Page 63 of Inflame

“I may have put on similar stupid panties too.”

One tall drink of water walks over to us. “Ladies, right this way.” He points over to a lounge area set up with comfy chairs and our own personal waiter. “Sit, drink, and enjoy our warm-up.”

Angie and I follow the directive and relax into the chairs while sipping on mojitos. The guys periodically interact with us by sauntering over and getting so close I can make out the tribal script on some of the tats. We aren’t the only ladies who purchased backstage passes, but the VIP areas are separated strategically to give the impression of exclusivity. When I shout out that Angie is partaking in her bachelorette party, we basically get lap dances. I’m just glad I stuffed my handbag with wads of cash. These gyrating hips that are inches from my face deserve to be rewarded.

“Well, this is definitely helping to set the mood for the real show,” I laugh. “Not sure it can get better than this, though.”

When it is time to go out to the main arena area, the waiter ushers us to our seats that are surprisingly really good. In fact, the setup is designed to look like a spider, so every group of seats seems to be decent and near a leg of the stage.

As we each order another drink, Angie leans over, taps my arm, and smiles at me. “Thanks for setting this up. I am having so much fun.”

“I am having a blast, and I love celebrating you.”

She gives me a hug and it feels so good to have a friend like her in my life. We are family. I always secretly wished for a sibling growing up. It would have been nice to have someone else to talk to and not feel so alone. Growing up in a house that lacked love was damaging to my view on how I perceived myself. But as a little girl, when that is all you are used to, you convince yourself that the rest of the world is living the same way.

“Hey,” Angie says, looking into my eyes. “You okay?”

I plaster a smile onto my face. “Yeah, why?”

“Just seemed like you went somewhere else for a moment.”

I did. But I am back and ready to forget. “Just fantasizing about the men.”

“Me too.” She giggles.

The estrogen levels in the room are building as the lights dim, the music starts, and the host makes his way on stage. “Hello ladies! I hope you all are ready for a wild, a spectacular, and a high-energy performance of Meltin’ Men! There are several of you here tonight celebrating some special events, so get ready for some surprises, some excitement, and some stripping! Join me in welcoming to our stage, the delicious men.”

The crowd goes wild with whistles and hollering while all of the men gather on stage. It is like an army made of sexy soldiers. One by one they make their way onto the stage. Some come down from cords from the ceiling, some pop up onto the stage through hidden passageways, and others use gymnastic moves to make their grand entrance.

“Yes!” I scream, as several men start dancing to the music.

The stage clears, leaving just about ten performers, each using a closed umbrella as a prop. Who would have thought something so innocent could turn so sexy. They spread their legs, hold the umbrellas like canes, and dance around them. It is as if they are dancing just for me. Eye contact is made. Pulse rates are on the rise.

“Shit, this is hot,” Angie groans, waving her hands in the air, unable to contain her excitement.

It is what the female energy in the room brings. We are all in this together. Uniting to enjoy the basics of the male body. It is so fun to do something just for us. To not have to think about anything other than enjoying ourselves and letting go of the inhibitions that hold us back from being our true, sexual selves.

The umbrellas all open in unison and then the stage turns into a rain storm. Water falls from the ceiling, soaking just the men on stage. The music turns raunchier and the crowd is on their feet.

I polish off my amaretto sour and sway my hips to the music. I forget about everything except for keeping the rhythm with my movements and watching the scene unfold in front of my eyes. There are two stages that jut out near us, sandwiching us between a group of men doing belly rolls on the floor and several gyrating their groins against chairs.

“We have some future brides in the house!” the MC announces over the sound system. “Let’s welcome a few to the stage for a Meltin’ Men personal greeting.”

Angie jerks when her name is called, hesitating to go up on stage.

“You have to go,” I insist. “See, there are two others. You won’t be by yourself.” I push her forward, and she gets plopped up onto the stage by one of the performers that jumped off into the crowd. “Yes, Angie!”

I snap a few pictures of her and take a short video as she gets an epic lap dance by four men that rotate through. I am so into paying attention to Angie that when I sit down, I land on top of one of the show men.

“Oh, hot damn,” I gasp, looking back to see a chiseled jaw and gelled hair. “Sorry.” I get up and the man behind me shadows me. We grind together and dance to the song. It is fun and freeing.

I am so involved in having a good time that I completely miss Angie coming back off stage and joining me. She pulls out some high bills and starts stuffing them into the spandex shorts of my dancer, cheering us on. Then he holds his finger up to signal to wait, takes two steps back, and then rips off his shorts to expose his tiny black thong. Bills go flying, and I can barely think over Angie’s excited screams and giggles.

Sweat coats my skin as we find ourselves surrounded by our own strip show of about five men. Sexual moves are simulated and one man hoists me up, spinning me around midair. I glance over and Angie is cheering me on from her perch on one of the performer’s backs, waving one arm in the air like she is riding a stallion.

“This is wild!” I scream over the music.

Angie yells something back but it is incoherent. All I can hear is her laughter and squeals of shock. When the song ends, the men wink and crawl back onto the stage, slinking back behind the curtain until another group of dancers enter.

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