Master, Master {ManxMan} {BDSM}

Chapter Seven

{Chapter Seven}

"Jay, I'm beginning to think you aren't even gay. Were you lying to me when you told me?" Christian demands as we sit in our usual spot in the strip club a few blocks from my house. I pull my intense gaze off the dancer to look at Christian who is staring at me.

"What? No, dude, I just told you I have a date with David. Why do you think I'm straight?" I ask in confusion. He stares at me for a minute in disbelief before his pale green eyes flicker around the club.

"Well we're at a strip club, Jason, where straight men tend to flock. And the way you stare at the hookers is really weird." I roll my eyes, looking away briefly to a new dancer, but my attention is quickly back on Christian when he snaps impatiently in my face.

"Where else would I find hot men?" I question seriously. He arches a brow.

"They're straight, hence why they went to a strip club with half naked women," he deadpans.

"Oh Chris, you have so much to learn. I would think you would know by now, how old are you? Thirty one and you still don't know how it works at strip clubs?" I tease. He glares at me in obvious irritation, his eye twitching slightly.

"I'm twenty one, Jason, not thirty. Unlike some people," he adds under his breath. I laugh at this and toss my arm around his shoulder, lifting my drink to my lips.

"I'm not thirty, I'll never be thirty," I reply before I take a drink of coke. It isn't as good as a strong glass of whiskey would be but considering Christian is officially legal to drink I figured I should let him get drunk while we're out.

"Two more years," he taunts, breaking my thoughts. I pull away from him with an eye roll before my eyes move back to the dancers.

"As I was saying, you know nothing. Strip clubs are inhabited by two groups. The first group is the group of men who are tired of paying for shitty porn and want something more realistic, but can't afford one of those dolls. They're the old men who look like perverts watching the barely legal women dance. Then there's the second group. That's the younger crowd that don't look like pedophiles, they seem nice and watch the dancers with extreme interest. But they all have a secret; they're trying to make up for their attraction to men so they watch women to assure themselves that they're actually straight, but they aren't," I explain. He nods slowly, seeming to take in my words in odd interest.

"I'm assuming you fall in the first category," he says dismissively. I punch him in the arm playfully and he glares at me as he rubs it.

"Correction, I'm the rare one in the third category who comes for the happy hour at six. Half off every dance and free drinks, not to mention eye candy," I lift a finger off my glass to point to a decent looking man not too far away.

"Seriously?" he demands. I nod, sipping my drink to emphasize my point. He closes his eyes and takes a minute to breathe in deeply before he socks me in the arm hard. I yelp and burst into a fit of laughter that catches the attention of a good majority of the old men, who glare at us as if we just cock blocked them.

"Ow," I wheeze.

"Shut up. I want to go home, or get drunk 'cause you know, if you forgot it is my birthday and I can legally drink now," he adds in boredom. I pout, my eyes scanning the women before I motion one over. Christian looks between us as the pretty woman with dark brown hair, soft looking mocha skin that has a bit of a shimmer to it, with six inch heels makes her way over to us.

"What are you doing?" he hisses before she's in ear shot. I wave him off as my eyes move over the dancer, taking in her tight red corset that barely holds her large breasts, and a pair of black thongs that barely cover her. She smiles at me seductively and I smirk, reaching into my pocket for a fifty.