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Delia
Igape at Jarrn as he gyrates on the stage. It’s clear–to me–that he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing. His hips don’t sway at the exact same time as the other monsters, and his arms flail a bit compared to the smooth motion of everyone else. But, damn, he’s picking it up fast.
What he lacks in skill, he makes up for in pure sexual appeal. He’s a god come to life, and watching him dance around on the stage wearing nothing but a scrap of cloth covering his groin makes me salivate. Heat coils tightly inside me, a spring that’s about to let go.
“My god, that ogre,” a woman with dark hair says from beside me. She waves her arms in the air and hoots. “Take it off, baby! Take it all off.”
“He’s my friend,” I say, unable to hold back the odd feeling twisting my guts into knots. “He’s not an object for you to ogle.”
She slants a heavy look my way. “Sweetheart, don’t be a prude. He’s up there thrusting his big ole cock and teasing his claws across the top of his loincloth. Look at that smile on his face. He’s enjoying the attention.”
But Jarrn ismine. Not in the way I’d like him to be, but in my heart, he belongs to me. He just needs time to see me the way I see him.
“So, he's your friend?” the woman asks, continuing at my nod. “Can I have an introduction after the show?”
“No!” I want to leap onto the stage and wrap a blanket around him. Draw him off and hide him in our cabin.
She huffs. “Jeez. I was just making conversation. There’s no reason you can’t share.”
When I growl, she lifts her eyebrows and moves to the empty chair on the other side of her table.
The monsters on the stage spring forward to the edge, and I can’t believe the variety. There’s a gargoyle with majestic wings, a centaur–wearing two loincloths–and even an anubis. They taunt us with everything they have to offer, wiggling their ripped asses and sliding their fingers or claws beneath their loincloths. They undo the knots holding the garments in place and tease us with the ties, swirling them around in the air.
The audience of aliens, monsters, and humans surges to their feet, calling out for the guys to keep going, to give us a great show. The woman near me hops onto her chair and sways her arms in the air.
Jarrn might be new to this, but it’s clear from the calls ofogreandtake it off, hottie, that he has a fan club already. Tears pinch behind my eyes. I’m glad for him. Maybe this will convince him he has so much to offer. He thinks he’s ugly, but this crowd sees him as anything but.
Since I can’t see what’s going on, I stand on my chair, too.
The monsters swish the pieces of fabric covering their groins, swirling the edges back and forth, giving shadowy peeks of what’s hidden beneath.
A fever of lust sweeps through the room, and I’m as caught in its clutches as everyone else. But while they watch all the guys, my attention remains on Jarrn. His gaze meets mine, and for a second, he seems to falter. But he stiffens his spine and continues swinging his hips like the others.
Some of the crowd surges toward the stage, only to be nicely nudged back by alien guards standing between them and the show.
The lights blink off just as the guys swing their loincloths up and away from their bodies. They twist as the lights blaze once more, turning so we get a good view of their muscular butts.
The crowd goes wild and the monsters dance and shimmy, bending forward to give us a peek but never quite giving us the full view every single one of us longs for.
Dark curtains along the back swish open, and half the guys step into chambers located in the back of the stage, Jarrn among them. Water pours down from above, and they smooth their hands across their bodies, bracing themselves against the back wall to hump the smooth surface.
Their skin glistens as they grab the shower handles and start spraying their bodies, shifting their hips and pretending to wash. Another blink of the lights, and they’re stepping out from beneath the spray, towels conveniently covering the vital bits evenIwould like to see.
Boos ring out from those around me, but they’re good-natured. This is a sexy venue, not a strip show, though the line between the two is awfully close.
The monsters who showered rub their bodies to the delight of the crowd while the others climb poles and lean backward, shooting us fang- and tusk-filled grins.
I’m awash with emotions, but one feeling stands out. I want Jarrn to be happy. And as he grins, I can see he is. It’s wrong of me to hold him back. It’s okay that he’ll never be mine. Doing this, performing? It makes him happier than I’ve seen him before, and that’s all that matters.
The lights start flashing and the monsters leap off the stage. They weave among us with the audience reaching out to stroke an arm, tease a washboard ab, or gape at a muscle-bound butt.
A pop and the music goes out, as do the lights. Excited laughter echoes in the room. Overhead, the regular lights come on.
“And there you have it, folks,” the MC shouts through the speakers. “Don’t forget to join us for our next show!” He names a date and time, but I barely pay attention. I’m looking for Jarrn.
My favorite ogre in the world runs over to stand in front of me, grinning. When he holds out his arms, his big laugh ringing out, I run to him. I only intend to give him a hug, but he sweeps me up and spins around, sharing his moment.
When he comes to a stop, our faces are level.
