She blushes again but doesn’t pull away.

Fuck. They never pull away.

I grab the back of her head and push her face into the soft fabric. And even though my whole body is nothing but heat, I can feel her panting breaths as the humidity seeps through the denim covering my dick.

Just as she presses into me, just before I really get turned on, I push her away. She teeters backwards for a moment before catching her balance, and then I walk around her, dancing.

She pivots with me, but I move quickly and straddle her thighs, placing her head in my hand while pushing her backwards with the other one. She falls with my push, allowing me to lay her out on the floor. Those eyes, man, they’re still trusting. Still eager.

I dance over her, bending my knees, getting lower and lower with each thump of the bass, and then I drop my knees on the floor and straddle her face. Undulating up and down just an inch or two from her mouth.

She’d suck me off right here if I let her.

But of course, I’m not gonna let her. This is a show. It’s fake. And everyone in the room knows this. Especially me.

She starts stuffing her dollar bills into my pockets, but I have to give her one more thing to dream about tonight, so I grab her hand and place it over my crotch.

I’m not hard. I never get hard for this fake shit. It’s a job. And I do it well.

She screams with delight as I rub her hand over me and then before she can enjoy it too much, I step back and pull her to her feet. I get behind her again, dancing against her ass again, and yell into her ear, “Thank you, baby. You’re a good sport!”

She turns and screams, and before I know it, she’s kissing me. Long and hard. Sloppy and demanding.

I grab her by the shoulders and laugh it off, but secretly I’m pissed I didn’t see it coming. Most of the brides-to-be don’t take it that far, which is why I push a little harder with them.

I back away and raise her hand in the air as Chandler comes out on stage to talk her back down from her stripper-induced euphoria. I take a bow and let them cheer for a few seconds before casually jogging offstage, passing Mitch in the hallway wearing the costume he just pinched from my closet.

He claps me on the back, laughing. “You’re losing your touch. She got a sloppy kiss in.”

“Fuck you,” I say, heading to my dressing room. I close the door and relish the relative silence as I collapse into a chair.

But the kiss bothers me. I’m the one in control out there. The whole show is based on the fact that we’re entertainers and in a room filled with hundreds of out-of-control women, we’re the ones in control. And she got me.

I shake my head and take a swig of water, logging Mitch’s music, picturing his act as I wait for my next appearance.

I’ve been doing this for about nine months and I’ve seen and heard pretty much everything. But tonight was the first time anyone’s ever got a kiss in.

A knock on my door pulls me out of the funk and then Bill enters. “Hey,” he says, “Chandler wants to see you backstage.”

“There in a sec,” I say, and he leaves. I know what Chandler is gonna say. Every once in a while the girls take it too far. But it never happens to me. Sure, I take it too far. That’s my job. But we are never supposed to let them take that control away. So I’m expecting a lecture from Chandler when I make my way back out after Mitch’s act is over and Sean’s act begins.

“You missed a meeting today,” he says as I walk into the main office backstage. “And you’re lucky that corporate never showed up or you’d be out on your ass, Fletcher. They’re tired of you.”

I get this lecture every month like clockwork. Lots of people would like me to go away, but the fact is, I make them money. And since the world is filled with greedy assholes whose only desire is to count that pile of money they hoard in a corner, they keep me around. “I just forgot, man. I mean, look. I work here when I work here. I get paid per show. I’m expected to show up for rehearsals and shit from nine to noon, Tuesday through Friday. Then I’m off until Saturday night’s show. I use those hours, man. I’m a busy guy and you know that. So if they want to pay me to show up when I’m off, let’s put that shit into the next contract.”

“You’re not gonna get another contract, Fletch.”

His words are not angry, just matter-of-fact. We’re friends. We both grew up on the North Shore of Lake Tahoe and we’ve been friends for a long time now. He got me this gig when I came to him nine months ago and told him what was up. He’s had my back a few times and I’ve had his. But we’ve grown apart the last few months. He’s got a steady girl now, maybe thinking about getting serious, and I’m… not. I’m too busy surviving, still finding my stride. I can’t get excited about life plans when I’m struggling to keep up and hold it together.

“You won’t, Fletcher. Not if you keep this shit up.”

“Chandler, I’m the star of the show. Most of those women come here asking about me. We all know that. And I’m not trying to be a dick, but I’m a contributor. I’m part of its success. And for fuck’s sake, if I’ve got the afternoon off, then I’ve got the afternoon off. Leave me alone and let me do my thing.”

“I get it,” he says, slumping down in his seat. “I do, man, but you have to try a little harder.”

Try harder. Jesus Christ, I don’t know how much harder I can try. I don’t say that, of course. But it pisses me off that people think I’m lazy.

“Not that you don’t work hard, man.”

Yeah, buddy. Too little, too late. But again, I let it ride. Because fuck it. Fuck everyone. Fuck the fucking world. “Look, the meeting was rescheduled for tomorrow morning during working hours. So everyone will be happy. OK?”

We fist-bump and I leave with just enough time to make it backstage before Sean finishes his act. The rest of us line up and wait for Chandler to bring us all back out on stage together. This is the fun part. For me at least. Because this is when I look for a possibility. A girl I might like to fuck tonight. I’ve been running a dry spell lately. No one’s caught my eye in more than a month. So I’m horny. I need a slutty, forgettable girl to wipe this fucking day away.

Chapter Two

Chandler cues us with his intro and then the curtain lifts up. The spotlights are going wild on us. Smoke, some flames for good measure, and the smell of chicks in heat get me pumped for the finale. We walk out on stage together. All the guys have ditched their costumes and they’re all dressed like me. If you can call ratty jeans and boots a costume.

I’ve done studies on what the ladies like, and this getup is it.

We break into our dance when the thumping turns to music and the screaming starts. Some of them are practically begging for attention. Chandler whips his shirt off—this is his only act since the new girl put her foot down—and since he’s been here the longest and has the most promo time, he gets an extra enthusiastic cheer he joins in off to the side.

Then the spotlights begin weaving around the crowd. This is my favorite moment. The moment when I get to choose. The moment filled with tonight’s possibilities.

I zone in on that redhead who caught my t-shirt off to the left. She lifts her shirt up, showing her tits. But she’s looking at Mitch like she wants to suck his cock right here, right now. So I move on. There’s a blonde in the back, standing on a table, weaving her hips like she’s way too familiar with this job I’m doing. Stripper. I’m not into strippers.

That makes me grin with the irony.

Another blonde off to the right is waving a fistful of twenties at Chandler. He’s not looking to get laid by anyone here. He’s got his girl and he’s happy with her. But I don’t like being second choice.