Human Interaction Read online

  No wonder the ladies bounced, hollered, and cooed. My own belly did a slow somersault just from watching him take his place on stage while my long ago tucked away feminine senses stood up and took definite notice.

  Within minutes, those leathers were yanked off, hastily discarded with a flick of his wrist, leaving only a scrap of butt floss and a banana boat to cover the bare essentials. The small piece of material strained and stretched trying to contain the contents. With any sudden moves, the thong shifted just enough to give flashes of bare skin, teasing and taunting, causing me to question if I truly saw what my mind said I did.

  The ladies pressing against the stage continually held up and waved money at him. As he danced closer, they tucked bills into his undies, their faces flushed in excitement or maybe it was directly proportional to the amount of alcohol they had already consumed. Oddly, they didn't seem to be lingering or feeling around. What good is putting your hand in some guy's thong if you don't get to cop a feel, especially if you paid in advance?

  I focused a bit harder on that area. His bulge seemed a bit too big. He swiveled his hips, inching directly in front of a busty blonde. Oh, yeah. Abnormally so. Wonder if he stuck an extra-large cup in there with a sock? Although… Maybe one of those internet spam mails about male enhancement really worked? The pills? The herbs? Perhaps the meditation thingy held precedence after all. Wait! Wasn't there something I read about a group of monks who routinely connected chains to that particular body part and pulled buses? I bet that would do something to a male's size. Just not altogether sure what.

  Tugging on my imaginary scientific cap, I surveyed the women, one table at a time. Most dressed in skintight garments, leaving not nearly enough to the imagination. I've never seen blouses cut as low as most of them wore, blatantly putting their assets on display. A small cough and some of those would be popping loose. A few women wore thick makeup, others used a lighter hand. Earrings gleamed in the muted light, mostly large hoops. High heels appeared to be the shoe of choice.

  Some ladies remained at their tables, sipping their drinks, and watching the proceedings. I decided they must be the beta women. Hanging back while the more aggressive ones shot to the front, openly seeking attention from the prime male on display. The alpha women stood along the stage, elbowing and shoving for an unimpeded view of the man. They whistled, hollered, and fought for his undivided attention. Height varied as did hair color, but they all shared a few traits in common. Their clothing leaned toward similar fads. Their body language yelled "do me" loudly. They preened, smiled, flirted outrageously. A few could have walked the runway and been gobbled up by a high class millionaire as an ornament for his arm.

  The dancer continued with his plastered-on smile, giving each lady a wink and a long moment of focus as he watched them slip more money into his G-string. He spent almost the exact amount of time on each one of them. No more, no less.

  I'm sure several slipped him more than money. Slips of paper with phone numbers probably appeared quite often, making a nice job perk. Although too many of those might cause a bit of chafing to sensitive areas. Or even a paper cut. Ouchie! Which brought another thought to mind. How many women would he take home after punching the time clock? Good question. Maybe after performing night after night, he burned out? Maybe women throwing themselves at him no longer stroked his ego? Maybe he was gay and this was just his job? Maybe…

  "Miss? Would you like a drink?"

  I jumped, startled by the voice directed at me. Watching the stage so intently, I hadn't even noticed the waiter approach. "Oh."

  He grinned. I blushed. He chuckled. His white teeth flashed as did the dimple on the left side of his mouth. Dark hair covered his head, neatly cut in a typical short fashion. Alex, the name badge read.

  "Ummm. Maybe a bottled water, please." I ignored my burning face. Surely he'd seen more than one woman so enthralled with the dancers that she didn't realize he stood in close vicinity.

  "Big drinker, huh?" he teased before turning to head to the bar with my order.

  The music ceased abruptly as Meat retreated from the front of the stage, away from questing fingers. Giving a small wave, he ducked behind the curtain once more, ignoring the pleading from the front row ladies.

  With the entertainment momentarily paused, I returned to watching the women now filing back to the tables, meeting their beta compatriots. They smiled, laughed, and sported a definite flush to their skin, which was all too amply shown. All seemed pleased with their experience; no one pouted or moped, clutching unused money in their hands.

  Alex sauntered back over, one bottled water casually balanced on his small round tray. Grabbing it, he quickly handed it over. "Bottled water."

  I gingerly took it, pulled the payment from my pocket, and handed it over.

  His wicked grin should have warned me. "Not saving the dollars for Meat up there?" Alex's head inclined toward the vacant stage.

  Dang it. The heat returned with a vengeance. "No. Not at all." I turned my attention to unscrewing the lid and taking a sip.

  One brow arched up on his moderately tanned face.

  I shrugged at his unspoken question. When he didn't leave or speak, I squirmed. "You see, I'm taking classes. And, I have to do this research paper for psych…" I explained the reason I'd opted to spend the evening at his establishment.

  He shook his head, his lips twitching when I finished. "And of all places, you chose a strip club?"

  I nodded.

  A small chuckle followed. Scanning the room, he paused a second before leaning in. "I'll share a secret."

  Intrigued, I stared into his face. "What's that?"

  Tilting his head, he met my stare. "Save this seat and I'll tell you a bit later." With a graceful spin, he strode back into the masses.

  Blinking, I sipped my water and wondered if Meat really did have a sock in those undies or if he bore a past as a runaway monk seeking asylum in this country away from the bus-pulling chores.

  A particularly rowdy table of ladies caught my attention. Laughter and squealing spilled over to the rest of the room. Whatever they were drinking and discussing had to be quite entertaining by the ruckus they caused. All dressed in the latest fads, hair fixed just so, with shiny jewelry and makeup to highlight their thirty-something faces. In all reality, they would gather more than their fair share of masculine interest and offers if it wasn't ladies night at the club, barring all men except employees for the evening.

  My table trembled as another took the opposite seat. I glanced up to find the exotic dancer known as Meat dwarfing the old wooden chair, the corner placement providing shadows and a decent hiding place from overzealous fans. Surprised and secretly delighted, I blinked over at him, pondering what to say to such a man.

  His wicked grin let me know he enjoyed my speechlessness at his presence. Men.

  "Umm, hi." Yeah. That is a great opening line. Well, with jelly brain syndrome, it was the best that popped out. Could have been worse, I could have asked what he used to wash that cod piece. Come to think of it, do you wash them in the washer? Hand wash then air dry on the line? Take it apart and wash separately by hand? Definitely a conversation piece for the outside clothesline amongst the next door neighbors.

  Meat sipped a dark liquid in a glass, using the other hand to pull at his black T-shirt that melted into his body. His dark hair looked freshly combed after a quick shower, dampness made the locks glisten under the dim light. The blue jeans showed worn places in the knees, but didn't quite need patched, yet.

  Swallowing, he gave a half smile. "Hi."

  That went well. Not. Struggling for words, I chewed my lip. "Ummm. So, why are you called Meat?"

  His eyebrows shot up before his attention wandered to the noisy table once more. "Like you don't know already."

  Okay. Make that a grumpy Meat. Maybe he should be called something like Free Range Meat instead. Approach at your own risk? I scratched at the label on my water, not sure what else to say at the moment.


  Ironically, his attention turned back toward me. "So, what's your pleasure?" His deep blue gaze leveled into mine. He smelled of earth and woods and all man. The scent alone stepped up my libido a couple more notches.

  "Pleasure?" The word rose an octave.

  "You know"—he waved one hand in the air as the other one set his half finished drink on the small wooden table—"bondage? Orgy?" His eyes twinkled and intensified. "You're a voyeur?"

  Coughing and choking, I managed to swallow my own spit. My voice squeaked out an intellectual, "Huh?"

  He leaned in, resting both elbows on the table, placing his face a few inches from my own. His voice dropped low and deep, the words rumbling out as smooth as a shot of high class brandy.

  "You enjoy being dominated?"

  I whapped myself in the chest after another minor hacking spell. Somehow I seemed to have stumbled into a game of 'What's Your Perversion' with Mr Meat. Not the best way to initiate a conversation in my limited experience. Catching my breath, I lifted my chin, focusing on pulling myself out of the depths of depravity this conversation had sunk to.

  Quickly clearing my throat, I managed to whisper, "Actually, I'm here to ask a few questions."

  His expression turned immediately from one of intrigue to bafflement. "Questions?" He leaned back into the chair, straightening his long legs before him.

  Feeling more secure, I sat up straight and shot him a friendly smile. Finally, we were getting somewhere. Might as well take advantage of speaking to a dancer, get the whole perspective from customers to workers. A well-rounded paper encompassed everyone in the environment, not just a single tiny slice.

  His eyebrow hitched up as his large foot slid over to nudge my right toes, like a kitten playing with a mouse. One little tap to see if it's alive, then maybe a harder hit to get its attention. Meat reached down to scratch his groin. My gaze automatically followed his hand, locking on the lump under his zipper. His foot nudged mine once more.

  "What do you call it?" I blurted out, tilting my head in the direction of his groin. "Filet O' Meat? Meat's Loaf? Rack of Loin? Sausage? Salami? Oh, I know! Jerked Meat!"

  He threw back his head and laughed like it was the funniest thing since the Johnny Carson Show where the man tossed the tomahawk into the male target, landing in an unspeakable location on live TV.

  I frowned as my face burned once again. Jeez. It wasn't that funny.

  A minute later, his chuckles faded as he studied my face. "Where do I know you from? You one of those one-night stand women? Came back for more?" Nearly-black, wavy hair listed to the right side as his head angled in consideration. One index finger tapped out a silent rhythm on his muscular jean-clad thigh.

  He did look familiar, come to think of it. Where did I know that face? His squirming in the chair drew my attention back to that oversized bulge. That bulge… ding, ding, ding. Oh my god. He was the dancer from the only other strip club I had been to. The one where my bracelet became attached to his thong. The same thong that I still had tucked away in a drawer at home.

  "No." I focused my attention on sipping my water and wiggling away from this suddenly awkward interview.

  "I bet I know you from another club." He rubbed his chin, examining my face a bit closer.

  Uh-oh. Frantically, I tried to find another subject, anything to distract him from those thoughts too close to the truth.

  "Hell's bells! You're that crazy chick who grabbed my dick and wouldn't let go."

  Too late.

  His exclamation caused half the room to swivel their heads and stare in my direction. If that wasn't bad enough, Meat quickly stood, placing distance between us, his eyes widening in shock and a bit of apprehension. His large frame dwarfed me when you compared his standing position to my sitting one. Even if I took to my feet, my head might barely brush his chin.

  "Are you stalking me now?" His voice boomed loud and attention generating.

  "Ah, no." I tried to ignore the dozens of eyes boring into my back. "I didn't know you were here. Besides, that incident was an accident! I told you and that manager that a gazillion times." My temper flared. "I can't help it if you were jumping around like someone dumped a tree frog down your pants."

  He glared down at me, eyes narrowing. "You would too if someone had your most precious part in their grasp and was squeezing!" He stood straighter, his voice carrying farther.

  "It was a bit hard to get unstuck with you jerking and moving like you were. If you would've just cooperated…"

  "Cooperated? You were trying to unman me!" His anger grew as crimson color rushed to his face. A vein popped out in his temple.

  "Was not!"

  "Was too!" Meat persisted, like a kindergartener determined to win a verbal battle.

  "Was not! It's not my fault you didn't have the sense God gave a goose!" I stood up, lifted my chin, and stared back at him.

  A loud clearing of a throat broke into the melee.

  "What?" We both grouched at the same time.

  A tall, lean, somewhat balding man stood within a couple of feet of us. His face showed extreme irritation with flaring nostrils and thinned lips. Brown eyes snapped as his eyebrows creased together in a frown.

  "I don't know what's going on, but you're causing a scene." He turned to Meat. "And not the good kind, either." His name tag indicated he managed the establishment.

  Taking a breath, I appraised the newcomer. His chin. His hairy ears. No, it couldn't be!

  "It's the damn nut from the other club." Meat pointed my direction.

  "Not that maniac woman again?" Hairy ears gave me another once over. "Well, hell!"

  Yep. I guess that summed it up nicely.

  CHAPTER 3

  "I didn't touch him!" I stomped my foot for emphasis.

  The manager looked at Meat, saw his shrug, then released a pent-up sigh. "Against my better judgment, you can stay, for now." He glanced over at the room, lowering his voice. "However, one more outburst from you, young lady, and I'll have Mr Jameson over there escort you out." He gestured toward the mountain at the entrance.

  My eyes followed his hand motions. Oh, yeah. Escort. Not. That man would pick me up like a sack of potatoes and do his best impression of an Olympic discus thrower. I pictured myself zinging through those front doors and doing a belly flop on the cement outside. Not a good outcome.

  Giving my best innocent and reassuring smile, I turned back to the manager. "I'm being good. Promise! Just here for the scenery. Not even going to touch any of them."

  His eyebrows furrowed in speculation.

  "Nope. No touching. No money in undies." I plopped down on the chair. "Just little old me, sitting at this little corner table, drinking my water, and watching the entertainment. The only undies I'll stick my hand in will be my own."

  Okay. That didn't quite come out right.

  Both their mouths dropped open in unison as they stared unblinkingly at me.

  "I didn't mean it like it sounded. I meant…" Closing my mouth, I battled the flames rising in my face and scurried for words. "I'll just sit here and not touch anything!"

  "Make sure that's all you do!" With one last grunt of dissatisfaction, Mr Hairy Ears, the manager, strode off.

  Meat frowned down at me. His mouth opened, then slapped back shut.

  Still miffed at the dancer, I couldn't resist asking one more question. "Oh, Mr Meat?" I flashed him a charming smile. "What do you know about monks?"

  Expressions raced across his face, most notably confused astonishment. Did that mean I had hit the bull's-eye on the first guess, that he was a former monk and hid that secret deep down? Or, I missed by a mile and he just added that to growing pile of facts that made me into a lunatic? I hoped it wasn't the latter.

  He cussed fluently, threw his arms up in the air, and stormed off.

  Feeling gazes locked on my back, I turned my head to find the nearest table of women rudely focused on me. Rolling my eyes, I leaned their direction.

  When the nearest moved closer in re
turn, I whispered loudly, "Bad date."

  Sitting back up straight, I waited to see how long it would take before the whole room learned that Mr Meat and I had met before and it ended badly. Another great opportunity to see human interaction at work. A scientist's work never ends, after all.

  As fate would have it, Alex wandered by a few minutes later, sporting what could only be called an evil grin. He placed a new bottle of water down, picking up my now empty one. "Compliments of the house."

  Arching an eyebrow, I waited for more of an explanation. He grinned wider, glanced over his shoulder, and then sat down in the opposite seat from mine. Leaning over, he rested his elbows on the table, and whispered in a conspiringly low tone.

  "Guess what?"

  Oh, good grief. I really didn't want to get into this game with him. If he wanted to go a round in the silly game of 'What's My Perversion,' he could go play with someone else.

  Since no further words tumbled out of his mouth, I took the bait. "I don't know. What?" I twisted the cap on the bottle, taking a sip while waiting.

  "Meat is interested in you."