COCKTALES II

Mandy was the new waitress at The HotBox when I caught her eye. This was perfect; after three weeks with Men In Heat, it was my first night with a hotseat. I’d be able to seduce her through fantasy. Though, with a cupid act requiring me to wear nothing but a red banana hammock in the end, I wouldn’t leave much to the imagination.

I had thrown a bunch of fantasy clichés together with a few R&B video ideas and things I’ve done in my past when I used to make love to girls. I had white silk sheets spread across an inflatable bed on stage with lotions and handcuffs hidden underneath that I would put on the girl in the hotseat chair as I shimmied around her to intoxicating bass rhythms. I would start out dressed in a white silk shirt and white linen pants. I had six lit purple candles planned to create a runway from the bed to the hotseat.

I didn’t have the best props, only because Leon told me to be ready for a hotseat at the last second. The stipulation being if Ricky had to work overtime for the AC/heating company he moonlighted with. These dudes took this dancing thing way too serious. You’d think dancing would be the moonlighting side gig. Oh, Leon also only promised a spot if enough girls showed up. So hoping for the best, I stopped at the nearest K-Mart and dollar store and collected whatever I could that looked sexy… and cheap.

I had been the bitch boy for the company since the day I signed up for the job. Good thing about it was that I observed; studying all the right moves and getting ideas for my own act. Yeah, and I was stuck picking up the dancers props and cleaning up the stage after they were done with their acts like some modern day Cinderfella. Luckily, I had been in the crowd enough to earn a few fans.

The wildest nights were Thursday nights. Those nights were strictly for the veterans. But tonight wasn’t Thursday. Tonight was Tuesday. Tuesday nights might have well been amateur night. The guys that barely showed up or were here one week and not seen again for another three months while they were on their benders would get a chance to dance… if there were enough girls. In my experience these last few Tuesdays, there was never a show. But Leon kept booking Tuesdays and the guys still showed up for nothing.

I didn’t care, though; this night was my debut as a headliner. I was sure that the stripping gods would have mercy on my schlong swinging soul to allow me to show Leon and the rest of the misfits that I belonged here. I was sure I’d outshine these chodes. It should have been the past week, but Leon had to cancel the show because only three girls showed up. “I’m telling you, Leon will cut a show in a heartbeat if it doesn’t benefit him,” Dexter warned me during our brief introduction that first day I showed up to “apply” for the position.

HotBox obviously wasn’t the cash cow of MIH, but I couldn’t care less. I wanted the world of male dancing to know I was women’s gift from God. A God named Hailey who in one night transformed me into a money hungry attention whore, eager to live out my lie… kinda. And with the advice she gave me when I inquired about her sugar daddy, I was slowly building my clientele and bank account.

“So, Alex, do we finally get to see that ass tonight or what?” One of the ten women in attendance asked between puffs of her cigarette. “Yeah, it’s my first one,” I answered eagerly. “Uh, obviously. And I hope I get it,” she spouted as she began to straighten out her money on the table.

The sight of money and the fact that I’d be up first made me nervous. But I tried to center my energy. I looked around at the other dudes who seemed far to relax to even care. They were used to coming to this dump of a bar for nothing. None of the headliners like Brett Lee ever worked The HotBox. This is where you made your bones as a male dancer. It was really a test to test your dedication. If you couldn’t deal with $10 nights and possible cancellations, than you definitely wouldn’t make it to The Ten Gallon. That was the country rock club down the street. Yet, that was too far into the near future of my success. I had to focus right now, though.

So I did what I always had done when I thought I might be a little scared; I put my confidence in a girl. What I was focused on was Mandy and getting her home tonight. She had the usual club waitress uniform on: tight black shirt and tight black pants. She was a thick girl and her pants were extra tight. She definitely had kids from the looks of her hips and she had an ass you could see from the front. Her breast; DD, 38 I think. And that might be off a cup, I wasn’t sure with the poorly lit club and all. She was mixed Puerto Rican and Dominican with dark brown hair slicked back into a high ponytail that hung to the top of her ass. Her skin was dark olive and had she a fresh set of manicured hot pink and yellow nails with tiny rhinestones glued on. She was the epitome of a Latin girl. She was from the block. And she would be my first piece of Latin ass. (No, I never got it in with Hailey. After the topic of money came up, it was all M.O.P.)

Mandy came into the kitchen, which also served as our dressing room and asked us if we wanted anything to drink. “Just some water will be fine,” Leon replied.

“I’ll have a Coors,” said Lance.

“You’re not suppose to be drinking during the shows,” Leon reminded him.

“Dude, the show hasn’t even started. Besides, this is HotBox.” Lance took any opportunity to disregard Leon’s authority. He’s been taking every shot he could ever since the situation with Dexter. Those two were inseparable. Their friendship was a little beyond bromance, but just short of homoerotic. More like left nut, right nut.

“What about you?” Mandy turned to me and asked. I took a minute to catch my breath. Not because she was that hot; she was about a 7.8. I was winded from blowing up the cumbersome bed. “Water is fine,” I told her.

As she walked away, all the guys stopped rummaging through their dance bags and silenced their side conversations to watch her leave, as she swished her hips. SHWISH, SHWISH, SHWISH, SHWISH. When she was out of sight, Lance rang out, “Bitch got a faaaaaaaaaaaat ass!” Lance gave meathead Brandon a high five as if he just told the best joke ever. This guy must have just lost his virginity when he became a dancer. That or just got released from prison… nah, Lance was to pretty to have survived ass rape. Actually, as I got to know a lot of the guys, many of them reminisced about high school and how most of them had steady girlfriends, half of which had to wait until prom to get some. It was a collection of losers turned gods, according to the way they tell it. Brandon wasn’t impressed but empathetically returned the high-five. Brandon was more laid back. He had a daughter with a stripper, who had left them both a year ago when he worked as a mechanic. He was a good guy in the wrong place… always.

“Come on, man. You telling me you wouldn’t hit that?” Lance nudged my shoulder expecting an answer. Winded again, I looked up after finally blowing up the bed and replied, “I intend to. Tonight,” I answered confidently.

“Oh, so you got game like that, dude? Okay, okay…we’re gonna see.” I didn’t know if that was a challenge, a threat, or a random thought. I was too focused on his teeth when he spoke. He had a mouth full of them…make that two mouths full of teeth. Pointy, too. A bear trap of a mouth. I think I’ll call him Sharky.

Mandy turned the corner of the stainless steal sink where the door led into the smoking session and brought us a 12 case of water for the evening. “Where’s my beer?” Lance cried.

“Leon said you couldn’t drink.”

Lance…Sharky walked up to her until he stood half a foot away, because her breasts wouldn’t let him get any closer. Yeah, DDD, now I remember. Staring down at her he spoke low, “Listen sweetheart. I’m a grown ass man. I would like to enjoy a beer before the show, amongst other things.”

He smirked a mischievous smile at her, careful not to smile too wide, as he rubbed her arm with his hand and caressed her ass with his other hand. “I am not about to get fired tonight,” she confessed.

“By who? Leon? He’s our manager, not your boss,” Sharky reasoned.

She surrendered a smile and slyly moved out of his reach, discreetly shoving his hands off. I’m convinced there was a shortage of dentists in this city because when Mandy smiled, I noticed her front right tooth was chipped at a right angle in the middle. Everyone seemed to have jacked up teeth, actually. I returned my eyes to her mounds and then to her hips. I looked up at her face again. She was smiling down at me now.

“Rookie, get ready. We’re having a show,” Leon informed me as he came rushing from the kitchen door.

As the show progressed, I constantly made eye contact with her when she came to serve tables, carefully maneuvering around them to not shake them with her 48-inch ass. Each set I scoped the room through the stage lights to keep the heat of my gaze on her. Every time she saw me looking at her, she smiled. My act came and went. It was decent. All ten of the ladies were cheering throughout my dance. It was auctioned off and sold for $5. Not bad. I had heard storied of guys performing their first acts here and the DJ having to bribe a lady into the hotseat with free shots. I earned $67 that night, $55 after tipping out the DJ and buying a Corona.

After we had finished the show and mingled with the groupies long enough, I found my way towards Mandy. “What time do you get off?” I asked.

“At 11, why?” She responded.

“Good that’s in 17 minutes. Maybe we can go get a drink,” I continued. GO get a drink? It sounded cool, but the only place I’d be able to buy her a drink would be if I bought it from her. Maybe I should have asked her out to coffee and a cosmetic dental appointment instead.

“I don’t drink.” Good, I was off the hook.

“Then we can just hang out and talk,” I persisted.

“I’d have to make sure my babies’ father can watch them the whole night.” Baby’s? Or babies’, I wondered. We talked while she finished busting tables. She told me she had two kids, as I suspected.

“Babies’ father or boyfriend?”

“No, just babies’ father.” To me that just meant that her pussy was out on loan. Oh, well. I don’t mind a loaner snatch. I told her I’d wait for her in my car and went outside.

I exited the club and instantly could smell the cigarette smoke oozing from my clothes. I was starting to hate that about working in bars. You always left smelling like an ashtray. So I reached in my pocket and pulled out my menthols. I lit my cigarette and inhaled. I felt the warm cloud filling my jowls. I sat in the driver’s seat with the door open. I looked around the gravel parking lot. I didn’t see any of the guys’ cars around. They must have left quickly, not scouting anything worth chalking up inside.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” Mandy surprised me.

“I know. Just a bad habit I picked up at my last job.”

“You ready?”

“Did you already call your man…babies’ father I mean?” I joked.

“Yeah, I told you it was cool.”

“You gonna leave your car here, or we riding together?”

“He dropped me off, I don’t have a car.”

“Let’s go then.”

On the ride home, both of our clothes flooded the car with the stench of nicotine. I drove on the highway the windows cracked. It was humid for a late spring night and I didn’t want to turn off the AC. I hoped her nipples would get hard. We talked a little about where we grew up; where our parents were from, spoke in Spanglish showing off our bilingual skills, getting formalities out of the way. I really can’t remember a whole lot of what was said. The whole ride to my house, I kept thinking about a porno I’d seen that had won a Porny award for best script:

Woman: “Blah, blah, blah. You wanna fuck?”

Man: “Blah, blah, blah. Why yes I do.”

(Cue the funky 70s guitar rift and cheesy sex faces.)

When we got to my apartment I turned the TV on and handed her the remote. I wasn’t planning on watching, I just had to keep her occupied while I changed and went to the bathroom to rinse my taint. I hope she sucks balls.

I returned to the room wearing only my mesh basketball shorts. I didn’t want to make it too difficult for her. “It’s hot in here. Don’t you got AC?” She questioned.

“Yeah, but I don’t like running it when I’m not home. I’m always out and about so that’s why it’s hotter than Hades in here.” Not even 10 minutes in and she was a whiny little bitch. Why? She knew what time it was, but she kept talking about something. I can’t remember. It sounded something like:

Mandy: “Womp, Womp, Womp. Blah, blah, blah.”

Me: “Blah, blah, blah. Just take off your clothes if you’re so hot.”

Mandy: “Blah, blah, blah. *giggle, giggle.* Womp. Ok. Blah, blah.”

(Cue snaggle tooth smile and Romper Room chimes.)

It took her a while to peel her shirt over her voluptuous breasts. One covered boob popped out after another the way you’d imagine fish eggs coming out of a fish twat. I licked my lips. She was wearing two bras, a black bra underneath with lint balls on the straps and a powder blue sports bra on top. Okay, make that E or EE or F; I don’t know. She definitely had more than a mouth full. Bless her children’s hearts.

Yanking her pants off around her hips and rounded ass was even more of a task. I couldn’t wait too much longer so I started helping her. I thought about getting the PAM from the kitchen to speed up the process. She had gray boy-cut Champion underwear on. I didn’t know whether to take the remaining items off or take her jogging. I turned the lamp off because while she wrestled with her one-size-fits-most apparel, I noted she had dimples on the side and back of her thighs as if she’d been hit with a sack of nickels. She also had stretch marks webbing on the sides of her torso that made her look like Google Maps. This didn’t bother me much. I wasn’t planning on caressing her, anyways.

(Cue panty dropping here. Proceed to her taking of my basketball shorts. Lower bodies to the carpet, and… ACTION!)

She straddled me. She was a little heavy and her thighs smothered my hips. I helped her out of her bras and felt her breasts flop warmly onto my chest. I caught a glimpse of them through the moonlight that sleeked in through the venetian blinds in my living room. She had some big, dark areolas.

(Cue funky 70s guitar rift.)

Fast Forward 15 minutes later. Missionary position--

Mandy: “Blah, blah, blah. You feel so good”

Me: “I know… I know.”

I woke up early the next morning, sweating. Not because of the night of passionate sex, but because she produced a lot of body heat. We had pulled the throw blanket off of the couch and were spooning underneath. My right arm was stretch out underneath her head. My bicep was now asleep and tingling. I lifted my arm and her head plopped onto the carpet. I had drool on my forearm. Nice. Her hair still reeked of bar smoke. I’m sure I smelled of roses, myself. I hopped up and put my shorts on. The ass part stuck to my ass. I forgot I blew my load into them. She wasn’t a swallower. Bitch. And to think, there are children starving in Cambodia. I started for the kitchen.

“Oh shit!”

Javi was at the kitchen counter eating a Pop-Tart. “What the hell are you doing here? You scared the shit outta me,” I whispered out.

“I still have the key.” Javier had crashed at my apartment for a few months towards the end of my deployment when he wasn’t getting along with his girlfriend. I had given him a key before I left so he could check my mail and drop in on my place every now and then. He also used it for his own personal sexcapades. I know because he had left my camcorder hidden in the plastic fichus tree by the window. I should’ve turned it on last night after I washed my sack.

“Who’s that?”

“Some girl that works at the club I worked from last night.”

“Oh yeah, how’d you do?”

“Made about 50 bucks.”

“That’s cool. What’s her name?”

“Mandy I think. Or Amanda. Maybe Amy.”

“Mandy… Amy… baby! Baby is her name. That’s what I call them when I can’t remember their names.”

“So, what the hell?”

“I didn’t go home last night. I just came back from some girl’s house.”

“Word!”

I walked past him and opened the refrigerator. I gulped down the last third of orange juice in the carton. Javi was staring at Mandy who had managed to yank the blanket it off. She had rolled over onto her stomach and was spread eagle with her feet facing us. Did I mention she was stark naked still.

He continued to chew with pastry. “You’re gonna have to go to the room until she wakes up,” I told him. He turned around with a disappointed look. He grabbed his keys off the counter, jingling them loudly on purpose, and headed to the door.

All of sudden, the earth shook. FRAAAAMP, FRAAAAAAAP!

It sounded like a Mack truck hitting the Jake break. Javi pasted himself against the wall and I ducked, still suffering from PTSD and thinking we were being shelled. Mandy had started to stir. After our pulse returning to manageable beats, Javi began to suppress a laugh. He covered his mouth, but he couldn’t help but to burst out into a monkey of a laugh before he ran for the door, slamming it behind him.

I was flabbergasted; my jaw hung low. Mandy stirred harder before waking up, squinting her eyes and scrunching her nose. She took two quick sniffs. She turned around and looked at me with blood-shot eyes. I looked back at her, still shocked and still squatting.

*Fweep!* A tiny fart bubble escaped my sphincter. She looked at me with pure, honest disgust.

“You’s a nasty dude, yo. Take me home.”