Page 4 of Ship Happens
“You’re also my friend, and it’s your birthday. I want to make sure you have a nice time without having to pose for pictures or scribble autographs.” I open the next door, but I wait for her to walk through instead of hurrying her along. She just laughs and shakes her head as I lead her up a staircase to an elegant balcony overlooking the stages. It’s the VIP area. Only the best for my friend.
A topless woman smiles at Eve as she clears the top step. “Happy birthday, beautiful,” she says as she drapes a sash over Eve’s slender shoulders. “If you’ll just have a seat, I’ll be right over to take your drink orders.”
Eve’s gaze doesn’t linger on the woman’s perky breasts, which is more than I can say for some of the men I’ve brought here. Though, since Bennett has become the object of Cat’s affections, I’ve been coming alone.
We were all nervous for them at first, but Cat and Bennett have defied the odds. They’ve turned their little house into a home, complete with two cats. Bennett keeps begging for a dog, but Cat says no.
Speaking of Cat and Bennett, we’re supposed to meet up with them for drinks at a nearby bar when we finish here. Ezra and Kindra are already in Miami, helping Jim settle the final arrangements for the upcoming cruise, so they won’t be able to join us this evening.
Eve and I take a seat on an elegant leather couch overlooking the main floor. The waitress grabs our drink orders—something fruity and heavy on the vodka for Eve, and a beer for me—before the lights dim and the music starts. Our eyebrows pull together when the first few notes register in our ears. Instead of a sexy beat, a familiar song pumps through the speakers, and it’s probably the least sexy song I know.
“Who strips to Tom Jones?” Eve asks with a laugh, and then her question is answered as Bennett and Cat slink onto the stage.
They’re both decked out in hilarious 70s garb. They got the era wrong, but I think we’ll let it slide. Some of the male patrons don’t look too thrilled as Bennett begins stripping off his tasseled vest, however.
Cat grips the pole and spins around. Knowing Bennett, she won’t be removing a damn thing, though her current outfit doesn’t leave much to the imagination. It’s essentially little more than a leather-tasseled bikini.
Bennett is truly a lucky man. Sometimes I think I really missed out, but then I see them together and realize it never would have worked. Even if I’d been open to the idea of dating someone, they were meant for each other, and it always would have turned out this way.
The song is short, and as it ends, they exit the stage and join us in the VIP lounge. They’ve traded their leather tassels for jeans and comfortable shirts. Bennett rocks a Hawaiian number with pineapples all over it.
“Is she dressing you now?” Eve asks as they take a seat on the couch.
“Every chance I get.” Cat leans closer to Eve and brings her in for a hug. “Happy birthday, bitch.”
Eve grins and hugs her closer. “It’s happy now that you’re here. I figured you wouldn’t want to bring your man to a strip club, though. You know, since the both of you are so possessive and shit.”
“I put down some ground rules, don’t worry.” Cat grins at Bennett, and Bennett groans. “Put them on, Benny Bear.”
With his lips pinched together, he plucks a pair of glasses from his front pocket. A pineapple covers each lens. He slides them over his face, effectively blinding himself.
Is this what love does to a man?
Eve covers her laughter with her hand. “Very . . . stylish.”
“It was this or letting her strip on stage,” he says. “I didn’t want to have to burn the joint down, so I chose the glasses. Fair trade, if you ask me.”
Our waitress swings by again to take Bennett’s and Cat’s orders. Bennett looks to her right as he asks for a whiskey sour. He’s clearly trying to pretend he isn’t currently blinded by two plastic pineapples, and he’s failing. Cat bites her lip to stifle a laugh before she asks for a Jack and Coke.
The lights dim again, and this time, a soft R&B number bubbles from the speakers. A spotlight focuses on a velvet curtain as a pale, slender leg pokes from the slit. Like water, a nearly naked redhead reveals herself, flowing from the curtain and moving toward the pole on the raised stage.
“Jesus fuck,” Cat breathes. “She’s so pretty. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.”
Bennett reaches for his glasses, but Cat swats his hand away.
The woman grips the pole and walks around as she sheds the shimmering wrap around her hips. Her full ass remains perfectly round as she hooks her leg around the pole and rolls her hips forward. She’s perfection.
And yet, my dick doesn’t move.
This is nothing new. It’s a problem I’ve had since I was young. Since someone decided to teach my brain that sex is unsafe. The crossed wires can’t be undone, and I can’t get hard.
Well, I can, but it takes some work, and most women aren’t prepared to provide what I require. I didn’t pull the name Midnight Masochist from a hat, after all.
My little problem has created its own issues. Because I fear getting close to women, people automatically assume that means I prefer getting close to men. Not that I blame them, but I’m definitely into women.
And that’s the thing. Womendoturn me on. I feel all the signals, even now, as I watch the redhead remove her bra. My spine tingles, and my balls swell. My brain puts her in dirty positions, and I envision what it would be like to suck her pale nipples as she rides my cock.
But my cock refuses to respond.
