Just Like Old Times...(Plus Madison) (3) “Where’s Madison?” Randy yelled above the music. “Probably still up front.” I yelled back. He signaled that he wanted to go and we moved toward the front of the club to find Madison. She was still at the juice bar, awaiting her chance to show her stuff on the platforms, smoking and scaring away any possible offers to dance with a fierce piercing look that could reduce any guy’s ego or wall of false bravado to rubble. The FSA was still dancing up there, smiling and sweating all the while, knowing she was still getting the most attention in the club, even from her other platform mates who now refused to dance anywhere near her as their jealousy got the better of them. Bobby said, “Man, that chick is hot!” “Yeah, so?” “I dunno man, I want to ask her to dance but she’s up there and she probably has a boyfriend or something.” Randy grinned. He was not going to let an opportunity like this to mess with Bobby pass him by. “Why don’t you just ask her to dance when she gets down?” He yelled, to which Bobby shrugged. “She probably has a boyfriend!” Bobby insisted. He was trying to talk himself out of doing it, but Randy was having none of that. “Dude, just do it! You’re gonna be so mad at yourself if you don’t. You’re just gonna wonder, and I don’t wanna hear your bitchin'.” “Screw you man, you just wanna see me mess up.” Randy smiled. He denied nothing. “Mack, what do you think?” At that point, a single random guy a shade darker than I risked it all to jump up on the platform to dance with the FSA and they started grinding together for the enjoyment of the audience. The guys cheered, as did some of the girls (the rest just rolled their eyes) but Security was not so enthused about it. The elite H2O fighting bodyguard task force made their move, knocking the legs from under the dancing fool and the resulting fall left him in the waiting arms of another bodyguard. They carried him out by his head and threw him out onto the street. Coming to a rolling stop, he managed to get another set of applause before they shut the door in his face. I said to Bobby, “Yeah man, do what you want, just wait till she comes down before you ask.” “Would you ask her?” “Yeah.” Bullshit. “Alright!” Bobby grinned. That was all he needed. He was psyched up, pumped and ready. He was going to ask the FSA to dance. I looked back to the juice bar to tell Madison and give her something else to stew about but she had vacated her position and was undoubtedly plotting her evil scheme from another spot in the club or from the bathroom. In her place was another decidedly good looking female wearing a blue halter top and really tight black shorts, her hair done up in a very nice little bun. She too was ogling the FSA, but for what looked like a completely different reason. She looked like she was attracted to her. I made my way over to the bar and stood next to her without making it look like I’d done it on purpose. The good thing about this being Senior Week, is that you were pretty sure that even when you were amongst strangers (in a club, on the beach, in an arcade, etc, etc.) you could be pretty positive that whomever they were and whomever you were, you were about the same age (17 to about 19). There would obviously be some odd ages in there, younger and older but those were flukes. It was one less thing to worry about when you approached a girl, and gave you more info on how to plan your method of attack. I’m a nice guy, but I’m not stupid. When you approach an attractive female you must entice her interest. That’s just how you get noticed. Pick-up lines, bad jokes, and abrupt forwardness are big “No-no’s” in the Nice Guy Handbook, so you gotta find another way. I prefer women to find me witty, funny or intelligent (since I’m not the best looking guy around) and nice, as I would prefer not to be thought of as an asshole. With this particular girl, I decided to use nothing fancy, you could tell she could spot bullshit, even my very good bullshit, from a mile away. So I did something simple. I looked over at the FSA and chuckled. She saw my head go down in laughter and gave me a strange look because she didn’t understand. Over by the juice bar it was easier to hear cause it was closer to the DJ booth and therefore farther from the speakers that made the walls (and my head) throb. I composed my thoughts easier, and continued to chuckle. “What’s so funny?” she leaned over to ask. “The chick,” I started, “The FSA up there is upsetting my friend over there.” I pointed at Madison who I’d spotted on the dance floor, she’d finally ventured to dance with a girlfriend of hers she’d run into inside the club I guess. She was still glaring daggers at the FSA and whispering to her friend about it. I chuckled again. Slightly, and for the last time. No need for this girl to think me an idiot. “FSA?” “Future Stripper of America,” I explained. “Ah,” now she laughed. “Sometimes I think she is headed that way.” “You know her?” Uh-oh, big mistake. “Yeah, Amy’s my best friend. But she’s in here practically every night, dancing up on that pole.” She smiled and turned back to watch. Phew! “Does she work here?” “No, but I do, so she gets in for free.” A flashback. I was remembering…seeing this girl as I was coming in, she was…serving drinks. Ah, she was the juice bartender girl. This could very well mean she was much older than I. Dammit! I began to fidget uncomfortably. “What’s your name?” Crap, now every question I asked sounded stupid to me, even if it was valid. “Amanda.” She smiled. Definitely a Crest Kid. “Mackenzie Morgan.” I always say my first and last name together because one always sounds wimpy without the other. “Or just Mack,” I added for peace of mind. There was a pause as we both went back to ogling the FSA—Amy—for a second then taking in the rest of the club. “What do you think about all these poseur kids with the glow sticks trying to Rave? It’s pretty pathetic, really.” Amanda looked at me as if I’d read her mind. Jackpot. “I hate it,” she said folding her arms over her formidable chest, “It’s like, ‘why bother’ you look stupid trying…I dunno, people are stupid.” “Music’s pretty crappy too.” Her eyes lit up. “Yes! What kind of music are you into?” Umm… “All types. Rock, jazz, alternative, some rap, classical and club and jungle type stuff.” “I love Jungle music! It gets me so pumped sometimes and I just have to dance. If I’m at home alone, sometimes I take off all my clothes and just dance naked to jungle music.” WHY DO WOMEN FEEL THE NEED TO TELL ME THESE THINGS! “That’s cool.” A pause. “I’m in a band. Our name is, What’s wrong with this Picture?” She laughed. “What type of music to you play?” “Metapop.” She looked confused. “It’s complicated. Sort of a cross between Weezer and regular rock music.” “Ah.” Then the DJ interrupted and any sort of coherent thought that I had in my head was lost when he boomed over the microphone again, as he’d been doing all night. I’d been tuning him out, but now some of what he was saying was getting through: “…so any of you ladies out there who think they got the right junk in their trunk, march, shake, and move those booties on over to the DJ booth to sign up for the ‘Back that ass up’ contest we’ll be havin’ in the next 5 minutes. This is the last call and we’re running out of spots, so act fast or you’ll miss the chance to shake that ass.” Sweet Jehovah. “First prize for the contest is an all expenses paid limo ride from seven PM to two AM tomorrow night with up to five other friends of your choosing as well as free dinner at Big Peckers; the best bar and grille on Ocean Way…” I wasn’t about to possibly insult Amanda by insinuating that she’d participate in any ‘Back that Ass up’ contest, especially since I didn’t know her well enough to make any assumptions about her yet and because she worked there. So instead I focused on Amy, the FSA, who was finally vacating her position on the E-platform to sign up, I assume, because she made a beeline for the DJ booth. I gestured to Amanda, “I think your friend should have this contest locked up.” Amanda half sighed, half laughed and said, “Yeah she usually does.” Then she added, “You’d never get me up there with those girls.” Damn I’m good. A movement to my left. Bobby and Randy were signaling me frantically. Madison and her friend were with them. There was a big challenging grin on Madison’s face. Oh shit. I shook my head no at them, trying to indicate my conversation with Amanda as discreetly as possible. But of course it wasn’t working because Madison was looking at me like she thought I was crazy and Randy still had his manipulating grin on his face. He had obviously egged her into do something stupid so she could "show up" the FSA—Amy—and if not then Randy would still be amused by the attempt. He had a sick streak about him, that Randy. Since I wouldn’t come to them, Madison came to me, huffing and puffing all the way. “I joined the contest!” She said. “I figured.” I was giving her hints with my eyes to take a hike but Madison’s were glazed over with anticipation of this sort of Battle of Exhibitionism that she took no notice. Amanda moved quickly to strike, a sardonic grin creeping onto on her face, “That’s very brave of you.” Shit. “Not really,” Madison started, “I just want to put that little blond pair of tits in her place after all that bullshit she pulled earlier.” Here we go. “So your way of showing her the error of her ways is to out do her by dancing sluttier than she does?” “Hey fuck you, I’m just trying to show that slut I can out dance her any day.” Amanda’s eyes flashed from blue to purple. “Ladies…it’s just a stupid dance contest. Why do either of you care?” “I don’t.” Amanda was defensive. “Neither do I,” said Madison. “I’m just trying to get my freak on.” Amanda said something under her breath about Madison and freaks or something that thankfully she didn’t hear. I looked over at Randy and Bobby, they were now joined by Aurora but not Tom. Randy was talking to her, making wild gestures and then he pointed at Madison. The manipulative grin was now bigger than ever. What was he up to now? I walked over toward the group, followed by Madison and without saying goodbye to Amanda. There was no hope there now, no matter what I did. Ugh. Christ. Women. Jesus Christ. “Are you really gonna do this?” Aurora asked Madison when we got close. “Hell yes!” “I’m trying to get Rora to do it too, but she won’t.” Randy looked to me for help. Was he nuts?! That was…that was…actually not half a bad idea. “AJ you should get up there and show em your stuff. You could win it ballerina style.” Okay so I’m an asshole. “I dunno Mackenzie, I don’t think I have what it ‘takes’ to get up there and do that type of stuff in front of all these people.” “Sure you do.” Madison nodded in agreement with me. I continued, “You could out cutesy any of those girls.” “Somehow I don’t think they’re going for cutesy.” Bobby laughed at that. Aurora thought about it for a second then set her face. I knew that look. She’d made up her mind and was not going to do it. I gave her my best pleading look but she narrowed her eyes at me. I knew that look too. Horny but not stupid, I always say. It’s just safer. Madison left to join the growing line of girls awaiting the contest and their turn to be ogled by every other horny male in the room. The FSA walked by us seconds later and Bobby remarked, “As soon as the contest is over, I’m gonna ask her to dance.” Randy looked over at me and grinned. He would take much amusement in Bobby’s fate with the FSA no matter what the outcome. Damn Randy. Here’s how the contest works: DJ Loudmouth calls your name and you either choose to make your way out onto the middle of the dance floor (the rest of the club patrons are gathered in a circle around you) or you can dance on the E-platform. Once you get the go ahead (the DJ starts playing the music) you get to dance for about a minute and show…y’know, what ya got, and all that. The girl who shakes her ass the best, shows the most skin/naked body parts/tattoos in various places or just how little her thong does cover, wins. Judging of performance is done by the most democratic (and deadly) way in a club, audience applause at the conclusion of the contest. So the ‘dancer’ must play to the mob. The E-girls from tonight were up first and one by one they got up and shook their asses for all they were worth to background sounds of a hundred plus horny males whooping and hollering and to the stylings of rapper Mystikal’s Shake it Fast. It was all so ridiculous I was glad I was tall enough so that I wouldn’t have to fight my way to the front of the mob to watch the show. It was all so vulgar, disgusting, degrading and arousing anyway that I could barely force myself to watch. But things got really old very fast. Each of the E-girls had started out strong, but after the first three all the routines became repetitive and the same “butt bounce” (where one thrusts out the ass by bending forward at the waist followed by the commencement of shaking one’s ass very rapidly from that position, which causes the illusionary effect of having the ass “bounce” to the beat) just wasn’t cutting it anymore. The mob began to boo the contestants. Following the fifth girl, even hearing the same first minute to Shake it Fast got to be a bit annoying so DJ Loudmouth announced he would change to the Thong Song. That was right before he called Madison to the dance floor. Ahem.
Copyright © 2002 MacKenzie Morgan |