It was yet another slow-moving Friday night, the online crowd filled with newly-found energy reserved for the end of the week.
On the domain forums, lame domains for sale everywhere; twitter was crammed with the usual RT’s from boring, self-entertained individuals. Why did I bother to follow them in the first place, I wasn’t sure.
Outside, the night carried a hint of humid blossoms, a touch of vanilla, droplets of euphoria in nature’s own way.
Like the smell of a woman after sex.
She was messaging me, her voluptuous picture sharing a big smile with the rest of the world in every tweet. I only knew her stage name.
We agreed to meet at the club she worked at as an entertainer.
Ahhh. Risque.
Just a hint over five feet; but once in her six-inch heels she’d comfortably come closer to my scruffy, unshaven face.
I had to be careful, another dame with a license to kill. With her eyelids and overflowing cleavage, towering over me as I sat with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a pack of half-empty smokes for company, in that dark, noisy club.
“My name is Risque, sugar. I aim to please.”
Indeed she did.
Her hands wandered expertly around the line of my shirt, down my waist and towards the front of my pants. Without losing eye contact, she brushed, ever so-slightly her delicate hand against me; it turned into a firm, reassuring grip.
As she touched me, I felt her breasts swell even more, her nipples erect as if it were the coldest day of December; my face swimming in her soft-smelling hair. I was on my way to heaven with a one-way ticket.
Here I was – already in love with a Vegas stripper whom I had never met before, who touched my manhood as if to promise a night of mystery and passionate love. My heart was racing from my own denial of truth: she’d done the same routine with hundreds of others, men and women who paid for her time and services.
Was I mad, or simply in a lustful stupor that her name – Risque – was only encouraging to erupt?
The cigarette was burning my throat; I undid my tie and called her name.
“Risque, come sit with me. Let me buy you a drink.”
She sat next to me, comfortably so; touching my arm with her hand. I could not take my eyes off her; not her female assets but her eyes and eyelashes that seemed to control the beating of my heart.
I took a sip from my glass and simply spoke the words out; without thinking or processing what would happen next.
“Risque, as crazy as it might sound, I’m falling in love with you. We need to do something about this; twitter and emails are getting so frustrating.”
Risque smiled, in a way that confused me for several moments; I wasn’t sure if she were surprised or simply being understanding. She came closer, kissed me on the lips, then spoke these words that I’d never forget in my life.
“Sugar, I’m a Vegas stripper and many people don’t approve of what I do. But I have a little boy to support and he’s the love of my life. Many guys say they fell in love with me, many have; some know what they want and some want what they see. When I go home at the end of my shift, I am no longer Risque. I become a mother, a housekeeper – a woman that you might never love in real life. So think about what you’re getting into.”
I smiled. She smiled back. We finished our drinks and went back to the private lounge for the only night of physical engagement we’d have in our common lives.
The tip I left that night was astronomical, but Risque was worth the financial risk.
As I exited into the cold Vegas night, I knew I had to find a woman just like her.
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