"Richard, you're on in five minutes." The manager's voice cut through Rick's near-doze.
Rick Wright, who danced under the name "Richard Long," was sitting in the beat-up old easy chair in the corner of the bar storeroom which doubled as the dancers' dressing room. The book on database design in Rick's lap was dull reading and he'd been fighting sleep for the past half hour.
The clock over the door read "1:30 a.m." It was time for his last dance. It was early Saturday morning, so he could sleep in. That was way better than Tuesday, when he danced until midnight, then had to get up for an 8:00 a.m. class. Still, he figured there were lots of worse ways for a college student to make extra money.
Rick stood up, stretched and made a few dance moves to make sure his muscles were sufficiently warmed-up. He swigged bottled water, then examined his reflection in the tall wall mirror. Not bad. He was 21 years old, 5'10" tall, weighed 175 pounds, and was nicely muscled from dancing and the gym. His eyes were blue. His brown hair was so fine and silky that he'd given up on the spiky hair styles. Even with a fistful of styling gel, his hair would be flat on his head within fifteen minutes, so he'd just cut it short.
The current dancer's last song was fading out. Rick made a final adjustment to his posing strap, a tiny black thong with a fabric pouch barely containing his cock and balls, and then stepped into the heat of the barroom as the DJ announced, "Once again, Harry's Garage is proud to present Richard Long!"
Drums pounded through the sound system as Rick ran through the applauding crowd. A pulsing synthesizer bass line joined the drums as he approached the platform. He jumped up onto the tiny stand under the spotlights just as the melody started.
The first song was fast. Dancing to it was like a hard workout. Within two minutes, Rick's body was slick with sweat. The next song was slower, allowing Rick to be sensual, with a lot of suggestive hand, butt and pelvic motion. Rick liked the slow songs because they allowed him to get really sexy. It was also easier for the patrons to stuff money into the waist band of his posing strap. Harry's Garage paid him $50 a night, but he usually made a couple hundred more in tips.
Rick finished his 20 minute set with another fast song. The crowd applauded wildly as he took a final bow and left the stand.
Back in the dressing room, he grabbed a towel and began wiping the sweat off his body. The manager stuck his head in the door and said, "Richard, there's a guy outside that wants to talk to you. Is that okay?" Rick nodded.
A man entered, unobtrusively slipping a bill into the manager's hand as he came through the door. He was in his forties, dark-skinned, short, balding and pudgy. Despite the heat, he was dressed in a dark sports coat and tie. "Mister Long, my name is Joel Cairo. I have a proposition for you—"
"Sorry Mister Cairo, I'm not a hustler," Rick said quickly.
"Of course not," Cairo answered smoothly. "I am not attempting to proposition you for sex. My employer is giving a private party tomorrow night. He has instructed me to retain male dancers to provide entertainment."
"I don't know," Rick replied. "Finals are coming up and I need to be studying."
"I quite understand the large amount of studying a college student must do to be successful," Cairo said. "However, I also understand the finances of college students. My employer is prepared to be most generous. Shall we say $1,500 for one night's work, paid in cash when you arrive at the door?" He paused. "Plus tips, of course. And the guests tip well."
Rick couldn't quite believe his ears. "And it's just dancing?"
"Assuredly," Cairo replied. "Although my employer would prefer that you dance completely naked, rather than retaining the flimsy concealment you are required to employ in this fine establishment."
"I can handle that," Rick said. "I'm pretty near naked with the posing strap, anyway."
"And my employer would prefer that you begin your performance fully clothed and gradually disrobe."
"No problem," Rick said. "I've done the male stripper thing before. Will there be women there?"
"No," Cairo answered. "It will be exclusively male. I assume that is acceptable."
"Sure." Rick had stripped for women. It paid well, but he was gay and preferred performing for men.
"Excellent." Cairo handed Rick a slip of paper. "So, I can count on you to be at this address at 8:00 p.m. tomorrow?" He left swiftly after Rick agreed.
* * *
Rick arrived at the West Austin address at 7:45 p.m. He stopped at the booth in front of the steel gate and gave his name to an athletic young man wearing a stylish quasi-military uniform. "Welcome, Mr. Long." He pressed a button to open the gate. "Go straight up the drive. Parking is on the left."
The driveway wound through trees for a quarter mile before the house came into view. It was a three story art deco palace, perched on the top of a hill. The parking area was almost full. Rick's 10-year-old Nissan looked decidedly out of place among the luxury cars. He took a small suitcase out of the trunk and walked to the front of the house.
A tall, gray-haired man in a tuxedo guarded the front entrance. He was ruggedly handsome, with short salt-and-pepper hair and a trim athletic figure. Rick guessed he was in his mid-50s. "Mr. Long, I presume." He spoke with a distinguished-sounding English accent. When Rick nodded, the butler continued, "Welcome to the Armitage residence. Mister Cairo will see you in the sitting room."
The butler gestured toward a door on the left. Before Rick could take a step, Joel Cairo emerged from the room. "Welcome, Mister Long," he gushed. "It is so good of you to come. Please walk this way." He spun around and minced off.
"I can't walk that way," Rick thought as he followed Cairo into the sitting room.
"Here is your fee." Cairo opened the drawer of a small writing desk and pulled out an envelope. Rick took it and looked inside. It contained 15 crisp $100 bills.
"Thanks, Mister Cairo." Rick stuffed the envelope into his pocket.
"Some of the guests may wish to fondle you while you are dancing," Cairo said. "If this attention is unwelcome, simply tell the individual to desist. He will respect your wishes."
"What if I don't want anybody touching me?"
"Then we will notify the guests that you are to be left alone," Cairo answered. "Is that your desire? I observed that you allowed some of the bar patrons to touch you last night."
"I guess it depends on who does the fondling. Is there anything else?"
"You will be dancing for 20 minutes out of each hour, from 9:00 p.m. until midnight." Cairo pointed to Rick's suitcase. "Is your costume in there?"
"Sure is." He'd actually brought two. Hot cop and lumberjack.
"Excellent," Cairo beamed. "The . . . um . . . 'strip show' . . . will begin at 9:00 p.m. There will be two other performers. 'Dan Dangler' and 'Roderick Ramm.' Perhaps you are acquainted with them?"
"I know Dan." His real name was "Dan Alexander" and he danced at Harry's Garage, Bunz—the bar with male strip shows for women only—and several other clubs. Rick had tricked with him a few times.
"And I've seen the videos from Ram Rod Productions." Rod's videos were on a high-end streaming service that Rick couldn't afford, but there were low-res versions all over the free gay porn sites.
"The three of you may take turns dancing," Cairo continued. "But, if you wish to dance together, that is acceptable." His lips curled into a greasy smile. "And you may interact with each other . . . and the men in the audience . . . in any way you desire." His smile widened. "In fact, Mr. Armitage encourages interaction."
"Uh . . ."
"You do not have to do anything you don't want to do." Cairo took a black plastic watch out of the drawer, and handed it to Rick. "This is your ARTwatch. It gives you access to selected parts of the house."
Rick took his own watch off and put it in his pocket, than fastened the new watch around his wrist. Its top was a black mirror, but when he flipped his wrist up, it displayed an old-fashioned analog watch face. "I guess I'm supposed to wear this all the time."
"Yes," Cairo said. "It is waterproof and close to invulnerable." He glanced at his own watch. It was identical to the one he'd given Rick. "It's 8:00 p.m. You start in an hour." He stood up and started for the door. "I'll show you to the performers' lounge."
When Rick followed Cairo out of the sitting room, he saw Dan Alexander at the front door, flirting with the butler. Dan grinned and waved at Rick, then turned back to the older man and asked, "So, what's the Royal Marines' version of 'Take it easy, okay?'"
The performers' lounge was a medium-sized room filled with comfortable modern furniture. Three make-up mirrors were spaced along one wall. Cairo pulled a curtain aside, revealing several lockers. He pointed to the first one. "This one is yours." Its front was smooth fine-grained wood, blank except for the embossed steel letters "ART" and a small square of black glass.
Cairo pointed to the glass. "Put your thumb there. Then on the ARTwatch."
Rich did and the locker door opened silently. "Only your thumb will open it," Cairo said.
"Cool." Armitage Research Technologies was a Fortune 25 robotics, communications, and consumer products company. Its ART products were very popular, but also extremely expensive. He put the envelope of cash on the top shelf and pressed a softly-glowing button. The door closed with a soft click.
"Please make yourself comfortable." Cairo gestured to a small wet bar at the far end of the room and then bustled out.
The shelf behind the bar held bottles of top shelf liquor. The refrigerator was stocked with champagne, several brands of beer, and expensive bottled water. An elaborately-carved mahogany box filled with machine-rolled joints sat on the counter.
Rick took a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and sank into one of the chairs, facing a giant wall-mounted flatscreen showing pictures of naked men. This place and the people in it were a bit overwhelming. Still, a gig was a gig. He'd danced for private parties before, but the audience had always been women. They'd gotten pretty raunchy, especially after a few drinks. He wondered what a group of gay men would be like. His cock stirred at the thought.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite Dick." Dan Alexander waltzed into the room, followed by Joel Cairo. He was a big black bodybuilder, Rick's age, but bigger and heavier, with close-cropped hair and a neatly trimmed beard, wearing tight khaki shorts and an equally tight white tank top that showed off his muscular body. "How's it hangin', Bro."
Rick stood up and embraced Dan. "Getting' pretty hard, Stud." He kissed Dan, who kissed him back, using a lot of dirty tongue.
Dan grinned. "It's a lot harder now." He ran his hand over the bulge in Rick's jeans.
"Yeah. You do that to me."
