I complain, twisting my neck to call the waiter back over.
“Oh yeah, my bad. Anyway, so look, all I’m saying is that sometimes you need to spice things up a little, keep that fire going. For example, once Nikki actually did use the dog chain on me. Made me eat her out for like an hour.” He lifts his glass with a wide shit-eating grin on his face.
“I’m not a bondage type of guy. We’re more into kama sutra, exploring different positions.”
“Stop… Elijah. Just shut the fuck up right now,” I snap, annoyed.
Raising my glass, I accidentally tip some bourbon into the peanut bowl. No one ever eats that shit anyway, except for Rocky.
Elijah frowns. “Perhaps we should change subjects.”
“Oh, yes,” Rocky shouts, clapping his hands with delight as a new group of women dance on the stage.
The music starts, and Madonna’s ‘Like a Virgin’ plays over the speakers. The strippers strut their stuff on the stage, all dressed in white virgin-looking bodices with their little white thongs. The older girl pulls Rocky up onto the stage due to his over-enthusiastic reaction to the song.
“Damn, those jeans look even tighter when the spotlight’s on.” Elijah winces.
I scowl. “Fuck, I think you can see the shape of his balls.”
Rocky moves on the stage, mimicking the strippers as they slide up and down the pole. The sight is good and bad at the same time. Moments later, he’s surrounded by the three girls, tits all bouncing in his face. He looks like he is in titty heaven, that’s until his face turns bright red, and his goofy grin is replaced by an embarrassed, forced smile.
“What’s up with him?”
“I don’t know.” Elijah shrugs his shoulders. “You reckon he blew in those pants?”
“Fuck, he couldn’t have. I don’t know how you could possibly get hard in those,” I wonder out loud.
“I don’t know, but he looks uncomfortable. Wait, he’s coming our way.”
“Dude, why the face? You blow in your pants?”
“N… No,” he stammers.
Rocky turns around, unsure of what I’m looking for until it stares me right in the face—a giant split in the seam of his pants right down the middle of his ass.
“Dude!” Elijah and I roar in unison.
“Fuck you, guys. It was fine until Destiny told me to crouch down so I could smell her pussy,” he complains.
“Why the hell would you crouch down to do that?” Elijah asks, appalled at the act.
“Because I wanted to smell it.”
“Dude, I don’t think that pussy smells any good. More like a sea bass that has been sitting out for days.”
“Oh shit, man.” I almost cry. “Sea bass is one of my mother’s famous recipes.”
“I know,” Elijah chuckles.
“I need more drinks.”
The rounds keep coming, and the three of us are way too intoxicated to understand each other’s conversation. I watch the strippers gyrate throughout the night. By then, my vision has blurred, and I know it’s coming to an end before I pass out.
The music changes once again, this time playing Usher’s ‘Make Love in the Club.’ It’s soothing compared to the rest of the shit they played. A young girl walks slowly onto the stage. She looks different—a brunette. My eyes fixate on her. She’s wearing a pale pink bra with a matching thong and long brown hair sitting above her waist.
She looks new, maybe a rookie.
Taking to the pole, she closes her eyes ignoring the men in the front who yell vulgar words at her. As she opens her eyes, they meet mine—big chocolate brown eyes fixate on me.
I feel a slight stir in my pants.
It’s time to leave.
CHARLIE
Delete. Delete. Delete.
The emails are coming thick and fast, but I choose to ignore them—him.
What is he going to tell me? It’s all manipulated by the media, and he is the victim?
I’m stronger than this, I don’t need him. If I can handle eight years without him, then I can get through this. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Eric came to my rescue in the parking lot. He saw me at my most vulnerable moment and wanted to take me up to my apartment, but I refused. Instead, he grabbed some of my things and took me to his place. I sobbed the entire way, and he looked at me, helpless. He was unable to ask the questions that lingered, and I was unable to give him answers, but I picked myself up the only way I knew how—burying my head in the sand, ignoring the situation, and pretending it doesn’t exist.
After my