The announcer’s silken female voice rang out from the speaker system as each man made his approach to the illuminated dance floor. It was obvious the venue was trying to appeal to as many patrons as possible with their lineup. The man on the end was convincing with his thick arms and copious tattoos, but one look at his face made it clear that he was just barely old enough to work at a place like this. The man in the center was definitely mature, his stance and chiseled body proof that he had done this for a while and was confident. But the guy on the end. There was something different about him.

He was their “James Dean” caricature apparently; in truth he was the least enticing of the bunch in my eyes, not nearly as ripped as his counterparts and rather lax in his gait. His face had a softness to it that the others lacked that made him more endearing than anything. As the lyrics began, the entertainers started their choreographed routine, the crowd of mostly female voices calling out in whoops and screams. It all looked very routine and ordinary until Mr. James Dean broke away from the group to step forward and drop to the floor. He dipped down as if he were doing push-ups, but instead began thrusting his crotch towards the floor. On his third thrust he looked up into the crowd and our eyes met. And that’s when it all hit me.

What he may have lacked in every other category, he made up for in his eyes. Inside his gaze was all the sultry danger of a man you took home from the bar for a one-night stand, laid with once, only to have him so imprinted into your body that you carried him in your mind.  Behind those amber irises was the promise a world of secret pleasures. I kept staring into his eyes, unwilling to be the first to look away. He did the same, continuing to do ground work on the floor until he’d managed to scoot himself right in front of me, and then very slowly and deliberately thrusting so that I could see every sinew of muscle in flexing his back. He concluded by taking one long imaginary lick of the floor as if he were licking…something else. He returned to the back and was replaced by Kevin Prince. I had stood my ground with the same stoic mask I had come in with, but I could feel the warmth that was flooding my body. He was James Dean.

At the end of their opening dance, they were given a round of applause and then announced they would be picking ladies from the crowd to pull to the dance floor for chair dances. As girls tittered to their friends and waved their hands to get the entertainers’ attention, I was already making up my mind. I stepped forward on to the floor and walked up to Mr. James Dean himself. He looked taken aback.

Ivan: Is…there something I can help you with, miss?

Tala: Yeah. How about a dance?
 

Ivan: [smirking] That’s not quite how it goes tonight, unfortunately. It’s gentleman’s choice.

I crossed my arms for a moment before opening my clutch and withdrawing a thick stack of bills held together with a gold money clip. I held it up to his eyeline.

Tala: Well maybe the gentleman’s choice could be persuaded a little?

He looked at the money and then gave me a slow up down. It was hard to tell whether he was impressed or in disbelief. But as a smile crept across his face, I thought it might be the former.

Ivan: Okay. Let me pull up a chair—

Tala: No. Let’s grab a room. I want you to myself.

His eyebrows raised in surprise as he chuckled to himself.

Ivan: Alright then. As the lady requests. Follow me.