Clyde After Dark

The bar in The Devil’s Cage is quiet this afternoon. Despite it being a Friday, there are only a few regulars who are watching the strip performances which are going on, and I’m starting to feel bored.

I gaze over at the stage where one of the male strippers is doing his sexy routine for a small group of screaming and wolf whistling women. I long to be up there, wearing very little and doing my own erotic dance moves, while hundreds of people watch me. It’s a dream which I’ve had for years, ever since my days at university. But so far, I’ve had no luck in making it a reality.

An hour later I’m finally allowed to take my lunch break, and I head into the break room, expecting it to be quiet, but I find one of the other male strippers standing by the wall of metal lockers instead. I smile at the familiar thick, blonde hair and casual stance, which I’ve seen many times in the foyer of the apartment building which we both happen to live in, and consequently drawn countless times in my sketchbook. He’s always looked so good from behind, and I take a moment to drink him in, admiring the way his tight, grey jeans hug his toned ass. I guess he must have finished his shift, as he’s no longer wearing his usual cowboy attire. Unlike the female strippers who work here, all the men have their own aesthetic outfits which they wear for each of their performances.

He goes by the name Eros here at the club – the Greek god of love – but his real name is Ellis, and he has the sexiest accent I’ve ever heard. He’s not British, but American, and according to the other strippers he hails from Kansas - or “cowboy country” as they like to call it. Though his accent isn’t as strong as I’m sure it used to be, since he’s been working here at The Devil’s Cage for the past seven years, it’s still slightly prominent. It’s easy to tell he’s not British when he speaks.

I try not to bite my bottom lip as I make my way over to the fridge, while letting my eyes linger on his muscular arms. They’re the first thing my eyes always focus on when I see him around the club, but I’ve never noticed the tattoo which he has on his forearm before. It must be new, because I know what every inch of those arms looks like, just from watching him work the stage so many times.

Out of all the male strippers who work here he’s the most experienced, and he never fails to disappoint a crowd. I guess being bi-sexual and proud of it helps, as he enjoys stripping for both men and women. He doesn’t seem to have a preference, and when I had found this out my heart had almost leaped out of my chest.

Being bi-sexual myself I thought I would be the odd one out when I started working here as a bartender, four years ago. So to discover that one of The Devil’s Cage’s most popular male strippers was also bi-sexual had made me feel a lot more relaxed, not to mention turned on.

I remember being enamoured with his sexual strip routine when I had seen it for the first time. He was the only male stripper who could send my heart racing, and even now I have butterflies in my stomach every time I see him. I’ve never been turned on so much by one man before, but at the same time I’m afraid of making my intentions known. I’ve never been good at asking men out on dates, and for all I know he might already be in a relationship with someone. From what I’ve heard from the other male strippers he doesn’t talk about his private life, and has revealed very little of himself to them since he started working here.

I take my salad box out of the fridge, and as I walk over to the table, I see he’s standing and flicking through what looks like a portfolio, with the door to his locker open. I set my lunch box down on the table, before I make my way over to my own locker, wanting to get my drink, and as I unlock it, I glance over at him and see he’s wearing a pair of cheap headphones, which are connected to an old cassette tape player which sits inside his open locker.

I don’t expect him to notice me as I take a box of wipes out of my backpack, so I can clean my glasses, but I must have made a lot more noise than I usually do today, because he glances at me, and for what must be the first time since I moved in next door to him, he looks right at me, with such captivating brown eyes that my heart skips a beat. I’m suddenly entranced and can’t look away from his intense gaze.

My grip on my glasses tightens as I stare back at him, lost in his beauty. I’m not sure what to do, so I offer up an awkward smile as his appreciative eyes quickly roam over my body. I feel heat rise to my cheeks as I put my glasses back on. He’s never checked me out like this before, and I’m suddenly feeling rather hot underneath his strong stare.

‘Uh, hey, Ellis,’ I say, only to remember he’s wearing headphones. He probably can’t hear me.

‘Hey there,’ he suddenly mutters in a deep, almost gravelly voice, and at first I think I must have imagined it. But I quickly realise I hadn’t when he speaks again, and the sound of his accent makes my body tingle as he takes off his headphones and places them around his neck. ‘Nice jumper.’

I glance down at the red and black Christmas jumper which I’m wearing. ‘Uh, thank you,’ I say as I idly push one of the sleeves further up my arm. It wasn’t the reaction which I had been expecting, or the one thing I had expected him to focus on. ‘I thought, seeing as Christmas is coming up, I should try looking a little more festive, you know?’ I awkwardly shut my own open locker, before I ask him in a bright voice if he’s looking forward to Christmas. Now he’s talking to me, I want to make this conversation last a little bit longer while I have the chance to. It’s not often that I get a chance like this to talk to him while we’re at work. Despite living in the same building, and working at the same place, we’ve hardly spoken to one another. He rarely speaks to anyone, preferring to keep to himself.

I see him run a hand over his stubble at my question. ‘Not really,’ he mutters as he turns off his cassette tape player.

‘Why not?’ I ask him, suddenly intrigued.

‘I don’t like Christmas.’

I blink at him. ‘Really?’ I exclaim incredulously. ‘How can you not like Christmas?’

He looks at me with a neutral expression on his rugged face. He’s always been very easy on the eyes, and I’m sure if he didn’t shut himself off from everyone, he would be one of those guys who could get any girl or guy he wanted. Aside from his strong jawline, which is covered with a thick scruff, his face is all sharp angles. I’ve always thought that he looks far more manly than he ought to. It should be a crime to be this good looking. But that’s why he’s a big draw here at The Devil’s Cage.

‘I just don’t,’ he replies, and goes back to flicking through his portfolio. I want to push him for a better answer, but as he takes out his backpack I instantly catch a whiff of his familiar musk, which sends my senses reeling, and my train of thought quickly disappears.