17BLACK

Chapter 2

I am moving to London. London. And I now live in a penthouse.

These thoughts clutter my mind as I drive down the busy streets, following the commands from the voice in my GPS. This promotion would be perfect, except for one thing.

It's a gay strip club. I've never even been to a gay strip club, and now I have to sell sex to men when I've been grinding on women for pay my entire stripping career. 

"Turn left in 3.4 miles."

Will the routines be any different? 

At least it will only be a month. I can do that. And when I go back home I can get a motorcycle and purchase new furniture for my apartment. I didn't make enough at Explicit to decorate it how I want.

Who knows, maybe I won't feel anything. My many hours at the strip club has sterilized any feeling in my routines. I can become shockingly close to a woman without feeling an ounce of arousal. Last night was a breach in my feeling, and a lapse in my coolness. It was absolutely nothing. 

"Turn left now."

I obey and check the distance of my destination. 10 miles. Good. I'll be there just in time for lunch. My stomach rumbles in agreement.

All of my belongings are stuffed neatly in the trunk of my car. I don't own much. And the furniture in my old apartment doesn't belong to me; it came with the package.

I take a sip from the water bottle I've been nursing this entire car ride. It's almost empty so I take the extra swig to finish it off. 

The image of me riding my new motorcycle plays over and over in my head, and it's the only thing keeping me from turning around and going back home.

✖

 "Harry Styles. Twelfth floor." 

The elevator doors open smoothly and I stand in shock as I take in my surroundings. I walk off of the elevator and into a circular room. The carpet is the same as the elevator and the lobby, mainly a deep red but filled with intricate swirls and patterns. The main difference though, is the wall. Well, half of the wall. It's all glass. The glass is so clear and shiny that I have to touch it to make sure it's even there.

It's quiet up here, a peaceful relief from the bustling lobby. Two doors face each other from across the room, one with a large 1 and the other with a large 2. Two. That's mine. My penthouse.

The door opens without so much as a squeak. The first thing I notice is the floor. It's different than the other parts of the building. It's a thick white wooden floor, with a hint of brown. Not a dirty brown though, more like a cocoa brown. It was comforting.

I step into the penthouse - my penthouse - and, if possible, I am even further taken aback. The area is huge, bigger than my entire apartment back home. Like the circular mini lobby I just left, glass claims an entire wall. The view is spectacular.

But I'm not even focused on that right now. My attention is busy on the furniture.

The color scheme for this 'living room', if you could call it that, is brown and tan and a warm yellow. There are three couches - three!!! - one is brown, the other yellow, and the other couch is smaller than the others - is it called a love seat? - and it is also brown. Pillows litter the couches, certain designs fitting well with the colors. 

A black shiny coffee table sits in the middle, a weird bowl sitting in the middle. Beautiful paintings hang from the walls.

Is this a dream?  Maybe I fell off of the stage during the performance and hit my head. Maybe George strangled me with my own tie.