Michael & Noelle

"Marcus, Call her over,"

"Michael, I'm getting sick and tired of you."

"Just leave him be, Marcus, he said he didn't want to come."

"It's his birthday! He doesn't have a choice but to celebrate."

I let out a long, and hard sigh, lazily tilting my head to look out of the car window. It was true, the last place I wanted to be, was here. In the car, with four of my closest friends as they drove me to hell knows where. Turning 26 wasn't something I wanted to celebrate, I felt old.

"Slap a smile on your face so maybe you'll actually get some tonight, ey?"

Marcus and his stupid British accent. I wanted to push the smile into the back of his face, but I couldn't do that so instead I just kept staring outside of the window.

We arrive at the club after ten minutes, and I lean back harshly into the chair, bringing them all to face me.

"Why the f**k am I here?" I grunt.

"I don't dance, I don't like loud music, I don't drink, so why am I here?"

"Relax, Michael. You're here because tonight is so much more than just club dancing,"

"He's right," Hane joins in with a nod, "tonight those we're gonna be enjoying some strip tease."

I shake my head, beyond annoyed.

There were things that were your things, things you enjoy doing, things you can tolerate, and then there were other things that utterly irritated your spirit. And clubbing was one of those things for me. I didn't see the sense, nor the point in any of it, and frankly, I just wanted to go home.

"You're welcome to stay in the hot vehicle while we get drunk, but you won't do that, right mike?"

"If you call me Mike again, I'll make you swallow the gearstick."

Marcus finally shuts up, his lips forming a thin line as he exits the vehicle. Despite the nagging feeling I had to just uber home, I followed them in.

The music was ask expected, unnecessarily loud. There were far more people than I expected to be here, and that only made me even more agitated.

Marcus, Hanes and Gregory found four seats near the walls of the club, and claimed their territory there. They send for drinks, cigars, and dancers, while I leaned back in my chair.

"Michael, man," Gregory pats my leg, "I know you don't like this s**t very much, but you gotta help us out, we're doing this for you,"

"If you were doing this for me, I'd be somewhere I actually want to be, not a f*****g strip club."

"You're right," he raises both hands, "but we're here anyways, so . . . enjoy it?"

"Gregory please . . . shut the f**k up."

I wanted to disappear into my own world, one where my hands were dirty with mud and wet clay. One where my mind was at peace, focused, and occupied. One where sweat ripped from my forehead, the vibrant sounds of white noise as my background. But I couldn't do it if these grown men were going to keep pestering me all night.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we have some very special guests here tonight," the host rings through the room, everyone coming to a halt as the music dies down.

"This . . . is what you've all been waiting for."

"Hell yeah!" Marcus screams and I let out an exasperated breath before inching away from him.

Five dancers with big feathers in their hair, strutted onto the stage, gathering everyone's attention. They all had the same outfits, just with different colors. Bling dazzled from their bellies to their thighs, heels ranging for 5 to 7 feet tall.

My eyes danced on all of them for a while, but stopped on the dancer with the tattoo running up her spine. She was the first to dance, her skin looked as smooth as butter, as clean as ice.

I tilted my head, my eyes following her every move. She was sensual, her dance steps teasing, drawling an almost invisible line between s****l and Dionysian.

Almost as if she could feel my eyes, in the blink of a second she was staring right back at me. I notice her miss a step, but she quickly plays it off. The dancer's eyes never leaves mine as she dances.

I look away, deciding that I wasn't doing myself a favor by eye-f*****g anyone.

The night moves right along, and the only time I glanced at her was when she wasn't looking.

"Marcus, call her over," Hanes nudged Marcus, a glass of whiskey idle in his hands.

Marcus obviously accepts the challenge, being the t**t he was. I watch as he speaks to one of the security guards, slipping money into his hands.

Soon enough, the security guard was escorting the woman I eye-f****d, and who eye-f****d me, over to Marcus's lap.

She strode over effortlessly, as if the heels that had her towering over us wasn't aching at her feet. We all looked up at her as she stood before us, a small, mischievous smile on her face. A small mask covered her eyes.

"Which one of you boys is Marcus?"

Marcus quickly raises his hands, Hanes and Gregory cheering him on as I turned to find the waitress. My throat felt dry.

As Marcus happily got his dance, I kept my eyes averted, observing the other dancers. They were good, but none were as good as her; in my opinion. I sneaked glances when I could, but after a while, it became unbearable. Marcus bathed in her attention, trying to slip ones into her creases and corners.

"Uh uh," she stops him, "you can tip me afterwards, I'm not a stripper."

"Sorry," he breathes, running a hand through his hair and she grins.

Finally having enough, I stand, moving to the bar section where I grab an orange juice. I find peace on the outside, where it was quiet. I knew I would be here for a while if I stuck with them, so I called up an uber, texted them I was leaving and left.

Like I said, this wasn't my scene, and it also isn't how I wanted to spend my last few minutes of my 26th birthday.