Strip Teaser (Naked Night's) (7 page)

I toss my Kindle aside in frustration. After watching Alex perform last night I just can't get my mind off him.  It means I can't concentrate on the book I'm trying to read either. Every time something sensual happens to the characters in the book I find myself imagining that it's happening to Alex and me instead.   Face it girl, he bats for the other side, it's never going to happen.

I look at the clock on my phone. Tiny's decided he's taking me to the gym today as I've refused to let Alex show me any more routines. He's promised to be gentle with me but for some reason I'm taking that promise with a pinch of salt.

The knock at the door shifts me from my stupor.   Time to head to the gym.

***

So much for Tiny going easy on me, this is ten times harder than the routine that Alex put me through.  We start off on the treadmill like last time but from the first set of cardiac stretches it's different.  I never realized Tiny had such an evil streak.  It's not just that the routines harder, making me really break out in a sweat, a lot of the moves are just humiliating.

Alex had me swinging that viper tube thing up over my head, but no, Tiny wants me to do the viper crawl, possibly the most embarrassing position I've ever found my body in at a gym.  I have to lean over the viper as it points away ahead of me, my hands flat to the floor either side of it, my arse in the air and my feet on the ground.  I grab the viper and throw it forward, not that 8 kilos goes very far in this position, then crawl towards it and repeat the motion until I'm at the end of the sectioned off area.  Now when babies crawl they have their knees on the floor, which would be more natural than this arse up position I'm in, and it takes a moment or two for my brain to actually work out how to move.  I breathe in a sigh of satisfaction at the end until he tells me I have to go back the same way. Great.  Nope, still not enough, back again. Then, when I think we're done he tells me I can't throw it forward any more. I can only push it from the end closest to me.  At this point I do swear. This thing is bloody heavy and barely moves at all using this move.

Just when I think the embarrassment is over he wants me to lie on my back and lift my torso and legs at the same time.

"Just a small lift." he commands. It's a good job this is Tiny and I adore him, or he'd be getting a fat lip around now.  "Crunch up and imagine I'm there between your trembling thighs, making you wet... Now push up harder...” To that he smirks at my face, which is showing complete shock.  I've probably turned an interesting shade of puce as well. 

I manage to lift my torso less than inch. Tiny fails to look impressed. "I know you can do it harder, your eyes tell me more! ... Your sweat makes me proud of you, which means you want it as much as me." That's too much for me and I pull myself to a seated position and burst into giggles. If this had been in any other context, such as one of the books I love to read, it would have been a bloody hot scene.  As it is, I'm a sweaty mess sitting on a gym mat, too exhausted to try anymore.

"What's with you?" Tiny asks. He's really confused and has no idea how his innocent words just affected me.  Damn this sexual frustration I'm suffering thanks to Alex.

"I'm sorry. I've just not got it in me today." I mumble. "Why don't you go do your session and I'll go cool down on the cross trainer and grab a shower. I'll meet you in the coffee bar when you're done."  I don't wait for his answer, instead I stand and grab my gym towel and water bottle before heading over to the cross trainer to finish off.

I'm not sure how I'm going to handle another seven weeks of this.  Granted the guys aren't what I'd expected. They're certainly brawny but they're not as brainless as I'd given them credit for.  In just a few days they've started to feel like family.  I can't let some silly emotions and fantasies get in the way here. I'm supposed to be working and acting like a professional after all.

I push myself harder than I should on the cross trainer, it's supposed to be a cool down after all, but I need to punish myself somehow and this is the only way I can think of to do it right now.

I hit the showers and stand there for ages under the lukewarm flow. What is it with gyms and cold showers? Do they think we're all getting sexually worked up out there and need to cool down our libidos?  Whatever the reason, the shower works. I'm almost back to myself by the time I hit the coffee bar and slink into the softest, comfiest leather chair I can find whilst I wait for Tiny to join me.

I pull up my email on my phone while I'm waiting and almost spit my coffee across the room when I read the message from my boss.  He can't do this to me! It was bad enough that I was landed with this lame ass assignment, but now he's gone too far.  He's taken my story; the corrupt councilor and let that jerk Rob get hold of my research and run with it.  And then. And then I can't believe what I'm reading, he wants me to do a fluff story whilst I'm on the road with the tour.  This day just gets worse.

He wants me to log onto a dating site, a bloody free crappy dating site, and try and expose the married men who use it to cheat on their wives.  Is he mad?  He must be to think I'd lower myself like this.  But of course, he's not mad. He's wily.  The last line of the email reminds me how precarious my job is; how I need to be a team player right now, and write the titillating gossipy stuff that sells the paper.  Stuff isn't a word I'd have chosen; crap fits the role much better.

He also had the cheek to ask me to use some decent pictures, one's where I'm wearing something nice and have my face on. That's the phrase he uses when he wants me to wear make-up at some dull social affair the management of the paper is hosting.  Smile and look pretty.  Ugh. The thought of this assignment makes me feel dirty before I've even started it.

In his defense the tour alone isn't making the best use of my time. I do have the capacity to work on a second story, but this? This is like some tacky MTV show.

I download the app he's mentioned and start thinking of what to put for my bio.  I stick to the basics for now.  When it asks what I'm looking for I give it some thought. I definitely don't want to scare them off by saying I'm looking for a long-term relationship, but at the same time I don't want to come across as easy.  I choose 'want to date but nothing serious'.  That should get rid of any one-night stand wannabes.

The questions I'm working through seem fairly straightforward, they're asking if I've got kids, smoke, have a car, my height.  I pause at that one? Why height? Then I realize the last thing I'd want is to go out with someone shorter than me.  I go through the rest of the bio, careful to make it as truthful as possible; yet just interesting enough I may get a bite.  The more I think about it, this could be good for me. I've got a few friends who met their partner on a dating site and are still together.  It beats having to go out clubbing and trawling the bars for someone as well. If nothing else it will help distract me from thoughts of Alex.

I'm trying to find a decent profile picture when I'm surprised by Tiny coming up behind me. "What are you up to?" he asks as he sees the photo on my phone. "Is that you? You look hot!" he compliments me.  I guess I do feel good in this picture. It was taken before one of the boring work parties. I'd worn my slinky red dress, put some make up on and even straightened my hair for a change.  I'd felt good that night. 

I don't want Tiny to see what I'm doing, I'm ashamed to be working on this type of assignment, and I'd hate him to think I was on a dating site for real.

"Yep, thanks, are we going?" I mumble, quickly closing down the dating app and grabbing my bag.  Tiny looks a little surprised by my haste to leave, especially considering I've barely touched my coffee. He knows how much I need my caffeine fix after the gym.

***

Back in the safety of my room I get my iPad out and open the dating site again.  The first page that greets me is full of photos of men. The best way to describe it is somewhere between an embarrassing high school yearbook and a Crimewatch appeal by the police.

Where are all the hot, male bodies? This screen is full of dorks, thugs, overweight losers and more.  I mentally reprimand myself for being so shallow.  After all, an image doesn't tell me anything about their personality; or does it?

There's a guy posed in front of a helicopter and in a morning suit.  I scroll through his other images. He's trying to tell a story here.  He's at the races, in front of a flash car, on a tropical holiday.  Yep, he's selling himself as wealthy.  Nope, he's too much like a sugar daddy for me.

I haven't had time to fully complete my profile but the screen for 'My Matches' has a lot of results already.   I scroll down slowly.  There must be an error in the settings somewhere as its only showing older men.  There's not one under forty.  Okay, some of these are old enough to be my father. Yeuch.

As I read through some of the profiles I feel my heart soften a little. Some of these guys seem desperate to find the one.  They're looking for marriage or long-term relationships. From the little I did enter on my profile it's obvious to me these aren't suitable matches for me, nor for my article.

There's a little icon at the top of the screen that catches my attention. It's got a number three in it. I click on it and find I have three messages already. This should be interesting.

That red dress would look better on my bedroom floor.

Okay, I wasn't expecting that. I quickly find the delete conversation button.

Hi sweetie, how are you? You seem very nice.

That's not so bad I guess but how can he make that judgment based on one photo and a couple of lines about me?

Hi, may I start off by saying you look like a very attractive lady who has a beautiful smile and stunning eyes to match. I am looking for that Special Lady if she exists who is sadly missing from my life. Someone who is kind, honest, trustworthy, fun to be with yet very caring and loving at the same time just like me. Would love to hear back from you? xxx

Well that one makes me feel like a sleaze. The poor guy is just looking for love.  I look at his profile photo; it's just so ordinary.  When I scroll down his profile we have nothing in common.  I feel sorry for him; I hope he finds what he's looking for.  I send him a polite reply back to let him know I'm not the one.

I decide to fill my bio out a little, and add a couple more photos.  Some of the guys on here don't even have one profile pic. How do they expect anyone to talk to them? 

As I'm slowly scrolling through the pictures that are showing I think how weird it would be if someone I knew were on there.  I understand that some people use this particular site just to set up one night stands and liaisons, but the majority seems to be looking for something a little more permanent.

I'm not sure I'm comfortable with how close to my home address some of these people are, it tells me that there are at least two guys who live within five hundred yards of my home postal code.  That's a little creepy for me.

I scroll a little further down the page then pause. Shit. It happened. I look at the photo again to double check, it's him alright. I can't believe it. There on the bottom of the page.  I know him.  It's my friend’s husband.  And as far as I knew, when I spoke to her last week, she was under the impression they were still very much happily married.

I’m startled from my reverie when I hear Tiny knocking on my door, reminding me it’s time to check out and head over to the next venue.

I close the offending page on my iPad and shove it in my bag.  What should I do? What can I do? Right now, I feel like my world is upside down.  How do you even begin to tell a friend that she’s living a lie?

I don’t have time to figure it out right now; we’ve got to go.  I grab my bags and head down to the minibus.

Tonight’s theater is one of the smallest on the tour according to Eric.  There are fewer than 700 seats, but it’s sold out which is good. It does mean though the guys need to rehearse to ensure they can fit the routines on to the stage safely.

I’m watching from the wings as they perform their Officer and a Gentleman routine.  They all look hot in their white uniforms and caps.  I’d expected them to go with something soft for this routine, but no, they’ve gone for
‘Sexy and I know it’ by LMFAO
. I love the beat to this song.

They march out to the stage in time with the intro beat, pause then tilt their caps at the audience.  Because it’s a rehearsal I’m saved the ear-piercing shriek I know that will attract, but I can still hear it in my head.  All six of the dancers are in this routine as it’s just after the interval.

They click their fingers along to the music, at the same time moving their feet incredibly quickly and agilely in the steps from the music video.

There’s a lot of hip grinding in this routine, and that combined with just the appearance of the white suits is hot.   The white jackets have the illusion of polished gold buttons but I know that underneath it’s Velcro that’s keeping them fastened, allowing them to supposedly undo one button at a time without fumbling.  At the first ‘I’m Sexy and I know it’ chorus the jackets are gone; leaving glistening toned abs in their place.  Chest muscles flex at the ‘look at that body’ lines in the song. 

Just before the wiggle, wiggle, wiggle they reach down in unison, grabbing hold of their waistbands. In one flick of the wrist their trousers are gone.  Every time the song says wiggle, boy do they wiggle. Their hands either side of their heads, their hips pushing back and forwards so fluidly.  In those tight little dark briefs it’s easy to see who’s well packed and who isn’t.  The audience doesn’t seem to care.  They scream regardless.

At the final ‘I’m Sexy and I know it’ Jackal does a standing back flip, landing perfectly into a split.  Bloody hell, these guys really are fit!

The next routine is the cowboy routine.  It’s just Guido and Jonny. They perform this to
Five Finger Death Punch’s ‘Bad Company’
.  It’s slow to open, allowing them to stroll languidly onto the stage. Dark blue denim jeans, colorful checkered shirts, and cowboy hats pulled low over their foreheads.

They use the toy gun in their hands to push up the brim of the hats, revealing cheeky grins and sparkling eyes.  The guns are tucked into the back of the waistbands and their thumbs hook into the belt loops as they strut around the stage, postulating and gesturing at each other.

At the chorus ‘Bad Company’ they start to flip across the stage in opposite directions.  It’s absolutely awesome to watch, even with their clothes on.  This routine is one where they only take their shirts off.  It’s more about their agility on the stage. The sex comes from the moves.  The thrusts. The grinds. The twists.  The lights showcasing their highly toned, very well oiled, backs and chests.  You can see the power in these naked torsos.  Even watching from the wings I can feel it.

At one point Guido slides across the stage on his knees.  Now I get why they wear those very unsexy black kneepads.

As the song slows towards the end they face off against each other, assuming the position of a stand off.  There’s a flash of light at the final ‘Until the Day I die’ and Guido remains standing – the victor, Jonny lying crumpled on the floor.  The lights fade out.

I prefer watching the rehearsals to the live shows.  I still get to experience the lighting, the loud music and the sexy atmosphere. I just get to appreciate it without the heckling and cat calling.  I’m seriously ashamed to be female when it comes to some of the fans.

***

Rehearsal finished early enough that I’ve got time to take a stroll down the beachfront before we grab an early dinner.  It’s a long time since I came to Bridlington.  It’s not the classiest of places, just one step up really from Blackpool in terms of the people who tend to come here; but I have good childhood memories of visiting here.

I managed to sneak out while everyone was getting changed.  The contrast between the quiet beachfront and the bustle backstage at the theater is massive.  There seems to be an army of unpaid volunteers at each of the theaters we attend.  The dressers are the most fun, over the years they’ve seen it all and heard it all and as shy as I am, I feel most comfortable around them.

One of them today expressed surprise that the guys were so normal, and had very few demands.  It’s only when someone calls it to attention that I realize they’re right.  A lot of touring groups demand all sorts of perks and privileges.  Not my boys.  I stop myself, less than a week on the road with them and I’m already calling them my boys. I guess I do feel protective of them. 

She was telling me about the last group of strippers they’d had here. They’d demanded waist height mirrors so they could check out how their cocks looked, stuffed into their tiny briefs.  She’d laughed hysterically when she told me how she’d walked in on them one day to discover their briefs weren’t the only things that were tiny. 

“And they use elastic bands to make their thingies look bigger.” She’d shrieked with laughter. I’m way too innocent, as it took a few moments and several hand gestures for me to comprehend what she was saying. Ouch. That’s got to hurt.

I walk back towards the theater, past a row of shops selling cheap, tacky souvenirs and spot the racks of loom bands on display. Everywhere I turn these days there’s a rack of loom bands.  Suddenly, my mind connects loom bands and elastic bands and I realize I’ll never be able to walk past such a display again without blushing.