The Age Old Dance *I know it's similar to one of the scenes in Sex Drugs Rock n Roll, but I wrote this first and it's been laying in my files. So here it is*  He sat alone, in the back of the crowd, watching the women grind against the silver pole or against the slick hemetite floor. They had props galore, gallons of milk to be poured over them, snakes to wind around them, oh, they were professionals, and the club itself was of the highest quality. No dollar dances here. The minimum tip was $5.00, but you were expected to give more. VIP's were always expected to give more, lest they wanted their attendance to show up in the gossip section of the paper. The beer in his hand had long since gone warm. Drinking wasn't really why he was there, though. Hell, he could have been back at the hotel slamming them back with Joey, or Chris. No, he wasn't here to drink, but he'd needed something to occupy his hands, something to get his mind off the ache that was persisting between his legs. They told him to come here, to see a man named Grant, that he could hook him up. Hook him up. He chuckled at the thought of that. For chrissakes, he was one of the most eligible bacholers in America, with no shortage of females to take off their clothes, or pleasure him for that matter. But he desired more than that, more than the expectation in their eyes when he was done with them, the hurt look when he asked them to leave, and he was sure the disappointment they felt when he didn't call, even after they'd left him with their number. With this, there was no guilt, only pleasure. Pay for what you want, then you don't have regrets. At least that's what he was told. This was his first time trying this out, and Joey, bless his horny little heart, had directed him where to go. So, here he sat, as instructed, picking over the various strippers, trying to decide which one he would like to accompany him back to his hotel. He studied them, all different sizes and shapes, nationalities, personalities. Shit, I gotta stop thinking like that. They're not for keeps, just for a night. Don't think about perosnalities. Christ, think like Joey. He pushed his unfinished beer to the side and tugged his baseball hat down lower. While they knew his name, they didn't need to see his face. Only celebrities were privvy to the club and it's exclusive benefits. A pretty blonde took the stage, her aqualine features dazzling him. She looked like a model, or an actress, she was that pretty. Dressed in a nurse's outfit, he watched carefully as "Bad Medicine" by Bon Jovi played, and she pranced about the stage, clothes coming off in typical rehearsed fashion. Her deep blue eyes met his gaze, and she smiled broadly at him. He was unsure if the look was directed at him or not, but Grant was over to him in an instant, sliding another mug of frosty beer in front of him. "Ah, that would be Jennifer, our resident college girl. Pretty aint she?" "Yes. She is really beautiful." He took the beer and gulped some down, mostly from the dryness in his mouth at the sight of her. His jeans were growing uncomfortable under his excitement, and he squirmed a bit. "She'd like you," Grant commented, noticing the all to familiar look upon his face. Teen idol or not, they were all a sucker for a particular type of girl, and at first meeting, he put money that Jennifer would capture him.  "She's almost done. I can have it arranged for you in a matter of minutes." "That's fine," he replied, his hands suddenly trembling. He hadn't figured on this being so difficult. He could hold his own with Hollywood royalty for fuck's sake, or pick up a random groupie with ease. Yes, he'd gotten quite good at his many sides. This was different, though, this was illegal, no matter how they chose to dress it up.  He wished he was in Nevada or something. But, Joey assured him it was safe, and he trusted his friend. "What's your name again?" Grant asked, ignoring his ringing cell phone. He made no apologies for not remembering, after all, he serviced numerous famous men daily. This kid was just one more. "Lance," he answered, pulling up the collar of his jacket. His eyes darted about, just to be sure he wasn't being watched. All he saw were other famous patrons, all in oblivious states, having better things to do than check him out. Lance fidgeted, playing with his necklace. He just wanted to get the fuck out of there, head back to his hotel where he would feel comfortable again, relaxed, and get on with this. "How does it work?" Grant held up his finger, checking the cell phone's caller ID, then placed it down on the table. "When she's done, I'll bring you back to her dressing room. Any transactions will be done in code. You simply ask her if she'd like to have a drink. Did your friend tell you about the payment arrangements?" Lance took another sip of his beer, his gaze straying back to the woman on stage, now naked except for a g-string. She had a dynamite body, not too tall, but not too petite, with large breasts.  He wasn't sure if they were real or not, and at that moment, hell, any moment, he didn't care. "Yes, he told me. Flowers, right?" Grant smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. "That's right. Tuck it in a bunch of flowers and hand them to her at the end of your date." He shook his head, amazed that such an international person could be so scared. "It's okay, man. You'll have a great time." He stood up and motioned for Lance to follow him. "She's done." The palms of Lance's hands were sweaty, and he wiped them on his jeans, hoping to cool them down and act half way mature. His heart was hammering inside his chest, and the throbbing in his groin was joining the madness. His feet felt clumsy as he made his way down the velvet lined hallway to a doorway on the right with her name on it. "She's in there," Grant said, knocking. Lance looked once behind him, waiting for paparazzi to jump out and snap his photo. It would be just his luck to have that happen. Joey's been here a milion times, but they'll find me. I just fucking know it. Then, there she was, her long blonde hair flowing over her shoulders, and Lance bit his lip to keep from gasping. She was positively gorgeous, and he wondered why she'd chosen to do this. "Hi," she grinned, taking his hand in hers and leading him inside. He was surprised by her sudden movements, and looked around her tiny dressing room. A large vanity took up most of one wall, the top of it covered with several bottles of makeup, and hair accessories. On the walls, he blushed to see a tiny N Sync picture, along with Elton John, and a large poster of Woodstock 94. A large pair of ballerina shoes were painted on the opposite wall. Lance stared at her, with her long legs, thinking maybe she was a dancer, a ballerina. She certainly had the body. "I'm sorry about this," she smiled, plucking the N Sync picture from her wall and hiding it under some dancer's outfits. "I'm a fan, I admit." "It's okay," he replied, unsure how he felt about it. After all, he didn't know her, and she kind of knew him. What was stopping her from running to the press the next day. Suddenly, he wasn't sure this was a good idea, not at all. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he backed up a bit. She caught his change immediately. "Oh, I'm trustworthy," she said quickly, angry at herself for having the photo up at all. Her friend had serviced Joey several times, and he'd been kind enough to give her freebie merchandise, like CD's and photos. "I'm professional." He nodded, chewing on his lip again. Damn, but he was scared. He should have just picked up one of the girls standing outside his hotel, or better yet, gone to a club. But, he reminded himself, he hadn't wanted the complication. Just the sex. "You're kind of shy," Jennifer said, pulling a pair of jeans on over her g-string. "You sure you want to do this?" Lance rubbed the back of his neck and tried to pull himself together. "Yes, I am. I would like very much to go have a drink with you." He forced his public persona to emerge, and took a deep breath, flashing her his award winning smile. "Anyway, would you like to have a drink with me?" Jennifer laughed, a high pitched, girly laugh, and tugged a shirt over her head, sitting down at her vanity. "I would love to Lance. Can I call you Lance?" "Sure, that's my name." He watched as she scrubbed the stage make up from her face, and was suddenly overcome by how similar their lives were. They both put on faces to perform, then came off stage and scrubbed them off. She was making a personal appearance for money, and hell, that's what he did every time he went to an opening, or a premiere. "Okay, I'm ready," she said, taking her purse from the drawer and her coat. "Shall we?" He couldn't help but chuckle. She looked like a regular, everyday college girl, one he would see at one of their shows, or one he would take home to his mom. She had a natural beauty that enchanted him. He still wanted to have sex with her, but not the raunchy kind he'd come here for.  He took his keys from his pocket and her hand in his. "Let's go." The ride to the hotel was short, and they chatted. There were no uneasy silences, and Lance didn't feel much different than he did when on a first date. There you go again. It's not a date. It's a paid arrangement. Don't get personal. Once at the hotel, Lance lead Jennifer into the parking garage elevator, planning to head up the back way, thanks to Joey and his planning. She followed close behind, quite used to being hidden from everyone. "Do you need anything?" Lance asked as they headed down the hall to his room. Jennifer smiled at him, her eyes dancing dreamily over his body. She was used to famous men, but Lance was a catch, her age, and very good looking. This was a job she would gladly do for free. Ignoring her feelings, she spotted Joey heading out of his room. "Jen!" he cried, doing his stupid chicken dance down toward her. Lance spun around and faced his friend as her grabbed Jennifer in a bear hug, spinning her around. The move made Lance cringe. Her knowing Joey was making it even weirder, and he felt the little beads of sweat pop out on his forehead. "Why Joey Fatone? How the hell are you?" Joey grinned, putting her down. "Fine. How's that Cheyenne doing? Keeping herself out of trouble?" Lance stood by, his earlier excitement fading by the moment. He didn't want to have sex with this girl anymore. Shaking his head, he pulled his key out of his pocket and fed it into the door, clicking it open. Taking one last glance at her laughing with Joey, he entered the room, alone. "Take care of him," Joey laughed, taking it all in stride as usual. "He's a good guy." Jennifer nodded, squeezing his elbow. "Nice to see you." To her, this was work, all a job, and contacts were very important to have, Joey especially. She pushed Lance's door open and saw him peeling his jacket off, popping off the top of a Pepsi. "Um, are you ready?" she asked, tossing her purse onto a chair. Lance shrugged, uneasy with the entire thing anymore. "Look, whatever I owe you, I'll pay. I'm not sure I want to do this anymore." Jennifer moved across the room and faced him, her blue eyes blazing into him. She kicked off her shoes and sat on the bed. "Come here," she whispered huskily. The last thing she wanted to do was loose him. His green eyes held hesitation, but lust never the less. He obeyed, placing his soda on the table. "I'm not sure," he swallowed, his voice thick.  Jennifer pulled him to her, and tugged his shirt out of his jeans, staring up into his light green eyes. Without words, she kissed his stomach softly, and felt him tremble under her touch. "You are sure," she giggled, running her hand down his thigh, lightly caressing between his legs. "Very sure." Lance closed his eyes, and leaned his head back. His mind conflicted, but his body was leading the charge. He felt unsteady on his feet, knowing that this was a service, like buying a massage, but better. His stomach fluttered under her hot mouth, and when she unbuttoned his pants, letting them fall to his ankles, he gasped. Jennifer sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him closer. She felt his uncertainty, and paused to look up at him. "It's okay, Lance." He nodded, pushing her back onto the bed. His hands worked deftly, yanking her sweater over her head. She helped him pull her jeans down and off. "God," he groaned, kissing her deeply, enjoying the silky feel of her skin underneath his fingertips. He explored her body with careless abandon, not caring anymore. His needs were apparant, and he had no regrets.

~back~