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Hence the need to change his name to “Annoying Man” in my phone. The first message from PJ came a week ago, the morning after our field trip to Charming’s and the morning after an entire night filled with tossing and turning and entirely too many replays of what I did on that man’s lap. At first, the text messages were all about business. Sadly, his idea of discussing business is just giving me other ideas for what we should do. Even when I asked him if we could borrow his strippers for a few hours this weekend for a little more instruction time, he flat out told me no and continued suggesting other ideas. As our communication increased day-by-day, so did his irritating mentions of the lap dance I gave him.
I mean, I could definitely feel that he enjoyed the dance I gave him. I felt it right between my legs. But he’s a man. A hot-blooded, gorgeous, typical man. He probably gets an erection every time the wind blows. I’m sure getting a lap dance from me was not the highlight of his year. Even if it was the highlight of mine.
“He’s totally flirting with you. And I saw that man’s face when I came up to the table and watched you grinding your ass all over him. He was two seconds away from coming in his pants like a fifteen-year-old with his mother’s Victoria’s Secret catalogue,” Ariel says with a laugh. “Have I apologized lately for interrupting you and ruining your chance at an orgasm with a real man?”
I made the mistake of spilling everything to Ariel as soon as we got in the car to drive home from the club that night. I was still on a high from what happened, even though it was terribly embarrassing, and couldn’t stop talking once I started. I also couldn’t stop thinking about how good it felt letting go and doing something crazy, or wondering if it felt so good because of the man I was with or if it would have felt the same with anyone who wasn’t my ex-husband.
“He looks like the kind of man who could go for hours, doesn’t he?” I ask with a dreamy sigh, wishing I could just keep remembering how annoying he is instead of constantly reliving every single moment of straddling his lap, moving against him, the feel of his warm breath against my neck, the curses he muttered in my ear, and how tightly he clenched my hair in his fist.
Is it getting hot in here or is it just me?
“Who wants a man that can go for hours? I’ve got shit to watch on my DVR, and I need my beauty sleep. Get in and get out,” Ariel replies.
“It’s silly that I’m even entertaining any kind of thoughts of what PJ is like in bed. Maybe he did enjoy what happened, and maybe he did see the error of his ways and is trying to make up for it by helping us, but what he’s doing is not helping. He still doesn’t get it. He still doesn’t think I’m cut out for this, even though he claims I proved him wrong. And besides, he’s not even my type.”
Ariel sets her coffee mug down on the counter and raises an eyebrow at me.
“How is he not your type? He’s a hot guy with a penis. That’s every straight woman’s type.”
“He’s not my type because . . . he owns a strip club. I mean, what kind of man decides one day to open a business and says ‘You know what would be a great investment? An establishment where women take their clothes off for money!’? A pervert, that’s who. Someone who likes seeing a bunch of naked women all the time and isn’t satisfied with seeing just one naked woman,” I explain.
“Now who’s being judgmental?” Ariel throws her hands up in the air in annoyance. “You have no idea why he owns a strip club. Maybe he sends all of his money to orphans in Africa or something. And hello? What kind of woman wants to open a business where women go to someone’s home and take off their clothes for money? Desperate women, that’s who. Women who want to take charge of their destiny and do something exhilarating and fun. Brilliant women. Now, take off your clothes.”
Her abrupt change in subject makes me forget about feeling a little guilty that I’m judging PJ without knowing anything about him, just like he’s doing with me.
“What? Why? I’m not taking off my clothes,” I tell her with shake of my head.
“You’re creating problems where problems don’t exist. PJ isn’t a pervert and he’s not annoying. You’re hot. You’ve started to come out of your shell and you shouldn’t be surprised that a gorgeous, successful man is into you. The only problem we have right now, and the one you keep avoiding, is the fact that you still aren’t comfortable with the idea of being naked in front of people. Well, I’m people. Take your clothes off,” Ariel demands, pushing away from the door frame to put her hands on her hips.
