Lights flashed in a pulsing, throbbing beat. Fake, stage fog billowed out over the audience. The music barely audible over the excited shrieks of the women that filled the club. They were throwing aside any semblance of behaving in public. It was as if walking through the doors and claiming their seats had given them permission to set their inhibitions aside.
Their screams filled the space, seeping into crevices. The sound slithered its way into the air vents, and down the halls and around the corners.
I inhaled deeply, taking in the energy and the level of desperation the screams of the audience gave to me.
Brody thumped his chest like a mighty ape, working himself into a frenzy. Others stretched, or shook out their limbs.
The stage was waiting for us. We would head out as soon as Brody gave the signal. I was fine with that, the long-drawn-out tease. I didn’t have to do anything, and the desperation multiplied exponentially. I fed and thrived on the energy.
Brody clapped his meaty hands together in a thunderous boom. “Let’s roll out.”
“Dude thinks he’s some kind of auto-bot.” It was the same banter every night that Dillon worked. He really did need a new complaint.
In the past five years of Brody and Dillon doing the show, I had yet to find out what an auto-bot was. I didn’t care. All that mattered was the high and the power that came from being bombarded with the desperation of hundreds of women at once.
I zipped up my hoodie and pulled the hood up. The first number was all about physical intimidation and power display. The fact that the hood hid my glowing eyes until I had enough of the energy I needed was a bonus.
The music crashed, and the stage went dark. Silence never happened. Screams grew louder, the energy that I relished surged. Moving with quiet deliberation, tonight’s dance crew picked up their chair props and took the stage.
The lights went up with a tidal wave of need and longing and sexual energy. It was like a shot of pure adrenalin. I kept my expression as emotionless and stoic as my face was during daylight hours. It was easy during the day, but now, it took work. I wanted to grin and roll around in the tendrils of the power. But my scowl garnered more desperation than my smile ever did.
Each display of strength was rewarded with another push of energy from the women we performed for. It was nothing more than a balancing act. I had come to learn that women liked displays of strength combined with music and rhythm. They also responded well to flexing muscles and the superficial attention they got during the show.
Their need and the energy they gave to me only grew as the show progressed. A good crowd could sustain me for weeks. This city sustained me in a way I never could have dreamed of. Walking through the floor of a casino fed me with enough small bites of energy to keep me for a few days at a time. And the energy was constant.
I had never been this powerful before. Theodora did not know she was saving me when she imprisoned me. I would have withered away, frozen in stone forever if she had left me alone. Those prayers had ended, the people stopped believing, stopped giving me the energy I needed.
I moved in time and synchronized with the other men on stage. As a unit, we stepped and lowered to the left, and spun out to the right. Using the zippers on the sleeveless hoodies added to the dance moves. As we each exposed more and more of our flesh, the energy built. I absorbed it, reveled in it. And as a reward, I grew stronger.
The music transitioned into something more pounding. The choreography changed to individual free form, meaning it was time to stop ignoring the women in front of us and work them up into a frenzy of flowing tips and pretend sexual action.
Dollar bills rained down on me, as a woman hurled her fan of tip money in my direction. I turned my attention to her. I could see through her eyes no one made her feel sexy, even when she had been younger, prettier. The men in her life used her, they didn’t desire her.
I prowled on hands and knees in her direction. She screamed with excitement. Energy and lust surged from her. To her I was the god I once was, she wanted to give me all. I had to remember not to enthrall the clients too much, after all the show was for me to take my clothes off and dance. Not for the audience to take their clothes off.
What do you do when your imaginary friends start pestering you with images of sexy male strippers and hot were-shifters? You write stories about them. Well, that's what I did! Oh, and then I combine them and toss them in a kilt for good measure!
Hi, my name is Lulu and I write sexy hot contemporary and paranormal romance. Welcome to my website.
Making the Para "Normal" and the Supernatural Extraordinary.