Saturday, October 22, 2005

Gina Part Two

I slip into the watery depths of Gina's eyes, my surroundings dissolving into an aqueous blur. There's no more Tom. No more plastic bunnies. No more sense of reason.

Just Gina and her sparkling eyes.

"You have the most incredible eyes," I tell her. "I can't stop staring into them."

I've never felt like this at a strip club. Losing grip with reality. Common sense drowning in my bottle of beer. I'm sure it's just an act, but Gina just seems so different. And I feel so different sitting next to her.

"Your eyes are sparkling," I said. "At first I thought it was the reflection of those mirror balls and all the lights."

She shakes her head resolutely before I can finish my thought. "They only reflect my soul," she says.

Her pupils flash from green to steel blue to gray, with flames dancing around the retinas. It's how I'd imagine a fallen angel's eyes might look--as she lures you away from reason and sensibility and drags you helplessly into eternal darkness.

"You have really beautiful eyes yourself," she says, massaging my thighs.

Though the compliment makes me feel good, its source raises doubts in my mind.

"But you have to say that," I reply.

"I don't have to say anything," she states firmly.

"You're not going to insult me, otherwise there'd be no money in it for you. I'm sure you have to shower all the guys here with compliments."

Gina's smile fades as she removes her hands from my legs. "No, I don't have to say anything. I can just ask you questions about what you do for a living, the weather. I wouldn't tell you that you had beautiful eyes unless I meant it."

There's conviction in her voice and I want to believe. But I know that everything in a strip club is just an illusion. The girls make a living out of making you feel special. I'm torn between reality and fantasy and what to believe. Should I believe a stripper when she compliments me?

A voice suddenly screams into my head, pulling everything back into focus.

"What the hell are you talking about?!" it yells.

It's Tom.

"Make her dance already!" he slurs while tossing a $10 bill in my direction. The girls surrounding him are enjoying our show while sipping watered-down drinks. Their basketball breasts remain unnaturally still while their diaphragms ripple with laughter.

Gina smiles and asks the inevitable question. "Would you like a dance?"

"I wish you were asking me that under different circumstances," I reply. "Like at a club. But since that's beyond my control at the moment, you may as well dance here."

At the start of the next song Gina begins her dance. Her curvaceous body slowly gyrates and grinds by my legs. Her black bustier peels off, revealing shapely, natural breasts.

Leaning into my face, she squeezes her breasts inches from my hungry mouth. She pulls away moments before contact, flashing a lustful grin. Gina glides her hands sinuously along smooth creamy legs, pausing to caress the outline of her black panties. Again her body drops closer to mine, tempting me. I yearn to stroke her milky thighs, swirl my tongue around that flat stomach. But it's forbidden to touch; I would be expelled from this sultry paradise.

Gina moves in close to my face, and whispers into my ear. "I'm really glad you came in today."

We smile at one another and I so want to believe.

When the song ends Gina hands me her bustier.
"Would you put this back on for me?" she innocently asks. "I'm sure you have a lot of experience with this type of thing."

I'm excited at the chance to wrap my arms around her while doing this, but I struggle. I'm fumbling in the darkness and can't properly hook the clasps together.

"Are you okay back there?" she asks.

"I'm having a bit of trouble," I tell her, a bit embarrassed. "It's too dark and I can't see what I'm doing."

Reaching her hands around, she easily hooks her bustier back together.

"I've always had trouble with bras and other things that clasp and hook," I explain. "I've never worn them myself so I can't be expected to work them like an expert."

Gina looks at me curiously and laughs. Then she leans over and lightly kisses my mouth. A strip club first for me.

"There's something about you," she says, "that makes me feel really good inside."

The irregular rhythm of techno music pounds my ears while smoke drifts off the stage and clouds around my head. The kiss, the beer, the music, Tom, the plastic girls, Gina, the smoke...that kiss...fog my brain and I can't think clearly. I need to get out.

"I have to call work," I announce and immediately stand up.

I look over at Gina. "Will you be here when I come back?" I ask, sounding like a desperate schoolboy.

"Of course I'll wait for you," she replies.

Stepping out of the darkness of Rachel's I'm instantly blinded by the mid-afternoon sun. I have trouble focusing in the bright light and the parking lot is blanched and overexposed. But the fresh air is invigorating and I'm soon able to see more clearly. I need to call work...and lie.

Rob, a co-worker, answers.

"Hi, Rob, it's me. I have some errands to run and I won't be returning to the office today."

I pause, realizing I need to embellish this further. "Yeah, this really sucks," I continue. "I wanted to get this minor thing done on my car and now it's taking forever. And now there's an accident on the highway and everything's all backed up. I'm gonna have to take a half a vacation day."

"No problem," Rob replies. "See ya tomorrow."

Cars speed down Orange Avenue as a plane roars overhead. Everything hurries at a frenzied pace outside, quickly moving forward, quickly growing old. But inside Rachel's time is always frozen. There is no past and there is definitely no future. All that matters is the present--a beautiful young girl making you feel special. No clocks, no windows. Just darkness swallowing all sense of reality--and reason. I'm desperate to return.

I snap my phone shut and am about to stuff it into my pocket when it vibrates threateningly in my palm.

"####!," I think. "It's probably someone from work--they're on to me."

Flipping the phone open I check the caller ID. And freeze.

The number illuminated on the screen is most familiar--my wife.

I stand motionless in the parking lot as the world rushes past, the phone ringing and vibrating in my hand. I should answer this call, I say to myself. Bring myself back to reality. If I can explain what's going on inside Rachel's, about Tom and blowing off work--and especially about Gina, I'll feel so much better. A complete absolution of guilt. There's nothing wrong with the situation if I can just tell Sera that what's going on is beyond my control. I'm stuck here and I have no choice in this. Once I purge this from my system I'll regain complete control of my senses. It's an easy decision. Just answer the phone.

But it keeps ringing.

And ringing.

Until I snap it shut and stuff it deep into my pocket.

And I turn and head back to the darkness.

Back to Gina.


Blogger Stefanie said...

I forgive you. Not that you were asking me to...

1:03 AM  

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