Disappointed

Sample Scene

     “Relax, Timothy, I’m a judge, remember?” Judge Slinger said, sitting in the back seat of Officer Flaggert’s cruiser as they sped down a two-lane county road.

     The officer had often chauffeured His Honor around because he wanted to curry favor. Taking the Judge for a Friday or Saturday night out or picking him up in the early morning hours after a binge was one thing, but picking him up at 9:00 a.m. from home after canceling his entire docket for the day and heading for a strip club was another. Still, when Judge Slinger asked for a favor, Flaggert wasn’t inclined to refuse.

     On the southern border of Dunkirk County, at the intersection of two state highways, a massive navy-blue pole barn sat on the corner, surrounded by a vast parking lot. Its windowless front stretched for at least fifty yards, and its name—Joy Ride Gentleman’s Club—flowed across in gigantic old English script. Seductively posed with each letter, larger-than-life, near-naked painted ladies beckoned passersby with naughty finger wags and pursed cherry-red lips.

     “Do you want me to wait?” Flaggert asked.

     “Wait?” Slinger replied. “Come on, quit being such a boy scout. Live a little, Timothy, and come in with me. A drink, a little eye candy, and maybe even a happy ending isn’t a bad way to start the day, is it? Sheena will take care of me, and you can pick another fine lady for yourself. I guarantee it. I have connections.”

     Flaggert thought, “Not bad for you, maybe, but my wife will kill me if she ever finds out. I bet there’re security cameras everywhere in there,” but replied, “I think I’ll just wait in the car since I’m on duty.” Flaggert knew if he joined in, Slinger would add another indiscretion to an already long list he could use to motivate the officer later.

     The Judge sighed and said, “Suit yourself.”

     Driving behind the building, Flaggert pulled his cruiser under a red awning at the main entrance. Slinger jumped out of the back seat and slammed the door shut, and Flaggert quickly pulled out of the parking lot and onto the shoulder of the state road. He’d pretend to watch for speeders until the Judge was finished.

     Most who came to Joy Ride didn’t care if anyone saw them, and they parked wherever they wanted. On the west side of the building, a more considerable area for parking allowed semis, farm trucks, and even the occasional cowboy on a tractor to easily pull in. Still, some preferred anonymity, and the red awning and small bushes strategically placed at either end provided the necessary cover.

     Joy Ride’s dancers and some select patrons were treated with special care. Two unmarked limousines and three shuttles left the parking lot a few hours before every shift. They’d return with the employees and VIPs from as far away as Peoria, Champaign, and Springfield in time for the shift change. On the weekends, an entire armada of courtesy transportation—four limousines and five motorcoach shuttles—complete with full bars and nude hostesses, was dispatched to transport patrons in from as far away as Chicago and St. Louis.

     The twenty-four-hour enterprise was the brainchild of Joy Ride’s owner, Marco DeSalvio. A transplant from East Saint Louis and a childhood friend of Slinger’s, DeSalvio was a one-of-a-kind businessman, a true visionary in the debauchery and self-indulgence industry.

     DeSalvio’s establishments were once well-known in the greater Saint Louis area but closed after being caught up in a sweeping narcotics sting a decade earlier. Though he was never charged, the authorities shuttered his businesses—gentlemen’s banquet facilities—as he liked to call them back then. Since he’d known only one trade all his life, he did the only thing a man with his unique skills and imagination could do.

     Relocate and reopen.

     The Judge sauntered through the smoked glass double doors, making a grand entrance. A voluptuous woman with alabaster skin and a long, blonde ponytail greeted him. She was dressed in stilettos and a short, clingy dress, and her substantial cleavage and nubile curves were flawlessly emphasized. She smiled and directed Slinger, a regular, into a private room to the left of the doors, hidden only by a heavy purple drape. Behind the curtain, mirrors formed the walls on all sides. It was faintly lit, and a strange smell of incense filled the air. A small disco ball turned slowly over a circular red leather couch sitting empty in the middle.

     A pulsating bass guitar thumped in the Judge’s chest, and he found his groove in the same rhythm as the adrenalin coursed through his veins, clapping his hands and snapping his fingers as he danced towards the couch. Finally, dropping with his legs spread, he rested his elbows on the back of the sofa, tapping his fingers, biting his upper lip, and bobbing his head to the beat.

     The hostess, fighting to hold back her laughter, cracked a slight smile as he walked across the room. She asked if he wanted a drink, and the Judge ordered a double Grey Goose bloody mary.

     Joy Ride was known not only for exotic dancing but also for its gourmet food, like so many other similar establishments. Many husbands used this sorry excuse with their wives when they were caught visiting. Slinger, however, didn’t need a meal this time. He remarked to the hostess that he’d satisfy his appetite with other fleshy edibles and blew her a kiss.

     The hostess rolled her eyes and left the room as Slinger picked up a remote control on the couch beside him. With a button, he lowered the lights, and another button press caused a mirrored wall to become translucent, causing the club’s main floor to appear through the one-way glass.

     Stages were scattered wall-to-wall with brass poles erect in the center, and barstools lined every side, but not all were occupied. The Judge counted only seven lovely ladies applying their trade. In varying degrees of dress, each dancer moved in ways meant to provoke both carnal and financial reactions while bouncers stood nearby in case patrons got out of hand or, more likely, tried to get something or someone in theirs.

     The men sat around the stages in an erotic trance. Drinking, drooling, whistling, and hooting while showering dancers with dollar after dollar. Occasionally, an onlooker held a tip between his teeth. If the denomination was minimal, the dancer would nibble on the gift briefly before tearing it away like a piece of meat. If it was a twenty or more, she’d beguile the giddy spectator as she carefully slid into position on her knees and snatched the tender with her buttocks or breasts.

     Several minutes passed before a tall, fit woman colored a rich umber appeared from behind the purple drape, wearing only white heels and a silver string around her waist. Looking as though she’d been magically transported from a Caribbean Island, she strutted seductively towards Slinger, and every undulation drew more breath from his lungs. She parted her lips, licked the upper, and, saying nothing, bent over to pick up the remote, pausing only long enough for her perfect pendulous breasts to sway just beyond his nose.

     Purring and giggling erotically before raising upright with the remote, she pressed a button, and once again, the mirror became opaque. Then, tossing the remote aside, she grabbed the back of the couch, straddled the Judge, and thrust her body into his groin hard while moaning a melody of an unending climax.

     Sheena.

     In a gentleman’s agreement, Slinger had promised to protect Joy Ride in every way his judgeship would allow. In return, DeSalvio wouldn’t permit Sheena to work in a private room for anyone else. She was Slinger’s queen of the jungle, his toy, his every fantasy, and no one else got to enjoy one-on-one time with her. Their agreement didn’t permit touching, but the Judge knew if he decided to take liberties, and Sheena didn’t mind—it had happened many times—his childhood friend wouldn’t care either.

     Sheena bore down and gnashed into Slinger’s crotch while pressing her breasts into his face. With his eyes closed, the Judge writhed and grunted with immeasurable pleasure. His hands slid up her thighs and caressed the small of her back, trying to pull her closer. She firmly pushed his hands back down as she whispered through a moist breath, “Not today, big boy, not today,” causing more electricity jolts to places already aroused.

     Five minutes into the decadence, Slinger, still consumed in the moment, thought he’d heard ice rattling in a glass. His bloody mary had arrived. “Just set it there,” he said, half-pointing at a small table in front of him but not looking. However, as the sound moved closer, Slinger opened an eye and peeked toward the noise. His drink hadn’t arrived, and now, neither would he.

     Flaggert stood a few feet inside the room, fidgeting as he looked away from the knotted bodies on the couch and stared at the purple curtain.

     Chuckling, Slinger said, “Why, Timothy, I’m glad you changed your mind, but I’m afraid I’ll need to call someone else for you. There are no more patrons allowed with this ravenous beauty.”

     Sheena looked up and winked before continuing her work.

     Flaggert said, “Well, uh, no, Your Honor. It’s just that, well, it’s just that a call just went out for someone to find you. Judge Balzac’s wife was rushed to the hospital this morning, and they need someone to cover his courtroom as soon as possible.”

     The hostess walked in carrying the Judge’s bloody mary on a tray. Sheena stopped, stood up, and wore a feigned pouty face.

     “For God’s sake, Timothy, turn around. These pretty things won’t bite,” Slinger said.

     Flaggert didn’t turn.

     Taking a sip from the tall glass of the spicy drink, Slinger said, “Give me ten minutes,” and sighed while signaling the hostess for a second. “Call Balzac’s clerk and tell her you found me sick at home, still in my pajamas, but I’m feeling better now. We’ll be on our way shortly. Ladies, it’s been a pleasure as always, but unfortunately, my work is never done.” He pulled four C-notes from his pocket and caressed Sheena’s cheek and chin. “I know our time together was short this morning, my sweetest Sheena, but thank you just the same. While I’m waiting for my second drink, do you think we might continue?” He looked at the hostess. “Put the drinks on my house account and a generous tip for yourself. Timothy, get your car and wait outside. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”