5. Brent

FIVE

Brent

F ridays aren't supposed to be stressful. They're the "dress in jeans and polo type days," which are meant to be relaxing. Except, I went and scheduled a lunch date with Scotlyn. The same Scotlyn that has a starring role in every dirty fantasy I have ever had. Which, by my assessment, is a lot since I ran into her at Society X.

I can't sleep, think, or even shower without picturing the object of my wet dreams, naked and doing things to my body or me doing things to hers. Somehow, my virginal mind has been able to conjure up the most vivid images of acts I have never even come close to doing, let alone actually knowing how to do them. Like, how do I know when to flip someone over and tell them to get on all fours? Or tell someone to suck my . . . What do I even say? Dick? Cock?

Thanks to Google and internet porn, I have a vague grasp on how this whole sex thing works. I've learned a few things, well as much as one can learn from reading and watching choreographed sex. At least, I think I have. One thing is for sure, I'm going to get my cock milked. Apparently, this happens to all guys. I know I'll be the exception because I probably don't work right.

I look down from the computer screen at my growing erection. It's embarrassing. All I have to do is think about Scotlyn and my friend starts to rise, as if he's being called for duty. As much as I hate thinking about being in the Dark Room with someone I don't know, I think it's the right move for me. I want to get the initial first-time crap out of the way and then maybe I'll have enough courage to put the moves on Scotlyn.

Oh, who am I kidding ? I don't have moves. I'm not slick or smooth with the ladies. There isn't one thing about me that attracts women like Scotlyn. She's going to lunch with me today because we were friends in high school. Although we technically dated, I have long suspected I was the safe choice and kept her out of trouble. I can count on one hand how many times I kissed her. Actually, she is the one who initiated the kiss. That moment is a blur and for all I know I spit in her mouth.

Nope, can't think about that because Lana Lovegood loves it when big beefy men with thick juicy cocks spit in her mouth.

I hang my head, embarrassed by my thoughts and thankful my coworkers have no idea what's going on in my mind. I blame them, my deplorable sex-deprived coworkers, for taking me to that stupid club. Yes, I know if I hadn't gone, I wouldn't have run into Scotlyn, but let's be honest, ever since seeing her, I've become one of those sex-deprived people who are the bane of my existence right now.

The alarm on my phone sounds. I shut it off and then power down my workstation. I know that once I leave, the others will sit around and gab for the rest of the day. It's what employees do and is another reason why I had to come to Portland to fix their shit.

"I'm gone for the rest of the day," I say as I walk out the door. I don't bother pinpointing my message to anyone in particular.

I tap the address Scotlyn gave me and see how bad traffic is and whether I can walk or not. I turn on the guidance for walking and set out to find the bistro where we're meeting. While I like Portland, I miss Texas. Mostly the weather and the food. I love the Texas heat. The "authentic" restaurants downtown are okay and they're trying their best, but the food back home is better.

After a twenty-minute walk, which should've taken me ten if there hadn't been a group of people having a dance battle on the street corner that I stopped to watch, and then taking a wrong turn, I arrive at the restaurant a little later than planned. Thankfully, Scotlyn has the day off and didn't sound too upset when I texted her to let her know I was running late.

The host shows me to the table. The bistro is definitely worth the walk. It's in an open-air mall and the ceiling over the restaurant is all glass. Very chic. When I get to the table, I kiss Scotlyn on her cheek. She holds her cheek against my lips. Or at least I think she does. I could be imagining it because it's what I want.

"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting."

"Not a problem," she says. "Do you have to go back soon?"

"No, I'm done for the day." I put my napkin in my lap, along with my clasped hands. "I figured if I'm having lunch with a gorgeous woman on a beautiful day, I might as well take the rest of the day off and enjoy my fortune."

"Ah, that's so sweet." Scotlyn blushes. "I'm glad we could do this. Honestly, I'm glad your friends brought you into the club the other night."

"They're definitely not my friends," I tell her. "I'm their boss and I think they invited me to be nice. As much as I wish I hadn't seen what I had, I am grateful."

"It's not that bad, ya know."

"So you said the other night."

We pause our conversation when the waiter arrives to take our drink order. I stick with water, while Scotlyn orders a glass of white wine.

"And if you remember," she says after the waiter leaves. "I also told you no one is there against their will. Society X is a well-run establishment and highly sought after. I was lucky to get the job I have."

"No high turnover?"

She shakes her head. "People tend to stay there for a long time or as long as their bodies can handle it. But it's not just dancing."

"Right, the rooms."

She nods. "Those and if you need entertainment for a function."

I can't help but smile, and not in a good way. "What kind of function requires stripping?"

Scotlyn adjusts in her chair. "Have you ever been to a casino?"

I nod.

"Did any of the tables have dancers on them?"

Another nod.

"Imagine your firm having a casino night. If you want it to be like Vegas, you bring in dancers. At Society X, you can hire any of the dancers for your event. Or, say you need someone to carry those giant cards with whatever round it is for a boxing match. Our staff does those sorts of things."

"What about jumping out of a cake?"

Scotlyn's eyes widen. "Yes!"

"I get it," I tell her. "It's just not my thing."

Even though I'm going to hopefully utilize a feature.

"It's not for everyone."

"So, I've got to ask, do you feel comfortable working at the club? I'm not judging, but it feels so different from what your dreams were when we were in high school. I'm just curious. I don't know, I guess I feel this way because I've never been into a strip club before."

The waiter returns with our drinks and asks for our order. I haven't even looked at the menu because I'm too busy admiring Scotlyn. I glance quickly, see a club sandwich, and tell the waiter. Scotlyn orders an alfredo pasta dish, which sounds delicious.

"Of course, I feel comfortable at the club," she says, laughing as if it's an absurd question. "Our security guys are the best." She shrugs and smiles. "I feel safer there than anywhere else in the city."

Our food arrives and we take a few minutes to dig in.

"Okay, now tell me what's going on with you. Married, divorced, kids?" she asks.

"None of the above," I tell her and then add, "No girlfriend, either. Or boyfriend."

"Boyfriend? Are you . . .?"

My eyes widen and my mouth drops open. Did I give her that impression? Shit, I must've. "No, I'm not," I tell her. "And nothing against those who are. I'm attracted to women."

Believe me, I'm attracted to you.

Scotlyn smiles, and I want to think it's because she likes me, even though it's a far-fetched notion. She can get any guy she wants. There's no way she's attracted to me—not with the men she must see on a daily basis at Society X. I'm plain, boring, and a virgin. I wouldn't even know how to satisfy her. Not to mention it would be embarrassing for me when I shy away from her touch.

I need help.

"Do you ever think about going back to Texas?" I ask, changing the subject. I have to get my mind off sex and sex with her because neither are going to happen.

"At times. I do miss the weather, but Portland has a lot to offer. An hour plus west or east and you're at the beach or at the mountain. It's kind of like having the best of both worlds in a sense."

"It rains a lot."

"It does, but springtime is gorgeous when everything blooms, and they have an amazing festival here in June. That's when the ships come in."

"Ships?"

She nods. "Fleet week."

Ah, so she's referring to sailors who defend our country. Yep, she's out of my league.

"How's your mom?" she asks.

"She's doing well," I tell her. "Retired and living in some community for people her age, driving around in a golf cart but not golfing."

"Really?"

"Yep, she claims she's golfing but it's like a gab session."

"Sounds like book club," Scotlyn says. "When I moved in with Christy, she had a weekly book club meeting. I thought, ‘oh, finally, someone I can talk to about books' but it's anything but books. It's a lot of drama. Who is sleeping around on their spouses and so on. Scandalous neighborhood excitement. I know more about Christy's friends' lives than I care to admit. But it's fun and a way to relax."

"You ladies probably talk about the club."

"I think only one of her friends is a member, but Christy wouldn't know what her friends do there. She only handles the male clients. Jared handles all the female clients."

"I find the concept fascinating."

"It's definitely unique."

"And popular. I saw a commercial for it on TV last night," I say as the waiter brings our bill and I hand over my credit card.

"You'll have to let me treat you to something," Scotlyn says.

"How about a movie tomorrow night since you've got plans tonight?"

"That's perfect."

After I pay, I walk Scotlyn out, fully aware of the men staring at her. If I had any machismo, I'd hold my head up high and smirk. But these guys would probably laugh if I did so now.

Outside, we hug, and she promises to check in with me tomorrow. I stand there, watching her walk away, wishing I could be more outgoing and not so reserved. It's frustrating—the way I am with women—and I'm hoping something comes to fruition at the club. If I had a little more confidence in myself, I'd make a move on Scotlyn.

When she's no longer in view, I turn and head in the opposite direction. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I excitedly take it out, hoping it's a text from Scotlyn telling me she's canceled her plans. It's not.

Christy: Tonight, 9 pm. Are you available?

I look over my shoulder, wondering if I'm being punked. This can't be real. I type back that I'll be there and then look at the time. I have seven hours until I'm no longer a virgin.

How does one prepare to lose their virginity?

"Ah, shit."