Music to my ears.

Ever thought about that? Never had. Ever. But all I thought about was music because if I didn't think about the music then I'd think about why it played so loud and why I danced to it.

Music for my body.

It pulsed and pulsed. It flowed through me. I decided not to keep up with every single beat. I decided every other beat was enough for me. I decided to move only as I wanted inside the pulsing beat. This was a better rhythm. I was more in control.

But then I saw his face and I realized ... I couldn't do this. Panic set in. I stopped dancing. Men hooted; hands touched me; I had no clothes on. Men staring; they were clothed but I was not. The spotlight swung my way. But still, I recognized the faces and ...

I shuddered awake, still tight by remnants of the dream. I was aroused, still half drunk but more sober than when the taxi had dropped me off. I was frustrated. I'd been frustrated before in my life, but this was crazy.

Crazy.

I felt wild, out of control, confused. But mostly, I was frustrated. 

My clock read 4:13 a.m. I wondered where they all were. I wondered about what they'd been doing. I wondered why I'd felt what I had that night. I wasn't really sure why I'd had that dream.

Maybe it was just a dream born of sexual frustration and confusion about how I'd felt that night. 

Instead of lying there half awake, troubled, horny and frustrated ... I did something about the frustrated and horny part. It ended up helping the half-awake part, too, because afterwards I slept.

But when I woke, I had a headache, a hangover, and I was frustrated beyond belief now that I was sober. I headed for the gym to sweat it out, to punish my body for what I'd done to it the night before... except for some odd reason, I drove over to the Pub. I sat there in the little parking area and stared at the artful sign: The Come On Inn.

So I was in a bad mood to start with. Sue me.

The first thing I noticed was a mess inside the Pub that several women were grumbling over. It fed into my every wicked imagining of what the men had been up to in their wicked little party the night before inside there. I bent down to pick up a can that had rolled toward the side wall and then picked up some trash. Looking at it, I realized one piece was a black business card with gold embossed lettering. "Escambia. A Gentleman's Club." A phone number. Nothing more. I knew just what it was... Maximus had told me they were having strippers from some club that Dino was familiar with come over the night before for Lachlan's surprise birthday party. The idea had aroused me then; it aroused me even more in my state of frustration and the evidence of their pursuits the night before. I tucked the card in my back pocket. This was the first thing that had made me smile since sometime the night before when I'd been out with the other female regulars of the Pub.

I was so pleased they had actually done nasty, adult, male things. Then I saw the only other evidence of their "wild" night and it was this infantile 'pronouncement' they called The Articles. Someone had posted it on the wall near where I stood.

You know, I am usually quite content to be the self-contained observer. Dino had me pegged right that way. I liked that role. It was a natural one for me. But I am not to be messed with when I get a headache and my back's up.

I was only partway through this inane shit when Arthur came up to hand me a copy of said Articles. In his endlessly efficient manner, he had wanted to be sure that each female regular to the pub had her own copy, as a 'reference' for later, he added in this voice that made me want to pop him one.

He saw that look. He backed up and said, "As you can see we did not waste our evening together in idle pursuits - but had what you might call a 'brainstorming' session. It is a timely reminder of who wears the pants..."

"Question is, dear Arthur, which of you men needed the reminder? Real men I have known would never need to prove their status. Sad to think I misjudged you on that score." He gulped and said he had something important to do back in the kitchen.

My headache was worse. Much worse. This was without any doubt the most awful hangover I'd had in maybe my entire adult life. But through the pounding, the one thing I kept thinking was... I just couldn't believe I'd so misjudged these men. I wanted to confront one of them... I wanted to hear from someone's mouth that this was really their big accomplishment.

First man I saw was Terry Thorne, sitting at the bar, his head propped up in one hand and a cup of something steaming sitting before him. His eyes were down. He looked ravishingly handsome with serious scruff and a cigarette in his mouth. I wanted to take that cig, drag it from his mouth, fling it to the other side of the bar and then teach him a think or two about dealing with women.

"My, how the once mighty have fallen," I spit out to him. He put his hands on his head and asked me to speak softly.

Soft this, I thought.

He glared up at me; must have felt my narrowed eyes; must have really not felt like getting into it.

"What did I do? Here I am just innocently having my breakfast, what is a man to do?" he said. His voice was like sandpaper on velvet. My God. I just shook my head at him and tossed over the copy of The Articles. I didn't even have to say it; he knew the accusation. "Prove it."

"Prove it? Prove what? I thought the point was as Arthur so eloquently alluded... that you boys needed proof you had testosterone? I tell you, I simply bemoan the fact that you are apparently no longer a man who would ever need to prove anything," I said.

He rolled his eyes and flashed me a finger. I returned the gesture in duplicate.

I should have stomped out right then and there. I knew I was making an ass of myself. What did I care that they had proven themselves to be such pitiful excuses for men? But somehow... Jesus, it was the headache. I just couldn't deal with it and I felt like a bear who'd been on steroids for far too long.

Unfortunately, I lingered long enough to listen to some of the other women voicing their opinions on the Articles. Okay, that did it. I was out of there... and almost at my car... except Maximus happened to drive up and I stood there, itching for a fight.

He gave me that smile of his. It's this one that later on, when I remembered it, I cringed for having not instantly melted like I usually do when he graces me with one. Instead, I said, "Interesting list there, Maximus. Guess my esteem in you was misplaced."

I give him lots of credit. He knew exactly what I had to be talking about. He didn't bat an eye. He teased me gently, saying, "Come now... surely you are not going to chide a man for a simple act of male bonding? Now could you really see a man such as I standing up and saying 'Desist, gentlemen. This is most insulting to women. They would never sit around and discuss our faults in this fashion. They admire us and think we are quite perfect.' "

Believe me, that only made matters worse. "Maximus, the list seems far more insulting to you than to women in general," I said. I barely recognized my voice. Neither did he. It was sharp and mean-spirited. I never talked to him like this. But... yet... here I was, wasn't I? I pointed a finger in his face; a lesser man would have chewed it off. He just raised his eyebrows. "To me, it is less about how you men feel about women than it is about how low an estimation you have of yourself; an estimation I never shared, especially when it comes to you. It's a bit disillusioning that you need a list of rules for how you will interact with women, much less one so infantile."

He gave me this chuckle and leaned a hip against my car. As if to say just how amused he was at my girlish petulance. In this maddeningly patronizing voice, he said, "I ask you this. Last night- did you ladies not once speak of the idiosyncrasies of your men? In that patronizing and all-knowing fashion as if we were little boys who needed house training? Give a dog a bad name, I am afraid he invariably lives up to it."

"Excuse me?" My hands were on my hips. "Can your posturing rebuff, Max. When have you known me to be patronizing toward any man?"

He blinked at me a few times. I knew, just from the way his eyes hardened and his chin came up, that whatever he said next, he was going to try to make it sting bad. It wasn't what he said in the end; it was the way he said it. I swear to God, just that dismissive, brutal voice wounded me. It cut deeper because I knew I deserved it.

"Then I must apologize for my part in this childish game and for my posturing rebuff. I stand corrected. I agree, they were infantile. Wasn't that the point?"

I felt tears at the back of my eyes and blinked hard. I was an absolute child before this man. I didn't care in the least to hide that he'd hurt my feelings any more than he'd not wanted to hide that I'd hurt his pride. "I neither need nor wish any apology. Besides, I am feeling a bit rough in general this morning so maybe I took it too far between us as a result? If you'll excuse me, I think I need to go."

His hand reached out to touch me. I saw the instant worry on his face warring with the indignation at my show of temper toward him. My God. He looked so sexy, I realized... it was this blinding flash of regret to see him standing there like pure sex, narrowing his eyes, his blood rushing, his red eyes showing nothing so much but that he wished he could silence me somehow but also regretting that he'd achieved his aim while never regretting his anger. How can a man show so much in his eyes?

So I woke up hours later, groggy and repentant. What had possessed me to ever go out to be with civilized people feeling like I had? I'll tell you what: I was on edge since the night before. I'd drunk way too much, heard way too many tales from other women, smoked cigarettes for the first time in maybe five years... and that was before the real show even began.

I'm actually one of those women who can find it hard to flitter in and around other women. It's not that I don't like having female friends because I do. It's just that I am such a loner. I'm just not used to group things.

But some of the women wanted a night to cut loose and it seemed to me that they wanted it mainly because the male regulars at the pub were intent on a 'manly man celebration' of Lachlan's 30th birthday. From the moment Max had said that Dino was arranging for the entertainment, I'd teased him into telling me they would be strippers. Strippers? Right. I rather figured there might be a bit more interaction with these strippers than with those in the typical tittie bar.

Not that I was at all familiar with such establishments. I wasn't.

That was really the problem.

Just the idea of this... it really got me wound up. I couldn't stop imagining it. In my mind, I pictured a few women taking their turns up on a cleared floor area in the pub... I pictured pulsing music and a gyrating woman stripping down to a g-string and pasties... I pictured women like you see in Playboy. I pictured lots and lots of Heather Graham wannabes. I had conflicting images... in some, they were high-class; in others, they were trash and flash.

I pictured a testosterone level in there that a woman like me would never have handled. I wanted like anything to be a fly on the wall... to watch without anyone knowing. I wanted, especially, to watch a few of these men in particular... to see them lose control and to understand what they'd do if they didn't curb those base instincts that I knew they curbed when they were with me.

But I had no kind of past experience to base this on. This was fantasy. It aroused me to think of them.

So when someone in our own party of ladies suggested we cap off our night out on the town by visiting a male strip show, I thought that was the best thing I'd heard in a long, long time. I thought it would give me a taste of what those men back in the Pub would be seeing and feeling.

I groaned as I remembered my enthusiasm. This was when I finally rolled out of bed. I took a long bath to steam the remnants of the poison from my body. My head no longer hurt like it had. There was only the tiniest edge of a headache. But... in its place was a full, enormous load of embarrassment as I thought about my tirade of that morning. So, let me see now, I'd managed to insult Terry, wound Max's pride, snipe at Arthur ... Lord. When I do it, no half measures.

My phone was in my hand for a long time before I was able to call Max to apologize. I asked if I could see him because I wanted to do it in person; he said he was otherwise engaged. I asked if he could forgive me; he said he had no idea what I meant.

I would like to think that ordinarily, I would have eaten my humble pie and asked for another helping if that's what it took.

But for some reason, his faked nonchalance got to me. I was beyond frustrated. I admit, I had been low enough to envision the heat of make up sex with Max. Instead, I was left with all these confusing feelings inside me that I had no way to work off. I swear, I just felt like doing something explosive and wild.

At some point, I remembered that I had to also call Terry to apologize. I flopped on my back on my bed and dialed his cell. His voice sounded all bearish, gravelly and edible. I hate that about that man because it drives this wicked feeling right down deep inside me.

"Hello," I said into the phone when he answered with a very curt 'Thorne here.' "Terrence Thorne, do you know it took me all day to get a handle on my headache good enough to come to the realization that, as I have your phone number and as I wanted to call you, it really was a simple process to do so."

"Hello, yourself," he rumbled out, this obvious, petulant edge there that made me wince. "So I am forgiven? I am not quite as low in your esteem as you seemed to suggest? How the mighty have... etc."

"Ouch. I really was feeling rough, wasn't I? I'm sorry I said that... you'd think I'd know better than to react to anything when I've got a headache like that," I said softly.  I tapped down my distaste for having to eat dirt before another man might deign to forgive me. Damn. I was still not myself. I was still an edge waiting to cut. "Shooting off my mouth is never attractive. I'm embarrassed and I'm sorry. Am I forgiven for my rude remarks?"

"Forgiven. Forgotten. Best place for all those things we know we shouldn't do but invariably we do." I listened to him in the pause; I knew he was dragging on a cigarette. Probably trying to calm down, get over what I'd made him feel like. "Truth is, I think I caught your headache. Not at my best this evening still. Forgive me if I am a tad grouchy."

"No, that's okay. You go on and be grouchy. I don't mind," I said. And then for some reason, I just blurted out, "I have this feeling that you were more in control of yourself last night than most of the other men were. I wonder what you'd be like if you were ever to lose yourself in an experience with me."

He didn't say anything for long enough that I was groaning hard inside and wondering how much worse I could appear to him. And then... still in that voice... still unwilling to be cajoled... he said, "Honest? I was the mastermind and one of the main offenders. I was bombed and extremely out of control. But that's an important thing for men like us. Release. Especially for those who have to be in control 364 nights a year. I'm not sure you would have found me unleashed quite as appealing as you think."

Boy, did he have me pegged wrong just then. Maybe other nights I would have been warned off. But this night? Oh, well, in this night what he said simply turned my frustration from unfocused to absolutely crystal sharp. That was exactly what I wanted to see. Him. Unleashed. I sat up in bed and looked at myself in the bureau mirror.

"Do you ever get the desire to see me again? What I mean is, do you get the same level of desire I get to see you again?" I waited to hear him say something. He didn't. He was obviously curious to see what I'd do when I was feeling in a way he'd never witnessed before. "You make me think about things I shouldn't. Or at least, things I feel I shouldn't. I have this feeling, see, that you could talk me into things I'd never try with another man. I'm not talking sex, which I figure you know. I'm talking taking chances because I'd know you'd never really let me do anything that would be too wild or too dangerous."

"You are always welcome to try me out, to see if you could keep up with me when I'm not trying to stay in control. And, yeah, I get the desire to see you again. A lot." Another pause; I pictured his lips on the cigarette. I felt his tongue on my throat. "I think I might be aiming for an early night with a cup of cocoa and a chocolate biscuit - that wild and dangerous enough for you? You fancy that cocoa? I could spice it up with a little chocolate sauce... maybe even cinnamon if you really want to push the boat out..."

I couldn't help this soft chuckle. He just has this gift for saying things that seem funny but are so suggestive. "Cocoa? With chocolate sauce? The possibility of cinnamon? You are the wild man, aren't you? I was right to be worried I wouldn't be able to keep up with you. But... yeah. I would fancy that cocoa. But then, I rather fancy you, you know?"

"You know where I live," he said, low and dangerous. I looked in the mirror and saw what that did to me. "And, hey, don't wear any knickers... Sorry... just my appalling sense of humor showing."

I was swinging a bag of marshmallows in my hand when he opened his door. I almost dropped them at the sight of him. He was wearing sweats, a ratty t-shirt that would have been rejected from most ragbags, and he had stubble on his face that made the dark circles under his eyes even more pronounced. His hair was messy, he was dragging insolently on a cigarette and he was just staring at me in this tough guy way that seemed totally unaffected.

"So about that cocoa?" I managed to choke out.

He raised his eyebrows at me and ushered me inside. I followed along behind him down the entry hall and into his neat apartment. He didn't give me time to really do more than glance around as I followed him to the kitchen. About all I really noticed was an assortment of electronic 'toys' from stereo gear to video stuff. A few bookcases that actually had books. A leather couch, a fireplace, designer chic pillows on the floor before it.

"I'm out of cinnamon," he told me as he handed me a mug.

"It's cocoa," I said.

He smirked at me. He thought I'd just said that to be amusing.

"I thought that was a euphemism for come on over here and let's have an adult beverage," I said.

"Eris, why are you here?" He asked it so plainly.

"Because I want to be with you," I said as I put my mug down and reached to stroke down his chest. "Because I wanted to do something wild and sexy with you."

He never let my eyes leave his. He sipped at his cocoa and just regarded me as I rubbed up on him. When I went to slip a hand down his sweats, he stopped me with a vise grip on my wrist. "The boyfriend was busy tonight?"

I glanced away; guess it was an answer, but it wasn't a good one. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I'm still feeling awkward after this morning. I should go."

"Drink your cocoa. Let's just spend a quiet evening together, Eris. Think maybe we both need it. We both had rough nights last night, right?"

My eyes came back to his. He can be far too easy to read when he's with someone he believes he can trust. "Do you really think I'm here with you only because I've got a free night from Max?"

He glanced away from me; it wasn't an answer I liked but at least it was honest.

I called him from my car while I was sitting in the parking lot trying to be calm. "Do you know anything about what happened last night?" I asked him when he answered. He knew I was upset; he asked me to come back to his place. "Did you know we went to a strip show? These men, Terry, the ones who were stripping? I was ... I don't know."

"Eris, it's not important. Look..."

"I was fine, I really was. I've never been to one before and I wanted to go. I did. But ... But I had this moment when those guys were on stage and I was surrounded by other women... and I felt so funny about what was happening to me."

My eyes closed and I remembered that feeling. I wished Terry could understand what it meant that it was him I could tell this to. "I don't even like men who look like that, Terry. All those out of whack muscles they get from endless hours at the gym and-- more than anything-- they were such boys. And they were shaking things at us-- and this one, he put his package right in my face-- tell me why it was that I could feel all these things at once: embarrassed, titillated, tense and horny? And I wasn't horny for them. I wasn't. They were boys and they were not my type."

I hung up on him. He called me back. I apologized for the outburst; told him to forget about it; that it was nothing; said I was fine. What I really felt like saying was that he was a son of a bitch for thinking I was only wanting to be with him because Max was with someone else that night. Because that was not the truth and it made me feel like shit that he really thought that about me.

When I got back to my place, I sat in my car for a long time and tried to wrestle with all these black feelings that I didn't know how to deal with on my own. I dug into my pants pockets to find a tissue but what I found was that business card for the club that Dino had used to bring women in to their party the night before. I sat there looking at it; I thought about the leap of intuitive knowledge that Jack Vincennes took in LA Confidential when he stared at a similar card and knew what it was.

So I called the number. This woman answered. I told her I was a friend of Dino O'Leary and he'd given me her card. That Dino had thought that I might enjoy seeing one of their shows. When she asked, I said, no, I'm not gay. "Actually? I want to try it."

"Try what?"

"Being part of the entertainment at your club."

She didn't say anything for a while. Then she asked me if I'd ever done it before. I knew she knew I hadn't; I imagined that if I had, I would have known some inside lingo that would have marked me as an experienced call girl or stripper or whatever. "Why did you first say you might enjoy watching a show?" she asked me.

"Because I'd like to see if I could do it. I think I could, but I'm not sure how it works. Look, I'd be willing to pay you just to let me watch."

She chuckled warmly into the phone. "That excites you, does it? Well, honey, I tell you, number one, I don't use amateurs as the entertainment. Number two, any woman in the party would be considered fair game by the men. You understand? It's not like you can pull up a seat in a far corner of the club and just watch. The men will see you. They will assume you are part of the crew. So, I don't think so."

"How about this? I'll pay you whatever a man would pay you. Plus, I'll do something to be less conspicuous like... maybe tend bar? Or serve drinks? How much harm would that be?"

"The harm, honey, would be for you. What are you going to do if one of them wants you for the night?"

"Maybe you can just tell them that I'm only there to tend bar?" But... the wildness inside me seemed to want something more to feed it than being safe. "Look, if one asks... maybe I'd do it. You know? But I'll still pay you. Isn't that a good deal?"

"I only use a certain type of woman."

"I'm glad to meet with you first. Then you can make your decision."

"When?"

"Now."

"No way. We're busy here at the club tonight."

"Please. Just think about it, okay? I promise I'm not a crazy person, but it's just that when Dino told me about last night, I just... he knows I've always wondered if I could... he knows I've been interested. It's why he gave me your card. Surely you trust his judgment about me? He wouldn't have given me a card and suggested I call if he didn't think you'd find me the right type for your club."

I pressed the phone tight to my ear. I did not want to miss this answer; I felt every nerve in my body taut with the anxiety of knowing that within my grasp possibly lay the risky experience I needed that night.

"I'll get back with you."

The line went dead. I closed my eyes and sighed.

In my home, the answering machine was blinking. It was Terry. He knew I would get this after I got in. He talked low and soft into my machine. It was so important to him that I just hear him out, hear what he had to say with no filter of conversational interaction.

"Eris, I'm bothered by your reaction to the Articles. I feel the need to have a go at showing you that it wasn't anything more than that we like behaving like that at times and we like making fun of women. And sometimes women need that too. I don't think a woman who lets fly about me to her friend is guilty of anything more than getting rid of necessary steam that has built up from the battle of the sexes which, though pleasurable enough, is very frustrating for us all at times.

"If you look at those articles and rephrase them - what are they really saying? Let's run through them, right? Right. Here goes:

"No knickers...why does she sometimes push me away?

"Mud...lets just forget about convention, hey?

"Time of the month - the eternal conundrum - why do they get like that?

"Diets - I love you means to a man I don't have to shave, wash, exercise, eat wisely any more....

"Women's minds -can't figure you out - but you seem to have  a handle on us -scary.

"Threesomes - men fear they will come out wanting if compared to another man- in bed or out.

"Women's duty - we want to be taken care of. We miss our Mums.

"East - the fear of the young virile man.

"Men and sport - inexplicable - it just is.

"Positions - fear of failure again - the need to perform.

"Falling asleep - we know this is an insult, but our bodies betray us.

"Put like that, it does say a lot about us rather than women - but not all of it is bad or puerile. It is only the jocular terms of reference we use that are. What about the reverse? Do women have well-known beefs about men? You know they do - and that also reveals more about women than men. Call me. Let's don't let this be between us, hey?"

It never was the Articles, I told him when I called him about an hour later. It was that I'd expected them to be men... not spending their night being little boys. And I knew that was my problem, not theirs. I'd reacted as I had, I told him, because I had been disappointed that this big fantasy I'd had that they'd been doing these adult, totally testosterone-driven, obscene, 'men's things' that would have intimidated me to know about. But instead, they were doing these childish Articles.

"It's a funny thing about 'men's things' - when we are most up to no good and deeply into male things, we are both disturbingly adult and predictably childish. There is no dividing line. That's how we're built."

"It was a let down. I know I have no right to feel that way but there it is," I said.

He said so serious, "You know that's not the only thing we did."

I felt that go through me. "I had this overwhelming desire to be where you were. To see what you were doing. And here's the really embarrassing admission: I knew you were having women come in to strip for you. Max told me that."

"Yeah, there were strippers. Men like to look. They have a turn off switch in their heads. Even men like Maximus," he said. I felt this twinge inside that he'd say that.

"I kept wondering... what's that like for a man like you? Do you react to a beautiful stranger stripping for you and a room full of men by feeling things you don't expect?"

"We watch. We don't analyze. We like to see naked women. So we watch. We get aroused. It's a trigger. It doesn't come from your brain, honey. Well, maybe it does... originally. We are handicapped by our arousal. It is instant and visible and men are embarrassed by that - when they are with other men. So what do they do? They act aggressively. Flaunt their arousal. Joke about it. They are bigger, hornier, more sexual than the others... Most important thing is - never let any man know how you feel emotionally... the closer they get, the more you push them away."

"It excited me to think of you reacting to those women," I said. I didn't hear him make a noise at all. I wondered what his face would have looked like. I wondered... why was I telling him this? "I wanted to be there, Terry, to witness it... to just have a new experience. Perhaps the atmosphere I was in at that male strip club got me in a sexual mode and then when I felt that, I wanted to be with someone who'd recognize that wild feeling and would have shared it with me-- who maybe would have lost control right along with me."

Was it only because he'd disappointed me that night by not realizing that I'd needed something only he could give me? I wondered what he'd do if he knew I was even then driving to Escambia to meet with the owner, Cheryse. If he'd known that the impulse to do this had overridden any fear on my part because I just had to experience this and if he wasn't going to help me, then I'd do it on my own?

Every inhibition was long gone. I could feel it. I wondered if he could hear it? I said, "In fact, I wanted to be one of those women. I wanted to feel what it was like to do that for men like you... but, of course, I could never. Not for men I know. I wondered... could I do it for strangers? Would I pick out a man like you to focus upon? Would I watch your unbidden gestures that indicate sexual interest in me? Would I know what to do to ramp that up?"

"Interesting. Your fantasy of being a stripper. I don't think any man would really want the women he cares about in that scenario," he said softly. I felt my entire body tingle at his voice. It was so confidential; so powerful. "It has to be impersonal to work for us in a crowd - whereas you found the impersonal experience of an unknown man rubbing his genitals on you quite disturbing. We are too competitive by nature. How would you feel about a pack of women mauling your man in front of you? Not a pretty thought, hey?"

I didn't say anything for a moment because I was busy negotiating traffic just then as I turned into the parking lot for this tres discrete, deftly lit three-story white building. I would never have taken this for any kind of a club; it looked more like a library.

He must have taken my silence as the need for him to give me something provocative in exchange for the things I'd revealed. Like maybe I needed the reassurance that he still could want me even if he wasn't going to be helping me out that night.

His voice was edgy; challenging... and yet, it was also knowing. "However in private... that's another matter. A private showing? Now we could be talking serious deal here. Go wild with a woman who wants to? I'd say that was a pretty sure bet."

I parked at the rear of the building, in the sheltered area that Cheryse had described to me. Two big, burly men in sports jackets watched me as I sat in my car talking to Terry on my cell. Security, she'd told me, was important for her women.

"Do you know what? That night? When I left that strip club, I took a cab home because I was drunk. I almost had him drop me off at the pub. Almost gave in to this desire I had to just strut in there and find out what you were like that night," I whispered to him. "Ah, but reason won out. Of course, by then, I was so frustrated. I had to resort to mechanical relief."

"That makes me sad. The comment about mechanical relief. That should never happen to a woman like you."

God, what I wouldn't have given to have had him that night.

"See, I can't believe I'm telling you this. Maybe I just know that you won't really think less of me that I felt that way. Other men might; you wouldn't, would you?" I chuckled just so he'd know I was okay. "I am still curious with my own reaction to that night. Do you mind that I tell you all this? I can shut up at any time. Maybe now would be good."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

A pause. "Don't shut up, love. Keep talking to me."

"You know, I think what I really want is just one night when I can do something anonymous. Something too wild to do as me, if you know what I mean." I saw one of the security guys talking into this small walkie-talkie. "I need to go now. Can I call you tomorrow?"

Should I have admitted that everything about that night centered on me trying to find something to deal with this frustration I'd been feeling since that night of the dueling strip shows? Because, damn, I was still so frustrated. It wasn't just sexual; but that was part of it or I would never have been at Escambia that night.

I don't know what I was expecting. In some ways, the place was about what I'd expect because it looked a lot like a high-class lounge that a gentleman might take a lady. In other ways, its very normalcy in that perspective was jarring.

The women were young, attractive, well-built, seductive and very nice. All different shapes and sizes, though. I met a few of them long before I got a look at the 'public' areas of the club.

But first, I met Cheryse. One of the security guys escorted me up a back staircase and then into this office. It wasn't like a man's executive office. It wasn't frilly, either. It was tasteful, discreet and very designed to give the impression of serious business done by a woman.

She was older than I was but I expected that. She had long, dark brown hair done in one of those new flat-ironed styles that looks quick but you know takes a long time. She wore thin, high heels and a short-skirted suit that looked to be made of satin and leather. It wasn't slutty but it was provocative.

I got quite the inspection but the interrogation was limited. She decided I could help her regular bartender, who happened to be a man and gay... she made some off-handed observation that just perhaps the 'guests' would figure I was stuck behind the bar because I was also gay.

However, she didn't like my attire. I met several of the women who worked for her inside this lounge where racks of clothes fought for predominance with tables with lit mirrors and tufted chairs. It was like I was their Barbie doll. They twittered around me and chose a short dress for me to wear. It was shimmery forest green lamé and it hugged my curves and it exposed my decollate. They redid my makeup for the particular lighting of the main room where the bar and the 'primary stage' was, all at Cheryse's instructions.

She stayed there the whole time and watched me take this in. I wondered if she'd ever before had a woman walk in to do this?

"What will surprise me inside?" I asked her at one point.

"Your own reaction," she said. When I turned to look at her, she touched my hair and smoothed it down. "You'll be scared. But then you'll like that feeling, I think."

But in actuality, the thing that surprised me the most was the way I felt the music pulse through me, just like in my dream. I stayed busy, mixing simple highballs, pulling draft beers, pouring single malts in cut crystal tumblers with no ice unless the guest specified.

I didn't talk to any of the guests for a long time. The music was enough of a barrier, even if the bar wasn't. But I sure the hell enjoyed the way they looked at me. I was safe behind a large oak bar, working alongside Roberto, witnessing what looked like a typical bar except the women were... well, there was really no effort required by any of the men, no matter how they looked.

But then, the lights changed and a purple spotlight swung up to a stage I'd been wondering about... and the curtain opened and a man walked out with a microphone. "That's Sam. He's the emcee. While the show's going on, Eris, we won't be so busy if you catch my drift," Roberto told me, his mouth pressed into my ear and his hand on my waist to pull me into him. He'd gotten into his role as my tour guide to this world I knew nothing about. And I'd been enough help to him that he kept telling me he was going to tell Cheryse that he wanted her to hire me to tend bar with him.

Things changed and it wasn't subtle. For each woman who came on stage to dance and strip to the music, the heat went up exponentially. And the women working the room began seriously entertaining in full view. Most times, the floor action was stopped just when I'd think, 'Oh Jesus' and the woman would drag whatever man it was that was pawing her and kissing her and... well, she'd drag him away and they'd go 'upstairs.' That's all Roberto would say. Upstairs. And he'd roll his eyes and giggle at my wonder.

After each woman performed, she'd join her fellow employees working the floor. That's what Roberto called it: 'working the floor.' As opposed to working the stage, I remember thinking.

The stripping was... well, it was arousing, frankly. And part of it, I think, is because I could picture how the woman felt up there... or at least, I wanted to. God, I wanted to. It was amazing... and then I thought about what Cheryse had said. I was scared but not like I'd thought she'd meant. I was scared because I was really enjoying it in a quite perverted way.

What perplexed me most of all was this: I was more aroused watching these women strip and imagining myself in their place than I ever was watching those boys strip the night before. That actually rather disturbed me.

Hardly any guests came to the bar during the show. They were happy to rely on the women to go get their drinks and bring them to them. Roberto told me to take a break; I sat on the last barstool and just watched the room. This was what I'd really thought I'd wanted. To just watch. But the truth was... the atmosphere worked on me. I had no reason, none at all, to curb my wilder impulses. I wanted to observe; but on this night, my desires ran darker.

Two different men approached me during this time when I sat there on that barstool. The first one was old enough to be my father. I was not afraid; I was not put off. I could do anything I wanted except one thing: I could not act hard to get in a place like that. He flirted with me; I flirted back. Roberto came to my rescue by giving the guy over to one of the other women who steered him back to his table. The second man asked when I was getting up there... as in on the stage. I pretended I couldn't hear him, gave him a little stroke on his arm and offered to get him a drink.

"I could pass, couldn't I?" I asked Roberto as we waited for the next act to start. He looked me up and down before giving me a serious nod. For God's sake but that seemed like such a compliment... a gay man thought I looked like a high-class stripper.

There was a break in the action; Sam the emcee filled it with a few bawdy jokes that met with huge approval. Roberto and I filled drink orders. I was feeling at ease. The level of testosterone was well within my toleration as long as I was safe behind the bar with Roberto.

Cheryse leaned into my ear as the next act began. I hadn't even seen her come behind the bar. "You've been specially requested," she said.

I looked at her with wide eyes. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"Maybe not," she chuckled. "Breathe, Eris."

"I'm breathing. I promise you I am."

"A discriminating guest... someone I can personally vouch for, mind you... has noticed you. I've told him you are a novice; he isn't bothered by that. He would like you to strip for him. In one of the private rooms."

"A private room? You mean, like... upstairs?"

She shook her head. "No, we have a few performance rooms down here meant for private or semi-private showings. Small stage, a pole... you."

"Me? Where will he be?"

Another chuckle. "He'll be in the room. But he'll just watch. He'll be your audience, you see? He won't touch you... unless..."

"Unless?"

"Unless you invite him to. Otherwise, it's just the strip. You ever stripped?"

She already knew this. But I knew why she asked me that way. I turned and looked at the stage, at the redhead up there about to prove she was natural. "No. But I'm a quick learner."

They danced to the music. They let it move them. They didn't strip right away. First, they turned up the heat, got the men enticed and riveted to the sight of them. Then they stripped but each one had a slightly different style... but one thing in common... they did have style and they didn't necessarily do it fast unless the music was fast.

"What should I tell him your name is?" Cheryse asked me.

I figured this was her way of saying she knew I was going to do it. And I was. Even though my palms were sweating and all I could think was how fucking free I felt that not a single person in there knew me. I was even going to be able to do this using another name... adding to my cloak of anonymity.

"Name? I don't know... What do I look like to you?"

"How about Lacy?" She returned my smile. "Okay, I'll tell him the offer's accepted. I'll be back to take you to the room."

He was already waiting inside the room when she brought me to the back entry. The guest, you see, entered in one door; the woman entered from behind the stage. I peeked out around the curtain. I could see the dim outline of a man, sitting in a chair at a small table just beyond the stage, but a hard shaft of light from a spotlight blinded me from picking out any details.

Cheryse said there was a panic button at the front of the stage. If I pressed it, security would come in. I had asked if this was safe. She said the man was safe; that she would never have let me do this if she hadn't been absolutely certain. It really didn't do more than make it possible for me to tell myself I was a fool to be worried.

Her last words to me were to go with how I felt; that I was the one in charge of whatever happened.

And I was.

I just never quite expected what I ended up feeling.

The song that was playing meant nothing to me; if there were words, I never heard them but I think there surely were. Weren't there? The rhythm was so overpowering, though. Maybe it was just a drum beating for all it was worth in some ancient, mystical incantation that made levelheaded, inexperienced women decide to experience a full draft of the mysteries that scared them.

I do know that many women fantasize about stripping before a room full of strange men. I'd just never known one who turned it from fantasy to reality. More importantly, until the night before, I don't remember this being something I fantasized about. I think I had an active fantasy about doing a bit of striptease, a tiny bump and grind, for a man I knew... not that I would. I mean, I'd strip, sure I would. I'd put on a bit of a show for a man I was involved with if he asked or if I just felt like it...

But get up in an outfit that didn't belong to me, that had snaps instead of zippers so you could whip it off in one dramatic swoop... perform under a spotlight, on a stage, swinging on a pole when you weren't grinding to the beat of far-off drums that were in your blood and you could feel their pulse as if they'd replaced your blood... and doing that for a stranger or a group of strangers?

No, that was new.

But that was also what I did. Eventually.

At first, I almost shuffled in there after parting the curtain to enter this room that was not really much bigger than Cheryse's office. I heard the music get louder; only it wasn't. Loud, I mean. Not really. I could hear the man's chair when it scraped on the floor as he shifted every so often to get comfortable. I wondered if he was touching himself. I wanted to see if he was. I wanted to see if I turned him on.

All I could see, though, was the darkness of his shape and, every so often, the small red glowing circle that was the lit end of his cigarette. It's how I knew he was breathing, I suppose, by seeing him drag on that cigarette every so often. Not that I was always looking at him. Most of the time, I wasn't at first. Too nervous.

Eventually, I simply moved to the music and enjoyed the way it made me feel to be able to do that. To know some man wanted nothing more than to see me do this.

"Take something off, Lacy," I heard him say sometime far into that song. When he spoke, I jumped because it startled me to hear him. Not that I didn't like his voice; I did. It's just that I didn't expect to hear it, you know? But it sounded so... so all-knowing that it altered the whole experience.

I was wearing little really to strip. Just the dress... and the things they'd let me wear when I said I wanted to wear what they were. Panties that snapped on the sides; lots of them liked taking those off before anything else because it shocked the men no matter how many times they saw them whisk it off in slow motion. A pale peach bra to match the garter... the bra came off with a simple flick of snaps. 

The garter with sheer stockings they said were great because they rolled in such a way you could take your time removing them and men liked that. Sometimes, though, they liked keeping the garter on because some men liked the illusion of modesty that leaving one tiny item on presented. I understood what they meant when one of the strippers did that during the show; I thought it had looked incredibly sensual. It hid absolutely nothing of importance to a man... as if leaving just that on was that much more arousing because it highlighted that nothing covered her vulnerable sex and breasts and derriere. So I left my garter and hose on... Pasties on my nipples because they said men liked to see them and then liked it even more when you peeled them off and you were nude before them... But I left the pasties on as well. Roberto said he liked the ones who did that because it was kind of burlesque retro.

Maybe I'd asked for the full stripper's wardrobe because I'd always known that I wanted to do something this wild.

And I felt wild. As the song ended, I felt my control slipping. I felt like anything was possible. Like if I didn't do it this one night, I'd never do it. Like maybe I should. Maybe I would. I knew I could.

"Did you like that?" I asked this man.

"Very much." 

"They said you don't want to touch me. Just watch."

"I like watching you move. You are very seductive."

He had such a precise way of speaking. As if each word were carefully measured. I put my hand up to block the glare of the spotlight; to see if I could see him, see his face. But I couldn't really so when the next song started, I dropped my hand and moved in time.

They told me that men like it when you touch yourself, but not too obscenely... Just to caress the parts of you that you know men are really observing and wanting nothing more than to touch you there... So touch yourself but do it in short bursts or you look like a caricature... And don't leave your mouth hanging open all the time... Have some class...

"Do you enjoy what you do?" he asked me.

"I have enjoyed it so far," I said.

"What else are you going to do for me, Lacy?"

I felt drops of sweat between my breasts and prickles of nerves down my spine. "Do you want to touch me?"

"Very much."

I turned a perfect pivot on the pole as the music's beat entered my wild blood stream. I watched the red circle grow bright then dim. "Bring your chair up here," I said.

He didn't say anything for a minute. I danced away from the pole and looked back at him over my shoulder until he said, "Why?"

"Because I want to be able to see you and I can't as long as you're down there."

"Will you let me touch you?"

"I don't know yet."

I listened for the sounds; his chair scraped on the floor as he stood. I watched his dark shape lift the chair and approach the raised stage. The stage was maybe a foot or two higher than the floor. "Wait. Be careful of the..."

"Panic button? Yeah, I won't step on it, Lacy."

He was not a disappointment. Should I say more? I don't know. Maybe that's enough. He was dressed in dark clothes, black leather jacket and he had the beginnings of a beard or the advances of heavy five-o'clock shadow. He didn't look in my eyes at all. He just looked at my body. He was hard. I could see it even before he placed the chair down near the pole and took a seat. He swept his tongue on his bottom lip before taking another drag with his cigarette.

"How about a lap dance, Lacy?"

I swallowed hard. I'd seen women doing that; Roberto had given me a crash course in lots of things I'd seen out there in that public area. "Aren't you hot? You're kinda sweating. Maybe you should take off the jacket."

He stood up, dragged the jacket off and laid it on the floor not that far away. When he slouched into the chair, he said, "What's the wildest thing you've ever done in your life, Lacy?"

I said, "This. How about you?"

"Not this. But this comes close."

It made me smile at him. He smiled back but it was a pretty aggressive smile. I liked it. In fact, I liked it enough that I was part way into a lap dance for him when the music stopped as the song ended. In that frisson of time waiting for music to start again, I was leaning right in over him. He hadn't touched me but his hands were so restless. For all that soundless time, neither of us did anything except enjoy the wild feeling we were sharing.

When the music started, I leaned back against the pole, using it for balance and for the way I knew it would make me look to him. With no fanfare, I placed my right foot atop his crotch. I balanced it there, pressing down but ever so slightly. I raised my eyebrows and told him he could touch me.

First, he slid my heel off. I enjoyed the tactile experience of feeling his hardness with the sole of my foot. Then, he carefully unhooked the top of my hose from the garter. I closed my eyes, in all truthfulness, and leaned my head back as he slowly rolled the hosiery from that leg. When he was done, I changed legs and let him bare my left leg.

And without any thought... just on instinct... just because I wanted the experience... I slid atop his lap with my legs hanging over the sides of the chair. I rocked against him in languid obedience to the music's beat.

We both were moaning; mine was internal; his was stifled. I wonder if he was embarrassed to be losing control? I was and I wasn't... I mean, I was losing control and I wasn't embarrassed about it. I honestly was trying to see if I could make him come right there, sitting there, still in his pants, with nothing but me rubbing up against him in his jeans and pique shirt.

I whispered to him; I told him it was all right if he came; that I'd like that very much; that maybe it would make me come.

He was breathing hard. I wondered if I could guess what he'd do. He surprised me. He touched my breasts, rolling them in his palms. His thumbs gentled the pasties from my nipples and he flicked them away from us. Our eyes met and held for the first time.

"I won't go further down here," he said to me. I leaned in; I rubbed over his hardness just to push him; I rubbed my cheek against his just to be nice to him. His hands were on my hips; he slid them until he cupped my buttocks and gave them each a long squeeze. He was struggling and losing. "Come upstairs with me, Lacy. I'll make it worth your while but I've got something specific I want."

An instinctive, very base need gripped me. And not for the first time that night, I felt this surging rush of awareness that something was possible here only if I dared it. I'd never have this chance again. I knew that a second time would not come around again. This man was safe. Everyone said that. But what if he wasn't? What if there was a circumstance in which he'd lose control and he wouldn't be so safe for someone like me?

Did I dare?

What would others feel about that? Would they look down upon me for giving in to this need?

Did I care?

Yes, I dared. No, I didn't care.

The only thing I wore when I left that room was the dress. I snapped it back together. He just sat there watching me put it back on. I picked up my shoes, put out my hand and we walked out of there together.

Cheryse must have some second sense about these things after all this time in her profession. She saw us leaving the room; I took him through the back entrance because I saw no need to go out through the public area when this way no one but her would see us. She handed me a key card with a room number on it. On the third floor, we wandered down the hall, hunting for the room. When we found it, I slipped the key card in but his hand came over mine when the green lights came on. He pulled the card out, tucked it in his pocket, opened the door and shoved me into the room.

There were candles in the room. I barely noticed them at first.

He said nothing. Nothing. He just shoved me up against the wall and ripped the dress off. He was maybe a foot away from me. He unzipped and lowered his pants; kicked them away with a vicious swipe. When he stepped toward me, I literally shook from my head to my toes at what was going to happen.

He took me hard and rough and right up against the wall. I cried out when he entered and I clung to him like my life depended on it. I didn't know if I would come; it was not what I'd expected.

It was so fast, so wild, so out of control. He just was relentless. He whispered to me eventually, after I came. He asked me if it was good. If I liked it. He jostled me when I didn't answer right away. I got out this shaky, "I like it."

He turned us both. Round and round. I felt dizzy; crazy; light-headed; out of control in a way I finally understood. And then we crashed on the bed. He was on top of me; his feet on the floor giving him so much power in the thrusting that I swear I almost screamed in fear that he might go way too far and really hurt me.

But I did whimper beneath him except that I was in the midst of coming and maybe he didn't really understand that I couldn't maybe keep up with where he wanted to go.

I kissed him. I don't know why. I hadn't before. I mean, I know why I kissed him; I did it because I wanted to... but what I meant was, I don't know why I hadn't kissed him before this. I felt this need to kiss him and I never would have consciously tried to curb it.

It startled him when I did that. The moment he realized it was my tongue touching his, it was like something happened to him and he shook hard in my arms. "Eris..." he whispered.

"Oh, Terry," I whispered.

"Jesus." The word took so long to come out; like he ached over each letter in his desire to express how difficult it was for him to find the way back inside himself. His mouth nuzzled along my jaw line as I arched under him. I came and the release brought tears with it but they were tears of relief more than anything. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, never."

"Don't lie to me. Not now. Please don't do that."

"I'll be sore but... you didn't abuse me."

"Jesus."

"Please don't do that, Terry."

He knew what I meant. He began to thrust with rhythm that was a challenge but that I could manage. He gave me the full measure of what he had left to experience with me. We were both of us back in control. And now that we both understood a bit more about each other in that way, we could walk right up to the line of 'too far' on a night like this and feel a sense of safety with the other to do that.

It ended as it should have... with his release.

Almost too quickly, he rolled to his side and dragged us both up to where our entire bodies were on the bed. We held on to each other; I listened to his heart beat like it would take over his body. And then I undressed him, carefully, before insisting he crawl between the sheets, shut his eyes and let me hold him while the candles burned in that room.

"When men are with a group, watching something like that... it's pack behavior, Eris."

"In what way?"

"Everyone is forced to be certain ways and prove they are real men. One of the ways they do this in a pack is show how dominant they are over women..."

"When they're not having pissing contests with each other, you mean?"

"Leave off, woman, I'm trying to teach you here." He took a long drag on his cigarette that I knew was to keep him from smirking at my sass. He raised one eyebrow at me, as if to ask if I was going to shut up and let the professor move on with his lesson. "In fact, while they are laughing, they are thinking the opposite. But they can't stop... it is the worst mob behavior possible."

"Now, how are women to know these things? I mean, the things you men wrote..."

"Hey, times like that, men like to arse about. Joke. Say stupid things. Remember Jack saying, 'to wives and sweethearts, may they never meet!' Same thing as the Articles. You think Jack is really like that? In fact, Jack at that time in his life was missing his wife very much - so he makes a joke implying he is a naughty boy... see how it works?"

I rolled over on my stomach and propped my chin in my hands. "Terry, you are the most enjoyable mix of confusing man and introspective observer of human nature. I suppose reading people and understanding what they'll do is a skill you have had to cultivate in your business."

"What can I say, Eris. I'm good." He gave me this smug look but I never missed the worry in those eyes.

Even by candlelight, I read the emotion there. I knew he wasn't trying to really hide his tumultuous feelings from me that night; I knew he wanted me to see them. He had not really lost control with me that night, but he had come closer than he'd meant to. I refused for it to be something that would worry him or prick at his sense of honor.

I laid my head on his thigh and gazed up at his face. I adored the way he reached for me, the way the fingers of his hand played with my hair in this sweet, unmistakable gesture of his growing attachment for me.

"You have just given me an inside peek at men that may well be one of the most instructive insights I've ever had," I said.

"May well be? Bloody hell, Eris, I only ever give you my best," he said.

It made me chuckle as I rubbed my hand over his belly. "Here I was, feeling I'd misjudged you but then... well, durn, I don't have a clue, do I? Well, perhaps it helps to be able to admit that."

"Misjudged me?"

"I thought... I never thought you would have guessed what was going on with me tonight. How I felt. I mean, you acted... I don't know."

He took a long time to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray. I knew he was stalling, getting up the right words to tell me something he felt he should but found difficult.

"What I said, Eris, about Max... I was an arse."

"No, you were just being honest. I'm sorry I made you ever feel that way."

"You haven't asked me why I was here tonight."

"I figured you followed me; knew I was upset when I left you and might do something that was..."

"Incredibly foolish? I did remember to tell you just how angry I'll be if you ever do something like this again?"

"No. But now you have. I promise... This isn't a repeatable thing."

"Ever occur to you that Cheryse might have called Dino to verify what you told her? Never seemed a bit out of character for a place like this to welcome you with open arms?"

I sat up and picked at the edge of the sheet. I felt my face blush. "Jesus."

"Yeah. Kinda how I felt when he called me to ask me which of us was going to make sure nothing really bad happened to you."

"God. It just dawned on me. When we were talking on the phone that last time... I was driving over here. You were trying to talk me down, weren't you?" My eyes found his. He gave me a tiny nod. I was overwhelmed with how that made me feel. "You didn't stop me, though."

"Thought maybe you needed to see it through. Wasn't sure exactly what was going on with you... But I would never have let anything happen to you. It's why I arranged for the private show. Those men in there noticed you. It was only a matter of time before one of them touched you. I wouldn't have been responsible for what I'd have done... A man doesn't ever want to see other men touch a woman he cares for."

"Yet, you touched women who worked for Cheryse."

"Never said life was fair, Eris. Don't remember saying I was a saint... I'm not."

"But you are a white knight," I said softly. I reached out for his hand; we entwined fingers. "You have such an affect on me. You make me feel like taking chances and doing things I'd never do with another man. I don't know why that is, but it is."

"Is that a good thing?"

I slid in atop his body and took a long time to look deep in his eyes. And then I kissed him for a long time. It was an answer. It was a good one. It was one he deserved.