The strip

Flash for the trash #6869

It's hard to hear clearly in The Strip, so I lean closer to the barman. I want to ensure he hears me over the loudspeaker, that enemy of casual conversation. “You're certain Tina’s working tonight?” But I quickly cover up the nervousness with a sip of my beer. Within seconds of my question, he looks up from the glass he's cleaning and scowls. Was that a mistake? Have I stepped over some line? I recoil, a thick, smoky smell invades my lungs as I hold my breath. In between our stand-off, a trio of performers appears on stage. They move sensually out, removing lingerie in time to a song.

"You could have a steam train if you'd just lay down your tracks,"

That 10-year-old tune is the only thing bridging the atmosphere in my seat. I should do something, “Sorry, I mean, Belladonna.” Now it hits me. How could I have forgotten the rule here? “Please refrain from using the performers’ real names.” Patrons are discouraged from calling them strippers, too; they’re performers or artists, so the main sign informs us. By elevating what is going on here, doesn't it seem to scrub the sleaziness away? Give it a kind of high-brow vibe. Only artists work on stage; artists who use their bodies to paint their masterpieces. The room's shaped in a way that you’re presented with a nude body wherever you turn. Whether you’re transfixed on the stage or spending time amongst the private booths lining the walls, you can't escape the nudity. Would any hot-blooded man want to?

“Belladonna, of course, I mean Belladonna.” I smile, hoping to diffuse the mood. By this point, I had probably gone through my third packet of complimentary nuts before I plucked up the courage to ask him. But I had to say something, my impatience is starting to show. I swirl the rim of my half-drunk beverage, sitting on the edge of my seat, eagerly awaiting his reply. The obscenely named cocktails here make me intoxicated too quickly, so an icy beer does the best job of calming my nerves. The wait to see my girl tonight is killing me. 

With my question corrected, the bartender, going by Hermes, returns to his glass and pleasant disposition. “Relax, Gareth, you haven't missed a thing." He finally answers, motioning with his head to the girl on stage. "She’s coming on after Aphrodite over there.” He returns to the glass he’s polishing and takes a new one from the rack. Behind him, a tall mirror attached to the wall reflects what's happening on the main stage - a woman is now rubbing herself. Aphrodite, tonight’s main attraction! I’ll admit she's got an amazing body, but unlike other performers here, I yearn to connect with something deeper than the physical level. I was hoping Tina would be on sooner. 

"You know, she's only doing this to put herself through law school." I forge on with my one-sided conversation, again sipping on the beer. It's gone flat, I don't mind it as I intend to make it. I'm saving my money for private time with Tina. "It's only a temporary phase in her life," she told me. "She's training to be a lawyer. Then once she's graduated, she’ll fight for women's rights around the country. If that's not inspiring, I don't know what it is." I say. The bartender nods to my words but doesn't intervene. If I want a conversation, I'll have to pay for it with another drink. It's like all things at The Strip, my rate of enjoyment depends on how much money’s flowing.

Every Saturday is theme night, and tonight it’s all about Ancient Goddesses. The girls perform their routines and return backstage as quickly as they appear. They're always coming and going. The trick is to blend each routine into an unending montage of body parts. That way, we’re all excited. I've frequented the shows enough to grow numb to the nudity. This place doesn't make my cock hard like it used to, and I was on the verge of giving it up for good when she appeared out of the smoke. Of course, my girl goes by a few names. Belladonna, Lilith, Roxanne, etc. Tina is radiant, but I'm captivated more by the person behind the performances. She is my guiding angel in this swamp of immorality. The best thing is that we are infatuated with each other. 

The song continues, "I want to be, your sledgehammer. Why don't you call my name?"

 

Beneath the lyrics, which keep blaring from the loudspeaker, the three women on stage squat. After lathering up their bodies, they fondle each other’s breasts while rubbing free hands from crotch to mouth. The patrons seated ring-side howl and cheer at them incoherently. They are especially loud when each performer licks the hand that has traveled around the other’s private parts. Poor guys. I can't help feeling sorry for them, all hypnotized by the promise of flesh before them. I used to feel sympathy for the girls, too, until I found out how much they rake in for a night's work. It appears tonight's girls know a few interesting tricks, a shake of ass, or a tweak of another’s nipples always drives them crazy. But it's no secret what the patrons want to see the most, a clean-shaven pussy, and within a few minutes, they'll be rewarded. 

Suddenly, Hermes plants both hands on the bar and looks straight into the eyes. Saying in a low tone, he speaks. "Gareth, look, you’ve been coming in here for as long as I’ve been working. I like you, so I want to give you some advice. If I were you, I'd just keep on drinking, enjoy the performances, and leave when you’ve had enough. Promise you'll stay clear of the girls and won't get involved with any of them. Trust me, they’ll play you until they’ve taken all your..." The bartender backs off, returning to his cleaning as he spots a staff member approaching the bar. It's a bouncer. 

"Evening fellas."

"Evening.. um, Hercules." I chuckle as I read his name card for the event. What a fitting nickname. Management dressed Andrew in a flowing blonde wig and a t-shirt with muscles etched across it. By his side, he carries a plastic sword. In his early days of working here, he staunchly refused to dress up, telling everyone. "A bouncer's job isn’t to look pretty." However, the longer he worked for The Strip, and the more money offered to him, the lower his standards fell. 

“Hermes, I didn't just see you intimidating one of our star VIPs, did I?” He jokes at the bartender while turning to me, and placing a warm hand on my shoulder. “He’s not scaring you?”

Hermes pipes up in defiance. “No, not at all. I was asking Gareth if he wanted another beer. I noticed he's been nursing that one since he got here.” 

“One drink? And you've been here over an hour and a half.” Hercules says, suspicious of me, dragging his words out for impact. 

“I was on my way to ordering another one.” 

“Here you are, Sir.” Sensing where the conversation is heading, Hermes pours a fresh beer. "As you can see, everything is fine here, nothing to worry about." He says in a friendly tone. 

“Excellent, then you won’t mind me spending some more time with you,” Hercules says while looking back at the performers. “They’re divine, aren’t they? Got legs as long as a highway, and their breasts, well, I ain’t seen nothing better. Oh, I wanted to warn you. We got a bachelor party coming in tonight, so the girls are going to be snatched up if you don’t order one now.” 

“Ok,” I reply sheepishly. 

“Oh, what’s wrong with you? You’re a full-grown man, aren’t you?”

“He’s not interested,” Hermes interrupts.

“Of course he is,” Hercules boasts, shutting the barman down. “Aren’t you?” 

The question presses down on me like a 1000-ton stone, and I whisper her name almost unintentionally, “Ti…. I mean, Belladonna.” 

Hercules backs up and laughs to himself upon hearing my reply. “Her, Belladonna? Wow, Gareth, you have more taste than I’ve given you credit for. Now that I think about it, haven’t you been hanging around with her for a while?” 

“Yes, I think I’m, I think I’m in love…” 

“Oh no, not the ‘L’ word.” 

“But, we are soul mates, she told me. It's more than just physical, we’re deeper than that.“

Hercules nods. “Ah, so you’re the guy she’s been talking about. It’s a rare thing to find such a pair who feel genuine for each other. I’m in awe. ” 

“Wait, are you saying she likes me, too?”

“Of course! She’s always asking me if ‘Gareth is in the crowd tonight?’ When I tell her yes, you should see the smile on her face, it lights up the room.” 

It was the last straw for Hemes, and the barman finally broke his silence. “It won’t last.” 

“Now, why would you say such a mean thing to Gareth, Hermes? 

“I’m speaking the truth. C’mon, Gareth, look around. A strip club is the last place you’re going to find love. If you think otherwise, then you’re just deluding yourself.” The Hercules let his demeanor slip, and he banged on the bar. “Hermes! If you’re getting in the way of the guest's enjoyment, I’ll have to report you to management.” 

Seeing that he is losing the argument, he turns around. “I think some other ‘guests’ need my attention at the end of the bar.” He storms off, leaving me and Hercules alone.

“Thank goodness we are free of that horrible odor. Can you believe that guy? Now, you said you wanted a memorable private time,” Hercules says, back to being jovial. "A happy guest is, after all, the best kind of guest. Do you have the money?" The bouncer leans over me, peering at my fanny pack with bills stuffed into it. I partly open it, flashing all my $100 bills. He lights up, “Who do you want? Say her name!”

I’m reminded of the pressure again. He is willing, me to say her name, and I give in. “Belladonna, I need to see Beladonna.” 

“Excellent” His smile grows so it's all I can see of his face. “I’ll arrange a meeting. You won’t be disappointed” Then he turns and walks away.

“She loves me, right?” I shout out. 

But all I can hear from him is a laugh, and the maddening music on stage.