kept their mitts to themselves. One, in particular, was testing his limits. It was slow, the crowd half what we usually pulled in on a Friday night, but the snowstorm pelting the city kept most sane people away.
Of course, there were a handful of chumps who had to get their weekly fill of naked flesh. The Friday night regulars who still tested the rules despite endless warnings and their impeccable attendance.
I took my cues from the girls. Some of the men earned more leeway than others. It depended on a combination of several things. Their age. Their looks. But, more importantly, their pocketbooks. When the big spenders graced Bare Essentials, the bouncers turned a blind eye to most behaviors unless the girls gave a sign to indicate there was a problem. They liked the money and worked hard for it.
Mr. Handsy, in his faded trousers and mismatched shirt, with his body odor and stained teeth, was not among the few who earned extra privileges. Notorious for giving our newer entertainers a hard time, it was wise to keep an eye on him lest he think himself deserving of more than a show.
Brandy was eighteen and had been dancing at Bare Essentials for only three months, earning money to pay for college. It wasn’t her real name. None of the dancers used their real names, and they didn’t appreciate anyone using them while they were in the building. A layer of anonymity was important.
Brandy was slender with pale skin and dark features. Some customers described her as exotic. She could pass for sixteen and was a new favorite among the creeps.
For as much as I often felt I’d outgrown my job as a bouncer in a strip club, I still took it seriously. These girls relied on us to keep them safe. However, the older I got, the more uncomfortable I was watching barely legal girls get naked and seduce men twice their age—my fucking age.
I’d graduated to head bouncer in charge of security at Bare Essentials a few years ago. All the other guys on my crew were in their twenties or early thirties. I was the only one who’d crested the dreaded forty.
The job had been thrilling at one time—it still was. Who wouldn’t want to get paid to watch naked girls dance all night? But as the years passed by, I stepped back and understood why the girls all hung off Neil and Lewis and Ricky now instead of me. I was old.
Unless, of course, they were looking for some Daddy kink. Then I was fair game. It wasn’t my thing, but a lonely forty-year-old man would take the attention where he could get it. I wasn’t unattractive. I just wasn’t a spring chicken anymore. I struggled to compete with guys who could wolf down an extra-large pizza and a case of beer without detrimental effects. They didn’t have to count their gray hairs or get out of bed slowly because their muscles had seized overnight.
There were a few women, Kitty, Angel, and Mercy, who gravitated to the older, more mature men. I was one of those things at least. Maturity was a matter of opinion.
Management didn’t condone the bouncers or bartenders fraternizing with the dancers, but there wasn’t a person employed who hadn’t broken that rule a number of times. We were a tight-knit group, and it wasn’t uncommon for bouncers and strippers to get together on occasion. We were the guys who kept the douchebags at bay. Providing protection and making them feel safe went a long way to breaking down barriers and inviting fun times behind closed doors after hours.
Shianne hated my job. Loathed it. In all the years we’d been married, I’d stayed loyal to her and turned down all advances for secret love affairs—as tempting as they were when I’d been stuck in a loveless marriage since I was twenty. But she’d never believed I was faithful. After our train wreck of a marriage had ended, it was game on, and I shamelessly made up for lost time.
Brandy collected the tips left on the stage edge while dodging Mr. Handsy’s attempt at copping one last feel before she vanished behind the curtain. I stepped forward, narrowing my eyes at the slimebag.
“Hey!” I raised my voice over the interlude music, catching the sleazeball's attention. Holding up two fingers, I gave him my no-nonsense glare while squaring my shoulders and making myself look bigger and more intimidating. “That’s strike two. Next time I have to