Things That Bang

Fiction: Cherries

He watched her melt down the pole on a sensual beat. Her movements were slow, her gaze glacial and her skin vanilla white under the psychedelic lights. His gaze rested on her pert nipples and then on the tight nylon patch of a bikini that barely covered her shaved vagina. His adam apple bobbed and his prick became thick like an uncooked Cannelloni. He wanted to adjust his fly and shifted a bit on the bar stool he sat on. A Kingfisher beer chilled next to him on the bar. Cherries was one of the few nightclubs that served Indian beers and the place had come highly recommended when he asked his seasoned Indian techie friends for a good strip club. The two geeks grinned at the FOB and together said - Cherries. They printed out the directions courtsey google maps and over the weekend had him dropped at the nightclub via a cab with a set of instructions- no touching, no buying drinks for the girls and no blatant leering. The first two instructions were easy to follow- he felt intimidated when two white goddesses slithered up to him in their sparkling bikinies and asked if he was alone. He gulped and nodded and blurted out - Just passing through! Their shapely eyebrows rose in surprise and their eyes flashed with mirth. Newbie! they thought and probably living on Ramon noodles. He looked away from the women, unable to rest his eyes on their semi naked state. Their close proximity made him nervous. He gripped the beer bottle and wished them away. The preying mantis moved on and tittered to each other. The man already forgotten. He berated himself for being an inept, impotent deliquent. His solar plexus and buttocks tightened and he found it hard to breathe. There was too much skin glistening in the dark. He gulped his drink and looked at the strippers on the pole. They performed magnificent feats on the pole and he wished Indian women were as dexterous and uninhibited. Compared to the strippers his wife had the sex appeal of a doorknob. In the womb of adult entertainment he came to hate his skin. He felt like a child who had been kept away from the goodies. He was a duty bound husband responsible for his old parents, his two children and his wife. He was a man who never walked on the wild side. The boisterous Americans behind him seemed to at ease at the strip club. They drank and laughed amongst themselves oblivious to the skin and glamour whereas he like a parched soul couldn't take his eyes off them nor control his hardened dick. He was convinced they all had raging sex lives with their women. And that was probably the reason for their satiated mannerisms whereas he was a quivering mess of pre-ejaculation waiting to happen. This was a world he would never belong to. He felt inferior, he felt out of his depth and the acidic taste in his mouth had nothing to do with the beer that had lost its fizz. He tried to shrug off the melanchia and turned his attention to harlot on the pole. But the moment was gone. He felt like a inspid roach caught in the glaring obscene light scuttling in a place he did not belong. He left his beer and walked out of the club. There were no taxis on the parking lot . He sighed and on his cell called one of the techies who suggested the nightclub. The guy on the other end sounded amused and asked whether he got to touch the white skin. Pain thumped between his eyebrows and he wanted to ram the cell phone down the throat of the amused techie. He pushed back his rage and asked the techie to come and pick him up. The techie agreed and he shoved the phone in his jean's pocket. Sudden female laughter made him turn and he stared at the glistening beauties in tiny clothes briskly walk towards their cars. Two looked through him and one gave him a slight smile. Strippers! his mind told him. They drove off and as his eyes followed the cars he felt a sudden urge to brawl his eyes out.