Chapter Text
There were only so many places that would allow the entrance of a man who’s had quite a few to drink. On a Friday night, there were plenty of singles and groups that end up with an alcohol level way over the average for what’s legal. So, when an organization allows one of those select few to walk into a club, it’s normally because they can hold their drinks, or they manage to play it off as if nothing’s wrong. The latter was the case for one Stanley Pines.
Friday night’s were horrible, especially since there was no one to spend it with. He had blown most of his pocket cash on booze at a corner store and he had waddled along down the main stretch of bars and pubs. It was surprising to find that many around a college campus, but when they were run by students for students, it’s to be expected that people frequent them. The bottle in his hand swung dangerously as he bounded over cracks and uneven slabs of sidewalk and soon he was dropping it at his feet. He uttered a few words of profanity even though no one could hear him. The next place he came to would be where he’d park it for however many hours he could knock out before someone kicked him out.
The sign on the front was a vibrant clash of neon lights but the alcohol had blurred his vision. It looked like a moving image since the lights would change every ten seconds, which wasn’t very concerning. He liked moving images and bright lights, even when drunk.
One of the first things he could see relatively clear was the man at the door. He was a taller gentleman with broad shoulders and a dark suit. The extent of his baldness wrapped around the entirety of his head and left with a gentle glow that reflected the neon lights. Stan’s initial thought was to turn the other way, but he was feeling sick. He’d go in, use the facilities, and leave. If he was careful, it would take less than five minutes tops.
With as genuine of a grin as he could force, Stan marched his way to the door. For a drunk, he certainly knew how to make a first impression. “Good evening my good man!” The smaller details of the man’s face blipped in and out of clarity, but he seemed tense overall by the sudden conversation.
“Can I... help you?”
“That you can! I’ve had a rough night and a buddy of mine recommended this place. He’d said I’d be back on my feet in no time.” A little white lie wouldn’t hurt, would it?
“Your buddy said that?” The bouncer chuckled to himself, settling back against the door. “Your buddy’s looking out for you.”
“Oh yeah he’s the best. Just wanna know if you could-- let me in. I’ve got ID somewhere around here.” Hands pat himself down before he pulls a little leather wallet from his inner jacket pocket. “Pines, Stanley. There we go!” Based on the information on the identification, he was twenty-three. It warranted another up and down from the bouncer before he handed the card back.
“You sure you want to go in there little man?”
“Just want to sit down and have a good, clean time.”
Clean seemed to be the magic word and soon, the door was opened for him. A simple nod of the head was a silent thanks before he pressed forward into the mix of sweaty body heat that blew past him around every corner and the distinct smell of something-- vile. At first, it was a delicate smell, but a familiar one. The further into the mess of litter, pink and purple lights, and pounding bass that he went, the more he could understand where he was. The smell in the air was the smell of sex. It was a smell he’d gone a long time without, but it registered with him as if he’d been there only the night before. The salty fragrance of sweet and alcohol also tinged the air with its pungent stench, but he was more interested in locating the bar.
All he had left in his wallet were a few twenties and a five. What he could do with that at a place like this was a mystery to him since he’d probably blow it on shots and beer in a half an hour anyway. For now, he would set aside the ten. That’d be enough to get him through the rest of the night after he hit up this place. It’d be his last joint before heading back home and crashing on the couch of the band of rejects that lived in one of the most unsettling houses for rent. It was a two bedroom, two bathroom and rather dingy home. It belonged to three guys all of whom thought it was appropriate to smoke at all hours of the day and rehearse their band’s mediocre lineup of hard metal tunes that all sounded the same apart from a different collection of lyrics each time. It wasn’t a great place to crash, but he knew when he got there he’d have a place to sleep.
As he sat there at the bar, drink in hand, he couldn’t help but think back on it. Did he really want to go back there tonight? As revolting as it was to stick with the Three Stooges, he’d much rather settle down on a park bench and wait for morning before going back and stepping around their stoned corpses to grab a clean pair of clothes. He’d wait out the night and crash in the morning. That’s what he’d do.
The second drink went down, and he was on his third when the lights went down. Things were already disorienting, but the moment a flash of pink seemingly blinded him, he had no idea what was happening anymore. Every so often a body would pass by him and head towards what appeared to be a stage to the center of the room. Various voices broke through the pounding beats to yell various things, all of which were profane in nature yet seemed entirely normal in an establishment like this.
A single figure took center stage before moving about, kneeling besides some of the people gathered to the sides of the stage while turning to expose the entirety of their ass to someone standing to the front. At one point, they seemed to retreat into themselves only to move their arms in a fashion that would’ve been extremely explicit could Stan actually see correctly. Even the attempt to blink the blur away didn’t help. Things around him were overwhelming. A few times, he could make out the bartender asking him if he was okay, to which he replied ‘Yes’ as most would. He could make it through the night. With enough determination and the threat of having to go back and drunkenly face his roommates hanging over his head, he promised that he’d hold out.
Upon turning back to the stage, he realized that whoever was up there wasn’t there any longer. Two more took their place and Stan was left to wonder where in the world they went off to. He didn’t care much for whatever it was they were doing, but he was sure he’d see them again and his curiosities would be satisfied.
Drink four went down without a hassle and he was about to inquire about a number five (which he most likely wouldn’t get) when the music kicked up again. More screams echoed throughout the room and the dancer appeared once more. They were wearing less clothing than before which was evident in the cream that seemed to blaze under the heat of stage lights. Try as he might, Stan couldn’t make out a whole lot, but from what he saw, the dancer was working what room they had on the stage. Bit by bit more skin was revealed. The realization that this was a burlesque was almost like a sharp slap across the face. His suspicions were confirmed when the figure on the stage had a volunteer untie the corset wrapped tightly around their waist. A roar from the crowd went up the moment the dancer went topless.
Hands shot up instantly the moment the dancer made their way around the stage, hoping to get to touch the dancer and the confidence that was shining from them. The longer Stan stared, the longer he disconnected from the world around him. The blurring would cease every now and again leaving him with a clear image of the dancer before blurring out again. The dancer was tall, lean, and had a mess of bright blue hair spiked back into something that gave the audience a clear look at the flirtatious facial expressions they sported the longer they stood on stage, visually teasing the audience. Long legs bent at defined knees and spread just as they lowered low enough to keep balance. The studded garters digging into the dancer’s upper thighs held onto fishnet stockings that slipped into knee-high boots fitted with a heel that looked dangerously painful. Apart from the footwear, a g-string held everything in place as best as it could before giving way to a trail of blue pubic hair that stretched up to the dancer’s naval and then continued to tuft in the center of their chest. From what he could see and make out, the dancer appeared to be visually male.
Ah, so he had found himself in one of those clubs. In all honestly, he was too drunk to care, but not drunk enough the moment the dancer strutted his way through the crowd, down the stairs to the front of the stage and toyed with the club-goers.
A few voices called out as the dancer passed by, calling him all sorts of pet names, but ultimately got a finger drawn across their lips, playing a potential kiss before a hand moved to slap them across the face. The cheers of shock and delight fueled the cock of one side of the dancer’s bright blue unibrow. He was getting off on the reactions of the crowd, which brought him directly to the bar.
Out of the people sitting at the bar, Stan seemed to be the most invested in what was going on, thus, the dancer chose him to be his first victim of the night. The same long legs that had once stretched out before the crowd now stepped up to the unsuspecting drunk. Stan’s eyes followed the heels before moving up the expanse of his legs, his groin, and suddenly his head was being lifted the rest of the way by slender fingers which dipped under his stubbled chin.
“Hey there handsome.”