at declining, he makes it sound like he’d like to have a lap dance from each and every one of them. After an hour, I notice they’re talking about him. I know this because I know women, I know the way we gather and lean our heads together for discussion. The strippers are plotting something.

  A new girl comes out on stage. She’s about my age. My height. Hell, she’s even got the same color hair, though hers looks like it came from a bottle. She’s wearing a skin-tight sheath dress that makes it impossible for her to use the pole until she takes it off, and she’s dancing to a slow, silky bump’n’grind instead of some loud song with dirty lyrics. It would be incorrect to say she’s subtle, but compared to the other dancers, she was.

  She’s prettier than some there, but not the prettiest. She doesn’t have the best body, either. Still, something about her catches my attention.

  Joe’s, too.

  Together, we watch this girl shimmy out of her clothes. Then, it strikes me. This girl dances as if she’s enjoying herself. She smiles and makes eye contact with the men in the audience. She dances like she’s seducing each and every one of us with her eyes, which are a bright, liquid blue.

  When she’s done and goes throughout the audience collecting her cash, I hold my breath, waiting for her to disappear into the back room with one of those ogling men. Surely, she will. Certainly, someone will want to pay for her to dance privately.

  “Thanks, sugar,” she says to Joe when he tucks some money into her garter. She turns to me. “How about a lap dance?”

  “Yes,” I hear myself say. I feel Joe’s eyes on me, but I’m too busy looking into the girl’s to pay attention to him.

  “Well,” she says, her voice like smooth, hot caramel. “Let’s go, then.”

  She takes me by the hand and motions to Joe. “C’mon, darlin’, you, too.”

  Laughing, he gets up, too, and takes her hand. She leads us to the back room, which is painted like midnight and lit by black lights that turns our smiles and the whites of our eyes fluorescent.

  “Three songs,” she says. “What do you like to listen to, sweetie?”

  She’s asking me, her attention focused on me, her hand still holding mine. I’ve never held a woman’s hand before. Not like this, fingers linked, palm to palm. I hope suddenly my hand isn’t sweating.

  “Whatever you like.” I feel like I’m speaking through a mouthful of cotton. Heat sweeps up and down my body in waves that make me shiver. She nods and lets go of my hand to move toward a small window set into the wall I hadn’t noticed earlier.

  I look at Joe. He smiles and holds out his hand to me. I take it. He pulls me close enough to whisper in my ear.

  “Good choice.”

  I shiver again at the feeling of his breath in my ear. I don’t even have the benefit of alcohol to blame this on. What the hell am I doing? But I have no time to back out now, because she’s sauntering back to us.

  “My name’s Cherry,” she says.

  “I bet it is.” Joe’s grin is a crescent of white in the darkness.

  She laughs. “As far as you’re concerned it is.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Have a seat,” she tells us and points to the twin chairs set out in the middle of the floor. We do, facing each other. There’s just enough room between us for her to walk without bumping our knees.

  Cherry smiles. “You two a couple?”

  “No.” Joe shakes his head.

  “First date?”

  I laugh, nervous. “Sort of. We’re in a wedding together, tomorrow.”

  Cherry has a slow, smooth giggle that’s like bubbles in champagne. “Nice.”

  Then the music comes on. “No Ordinary Love” by Sade, a song I’ve always liked. It’s slow and sexy, and she begins to dance just the way she did on stage. As if she’s seducing us both.

  Joe, I think, is probably used to women coming on to him, but I’m not. I sit stiffly in my chair as Cherry moves her body over and around us. She sits on Joe’s lap, facing me, and slides her body up and down him while her eyes hold mine. Turning, she makes the same move on me.

  A lapful of warm, slightly sweaty woman is such a shock to me I make a small sound. Her hair, which smells of strawberries, is tickling my face and tumbling every which way over her shoulders, and I have time to wish mine would do that when she turns around and rubs herself all along my front.

  I’m reminded of the way a cat will butt its head against your palm to make you pet it. Cherry is turning, rubbing, writhing, moving back and forth from me to Joe and back again. I don’t know where to put my hands. If anyone else was touching me this way, I’d be touching back…but somehow I get the idea we’re not supposed to touch her.

  Cherry parts my thighs and slides between them to press her body along mine. The chair has a high, straight back, and I’ve no place to retreat. Her mouth ends up by my ear and she blows into it, lightly. I quiver. She laughs and pulls away, looking into my eyes again, before turning around to do the same to Joe.

  When she’s working on him, I can clearly understand the term “heart-shaped ass,” because she’s got one. She’s got one knee on Joe’s thigh, her hands on his shoulders. She’s tipped forward and up, so I can see the fluff of her pubic hair and catch a glimpse of her pussy. Unlike the blatant display out front, this is tantalizing, just a peek as she rocks her pelvis.

  Cherry knows what most men seem to ignore. That sometimes, mystery is sexier. Then again, maybe having a vagina has made me immune to the allure of close-up views.

  Three songs is about ten minutes, but after the first one is over I couldn’t tell you what comes next. Each is slow and smooth. It’s the longest ten minutes of my life.

  And the most expensive, as when the last song is over, Cherry stands up straight, flicks her hair over her shoulders, and says sweetly, “A hundred even, sweetie, though I won’t say no to more.”

  I can’t move off my chair yet, still glued there by the experience. I hope this place takes credit cards, and I can kiss lunch out goodbye for a month or two, but it’s totally been worth it. I don’t have to worry, as it turns out. Joe stands and hands Cherry a few bills from his wallet, then a few more.

  “Hey, thanks! You come