He winked, she winked. Her wink slammed into his libido like a tennis ball ricocheting off of a racket. It sensually stung. It aroused his senses with the eternal vague promise that every man wants from every woman, that tantalizing tease of sex. A twenty dollar tip left on the stage sent a return volley of interest. She winked a second time as she absconded with the tip. Now she danced only for him. This man to her was interested and interesting. Significant tips will make men seem more significant than they probably are or possibly ever will be. It will fog a girl’s judgment. Money will do that to a girl in her line of work. It will probably do it to most women regardless of their line of work.

His wink wasn’t the first that she returned. She’d returned several already that day. If not a wink, then a nod or a glance or a stare, some form of primal communication that carried the premise of the species, the biological necessity of maleness. Simply put, boys were being boys, naturally lust filled boys, like they were intended to be. I should know, I was one of them. I was the boy doing the winking.

What kind of man does the winking in this kind of place? You’re probably thinking a Godless one? No, that’s just not so. I am a man of God precisely like you. We are all children of God. Some of us simply do not travel the same path as others.

Upon leaving the stage she conveniently sat next to me. Her hand maneuvered its way across my thigh with a stroke of introduction. If I had had more nerve I would have countered with a hand stroke of my own. Her legs were long and beautiful. But, hey, among my other designations I’m a gentleman. Everyone outside of this place thinks that I’m one. But the denizens of this place and now you probably nourish at least a nuance of skepticism. I do, however, practice the rituals of gentlemanly conduct. Therefore, no complimentary stroke was issued.

“Thanks for the tip, Honey. I know it sounds corny, Honey, but can I call you Honey?”

“Yes, please do. Although I guess before I get too thrilled with myself I should probably be aware that I’m not the only Honey in this place.”

“That’s true, but as I’m the queen bee you’re the only one that counts right now. So feel free to enjoy your status.”

“Thanks, while we’re on the subject of enjoyment I was wondering if I might enhance mine.”

“Sure, enhancement is available. Where shall we enhance?”

“I’m staying at the Y, only kidding; I’m at the W just around the corner. My family maintains a room there. We’re with the financially fortunate. Care to buzz by after your shift?”

“Sure, that’s in an hour, what’s your room number?”

“It’s 2003. Just knock twice when you get there. I’ll expect you at 2 then.”

At 2AM, as expected, a welcomed double knock echoed softly on my door.

“Remember me? I’m not the Avon Girl.”

“I hope not, although I’d probably buy almost anything from you, c’mon in.”

“Thanks, that’s good to hear. It means that my marketing program works. Who needs direct mail? My personal contact advertising always works because of the interesting items that I offer. They’re so intriguing that I can make a guy like shopping.”

“So what’s the blue light special today?”

“Not that fast though, first I have to establish who my customer is. It’s just a formality, Honey, but a girl can’t be too safe. Just what do you do for a living?”

“I’m in the relationship business. I facilitate communication between people and those in power. Think of me as a liaison.”

“Almost sounds new age.”

“In a manner of speaking, I am.”

“That’s charming, but Honey; I need to know that you’re not a cop. The police seem to have a problem with my pursuing my career path. Their career path seems hell bent on undermining mine.”

“No, I’m not a cop. Far be it for me to abort your ambitions.”

“OK then, what specifically are your ambitions in so far as I’m concerned. As you say, let’s liaise.”

“I’m interested in full service.”

“OK, $200 gets the dipstick in and changes the oil.”

“Fine.”

“Well, Honey, after you extend the appropriate financial homage to the queen bee please feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

After paying the toll I removed my shoes and socks. They always come off first when approaching nudity. Childhood habits die hard even in adult activities. I loosened my belt and let my pants drop unceremoniously to the floor. I will never make a living as a stripper. My shirt and BVDs followed. When I looked up I found myself face to face with a gorgeous naked woman. Her jet black locks cascaded down the sides of her milk white face and landed contently on her full breasts. A trimmed black triangle accented the aspiration of my desire. Apparently she was one of those people who don’t have a problem with nudity as she completed the picture with a devilishly toothy smile.

“OK Honey, now we’re both on the same page. Why don’t you lie down and let me do the work. That’s assuming that you don’t want to take charge. Am I correct?”

“Go ahead. I’m experienced at following orders.”

With that she stood at the end of the bed and proceeded to crawl slowly, deliciously up my body twisting and turning her flesh against mine as she worked her way up. Soft breasts teased my skin as her taunt nipples sired little electric charges into my flesh. Her mouth planted warm, wet little kisses complimented by tiny bites across my thighs, abdomen and stomach. Reaching my face she nuzzled her head against the nape of my neck eventually placing a moist tongue squarely in my ear. This woman could put Viagra out of business. She left only after a playful, pulling nip at the lobe. Before I even realized it she had slipped a condom over my now pulsing member. She mounted me in one motion like a gymnast up on the horse. Her eyes projected a look that radiated lust. If I ever was aroused to the point of losing control, this was it. It only took five pumps of her toned writhing body to finish me off and leave me in an exhausted heap. Descending demonstrated the same grace that she had ascended with. A true pro if ever one existed.

“Why do you guys always invoke the name of the deity when they shoot?”

“I don’t know for sure. Personally I think it’s an instinctive cry for help. You realize that you’re totally out of control and virtually helpless. If you actually stop and think about it it’s really ironic. Men and women too, for that matter, spend inexorable time and effort in attempting to maintain control of their lives. The one thing, however, that they both truly desire in some cases above all else renders them totally vulnerable if only for a few brief wondrous seconds.”

“Think about what you just said. What you’re telling me is that we spend our time scheming, plotting, conniving, what have you to get something that really, at the end of the day, just takes us to a totally different place than we’re secure with.”

“Basically, that’s right.”

“Maybe we just want to be vulnerable. Maybe it’s a deep down need to acknowledge our humanity. Taking it a step further, possibly it’s the closest we can come, short of the moment of death, to entertaining the notion that’s there’s something greater than us.”

“Now you’re migrating into my career path.”

“This is a somewhat loftier conversation than I usually have with my clients. Just what do you do anyway?”

“Really want to know?”

“Go ahead. I can’t imagine that you’re going to upset my apple cart with whatever you do.”

“I’m a priest.”

“You’re a what?”

“A priest, you know, as in an employee of the Catholic Church.”

“Is this a joke?”

“No, it’s for real.”

“Fuck me. What the hell are you doing here? I’m sorry. That was a really poor choice of words.”

“What does any man do here?”

“They all do the same. I just didn’t think that you or one of you would be one of them.”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“It does make me feel uncomfortable.”

“Now you’re the one who should make yourself comfortable.”

“My clothes are already off.”

“Then maybe we should both put our clothes on.”

“OK.”

“Were you raised as a Catholic?”

“Yes, I was. Do I call you Father? This is really getting freaky.”

“OK, right now let’s dispense with the Father stuff. You can call me Tom.”

“Tom?”

“Yeah, Tom is fine, that’s my name. It was my name before any of the clerical stuff and still is despite the clerical stuff. It will be the name that I die with. I’ll always be Tom and all that that entails regardless of the number of coats of paint that they apply to me. If I were to guess I’d say that you had a name too, what is it? If you’re uneasy giving it to me I understand.”

“No, that’s OK. It’s Carol.”

“Did you go to Catholic school, Carol?”

“Grammar and high, I hated it.”

“Why?”

“Quite frankly, it always struck me as so much bullshit. Sorry.”

“That’s OK, there were times that I would be in total agreement with you.”

“Look, let me give you your money back.”

“Why? We had an agreement. You lived up to your end of the bargain. I lived up to mine. Now we’ll go our separate ways.”

“OK, but it’s just that I feel strange, to say the least, about being with you. I think if I were to walk down the street and see you in your collar I might really lose it.”

“Maybe I would too if I saw you. Let’s just take this for what it was and not read into it too much. We just affirmed our humanity, that’s all. Is that such a bad thing?”

“No, then we’ll leave it at that, take care, Father, sorry, Tom.”

“Take care, Carol, it was terrific to meet you.”

“Just don’t say, God bless you.”

“Why not, I should and He will.”

I said it to her as she left. In my opinion, He did.

*

Bio: Charlie Coleman is a writer living in Brooklyn.