Page 49 of Kayden: The Past
The girl liked strip clubs. Couldn’t go wrong.
Me: We’ll be there. I’ll let you know if something changes.
It was Thursday, but I knew the guys would be game for a night out. We sat here every night and had drinks, but I knew they’d like to get out and be surrounded by ladies and naked strippers. I carried my tablet out into the living room and sat down on the couch. The guys were all watching television, busy with their own online entertainment. I looked around the room and felt sorry for the ladies we were about to meet. They weren’t the best-looking group of guys and gross in so many ways. They lay around the living room in their underwear with their bellies hanging out and their hand down their pants. It was more than a little disturbing. I needed to see a naked woman in person instead of these burping, snoring, belly-scratching things I’ve become surrounded by.
“Guys, who’s up for Hustler Club on Saturday night? Have a group of ladies we’re meeting.” They all looked at me, and I had their full and undivided attention. Pussy always made everything else cease to exist. “You guys in?”
“What ladies?” Tom asked.
“I met a girl online, but she wants to meet in public first. She picked Hustler, and she’s going to bring some friends.”
“Really?” Tom seemed to be thinking about it, but I knew he hadn’t been laid in ages just by looking at him.
“Yes, I told her I’d bring friends. Listen, even if her friends aren’t your type, we’ll be in a titty bar having drinks. How bad could it be?”
“I’m in,” Tom said, and all the guys answered the same.
“Nine, Saturday night,” I said as I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a beer.
“Finally, something interesting going on in this damn place,” Mark said. “I don’t want to spend another Saturday night looking at your ugly mugs. T & A it is.”
Tomorrow was Friday, and thankfully, my first pay day. I needed the money to buy some fucking clothes and pay for a night out in New Orleans. The guys had been nice enough to share their food with me all week. I cooked as much as possible since they went to the trouble of buying the food. Most guys can’t cook worth shit, but my mom taught me how to fend for myself and cook a decent meal. Food and drinks were plentiful in this place but not always the best quality, at least when it came to food. The liquor was always top-shelf—Patrón, Myers’s, and Grey Goose.
I had something to look forward to this weekend, something other than work. I’d hopefully meet someone looking for the same—a night of passion.
I boughta new pair of jeans, shoes, and a skintight black t-shirt to wear to Hustler. I wanted to show off my body and all I had to offer. I didn’t want to leave anything to the imagination. I shaved my head smooth as a baby’s ass and trimmed my facial hair to perfection. I looked at myself in the mirror, and fuck it, I knew I looked good. If Carrie wasn’t game, or had advertised herself incorrectly, I’d find some hot piece of ass in New Orleans tonight.
I walked into the living room and stopped dead in my tracks. “What the fuck are you wearing, dude?”
Tom looked down at his shirt. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Where the fuck do I begin?” I laughed while shaking my head. He looked like a scene out of some cheesy porn. He had on baggy pants and an oversized T-shirt that had a print of the beach and palm trees. Not just a print, but the entire thing was a scene, a photo of the beach. He looked like a walking disaster, and he definitely wouldn’t be getting any pussy in that outfit.
“Fucker, I just bought this shirt. I think I look damn good.”
“First problem is you thought. Where the fuck did you buy it? Walmart?” I started to laugh so hard tears were forming in my eyes. The poor guy was dead serious. He honestly thought he looked good, and it made me laugh even harder.
“Fuck you, Kayden. I’m wearing it. You’ll see. I’m going to be a pussy magnet tonight.” The other guys in the room were all laughing and shaking their heads. No one else had the heart to tell Tom he looked ridiculous. His outfit just made them look better. “And what the fuck is wrong with Walmart’s clothes anyway, dick?” I had no words, just grabbed my keys and headed out the door with the guys in tow, Tom pulling up the rear.
We rolled out of the apartment parking lot just after eight to catch the streetcar down to Bourbon. I’d already been through the city during my workdays, but I hadn’t experienced it at night. The streetcar stop buzzed with excitement. People were dressed in all types of outfits, corsets and miniskirts to casual shorts and tank tops. I heard anything goes down in the Quarter, but I hadn’t believed it until I saw it with my own eyes.
The streetcar was packed with people, standing room only, as we made our way down Canal Street. The streets were filled with people and cars, all looking to make their way to the action, the place to be seen and party until you could hardly stand without help from another. Drinks weren’t my goal tonight, finding Carrie and taking in the sights of New Orleans were on the menu.
The streetcar stopped, and Mark nudged me, “This is our stop. Bourbon is right there.” He pointed to the left, and I could see a street filled with lights and what looked like an endless sea of people. I’d never lived in a city that had been known for its nightlife and party atmosphere. Cleveland had a so-so night scene back in the nineties but had deteriorated over time, and Florida didn’t have shit to offer but snow birds and Grand Marquis.
I followed the stream of people across the street and soaked in New Orleans. The smell of the city was unlike any other place I’d ever known. There was a spiciness to it, an aroma of alcohol, sex, and Cajun flair. Men lined the streets with signs offering oversized beers and the most beautiful girls through the door behind them. Everyone fought for business and attention. Girls lined the doorways in just a few strips of clothing, grinding on the frame and trying to tempt the passersby.
I knew in that moment I would be fucking dead if I’d grown up in this city or moved here in a different time in my life. There was too much sin available on every corner. I would’ve overdosed or had “Gluttony” tattooed on my ass. The lights from each bar, restaurant, and strip club caused a colorful haze to dance off the faces of the people and illuminate the entire street. There was an energy to the street that I couldn’t describe in words because it had to be experienced to be believed.
“This place is fucking amazing,” I said to Mark as he walked next to me, and the guys strolled farther ahead.
“Yeah, it’s NOLA. They may call Vegas Sin City, but it doesn’t have nothing on NOLA.” He pointed to a group of girls on the sidewalk. Their upper bodies were covered in paint, and they didn’t have on any clothing except for shorts. “See those girls? They come here all the time, and guys pay to take pictures with them.”
I couldn’t believe people were so shocked by tits that it required a photo as proof of their wild time. They were here on vacation, but this was my new home. The possibilities were endless in a city like New Orleans. I checked my watch. “Hey, we should find the club and head in. It’s close to nine.”
“Yo,” Mark yelled to the others as he pointed to the Hustler Club.
We walked through the crowd, our bodies touching as we bumped into other people trying while to make our way to the other side of the street. The Hustler Club had a purple and red neon sign with the tagline “Relax… It’s Just Sex!” I couldn’t have said it better myself. Pictures of women framed the doorway, showcasing them in various positions and levels of nudity. We each handed the barely dressed woman our money and were shown our way through a velvet drape and into the entrance. On the other side of the drape was a red room with tall-backed couches made of red velvet that led the way to the main club area. Hustler was a multilevel club with various dance floors and seating areas. I had messaged Carrie earlier in the day, and she told me where they’d be. “They’re gonna be at the bar. Let’s go find them first.”
