My heart dropped to my stomach, and the butterflies started.
I am accustomed to saying hi to people when I am standing naked or half-naked in my club. But all of a sudden I was completely aware of every inch of my nakedness.
“Hi” he smiled. He looked the same as before, but even better.
All of a sudden my Saturday became infinitely more interesting and appealing and exciting. My insides went haywire, my nervous energy went through the roof, my desires electrifying me. As the only customer I had ever had that I would see outside of the club romantically, my usual calm was replaced by smoldering heat.
We sat down at the bar.
“How have you been? I haven’t seen you in forever.”
It was true. Last July was the last time, and we both knew it. The summer heat and the chemistry between us had culminated in an erotic time in the private dance room. I had given him free dances because I wanted to be there longer. I mostly sat on his lap, grabbing onto his hair, staying close. It was extremely hot. And then he had left, almost fled, really. And I didn’t see him again, and didn’t know if I ever would again. Until today.
We chatted. I filled him in on my school and work adventures, and then he said:
“I had to reign myself in after that last time I was here. I actually had a girlfriend then and still do… I was afraid that it would have gone further if I didn’t keep myself from coming back in to see you.”
I nodded, unsurprised, unphased. Many people who come in are partnered, and it’s just part of the business. People often want a pseudo girlfriend or to find a fantasy. I fill the role as I please, knowing that the club is as far it goes.
He, however, was afraid that I would be offended that he hadn’t told me the truth. I wasn’t, which he found to be a gracious offering.
My nervous energy continued to ebb and flow, and I found a piece of me totally deflated. Sad. Hungry for the connection that couldn’t be satisfied. Was he coming in as a test to himself? To see if he could leave after one beer? Or two? Or three? During my third set of the time he was there, he finally moved from the bar to the table closest to the stage. When I got off, he said:
“Well it’s confirmed. I can’t resist you. I have to make the executive decision to leave. I have to leave. I have to leave right now.”
My bumbling, fumbling, horribly awkward self was barely able to make coherent conversation while he had been there, and all of a sudden I found myself with even fewer words to hold onto. It was like trying to pick up a bar of soap in the shower, or taking off a wet swimsuit. Horrible and aggravating.
He left after a hug and I didn’t even get a way to stay in touch with him. No number, no last name, nothing.
I had asked earlier, “Will I ever see you again?”
To which he replied: “I don’t know.”