But first, I had to work. I got through four choreographed numbers before the music changed over and we were given our freedom to chat with the ladies. Some of them recognized me and as I walked over to Chastity, they tugged at my chaps and grabbed my arm; they all wanted a dance with the legendary Rooster. But I was a man on a mission and I told every one of them that I’d be right back.
If I cared to look at any of them, I’d have seen jealousy written plain and simple across their faces when I grabbed Chastity’s hand. But I was intent on getting her alone and finding out more about her. Why had her friend paid me to give her special attention? Did she have a horrible personality to go along with that beautiful face? Or was she a shy girl who’d never been kissed before?
I bring Chastity back to the Velvet Room and take her to one of the coveted tables in the back. While there are plenty of chairs for lap dances and a pole standing proudly near the entrance for a special performance, I know that what I want is a little intimacy with this woman. “Is this okay?” I ask as I escort her toward a seat. “It’s the quietest place here.”
“Oh, yes, this is great.” The sound in here is quite a bit lower than outside, but Chastity’s tone is still barely above a whisper.
I slide in beside her and make myself comfortable. Her eyes drift down to where our thighs are touching. “Is there a problem?” I ask with a genial smile on my face. If there is, I want her to feel comfortable telling me.
Chastity stares a few seconds longer at the connection between us before tilting her chin up and shaking her head. “No, of course not. Is your name really Rooster?” She doesn’t ask with a salacious undertone. Some women come in here and start asking questions like they’re going to be the woman who fixes me. But when I look at Chastity, I can tell that she’s the one who needs fixing.
“No,” I allow, “Rooster is my stage name.” I reach across the expanse between us and grab her hand. I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I need to feel her skin on mine. My chaps might be brushing against her bare thigh, but there’s a strip of leather between us where I wish there was none.
“Wh-what are you doing?” She asks when I take her hand.
I run my finger along the length of her thumb. She is soft and smooth, her nails perfectly manicured. “Have you ever looked at someone andknownthat that thing between you could light the world on fire?” The words rush out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Just a few days ago, I was in the Velvet Room with a beautiful woman just like Chastity. She wanted me to talk dirty to her and show her my dick. She got a little handsy with the hope that I was too much of a man to stop her. But feeling her touch was like being scalded by hot water. There was something off about the way she felt. I might not have been able to explain it, but I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that what she was doing was wrong.
The opposite is true with Chastity. When I grabbed her hand to lead her back here, it was like all the pieces of the puzzle were coming together. Then when she pulled her hand away so that she could climb into the booth, my reality started to feel fragmented. There was something missing all of a sudden.
“I feel like a moth drawn to a flame, Chastity. I don’t know why, but there’s just something about you.” The words slip off my tongue and disappear into the silence. This must be how Romeo and Juliet felt when they first met. The intensity of my attraction to her is nothing short of Shakespearean.
Chastity’s fingers tremble in my grasp as she considers pulling away. I can feel her tugging her hand back little by little. But then, as her palm slips out of mine, she rests her fingertips in the base of my grip. “You’re a very poetic man, Rooster. Is this normal? Between uh,” she pauses and looks up at me with a frown, “between people like me and strippers?”
I chuckle as I shake my head no. “Hardly. Python, one of the other guys I work with, pretty much falls in love with a new girl every night. But he’s not the monogamous type. By morning, he’s over the new object of his affections.”
She nods her head as if she understands. “I’ll be honest, Rooster, I’m confused about what’s happening here.”
So am I. I’ve spent the last year dancing at Stallions without a care in the world. I’ve made money that would make grown men cry and I’ve dated some of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known. But all of that seems eclipsed by the way Chastity makes me feel. Maybe it’s her big, blue eyes or the coral pink of her lipstick. Maybe I’ve been bamboozled by her dipping neckline accentuating what’s beneath. Perhaps it’s the way she carries herself with a dash of confidence and a handful of uncertainty. But there’s just something about Chastity. “Tell me about yourself,” I ask after a few moments. “What do you do?”
Another couple enters the Velvet Room and they take a spot in the center of the room. The woman sits in the chair as Big D hovers over her and dances. They distract us both for a second.
“I work in an office,” Chastity says after a minute, “at a church.”
Chastity: just as sweet as her name. “I’m sure that’s an interesting job.”
Her eyes drift from the couple in the middle of the room and fall back onto my face. “I guess. I’m the first to know about drama within the church or marital issues among its members. People tend to schedule appointments with me to see the pastor and when I ask about the nature of their visit, they use me as a kind of pre-appointment therapist.” A smile twitches at the corners of her lips. “It’s kind of fun some days, but for the most part, it’s boring. I deal with marketing and church payroll and all those boring things. It isn’t what I’d have picked for my life.”
As soon as the words are out of her mouth, Chastity’s eyes widen and her hand slips out of mine. There’s an immediate coldness where her fingers used to be, but she brings the appendage up to her lips and nibbles on the digits. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she whispers, “I didn’t mean it.”
“It’s okay to want more than you have, Chastity. We all want more.” In fact, the ‘more’ that I want has been plaguing me for days. It’s an iceberg that I keep running into. “What do you want to do, Chastity? If anything were possible. Dream big.”
Her eyebrow dip into a V-formation as she thinks about it. “My degree is in art history,” she says as she bites her bottom lip anxiously. “When I was a kid, I loved museums. God, I loved the history and the beauty of whatwas. I wanted to grow up to run one of those places. I wanted to give adults a chance to learn something new and I wanted to bring an element of fun to the kids who toured. Kids don’t always like museums, you know,” she says with a curt little shrug.
I remember my elementary school class field trips. We toured exhibits on automobiles and the civil war. We learned about art through the ages. I even remember going on a tour of an old plantation. It wasn’t until years later that I understood the importance of those field trips. When you’re a kid, all you think about is getting out of the classroom. It barely crosses your mind to be interested in the way cars were invented or why plantations have bad reputations.
“I went into art history because I ultimately wanted to be a curator for a famous museum. But if that failed, I would have been happy to be a director or something equivalent.” Chastity goes on with a funny look in her eye. “But there aren’t many art museums in the area and when I was applying for jobs, I got turned down a lot.”
In a way, I can relate to that. Before Stallions, I was a gym teacher. I spent six years in locker rooms and gymnasiums trying to teach high school kids the importance of physical fitness. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I was happy to settle. I wanted to go back to school and become a physical therapist, but I didn’t have the funds. I kept telling myself that I’d do it eventually, but eventually never came. Then when I wanted to do more at the school, I was told to stay in my lane.
My lane ended pretty quickly after that. I thought I’d find another job, but the more I applied, the less interested I was in starting over at another school. A girlfriend told me about Stallions and I thought that this was it, this was finally my opportunity to make the money I needed to go back to school and start my life over again. “I’ve been here for a year now,” I finish with a shrug. “I’ve got the money to start over, get my degree in physical therapy, but I just haven’t done it.”
Chastity listens intently, nodding her head along with my story and making the appropriate murmurings when required. “Why not?” She finally asks when I stop talking. “Why haven’t you gone back to school?”
I meet her gaze and once again the breath is stolen from my lungs. “Why haven’t you continued to apply for museum jobs?”
A little laugh escapes through her lips and her shoulders tilt up into a shrug. “I don’t know. The rejection, probably.”