remembering the outrageous fun that was our UCLA experience together. Never a couple in the traditional sense, we’d been too sexually unbridled to settle down with any one person. We’d made a great team, though. My eagerness to explore her bisexuality was a huge turn on for Suzie. In fact, one of her favorite games was to lure respectable sorority girls into our bed. By the end ofour freshman year, we’d been crowned “the Insatiables” by our fellow class.
If succubi existed, and I was living proof that incubi did, Suzanne Donahue was their human equivalent. Bewitching in the seductive sway of her hips as she walked toward a man to the subtle parting of her lips just before she leaned in to speak to him, looked at him—like the way she was looking at me right now—a man had no choice but to succumb to her charms.
I offered her a sly grin, and then glanced up at the enormous Buddha floating above an infinity pool close to our table. “You up for a little scratch at Olympic Gardens?”
She grinned back at me and rested her chin atop linked fingers tipped by glossy, fire-engine red nails. “So that’s your itch.” Her Cleopatra-bobbed hair shimmered blue-black in the restaurant’s dim lighting, the charcoal eyeliner emphasizing the upturned sweep of her eyes. She was all vamp all the time and Vegas loved her for it. Mark Gold had loved her for it once, too. They’d dated our sophomore year in college, until he met Christie Stevenson. “Dollar bills stuffed into sweaty girl crotches.” As an afterthought, she added, “If memory serves, you always did enjoy a nice wet crotch.”
The budding erection I was struggling to conceal beneath my dinner napkin gave a twitch of appreciation. “Memory does serve.”
Suzie shot me a lewd grin. “I haven’t been to the O. G. in ages. But it might be nice to take in a man-candy show instead.”
Not what I’d expected, I nonetheless agreed. Suzie was clearly jonsing for a pre-show before I took her back to my hotel room for the main attraction. Besides, after my encounter with Mr. Lone Star, I was no longer a stranger when it came to sampling man-candy
And was there ever a lot of man-candy ready to be sampled!
The large, dimly lit second floor (female strippers did their thing on the floor below) was filled to capacity and contained a lounge area with a sea of club chairs and tables. But it was to the low, L-shaped platform dominating the space for live performances to which Suzie led me now. A row of chairs bordered this showy, strobe-lit coliseum for sexual gladiators and their throngs of adorning female fans, all eager to scream, cream, and turn over their hard-earned cash.
“You gonna be able to handle this?” Suzie yelled above the roar of the music.
“I’ll suffer through it!” I shouted back with a smile.
No sooner did our asses hit the pair of chairs she’d managed to reserve for us than Suzie fell prey to the charms and gyrations of a sexy cowboy wearing a black Stetson and not much else. Why were they always cowboys?
I might not be able to hear her pleasure over the pulsating beat, but her parted red lips and tilted-back head, as the cowboy gave her one of the hottest lap dances known to God and man, told me that she was in Man-Candy Heaven.
That was where the fun abruptly ended.
Over the blaring music and flashing strobes, Suzie’s stripper turned to leer at me. His expression chilled me to the bone, his dark eyes glittering like evil jewels in the intense chromium flashes. I could never forget that face, every aspect of it forever burned into my memory. The shaved head and pale skin, the cruel set of his mouth within the Van Dyke beard.
“I see you, little incubus!”
The monster’s silent words screamed inside my head and I jerked back in my chair, nearly toppling it and falling into a group of bachelorette partiers behind me, before shooting to my feet.
I steadied myself, shaking my head several times to clear my vision and loosen
If succubi existed, and I was living proof that incubi did, Suzanne Donahue was their human equivalent. Bewitching in the seductive sway of her hips as she walked toward a man to the subtle parting of her lips just before she leaned in to speak to him, looked at him—like the way she was looking at me right now—a man had no choice but to succumb to her charms.
I offered her a sly grin, and then glanced up at the enormous Buddha floating above an infinity pool close to our table. “You up for a little scratch at Olympic Gardens?”
She grinned back at me and rested her chin atop linked fingers tipped by glossy, fire-engine red nails. “So that’s your itch.” Her Cleopatra-bobbed hair shimmered blue-black in the restaurant’s dim lighting, the charcoal eyeliner emphasizing the upturned sweep of her eyes. She was all vamp all the time and Vegas loved her for it. Mark Gold had loved her for it once, too. They’d dated our sophomore year in college, until he met Christie Stevenson. “Dollar bills stuffed into sweaty girl crotches.” As an afterthought, she added, “If memory serves, you always did enjoy a nice wet crotch.”
The budding erection I was struggling to conceal beneath my dinner napkin gave a twitch of appreciation. “Memory does serve.”
Suzie shot me a lewd grin. “I haven’t been to the O. G. in ages. But it might be nice to take in a man-candy show instead.”
Not what I’d expected, I nonetheless agreed. Suzie was clearly jonsing for a pre-show before I took her back to my hotel room for the main attraction. Besides, after my encounter with Mr. Lone Star, I was no longer a stranger when it came to sampling man-candy
And was there ever a lot of man-candy ready to be sampled!
The large, dimly lit second floor (female strippers did their thing on the floor below) was filled to capacity and contained a lounge area with a sea of club chairs and tables. But it was to the low, L-shaped platform dominating the space for live performances to which Suzie led me now. A row of chairs bordered this showy, strobe-lit coliseum for sexual gladiators and their throngs of adorning female fans, all eager to scream, cream, and turn over their hard-earned cash.
“You gonna be able to handle this?” Suzie yelled above the roar of the music.
“I’ll suffer through it!” I shouted back with a smile.
No sooner did our asses hit the pair of chairs she’d managed to reserve for us than Suzie fell prey to the charms and gyrations of a sexy cowboy wearing a black Stetson and not much else. Why were they always cowboys?
I might not be able to hear her pleasure over the pulsating beat, but her parted red lips and tilted-back head, as the cowboy gave her one of the hottest lap dances known to God and man, told me that she was in Man-Candy Heaven.
That was where the fun abruptly ended.
Over the blaring music and flashing strobes, Suzie’s stripper turned to leer at me. His expression chilled me to the bone, his dark eyes glittering like evil jewels in the intense chromium flashes. I could never forget that face, every aspect of it forever burned into my memory. The shaved head and pale skin, the cruel set of his mouth within the Van Dyke beard.
“I see you, little incubus!”
The monster’s silent words screamed inside my head and I jerked back in my chair, nearly toppling it and falling into a group of bachelorette partiers behind me, before shooting to my feet.
I steadied myself, shaking my head several times to clear my vision and loosen
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