I don’t intend to stop discovering new things about my boyfriends. I lean across to lick the froth off his lip and then kiss him.
The dancers get down to their G-strings during the last chorus of the song. When the music stops, they bow and begin to work the room while a fresh group of three dancers take the stage. These men are even bigger than the last lot. I tug at the collar of my polo shirt. Damn, I bet they work out a lot.
I spend as much time watching Emory and Casey as I do watching the dancers. Emory’s face remains bright red as he stares at the stage, eyes wide. He rubs the heel of his hand back and forth over his thigh, and a quick glance down tells me he’s getting hard. Casey, on the other hand, looks totally disinterested.
“You work out, don’t you?” I ask him.
“A couple of times a week on top of swimming, yes.”
“What kind of workout regime do you think the dancers have?”
“These guys in particular?”
I nod.
“They probably concentrate on weights to build muscle and fat-burning exercises to stay lean.”
“They must be incredibly fit to dance like that,” I muse.
Considering the size of the dancers, they’re surprisingly nimble as they throw themselves around the poles.
“Pole dancing looks like hard work,” I say.
“Yes. Aside from the stamina they’d need, it will also require a lot of upper body strength and control.”
“You’re telling me,” I say as the dancers invert themselves, their legs straight up with only one arm wrapped around the pole. It makes their biceps bulge and gives me a hot flush. “Wow.”
“Thanks,” Casey says.
“What for?”
“Helping me find a way to enjoy being here.”
“Is that something you could do as a job one day?” I ask.
He widens his eyes. “Pole dancing?”
“No.” Although I have that mental image in my head now. Thanks, Casey. “I meant devising exercise regimes for dancers. Dance is a sport, right?”
“I guess, maybe. I haven’t thought about what I’ll do after uni. Just that it’ll probably be something sports-related.”
“How can you talk?” Emory asks.
I laugh. “By stringing words together into a sentence. It’s not that hard.”
He glares at me and gestures at the stage. “I mean right now, while that’s going on. I’m not going to be able to walk out of here I’m getting so hard.”
I ghost my lips over his ear. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the show.”
He whimpers. “It’s so good.”
The dancers swap around again. This time, the trio is made up of two twinks and a Black man who looks huge compared to the men he’s dancing alongside, even though he’s not as massive as the dancers we’ve watched. One of the twinks is the Cockney guy who talked to us when we arrived. The other has jaw-length brown hair and is covered in silver body paint. He’s also only wearing grey jeans, not the sexy uniform all the other dancers have on, but damn, is he good. They all are.
I’m salivating by the time the first song of their set is over. Beside me, Emory looks increasingly uncomfortable. He keeps fidgeting and changing position, no doubt in an effort to hide his erection. Casey is slumped in his chair, chin resting on his hand, gaze lowered. Shit. I’m glad he came, but I didn’t mean for him to be bored.
“Do you want to go?” I ask them.
Casey lifts his head. “Aren’t you having fun?”
