She Moved Through the Fair

Even though he’d done this one time before, he still felt shaky from the anxiety. He rode this familiar infirmity, telling himself it would pass once he was sitting down.

The only other time he’d been to a tittie bar, it was with a group of friends – and the whole experience was novelty and humor. That was – what was it – fifteen years ago? With his wife and another couple. Far from the debauchery of a bachelor party and light years from going to one alone, isolated from his home by a tiresome, week-long conference. He had to arrest this line of thinking. Making comparisons was only making the moment more intense.

Red and magenta-lit women were performing at their assigned tables. The main stage was empty as dancers were in transition; the music stripped to a rhythm while the DJ dismissed Peaches and blurted encouragement for Trinity. He searched for a kindred spirit – before he could concentrate on where he could sit, he needed to focus past all the twists and bachelors traveling in packs to reassure himself that he was not the only man here alone and friendless. He saw many like him. He felt more comfortable.

He immediately identified with Dharma – olive skinned, brunette and voluptuous – and took one of the three empty seats at her table. He glanced about and realized that hers was the only table that had any empty seats. That she was the only non-blonde dancing tables. That she wasn’t so skinny that her rib cage was exposed (this degree of skinny had always deterred him). He felt indignant that his tastes must be unique or acquired, and resolved to treat Dharma especially well. He put a five dollar bill, flat and face up, on the table in front of him. Abe would have thanked him, if he could.

To keep the entire table enthralled, Dharma made several enticing moves as she made her way to his place on the octagon. She got down on spread knees and arched back to pick up the bill with her teeth. Style too, he told himself. She took the bill from her mouth, seductively folded it lengthwise once, and lodged it at her hip. She moved into him, kissing him once on the cheek then leaning closer to whisper into his ear. Impossible to hear over the techno music, but certain he heard a lazily conveyed “relax”.

She took off his glasses. With the same grace that she folded the bill, she folded the arms of his specs and tucked them in the front of her bikini bottom. Still maintaining her pyramidal pose, she traced a heart with her fingertip on his chest. She wrapped her arms around him and played at suffocating him with her cleavage. She did this for quite awhile before leaning back. She retrieved the glasses – holding them to her mouth, she emitted a breath to steam each lens before placing them back on his face and tapping his nose.

He was blind without his glasses. He saw nothing. He didn’t feel like he could say anything. He was the last at the table to get any attention from Dharma before she turned duties over to another girl.

He wanted more. He felt locked in. He was beyond the trepidation now, the fear that always kept him from these places when he had to leave town. The fear that if he did it once, he would make an expensive habit of it. That it would change him as a person or apply a stigma. No, he felt like he had jumped into the water, and his body was quickly acclimating. That his first taste of this was so clumsy – so blurry – gave him a chuckle and only tantalized him more.

He searched the room for Dharma. There was much confusion as he made his way among the bodies. He turned down several solicitations for lap dances, being diplomatic and polite about it – making sure to leave the impression that he wanted a lap dance, but that he had a type. He didn’t want to get tagged as a gawker: these ladies probably have some code about that. But he saw Dharma alighting from side stage. As he made his way to her, he reached to his back pocket.

His wallet wasn’t there.