They turn and make the trek to the front door. It confuses me to see as it's not a typical club entrance. Nothing about this building looks like a strip club. At least it looks nothing like what's shown in movies. Rather than an obnoxious and flashy sign, there's nothing. Not even a name.
"This is the place?" I ask, looking around in confusion. "There's no name or anything..."
"It's called Hidden Desires. Most people don't know about it because it's for the exclusive," Chandler tells me.
Chance knocks, and it opens to reveal a muscled guy in all black.
He stares hard at us. "Password," he grumbles, his voice deep and commanding.
"Sugar cubes." Chance shoves his hands into his pockets.
The bouncer opens the door wider, just enough for each of us to slip past. What we enter is dark. I can make out the door shutting and bolting behind us. A hand grips my shoulder in a firm grasp, pushing me forward. It startles me, but I don't have time to process the fear as we come into an opening. Dim, pink lights cast a glow over the large room we walk into. To the left of where we stand, a large stage sits. A red velvet curtain is closed at the back of it. At the foot of the stage is a pole that's bolted down, shining with low lights.
Tearing my eyes away, I notice a lot of other small stages sitting around. Girls stand on each of them, dancing around to the soul song that plays. Men ogle each dancer, enjoying the half-naked women in their vicinity. Every fellow here dresses with impeccable style in suits, some more casual than others. Right across from the door is a bar which is a straight walk to.
"I'm going to get a drink," Chance mutters, his eyes dark and brooding. Since the ride here, he's been down, at least from what I can tell.
Staring after him, I wonder just what can have his mood like this. Thoughts of doubt creep up and cloud my mind as I assume I'm the problem. Turning to Chandler, I ask with my eyes, pointing to myself. But he shakes his head and rolls his eyes.
"He's going through a lot right now," Chandler admits. Unexpectedly, he throws an arm around my shoulders and begins leading me to the far left where the main stage is.
I stumble as he pulls me with him. Sweat beads up on my forehead from how nervous I am and I know I'm as red as a blood apple right now. If I'm being honest, I may be near hyperventilating a bit.
"Why are we here?" I stutter out, despite receiving an answer before. Clearing my throat, I continue, "I don't understand. Isn't this beyond inappropriate?"
Chandler pulls us to an abrupt stop. He raises an eyebrow before turning his face towards me. "Why would it be inappropriate?"
"Well—" I blink. "It's just... you're my boss and I don't know if this is the right business etiquette."
The ground becomes a lot more interesting as I turn my gaze towards it. A deep chuckle causes me to look up. I furrow my eyebrows as I watch my boss laugh at me. This is now the third or fourth time I've seen such a reaction from him. Each smile and laugh I have to keep track of as many reactions as I can.
"Sutton, I'm going to try to make this clear to you." Chandler sobers, growing serious once again. "I'm the boss, what I say goes. If anyone has a problem, then they can take it to me directly. I don't see a problem because it's not as if you and I are going to get into a relationship nor has anything improper happened."
A blush coats my cheeks at the mention of a relationship with my boss. Though I know it's an example, I can't help but worry that Chandler Novak actually does think I'm gay.
"Are you uncomfortable right now?" Chandler then asks. He takes a step back to further examine me, narrowing his eyes as he watches me intently. "Because if you are, I'll take you home right now then we won't ever have to speak of this."
Do I want to go home? This is my first time really stepping out of my boundaries, out of my comfort zone. Maybe it's now the time for me to calm down and enjoy whatever is happening around me. It's no secret that I wouldn't have chosen a strip club for this, but maybe taking this enormous step is just what I need.
So, I shake my head. "No, no sir," I mumble. "I don't want to leave and I'm sorry for questioning you about this."
Chandler shrugs. "Listen, Sutton, you're a great kid and I'd hate to see you age without ever really experiencing the world."
"Why do you care?" The words blurt out before I can stop myself. I want to do a facepalm at this moment, but I stop my hand. Instead, I bite my bottom lip and clench my fists.
"When I have an actual answer, I'll let you know." Chandler shrugs again before he turns towards the stage. For the first time, I notice a digital countdown is happening. The show is about to start. "Let's go. I think you'll enjoy this."
Chandler leads me over to an empty table. We both take our seats before waiting. Mindless chatter happens all around, causing me to look at my surroundings. Most of these tables have three to four guys around them. It makes me feel a little better to see that coming to a strip club is a normal outing among men.
The lights flick off with an abrupt click. My breath hitches as we become immersed in darkness, having never been a fan of the dark. Along with being in an unfamiliar place, I'm a lot more weary than before. When the lights come back on, the pink ones from earlier are gone, instead replaced by the lit up stage. It now makes sense to me why this is the main stage other than the fact that it's the largest. Soft music starts to play, the sound crescendoing by the second.
A voice sounds from the speakers that are at the very end of the stage on each side. "We welcome... Ariel," is all the voice says before the lights turn off again.
Upon them returning, there is also a girl on the stage. She stands with her back to the crowd, her body to the left side of the pole that's in the middle at the top. Her right hand holds the pole while her left is on her hip. My eyes trail to the hand on her hip, making him take notice of her outfit - or lack thereof.
Ariel wears a bra from what I can tell with her back to the crowd. A tiny skirt covers her tush, the bottom of her cheeks hanging out. I have no idea if she's wearing underwear or not, but that doesn't matter to me. I can't take my eyes off of her, nor the ends of her red hair that seem to end right on her nether cheeks.
The little mermaid?
The beat drops on the music. Ariel is in perfect tune with it because she sways her hips towards the pole with the melody. She turns, finally revealing her face to the crowd, and she doesn't disappoint.
The little mermaid is a beautiful sight to say the least. Her skin is fair and seems smooth from where I sit. Her baby face is noticeable, making her look young, yet she still has a maturity that no doubt proves an adult age. With red cheeks, I'm not sure if the color is from makeup or if it's natural. Letting my gaze trail her body, I stop at her breasts for a moment, not meaning to have them rest there. They aren't big, but they aren't small either. In my eyes, they're perfect.
Shaking myself from my stupor, I move my gaze to her stomach. Much to my surprise, there's a bit of pudge there. Because of my lack of knowledge, I assumed all exotic dancers had flat stomachs and overly skinny limbs. At least that's what movies show. I know I'm ignorant for thinking that because women—and all humans—come in all different sizes. If I'm being honest, I quite like to see a woman with meat on her bones. It's a shallow thought, a shallow preference.
Ariel continues dancing. She rubs her hands up her sides and to her face. If my eyes are on her, I know every other man's are too. When I stare at her face, I notice something about her, something that makes me confused.
Ariel's eyes are void of any emotion.
Furrowing my eyebrows, I wonder what can make such a beautiful woman seem so unhappy. My eyes remain trained on her face as I think to myself. If I hadn't been paying attention, I would have missed her seemingly brown eyes landing on me. Our eyes connect in a stare, surprising me and causing me to gulp.
The eye contact isn't what makes me nervous. It's the butterflies in my stomach that does it for me. I also don't expect the harsh beating of my heart that accompanies the fluttering in my midsection.
I also don't expect to keep eye contact with Ariel as she carries on with her routine. As she unclips her skirt and lets it fall to the ground, I don't watch her hands. From my peripheral, I can make out her kicking the fabric away. The cheering of men doesn't register in my mind. Only when Ariel grabs the pole and spins on it do I tune back into the world.
I'm captured again when she wraps both legs around the pole and bends her body down backwards. Her dark eyes remain on mine as her hands move to her bra. Ariel unclips the top and drops her hands down, letting the material fall to the floor of the stage. Her hands lift to the pole as she brings herself up before spinning to the ground. Her arms go up, her hands grabbing onto the pole as she drops to the ground, her back sliding along the metal. She then goes onto her hands and knees, crawling to the end of the stage. That's when the money comes flying.
And when the dance ends, Ariel stands, collects her clothing, then places an arm over her breasts. She gives a seductive smile to the crowd before bowing. The men up front cheer and more money flies. From my peripheral vision, I see Chandler pull out a bill.
It makes my blood boil.
Then the softest voice speaks. "I hope you guys enjoyed my dance." And Ariel's smile becomes sweet before she turns and scurries off the stage.
I know for a fact that I'm trapped by her spell.