He didn’t mean to like her as much as he did. After all, he was drunk when they first met. Very drunk. Besides, he never went to strip clubs. He knew how his wife felt about them. They agreed strip clubs were in the category of cheating, and his wife had that big, annoying squishy heart of hers that felt strip clubs were demeaning to women.
Yet, here he was again with her. She went by the name Raven. It wasn’t her real name of course. Her real name was Carly, and she swore him to secrecy. No one knew her real name but him. She never told anyone, she said. And she liked being a stripper, he could tell. She really got into it. Plus, she was an afternoon/early evening stripper. Not like those trashy nighttime strippers. Carly was different.
He tried not to think about his wife, who was home with the kids. In fact, his cell phone kept dinging with texts and pictures of the kids from her. He slid his hand into his pocket and turned the volume off. The time in the city was his time.
His wife thought he kept returning to the city for business. She was so trusting and gullible that it was ridiculous, making it way too easy for him to hop on the train and see Carly. Every time he came home, he’d rush his suits to the cleaners, saying they got dirty on the train. And his wife would agree, saying MetroNorth needed a good scrubbing. Could she make this any easier for him?
Carly was small with caramel colored skin. Her hair was black and long and smelled spicy. Her breasts were obviously fake, but they felt good in his hands. His wife’s breasts were too small to get a full handful. Ever since her pregnancies they went from nice firm peaches to droopy little pears. Oh, how he had missed the feeling of his fingers wrapping around full, round breasts.
The lap dances, my God, the lap dances. So many of them. The way she moved on him was insane. She was like an exotic drug. Plus, her brother had died, she said. Committed suicide and she was stricken with grief. He listened to her, then she offered another lap dance as a thank you for listening. How could he say no? Her brother had just died.
Now, don’t get him wrong. He knew his wife was pretty with a nice shape. She didn’t let her body go like other dudes’ wives. She was still petite and thin – maybe even too thin. And their sex was great (even better when he pretended it was Carly). But his wife was too good, so run of the mill. Plus, she tended to argue with him sometimes. There was always something his wife needed to discuss.
Carly always listened. She never argued with him. Granted, Carly was a little dumb but he liked that, it made him feel even more intelligent. Conversations with Carly were simple, yet somehow deep. He loved when he ordered food for them to share. It felt good to eat with her, like she wasn’t a stripper but just some really hot girl who was totally into him; who would climb onto his lap and take off her clothes and put his hands all over her body. Her skin was softer than silk.
When he walked into the club, the managers and bouncer knew he was there for Carly. He chuckled to himself, it was like ordering his usual at a coffee shop. Everyone knew what (or who) he wanted before he even opened his mouth. In fact, he had started reserving Carly in VIP rooms. Sure, it took some finagling with the credit card company, having to raise his credit limit and all. But having Carly (his usual) all to himself? He felt like a king.
Plus, then other dudes didn’t have access to her. He admitted he had become somewhat possessive of Carly. He didn’t want other guys watching her pole dance. He was possessive of his wife too, and now Carly. It made sense – he was a sensitive guy. He cared about both of them.
Sometimes when he returned home his wife seemed extra annoying. Granted he was always hungover and his head throbbed. He would tell his wife he had a headache and she was compassionate, giving him shoulder massages. But then there was all that shit she asked him to do the next day. Pay the bills, help fold the laundry, run to the store for groceries. She didn’t work for Christ sakes. Why did he have to do everything?
Carly understood. She always did. He tried not to talk about his wife, but when he showed her pictures of the kids, sometimes the topic of his wife would come up. He didn’t have a lot of pictures of his wife on his phone. In a sense, it was like she was fading. She had lost that spot in his heart. Anyways, his kids were his pride and joy.
Sometimes he worried his wife would find out about Carly and the club. It would destroy her, that he knew. And let’s not to mention the money he was spending here. He had maxed out a few credit cards, and that stupid savings for a new kitchen his wife wanted. That was long gone. His wife was so needy. Their kitchen was fine. Sure, the oven had broken and she was using the microwave and some little indoor grill to make meals, but life wasn’t easy for him either.
So yeah, he spent their money on Carly. HIS money. His wife certainly wasn’t contributing financially. So maybe he was having trouble paying some bills. He told his dad he was having some financial stress, and that it was because his wife refused to work. He also told his dad that he met someone too, another woman. (He didn’t tell his dad that Carly was a stripper, he wasn’t that stupid.) His dad understood – his dad always understood. Anyways, his dad gave him money to get out of trouble, and he shared that he too had been involved with someone during his marriage to his mom. His dad was best the man he knew. If his dad could have an affair, then anyone could.
But he was also a good man, a good father, and a good husband. He knew he should stop coming here. He just couldn’t.