Taming the Bad Boy
“The shirt sailed toward the table. I dreaded it touching the alcohol that had spilled on the wood. Real silk wouldn’t survive it. So I stood and caught it in mid-air. I was rewarded with a broad wink. I pulled the shirt to my chest, and I couldn’t help noticing the heady scent that rose from it. Nari glared at me. After sending a brief apology to the dry cleaner who was going to have to fix it, I balled the shirt up and pushed it deep into my lap.
Lyrics got suggestive. The tight ribbed black tank Rafe was wearing close to his skin, came off as well. I didn’t try to grab for it this time. I was already in for a stiff lecture.
Bumping and grinding, Rafe was butt down on the platform undulating to the beat, the tight leather pants obscuring nothing. The names of movie and sports stars blasted from the speakers. The top two buttons of his pants came undone. Hollywood’s female icons thumped with the bass. The zipper came down.
I knew what was coming. How could I not? I couldn’t look away. I could look all day. Looking was okay. Like the black and white video of the song, lights pulsed, throwing the club into black and white relief.
A quick black out, and the pants were gone. I must have missed the shoes and socks, because Rafe was gyrating on the platform almost as naked as the day he was born, save for some black boxer briefs shot through with silver threads.
Those threads were only on the front center, and back of the shorts, highlighting what was underneath. Before I knew it, he was letting his body go with the flow. It was a nice flow. His skin was golden, and bathed in a sheen of sweat. The lights cast blue, red, and ended in gold on him. Silence. A single beat. And it went dark again.
I didn’t care if Nari thought I was crazy. I clapped and hooted as loudly as his friends and those around me. The lights and music started again, but Rafe was gone.”
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