The following is a scene from the upcoming Experiment in Terror compilation novel, The Dex-Files. This novel consists of short stories and scenes from Dex Foray’s point-of-view and as a special treat for Maryse and her readers, I’m giving you guys a certain scene. Out of all of them, this one was one of the ones readers were clamoring for the most – the strip club scene.
If you haven’t read up to Dead Sky Morning (#3), I suggest you don’t read this. Spoilers abound, and all that. But if you have read Dead Sky Morning and beyond, and you always wanted to know what was going through Dex’s head when he took Perry to that strip club, well read on…
“Where are we going?” Perry asked from beside me, taking in the sights of the city. They weren’t too pretty at the moment. Granville Street was Vancouver’s entertainment district, which meant street punks with suspiciously acquired dogs, pushy homeless people, jonesing drug addicts and stumbling, drunken idiots in Tap-Out shirts. Not to mention the Canucks had just won the hockey game against the Rangers, so everything was multiplied by a billion beers and douchebags.
I didn’t want to tell her where we were going. If she knew, she’d back out. I was on a mission to expose her to my world and let her hair down a bit. I felt like a king earlier when I convinced her to wear the Canucks jersey I bought. It looked so fucking hot on Perry, barely fitting over her breasts, it was taking all of my willpower to stop me from ripping her jeans off and bending her over in the hotel room. In the bathroom. Anywhere would have done. I was getting hard again just thinking about it.
So, naturally, I decided to take her to a strip club. Fuck, the way I figured it, she needed to loosen up a little. Let her hair down, like I said. And if I walked around with an erection in there, no one would be the wiser. At least she wouldn’t think it was attributed to her, which 90% of the time it was.
And honestly, I needed the distraction like nothing else. After the news from Jenn…my mind was in dire need of shutting down. It couldn’t happen fast enough. There was no way in hell I could deal with that shit this weekend of all weekends. Call me a coward, call me weak, I don’t give a fuck. I had the rest of my life to deal with it.
Just not now.
For now, I was going to pretend.
I gave her a coy smile. “You’ll see.”
I was tempted to grab her hand and hold it as we walked down the streets; there were men leering at her from all directions and it was quite obvious I wasn’t her boyfriend. I hated that. It happened all the time.
Instead I walked by her side, the chilly November breeze whistling in between us. I tried not to notice the way it turned her breasts into headlights. We couldn’t get to the dark, anonymous club fast enough.
“What the hell is this?” she asked, eyeing the door to The Cecil. The strip club was down-at-it’s heels, nowhere near as classy as Brandi’s Showgirls but Brandi’s cost a lot of dough and I wasn’t about to spend that much on Perry, who looked like she was going to start running over the Granville Street Bridge any second and all the way home to Portland.
“It’s our fun for the night,” I told her, motioning her to go inside.
“I thought the hockey game was our fun for the night,” she said and crossed her arms.
Oy, convincing her to partake in naked ladies might be harder than I thought.
I decided to turn on the charm. It was always tactic number one.
I leaned in closer to her. “Kiddo, the fun never ends when you’re with me.”
She narrowed her eyes into two rather seductive looking slits. “If you think I’m going into a strip club…”
“Oh, don’t be such a pussy,” I sniped. Tactic number two. Call her a pussy.
Her eyes widened for a second then she brought an equally amusing sneer to her face. “I am not a…pussy. I just don’t have any desire to see some tonight.”
“But I do,” I whined. “Please, Perry?”
Tactic number three. Beg.
I smacked her lightly on the arm. “You’re no fun.”
“I’m more fun than you can handle,” she challenged and wagged her finger at me. Then she turned on her heel, flung open the door and marched into the club. She was extra hot when she was angry.
And there I was getting turned on again.
I sighed and followed her.
After the doorman collected our cover money (which I paid for, because I’m a gentleman), I led Perry straight toward the stage. I recognized the girl up there, wriggling her ass away. I didn’t remember her name but I’d had a lap dance from her before. Not the best, not the worst.
I snuck a peek at Perry. She was putting on a brave face but I knew she was feeling as awkward as all fuck. You can always tell with her. Her shoulders hunch over a bit, like she’s shielding herself from the world and though her mouth is set in a “don’t mess with me” line, her eyes are sad, like she’s about to be found out at any moment. She’s vulnerable and she hates it.
I thought bringing her to the stage where the leerers and jeerers were would have been a good idea. Fun. I immediately knew it wasn’t. I didn’t like her like that. I liked her with her chin high and her chest out.
I put my hand on her shoulder, just for a moment, just for comfort, and pointed at an empty booth in a dark corner. I could only imagine how dirty it was (it’s not like they sanitized the seats every hour) but it was out of the way and hidden.
Once there, being careful not to wince at the sticky seat, I ordered us two Jack and Cokes and tried to put Perry at ease.
“Just pretend you’re in Disneyland,” I told her.
She managed to snort and look scared at the same time. “Yeah, a Disneyland where Ariel walks around topless.”
“Hey, either way it smells like fish.” I smiled.
She gave me a disgusted look. “You can be really gross sometimes.”
I took that as a compliment. It meant I was getting under her skin.
We watched the dancer do her thing for a few moments, Perry trying to look and not look. Our drinks came and I told her, “Look at it this way. You pay cover going into any other bar nowadays. Might as well get a show to go with it.”
I held up my drink to her. She did the same.
“Even though these drinks are probably ten dollars each?” she pointed out. I noticed her eyes moved away from mine. She probably didn’t believe in that whole ten years of bad sex thing. Not that bad sex could ever happen if I was in her bed.
Jesus, Dex, I thought. Get back on track.
“Oh, it’s worth it.” Our glasses clinked. I watched her intently for any signs of loosening up. So far it wasn’t going very well. She was looking all over the place, taking everything in in nervous little spurts. Her eyes eventually settled where everyone else’s eyes were settled: The stage.
And why not? It was Marla up there. I didn’t try and memorize the names of the strippers but Marla was a gorgeous creature and gorgeous creatures deserved some of my respect. Unlike some of the snuggle-toothed dancers who could barely waddle out a song, Marla had this old Hollywood vibe to her. She was still a bit of a whore, but at least one you could take out for dinner.
“Marla always has the best moves here, doesn’t she,” I found myself saying out loud, hypnotized by her movements. I’m sorry, but when there’s a stripping naked woman nearby, you can’t help but watch. Especially when it’s Marla.
“You know her name?” Perry sounded incredulous. And a bit pissed off. If I had known any better I would have thought she was jealous. But that was ludicrous. It was probably her fuckload of insecurities coming into play again.
“You always remember the best ones,” I explained. “That’s not saying much.”
I watched her squirm in her seat and wrestle with something in her head.
“Is this making you uncomfortable?” I asked her.
She gave me a brief but nasty look. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
She was kind of right. That was part of the plan.
I put a hurt look on my face. “You think less of me now.”
The funny thing was, I almost wanted her to think less of me. I sometimes caught this starry-eyed gaze on her face, like she was looking at me with…I don’t know, adoration. It was unwarranted. And dangerous. Yet, I still wanted to push her buttons, prod her over the edge. I wanted to challenge her, make her live beyond her bounds. And a major part of me wanted that adoration from her. But that was the part I let out only when I was jerking off. It was safer that way. Just a sore wrist to show for it.
I don’t know if anything I was thinking had shown up on my face because Perry suddenly flushed even deeper. Then she laughed. “If anything, I think more of you.”
“Good,” I told her and tipped up her cup so the drink was going faster into her mouth. Fuck. Talk about another turn on. She could hold a lot in her throat. “You’re learning.”
I held her eyes for a moment before we both looked away. We watched Marla grind until there was nothing left to her but pale skin and moody lights. We drank.
The waitress came by and I ordered two more doubles for us. She eyed Perry. I couldn’t blame her. Perry had taken off her jersey because of the dirty sweat and heat in the room and her little black tank top did nothing but show off her breasts. I wasn’t even sure how they were staying so high and perky. Young age, I guess. I had been trying not to stare at them for the last five minutes but now that the waitress was, I could too. And I couldn’t have gotten harder if I tried. Thank god for the table.
The waitress gave me an appreciate look. “This your girlfriend? She’s cute.”
Perry was more than cute and no, she wasn’t my girlfriend but I nodded anyway. I looked at Perry slyly. “She is cute, isn’t she?”
Cute, pretty, so completely fuckable.
The ever-present red of her cheeks deepened. Then the waitress leaned in closer and dear god, I could have shot a load right through the top of the table.
“Honey,” she purred in Perry’s ear. “With your eyes and those breasts, you should be up there too.”
Then she left to get our drinks. Poor Perry, she looked like she wanted to climb under the table and die.
“Guess it doesn’t matter what sex you are,” she managed to get out, her eyes wide and innocent.
“Don’t be so modest,” I chided her. I looked at the stage where another stripper was grinding. Perry was better any of these girls, better in so many ways, yet here she was feeling like she wasn’t worthy. I didn’t understand her problem at all. How could she have gone through life so far without noticing the looks she got from men?
The looks she got from me.
I watched her, taking in her unguarded features
“You’ve got a beautiful face,” I found myself explaining to her. The Jack was quickly making its way through my system but I didn’t care. I turned my focus to the stage and watched the stripper absently. “Gorgeous eyes. I mean I’ve rarely seen eyes like yours. Fuck, it’s like looking out at the ocean and trying to read it as the weather’s changing.” OK, I wasn’t making sense anymore. I continued anyway, “Perfect lips. The most adorable freckles and the tiniest little nose. You’re like a sexy…bunny.”
That settled it. I wasn’t allowed to talk anymore. I couldn’t believe I just called her a bunny rabbit. A sexy one at that. Real smooth, Dex.
I shot her a quick look. I would have thought she’d have some snappy one-liner to refute the bunny remark, but her mouth was slightly agape and she had nothing.
“Speechless? That’s a start.” I couldn’t help but feel victorious.
The waitress chose that moment to hand us our drinks. After I paid her ($25!), Perry still hadn’t said anything.
“Has no one ever complimented you before?” I asked, trying to get her to talk. I pushed her new drink into her hands, hoping she’d suck her current one back faster. I was feeling buzzed as shit and I needed her to get on board with me. The more sober and serious we got, the more I’d have to deal with that other bomb from earlier.
She shook her head. I still couldn’t believe it. Were guys in Portland just fucking idiots or what the hell was going on here? Sure she wasn’t model skinny like some people I knew, but she was all woman and what guy didn’t want that? More to play with, in my opinion.
I sighed. She wasn’t going to get it any time soon. I could sit here and tell her how gorgeous I thought she was but until she believed it, whatever I said was falling on deaf ears. And yes, I went on to tell her she was beautiful and had a devastating ass and whatever else I threw in to sweeten the pot, but really, why the hell should she care what I thought anyway?
I wasn’t her boyfriend. I was just her partner.
Her partner with a raging, seam-splitting hard on.
And I couldn’t take it anymore.
I shot her quick look, trying to convey nonchalance. “I’ll be right back.”
Then I left her alone in the club.
There’s no pride or shame in where I went. Yes, I went to the bathroom. Yes, I went there to jack off. No, most men don’t actually jack off in the bathroom of a strip club. Believe it or not, it’s not really a very sexual place. It’s a place for douchefrats and lonely old men, not a wankfest. It’s rare for a stripper to get you so worked up that you have to escape for a few moments.
But Perry wasn’t a stripper. Perry was Perry. And this was bound to happen, from the beginning. It was just better this way for me, to get it out of the way before I did something really stupid and started coming onto her or something. Or coming. In general. You know, in my pants.
It didn’t take long at all and I came out of the bathroom feeling dirtier than ever. Fuck, just what was happening to me? This was the man I’d become?
In typical fashion I decided to revel in it. I motioned for Marla to come over. She was leaning against the bar, scouting the bar for eager participants. Upon seeing me, her face lit up.
“Hey sugar,” she said in her silky voice. She put her hand on my forearm and squeezed it. “Haven’t seen you in a long time.”
“Been busy,” I told her, grinning cheekily. “I was wondering if you could give my partner over there a lap dance.”
“The girl I saw you come in with?” she asked incredulously. “I thought she was your girlfriend.”
“No, she’s not.” I didn’t want to elaborate. “But she needs to let loose, I thought you could help her.”
“Isn’t that your job?”
She smirked at me through sticky pink lips. “So this is all for her benefit, is it?”
I reached down and smacked her barely clothed ass. “Go on, I’ll make it worth your while.” I slipped out a few twenties from my pocket and stuffed them in her bra. Her skin was as silky as her voice.
She flashed me her expensive veneers, not minding my wandering fingers. “No problem.”
She sashayed toward Perry. By some wonderful luck, the song “Stripsearch” by Faith No More came on. I decided to hang around by the bar, lurking in the background, watching, listening. What had Perry called me earlier? A pervy weirdo? Yeah, that sounded about right. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that I was the biggest pervy weirdo around.
And considering where I was, that was saying a lot.
I watched Marla approach Perry, her fake breasts in Perry’s face. They exchanged a few words and I could see how fish-out-of-water Perry was. But surprisingly, she hadn’t turned Marla away. I expected to see Marla attempt to grind on her then have Perry flip out like she often does. That would have been enough to fulfill my dirty mind. But instead, Perry sucked it up and let Marla do her thing.
My eyes were laser beams on them both as Marla slid up and down Perry’s thigh. I watched as Marla’s top came off and slithered down to the floor. I couldn’t have been more turned on if I tried. Yet there was this strange feeling of pride amongst the perverseness. I was actually proud of Perry.
It was mesmerizing. Hands down, the best $40 I could have ever spent. It was a memory I’d draw on in the future when my life was down the shitter and I couldn’t remember ever feeling free.
When Marla finally finished, she slipped on a robe that seemed to come from nowhere and worked her way past me. She shot me a sly look out of the corner of her eye and I leered at her form appreciatively. Credit was needed where credit was due. Then I took in a deep breath and got ready to face my partner who may or may not have been waiting to kill me.
I approached the table cautiously, putting my feelers out. Perry’s face was flushed pink again but I didn’t know if it was because she was angry or embarrassed. Or both.
I took the seat across from her. She now looked a bit enlightened, like she was having an epiphany of sorts. Dear god, I hoped she hadn’t liked the lap dance too much.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said. Lying. What a liar. She got a lap dance from the hottest woman in club (aside from her, of course), a dance that her partner orchestrated for his own perverse pleasure, and she had nothing to say? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t incredibly disappointed. Yeah, the dance was totally for me but I’d hoped she’d, I don’t know, at least thank me for the experience.
Man, women are hard to figure out.
She pulled out her phone and let out a puff of air as she looked at it. I first thought she had gotten another angry tweet or anonymous blog comment but she was just looking at the time. It was getting late. She obviously wanted to put it all behind her.
“You want to go?” I asked, knowing it was probably the smart thing to do.
She nodded with an unsure smile on her lips. “I had fun though. Obviously you had more fun than me, though you weren’t in the bathroom all that long.”
Could she have known what I was doing in there? I was probably a hell of a lot more obvious than I had thought. Did she think it was because of her, though, and did she like it? That’s what I wanted, needed, to know. I studied her face, trying to read the slight melancholy look in her eyes, the tense way her jaw was set, how soft and pouty her lips were when the smile wore off.
“I hope you remember what I’ve said,” I told her quickly before polishing off the rest of my drink. I got out of the seat and held my hand out for her. I was still a gentleman, remember?
She let out a small laugh, one that lit up her whole face. God, she was gorgeous.
“Every time I think of strip clubs, I shall think of you,” she said in such a feminine voice that the minute she put her hand in mind, I grasped it hard. I pulled her right up into me, feeling her breasts hot against my chest, her heart beating fast and steady.
My chin grazed the top of her head and I caught a whiff of her coconut shampoo. I closed my eyes for the briefest instance and in that instance we weren’t in a dirty strip club in Vancouver. We were somewhere else where it was just her and I and nothing else mattered.
It took all my effort to take a step back and hold her at arm’s length when all I wanted to do was lean over, grab her firmly around the waist, and taste the inside of her mouth.
I was just so tired of wanting something I knew I could never have.
Thank you SO much Karina for this awesome AWESOME Dex file!!! To see anything and everything regarding “Karina Halle” on this blog, click here (my reviews, Experiment in Terror reading order guide, book news, this Dex file… all of it)