d**k Dancers

d**k Dancers By Alex Morgan Joel couldn’t hear a damn thing over the deafening thump-thump of the club mix booming over the speakers and that was fine with him. It made it easier to ignore the shouts and calls from the men crowded around the platform where he was dancing. The colored beams of light piercing the darkness, moving back and forth, illuminated small areas of the bar for a split second, exposing a mass of men bumping and grinding to the beat of the music. The darkness helped him avoid eye contact with his worshipers holding up dollar bills and larger currency in their hands, wanting to slip them into the thin elastic band of his thong. He had to be careful since some of them tried to grab his c**k or his ass. Sometimes he would give them a brief flash of what glory lay beneath the gauzy material so they could see it was all real, but too often someone wanted more than a peek. If they did, Joel would slap their hand away. The guy would be upset but he wouldn’t leave. None of them did. They came here to see him or one of the other d**k dancers here at the City. Mostly, him. The club had been open less than three months and it was already one of the most popular gay bars in New York City. Management expressed their gratitude to Joel, whose presence had helped the City gain his prominence in a competitive environment like Manhattan. His ginger looks set him apart from the other dancers, the majority of whom had dark features. With Joel’s red beard, blue eyes, and white smile, patrons flocked to his platform. He ran a hand across his muscular chest with its thin coat of hair and gave the crowd a sultry look. They cheered. Joel bent over to give the men behind him a good look at his ass. He clenched his muscles and the thong disappeared between his cheeks. The cheering increased in volume. Unfortunately, this position put his face too close to the old troll at the front of the crowd. Geez, how old is he? Thirty-five? Forty? There’s got to be an age limit on who they let in here. Joel made a mental note to talk to management about that. The troll held out a twenty-dollar bill and motioned he wanted to put it in Joel’s thong. Not on your life, pal. Joel kept his beaming smile and clenched the money with his teeth. He wiggled his eyebrow suggestively and stood back up. The troll wasn’t finished. He waved at Joel to lean toward him again, as if he wanted to say something. Might as well get it over with, Joel thought. He crouched down and the troll rose up on his toes. “I live just around the corner,” he shouted over the din. “You want to come over after you’re done here?” Joel’s smiling expression never wavered. “You’re very sweet, but I’ve got a boyfriend.” “You can bring him over, too,” the troll said, sounding desperate. “We could have a three way.” Does he really think he has a chance? Do any of them think they have a chance to be with me? “Thank you, handsome, but no.” He straightened up and turned away before he could see the look of disappointment on the man’s face. It galled Joel to call him handsome, but he could not reject the man outright. He had to keep them thinking there was a chance. Joel didn’t really mind the old trolls hitting on him. He adored, craved, and needed the attention. Only when they were blind, stinking drunk did they become a real nuisance. Except the cute ones. They were still cute. Nothing was as pathetic as an old drunk troll. Unless they had money. A lot of money. Joel resumed swinging his hips. He stuck his thumbs into the waist string of his thong and pulled it away from his body as if adjusting it. The movement allowed his gawkers to get a tantalizing look at his c**k. They whooped and hollered their appreciation. He gazed across the bar, over the heads of the crowd to another dancer. Slightly smaller and shorter, the dark featured go-go boy caught his eye and winked. The part about Joel having a boyfriend wasn’t a lie. His partner, Sam, shared his passion for dancing and showing off his muscular body. Joel met his beautiful lover at a White Party in Miami a year and a half ago and found they lived only a few hours apart in Indiana. They moved in together a few months later. They realized they shared a love for excitement and opportunities of New York City. It offered so much more than Indianapolis ever could. As soon as it was feasible, Joel packed up his partner and his life and moved to Manhattan. He clasped his hands behind his head and thrust his hips provocatively in Sam’s direction. The crowd at his feet cheered, as if thinking the display of abs and gyrating crotch was meant for them. Joel looked out over the packed bar. It dawned on him that many men were dancing or sitting at the bar or just talking in small groups. They didn’t seem to notice the go-go boys, being wrapped up in their own friends. Do they think I’m up here just for my health? he wondered. I’ve got the hottest body in here and they don’t seem to notice. Oh, well. Their loss. The song ended as did the night’s entertainment. Joel breathed a sigh of relief and crouched down to gather the tips piled at his feet. Men continued to push money at him and into his thong as he pushed through the crowd. Many guys took the opportunity to rub their hands over his body, grab his ass, or rub against his crotch. Joel liked the attention his body—the result of daily, rigorous exercise—received, but having the dregs of humanity touch him all over meant he would have to bathe in bleach when he got home. He reached the back room where he, Sam, and two other dancers changed. He was the last one to arrive and found the other three had almost finished dressing. “I think this has been my best night so far,” he said in a louder-than-necessary tone, waving a wad of bills in the air. Sam congratulated him with a hug and a kiss but the other two responded with glum looks. Joel always made more money than the other three and sometimes more than their tips combined. “And I had to tell the bartenders to stop sending me drinks,” Joel continued. “So many guys were buying me beer and cocktails, I couldn’t drink them all.” “Maybe you should have had them pour them up your ass,” one of the dancers grumbled. “I’m sure there’s plenty of room up there.” “I see you have a few ones, Rocky,” Joel said. “Would you like to trade them for this C-note?” He held up a one hundred dollar bill he received that night. “Oh, you don’t have that many. Such a shame. Do you have enough for this fiver?” “f**k you,” Rocky snapped and shoved his way out of the room, the other dancer following him. “They are so jealous of me,” Joel said, chuckling. “You are the hottest dancer and the one everyone comes to see.” Sam wrapped his arms around Joel’s waist. “How about taking me home and giving me some of what everyone wants from you?” Joel kissed him and checked his reflection in the small mirror on the wall before leading Sam away.