“What about money for drinks?” Kelly asks. Yeah, trust her to only think of alcohol when she’s handing over her purse to a stranger.
“You run a tab and settle it when you leave,” the hostess says with a stunning smile. It helps to put me at ease.
We each get stamped with a number. I notice it’s the same number as the small cubicle my purse is resting in. Number six. I freaking hate the number six. Couldn’t it have been any other number? Six is the unluckiest number ever.
“Cool-beans, I’ve got number nine,” Riza says, quite pleased. “Oh shit, this is so exciting,” she squeals. I don’t feel the same excitement as her. My nerves are grinding against each other from not knowing what to expect.
The hall breaks through into a large sitting area, decorated in black, gold and burgundy, those colors seem to be the theme of the club. It makes everything look mysterious, dare I say even a little sultry. Round tables are situated everywhere with a huge stage taking up the whole one side of the club.
We’ve been here twenty minutes already. We’re still waiting for the show to start and Kelly and Riza are on their second drinks. I’m still trying to finish my first. I can’t put them away as fast as they do.
“Don’t look now but to our right up on the balcony is the hottest group of men. Not one of you can say that we had something like that back in college,” Riza whispers with a huge grin on her face.
I wait a few seconds and look. The first man I see is blond, his hair shaggy. His eyes catch mine with a huge grin on his face, and I quickly look away.
“Don’t both look at the same time!” Riza hisses under her breath. “Geez, way to throw our names away. Take turns looking. They’ll know we’re interested if we all gawk at them. This is an upscale place. We have to make them work for it.”
“Work for what?” I ask, forcing my eyes to my drink and not back to the men.
“If any of them want a piece of my ass, they have to chase, preferably in the form of paying for our drinks.”
Before I can comment the lights dim and the room grows foggy, as mist is sprayed into the club from the stage’s direction. There’s a loud boom, followed by bright lights and then the spotlight reveals a man dressed in torn jeans and a white t-shirt. A woman is kneeling at his feet. The woman is face down, so I can’t make out what she’s wearing.
Another boom and my eyes grow huge in their sockets as the man grabs hold of the woman’s hair, yanking her from her kneeling position up against his leg. Her face is right next to his … ah … package. She’s topless! I didn’t expect to see anything so soon and my body flushes hot with embarrassment.
“Way to ease us in,” I mumble, slouching down in the chair.
“Don’t be such a wuss. Maybe you can learn something here,” Kelly teases and then she reaches for my drink. She finishes it in one big gulp. She catches the eye of a waiter and places another order for us.
My eyes are glued to the stage. The woman is now dancing seductively around the man, her hands all over his chest. She rips off his shirt and my jaw drops open, again.
“Hallo hotness,” Riza says, “I hope she keeps stripping him.”
He takes the ripped shirt and ties the woman’s hands behind her back. I sit up a bit straighter in my chair. I’ve only read about men tying women up. Seeing it is a bit shocking, but hot at the same time.
He pushes her down on the floor and as he reaches for her panties, I look away. This is way too much for me.
“Oh hell,” Kelly squeals, “He just ripped off her panties!”
“I don’t need a running commentary! I’m going to the toilet,” I hiss. I follow the sign and let out a breath of relief as the toilet’s door closes behind me, muting the music and sounds.
I take my time in the toilet, in no hurry to go back. This is not my kind of thing. Where Riza and Kelly don’t mind watching porn once in a while, I don’t like watching. It’s too fake and I want to experience the emotion that goes with sex, not just the act itself. I love reading about it, and imagining the things myself. I don’t like seeing it. I get too flustered with embarrassment and then the girls take advantage of it and tease me mercilessly.
When I head back to the table I find it empty. I didn’t see them going to the toilet and start to look around. Where the hell did they go?
“Your friends are seated on the balcony,” a waiter informs me. My eyes dart up and meet a happy looking Riza. She waves at me.
I can’t believe they’ve gone and sat with those men!
“I’ll show you the way,” the waiter pulls my attention back to him. I’m reluctant to follow him, but my friends are there and we promised to always stick together. I’m out voted on this one.
I follow the waiter to a door at the back of the club. There’s a narrow passage that leads to what looks like an exit. To my immediate right is another door and a little further down is one to my left. The waiter opens for me the door and shows for me to go in. I take the stairs slowly, trying to prolong the moment before I have to face a table full of strange men.
I see the blonde guy first, he’s sitting between Kelly and Riza. Kelly’s eyes are on the stage, and Riza is smiling up at the blonde guy.
Kelly spots me and smiles. “That’s Garrett,” she points to the man nearest to me. His dark brown hair is cut short and neat. He’s sporting a day old beard that makes him look dangerously handsome. He stands up and I see he’s wearing jeans and a charcoal shirt. I’m staring so much I almost miss it as Kelly goes on to introduce the others. “And this is Justin.” My eyes jump to the other man. There are some similarities between Garrett and Justin, but Justin’s hair is longer and he’s clean shaven. They both have the darkest shade of brown eyes I’ve ever seen. “And this is Warren,” she ends by introducing the blonde guy.
Riza’s eyes are still sparkling up at Warren. She must be pleased with the attention he’s giving her.
“Let me,” Garrett says politely, pulling out a chair between himself and Justin for me. I hate that the men have separated us from each other by sitting between us.
~*~
Twisted Boundaries
A Boundaries Novel
Prologue
Birdie~
There are different shades to black. There’s your normal black, then there’s the kind where it’s so dark you see spots.
It’s so dark you see things children shouldn’t see.
It’s so dark you see the Bogeyman.
It’s the one Daddy whispers about through the door. “Here comes the Bogeyman. The Bogeyman’s coming to get you!”
It’s so dark you see fear in every speck of dust.
And then you smell it when you wet yourself. You feel it when it gets cold, because you’re standing in your own pee, and there’s nothing you can do about it because you’re locked in the closet.
You smell fear. You smell it in the stench around you when the hours become months. You taste the fear in your tears. You hear it when your stomach growls for food.
The Bogeyman is real. The Bogeyman is my daddy.
He only listens to one song. The man plays guitar, plucking the strings hard, as hard as the Bogeyman drinks.
The man sings about skeletons in the closet and the Bogeyman sings with him. “I’ve got a skeleton in the closet and she ain’t ever coming out,” he sings loud, but sometimes he’ll stand in front of the closet and he’ll whisper, those are the days I believe him. “I’ve got a skeleton in the closet and she ain’t ever coming out.”