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The problem with being an extrovert was dealing with other people. No, that wasn’t fair. Most other people were fine, but Anders had been dealing with his family and clients all week long. He just wanted to get away from it all, and go some place where he could relax and have a conversation that did not involve complaints about work, or god business, or someone nagging him about deadlines, or anything that had to do with his day to day life, really.

Which is why he was here, on the seedier side of a town a couple of hours away from home, wandering around with a pocket full of cash and looking for trouble.

He passed a couple of rowdy bars – he was looking for the fun type of trouble, not the type that resulted in needing bail money – before he walked by a building that looked like a war bunker, all grey cinderblocks with no windows. There was a barred gate over a metal door, but both were wide open. In front of the door was a bored bouncer, hawking the wares inside every time someone got close.

“Heya, Mister,” the bouncer said as Anders approached. “I got what you’re looking for.”

Anders scoffed and kept walking. “I doubt it.”

“I got girls and I got boys. Twenty bucks gets you twenty minutes in your own private paradise,” the bouncer continued, already looking down the sidewalk for his next mark.

Anders slowed down. It had been a long time since he allowed himself to indulge in even the thought of a naked man. Spending a few minutes watching a dancer perform, where he could pretend it was personal, that it was just for him…

He turned and told the bouncer, “Yeah, all right.”

He handed over his cash, and in return got a key card. The bouncer instructed him, “Bar’s straight ahead. Past that, boys down the left hall and girls down the right. If the lock is green, you can go in. If it’s red, they’re busy and the door won’t open. You can buy more time if your twenty minutes runs out. Don’t make a mess.” With that he moved aside for Anders to pass, already calling to someone else on the street.

With a stop at the bar to buy two outrageously overpriced beers, Anders headed down the left hall. It was dim, with runners along the floor so he could see where he was walking. There were doors along the walls, and beside each door was a picture of a performer with a spotlight on it. It made him think of an art museum.

After a few pictures, he started to see a pattern. The first was a beefy blond on the beach, holding a surfboard. The second was a beefy blond on a hike, wearing shorts and boots. The third was a beefy blond on the beach again, only this one was playing volleyball. The fourth one was a blond twink with a skateboard, for variety.

This continued until about halfway down the hall, when he was stopped short by a different type of picture. No manscaped blond here. This was a man reclining on pillows in a bed, gloriously hairy chest on full display. He was sporting a heavy scruff that Anders could practically feel on the insides of his thighs. A riot of dark curls almost covered one eye, and the man was looking straight at the camera, as if daring people to come inside.

The light on the door’s lock was glowing a steady green. After a brief hesitation and another glance at the picture, Anders swiped his key card.

The room was small, more of a booth really, with one chair facing a glass partition. On the other side of the glass was a closed curtain. There was a cocktail table beside the chair, and Anders set his beers on it, next to a box of tissues. The room smelled of bleach and fake lemons, and there was a dispenser on the wall selling tiny packages of lube. Anders turned the chair around, straddled the seat, and crossed his arms along the back.

Music started, something with a lot of bass and a bump and grind beat that he didn’t recognize. It didn’t matter, because the curtain started to rise.

There was an elevated platform that served as a stage, no bigger than the room Anders was in. The first thing he saw was a pair of combat boots with a bit of a heel, one foot tapping along with the beat. The dancer was turned away, and the curtain kept going up, revealing long legs in skinny jeans so tight they looked painted on, taut calves and thighs going up and up to an ass that Anders could practically feel in his hands. The curtain rose further, exposing slim fingers, graceful wrists, a trim waist, a tank top showing off bulging biceps, and shoulders that just wouldn’t quit.

Anders leaned closer, pressing his chest against the back of the chair.

For the first verse of the song, the dancer didn’t turn around. He just stood on the stage and started rolling his hips to the beat. His shoulders started rocking in counterpoint, and he turned with a wriggle in his spine.

The performer’s eyes were closed, and his plush bottom lip was caught between his teeth. The advertised scruff was there, looking darker under the lights. His hair was back off his face, looking as if it had been styled with some sort of product, but the curls were already starting to rebel. He danced as if he was alone in his own living room, caught up in the beat of a favorite song. It was sensual, sexy, and utterly captivating. He caught the hem of his tank top with one hand and tugged on it before opening his eyes and looking at Anders.

“Well, hello,” Anders said.

The man quit biting his lip and smiled. It was no practiced pout, or artificial tease. It was a smile that lit up his whole face, and made the room seem brighter. Anders couldn’t help but return it.

He tugged up the hem of his shirt for a moment, showing off a cute little belly button with a trail of hair below it that Anders would love to trace with his tongue. The dancer released his shirt and did some sinuous, twirling move, flashing another glimpse of that fantastic ass before facing Anders again. He grabbed the hem of his shirt with both hands, pulling and lifting it before finally taking his shirt off with one swift jerk.

“Oh, you’re a handsome one,” Anders said.

The dancers did another slithery wriggle and said, “Why, thank you.”

“I didn’t know you could hear me,” Anders admitted as he leaned in to feed a bill into a slot marked tips at the bottom of the glass wall.

The dancer hummed and unbuckled his belt. He left the ends loose, hanging from the loops, as he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, exposing more of that tantalizing trail of hair and a groove at his hip. He danced again, twisting and wriggling to the beat. His skin was starting to glisten, his exertions working up a sweat.

Anders’ mouth ran dry and he had to take a swallow of his beer before asking, “Do you take requests?”

The dancer ran a hand down his chest before he said, “It depends what it is.”

“What’s your name?”


Anders snorted. Then again, did he expect the guy to give a real name? At least it was something that was believable. He fed another bill into the slot.

John did something, and the side of the jeans came loose, giving a glimpse of pale thigh and green booty shorts. He turned to the other side and writhed.

Off, Anders wanted those jeans to come off, needed it to happen now. He couldn’t begrudge John for drawing it out, though. More time meant more tips, and sometimes dancers got a cut of the extra time bought. That was fine, Anders had money to burn.

John faced Anders once more. The jeans, secured with velco, came off with a yank and left John wearing those heavy combat boots and a pair of olive-green shorts.

Anders traced them with his eyes, how they lovingly clung to the tight ass under them and wondered how it was possible to be jealous of underwear. He wondered how John would react if he offered to get on his knees and peel those shorts off with his teeth. Maybe John would give him another one of those blinding smiles. He wondered if dancing was all John did for money.

That was something he didn’t need to know. There was a heady sense of power knowing John was on that stage and dancing just for him. Something about the anonymous nature of it, staying completely clothed and relaxed while John stripped and entertained him, made him feel powerful, in charge. He wondered if John could even see him past the lights and glass.

John kept dancing, and Anders took another swig of beer without looking away. Damn, that man was fine. Each move was bold and sexy, a lewd statement to the beauty of the male form. It was decadent, having the privilege of sitting here and watching.

Anders wanted to flash more cash, ask John to strip off those little shorts and touch himself, watch as the man pleasured himself, see his face in the throes of ecstasy.

This was enough right now, though. For the first time in days, Anders was at peace. Even if it was just for a few minutes, that was enough. He was reluctant to speak, to move, to break the spell being cast by this man and his beautiful movements.

He was beyond fine. He was perfect.

The music changed and John kept dancing. Anders tried to take another drink, but both of his beers were gone already. He’d finished them and hadn’t even noticed.

The lights flashed, and John said, “Time’s almost up. Would you like to buy more?”

Anders was tempted. Spend another twenty minutes watching John move, locked away from all his responsibilities and obligations? A private paradise, indeed.

With a sigh, he shook his head. “Not tonight, gorgeous.”

John watched as Anders stuffed several more bills through the slot. “Well, I’m here every weekend if you change your mind.”

Anders stood up and didn’t bother to hide the fact he needed to adjust his erection. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

As he left, he was already wondering how to adjust his schedule so he could visit next week.