Clubland

by Jay Walker
(Page 3)

Genie and Mojo approached us at a table near the buffet, seeing us talking with a couple they knew. Genie didn't bother asking my brain for permission to court my penis. She went right to tossing stones at the bedroom window to convince it to sneak out on a school night. It was over the sill and halfway down the tree before I was even aware of it.

They agreed to the aforementioned Julia-Jay Walker rules and ushered us into one of the private rooms to talk more.
Then they broke every promise.

We were deer in the headlights. They hit us with their three-pronged attack: Plied us with drink (Le Trapeze doesn't have a liquor license, but has a BYOB policy). Drew our attention away from each other. Launched into the hard sell.

They maneuvered me on the floor mat so my back was to Mojo and Julia. Genie asked if she could sit closer to me. Her thigh rubbed mine and her eyes sent up flares.

It felt incredible but I wasn't that easy -- I turned around. Mojo faced Julia, who sat cross-legged against the wall, and tried to talk her into letting him massage her, insisting his desire was altruism rather than lust. "See," he said, groping slowly at her chest. "This isn't sexual." His rap was bad enough to lay the whole scheme bare.

At the end of the night, we went to Le Trapeze's locker room to change back into our clothes and were met with the evening-ending irony -- silence.

I can say in all honesty that I love Julia for her mind -- she has one to be proud of and he had to endeavor to be less lame. Still, I checked to see if she was rolling with it.

Her eyes were closed tight. He probably mistook that for erotic languor, but I knew better. Her arms pinned the towel tightly across her breasts while her hands rested hard in her lap, barricading it.

"Don't look at her," Genie whispered to me. "A woman gets nervous when you look at her." What? "Why don't you and I go somewhere and get to know each other better?" I wasn't that buzzed.

"You know," she continued, "I don't have to convince most men. They usually go right for me." That was the first statement I believed, having seen the assortment of leering endomorphs and comb-overs wandering the club. But leaving Julia to face Mojo's tender and ample charms wasn't part of the deal.