Page 9 of The Cowboy's Cabaret

Daphne pushes me over with a shove to my shoulder. “Greaaaaat…Satan himself sleeping on my futon? I’m really lucky.”

The week passesby in a blur, melting my brain with academic journals by day and cowboy boots by night. Texting with Wes has quickly become routine, even if it’s only a goodnight message or meme. It’s crazy how much we have in common, and he’s so easy to talk to.

The closer we get to Friday, the more nervous I feel about his presence in the audience—wondering what he’ll think or if I’ll mess up. My anxiety surprisingly quiets when I dance. Whether it’s due to the positive validation I get from the crowd or because the movement is healing, I’m not sure. All I know is when I’m up there as Dahlia Damsel, I’m a force to be reckoned with.

I’m in the dressing room at the club when Wes texts they’re posted at Daphne’s bar, much to Jasper’s dismay. I asked Wes if he knew what their deal was and he only said Jasper can take a while to warm up to new people. Daphne isn’t helping either, being balls to the wall half the time is probably jarring for him.

Setting my nose with powder and dabbing on the finishing touch of sparkly gloss, I’m ready for my set. My makeup emboldens me—Dahlia Damsel is temptation and sin, wrapped up in a cowgirl costume. For a little while, I’m someone else.

Tonight’s glam consists of a soft-brown smoky eye with wispy lashes to give me the innocent-eyed look. My chest is bathed in shimmer, highlighting my breasts in a corseted milkmaid dress. Brown boots adorn my feet as I make my way behind the curtain. The opening guitar of Brooks & Dunn’s “Play Something Country” bangs out of the speakers, the lights dim and the curtain opens.

A few stray whistles and hoots come as I look over my shoulder coyly. Tonight’s set is a play on a coquettish, simple girlnext door. I untie the bow holding my breasts in and shimmy ever so slightly. The movement reveals the blood-red quarter cup bra—the tight fabric sitting right below the blush of each nipple, highlighting the red heart shaped pasties bouncing with each sway of my hips. Paired with a deviously small red G-string, the contrast is fun to play with—sweet and spicy.

The chorus is my cue to drop to my knees and whip my hair around. As I look up, a familiar bearded face glares at me. Maybe glare isn’t the right word? The intensity of Wes’ stare has me faltering. I quickly right myself, lying on my back and kicking my legs up. He must have moved spots before the show, since he’s front row now. My pulse spikes with that realization.

SIX

friendship is my second favorite f word

Wesley

Fuck.Me.

When Dahlia said she did burlesque, I thought it’d be cool to watch—hot, exciting, whatever. That would be the understatement of the century. I’m not sure why I thought her performance would be anything other than wildly erotic, but I genuinely believe my dick could break through drywall right now. In a friendly way. My dick is hard in a friendly way, because I’m here to support my friend. My beautiful, sensual, curvaceous…friend.

Dahlia looks down at me innocently before her gaze bounces around the audience. As each beat bumps out of the speakers, she unties the bow on her dress tortuously slowly. I’m enraptured. Obsessed. Couldn’t look away if I wanted to.

With one final tug, her breasts tumble over the top of the dress. Her surprised gasp is in sharp contrast to the enticing redlingerie hidden under the innocent clothes. Lace molds to every inch of her creamy skin.

My very unfriendly thoughts have me peeling down her bra with my teeth before devour—no. No, do not engage that thought, pervert. I’m damn near fighting for my life watching Dahlia move.

She shimmies the remainder of the dress down in a slow bend as she covers her mouth and giggles. Down to her cowgirl boots and red—could that scrap of material even be considered underwear? Her hands grasp both of her heavy breasts. The bra she’s wearing is essentially non-existent. Are her hands covering her bare nipples? Do they even allow full nudity at these shows? Fuck, my mind is like a rogue Ping-Pong ball with the possibilities.

She drops to her knees, juicy thighs recoiling with the movement. As I helplessly watch her move, the amount of blood rushing to my cock is making me lightheaded. The stage lights bathe her skin in an ethereal glow, painting her like the absolute otherworldly being she is.

The music begins to pick up in speed and Dahlia whips around, finally removing her hands to show the hungry crowd her nipples—adorned in red hearts—enough to tease, without showing her full beauty. I lost Jasper when I bumrushed the stage, but I’m sure if he was nearby he’d be slapping the back of my head to tell me to put my tongue back in my mouth.

The screaming girls next to me yell, “Damsel” and hold up five-dollar bills. Dahlia locks in on their faces with a grin and leans down on all fours to crawl. She. Fucking. Crawls. To them. Right next to me, she’s crawling and bending forward to collect their offerings.

Her small palms curl against the deep wood of the stage as her seductive mouth curves into a sly grin. I’m scrambling for cash in my pockets, not wanting to miss my chance to submit tothis goddess of a woman. She catches my eye with a grin before lying down on her back, head hanging off the stage, and big, beautiful eyes looking up at me.

I slide the money into her hand as she reaches out to caress my beard, sighing. I’m ready to haul her to me and show her how much I like our friendship, when she disappears from my reach. I shake my head to clear the filthy images playing in my mind when she moves center stage, brandishing a baseball cap. I’d been so enamored with her, I hadn’t even realized she’d taken my hat clear off my head.

With a look left and a look right, she fits my hat on her head, arms above her head, and hikes up a hip at the final beat of the song.

The stage darkens and the deafening cheer of the crowd shocks me out of my stupor. I make a beeline for the bar, hoping to return without rousing suspicion to my whereabouts when Daphne intercepts me. She nods at me curiously.

“Hope you enjoyed the show, Cowboy. Dahlia said you guys can wait for her backstage while she changes. I’m sure Jasper is off sucking the fun out of whatever corner he’s lurking in.” Am I blushing? I’m definitely sweating like a fucking pig.

“I’ll find Jas and we’ll swing back there. Thanks, Daphne.” I locate Jasper easily, his cowboy hat giving him away as he leans against the furthest wall from Daphne’s bar. The neon sign spelling “SLUT” illuminates him in red, at odds with how uncomfortable and arguably non-slutty he looks at this moment.

“You came back for me, Wes. How chivalrous. Didn’t realize you were such a big fan of burlesque. Mighty close to the stage up there,” he grumbles at me. I roll my eyes and lead us back to the hall Daphne pointed to.

If I thought I could watch Dahlia’s body writhe and roll and remain unaffected, I was sorely mistaken.

Daphne leads us down the dark hallway of dressing rooms, stopping to knock at door number three. Dahlia throws open the door wearing a silk red robe. Lord have mercy. In an effort to not be a total fucking creep, I throw my hand up for a high five and yell, “Congrats!” Dahlia looks confused, but goes for the high five. I can practically feel Jasper’s eyes rolling out of his head.

Great. Super casual. Super normal. I didn’t make this awkward at all.