MIKE THE SOMNAMBULIST
Act 2 (Part 6)
by StageShowMM
“—wide awake. Come on, guys, it’s last call. Get out there and give this audience a show!”
That’s right, it was almost the end! (The end? How?) I couldn’t remember how I knew, but I did. And sure as there was conga music starting over the loudspeakers, I knew it was time to do that too!
Bolting up in a flash (why was I on the ground? And who had I been on top of?), I turned toward the stairs and rushed forward. The music was really going now, and it was time for us to dance!
I grabbed the person in front of me (I think it was this Asian guy, Len), and, since I was a conga expert (our team was one of the best in the world), quickly adopted the standard dance position, making sure my hands were resting on his waist and my pelvis pressed tightly against his backside. Feeling my sagging dick squeezing between the warm cleft of his buttocks, I knew I was doing things just right.
The line quickly continued forming behind me, and I felt Hector’s firm, smooth hands against my hips, his pelvis butting directly up into my ass crack—or at least, as close as he could get with the giant puff of fabric surrounding his waist.
The whole line must have assembled quickly, because very soon we were moving, slowly but purposefully shuffling in time with the music, feeling our friends grinding into us on either side. To be quite honest, it was almost hard not to get aroused, feeling so much hot flesh pressing so close together, but the fact we were all dudes made me resolve to keep my libido in check. Besides, I was a professional conga dancer, and popping a stiffy in the middle of a performance wouldn’t be very professional! I focused on the music and smiling for the crowd, who were all cheering and applauding wildly.
Our first and biggest challenge presented itself with the stairs down from the stage. Of course, it was nearly impossible to keep our pelvises wedged together as we descended, and while I squatted and did my best with Len in front of me, I could feel Hector’s frilly clothes (seriously, what was he wearing?) tickling me up the back, so I knew we were losing the line.
Finally back on the ground, I pressed myself in doubly tight to Len, and soon felt Hector follow suit behind me, his firm, tan chest riding close on the small of my back.
And forward we shuffled, with what looked like that Indian guy at the lead, bending over a bit as he walked, hands up in the air, making it almost look like he was getting railed from behind. Slowly we snaked up the aisle, past tables and tables of cheering fans, all here to celebrate our participation in the 69th Annual International Conga-Con. We were really fucking phenomenal the way we kept ourselves pressed so close. Almost no other conga team in the world was capable of this level of coordination. But it was simple, really, when you got down to it—just focus on keeping your pelvis pressed against the cheeks of the guy in front of you, and use the sway of his hips to guide your movements, as you used the sway of yours to guide the guy behind you. And so on.
I had gotten so lost in the rhythm of keeping myself grinding into Len that I barely noticed we had gotten almost halfway up the aisle through the bar. We were nearing the small set of stairs that led into the recessed middle seating area, and I don’t think I would have noticed anything, honestly, if it hadn’t been for the gradual crossfade in the music…
She sits alone, waiting for suggestions…
That’s right! What was I doing? I shouldn’t be dancing with these guys in front of me. I was a world-famous lap dancer! I should be dancing for all the people in the audience.
Quickly letting go of the dude in front of me (some other stripper—why was I holding on to him?), I slid over to a nearby table, rolling my shoulders and abs seductively. It was a table of four guys, all in their mid-30s to -40s, with button-ups, watches, and well-groomed goatees on half of them. Pretty average high-end club patrons, but I knew they were money. Reaching the table, I stuck one leg out seductively, then started rolling my pelvis forward and back, closing my eyes and really getting into it. Fuck, the tips were gonna be good tonight.
I felt the warm touch of flesh on my thighs and opened my eyes, looking down again. The guy closest to me, in sort of a ruby dress shirt, sleeves unbuttoned and rolled half up, was running both his hands up and down the sides of my lower torso. Thankfully, touching was legal here, so a bit more tease could only help my chances at a phenomenal payday. Staring him dead in the eye and giving a look that could melt ice, I scooted forward so I was straddling his leg and began to drag myself back and forth across the fabric of his designer jeans. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I leaned in, making sure to bring my defined torso in close proximity with his, and breathed hotly in his ear. “Oh fuck…” he moaned, and I could tell he was pitching a tent like no one’s business.
“You like that?” I whispered. After all these years I knew just what to say to drive the gayboys wild. “Touch all you want,” I added, pulling back off him and turning toward his friend—the better to give him access to my firm, round rump.
If you want my body…
Making eyes with the guy next to him—a younger-looking dude surely in his 30s—I began to gyrate, doing everything I could to flex every muscle I could think of. That’s how you earn those bills.
At the table next to mine, which was populated with a group of women with some esoteric senses of fashion—corset tops, leather boots, kind of steampunk-meets-librarian—I could see Hector, one of my fellow dancers, gyrating as well, slowly peeling out of a frilly pink skirt and tights, shucking the bright material down his tan thighs to reveal the hard flesh underneath. I figured this had to be some kind of weird bachelorette party or something, but damn was he gonna earn tips. That said, gay guys can really start throwing the money around if you get your claws in them, so I continued gyrating between my two current marks.
“Remember boys, the more you circulate, the better chance you stand of getting those tips!” I heard the emcee call, and I remembered he was right—you could try to milk a guy all night, but sometimes it was best to diversify. Waving a good-bye to my current targets, I strutted across the aisle to a table of three geeky-looking guys in their ’40s, the kind that I knew would be desperate for attention.
At the table next to mine, I could see another one of my fellow dancers, Ant, who was bent over in front of this bearded biker guy I recognized from… somewhere… and had what looked like a pair of lacy black panties pulled down his legs, allowing him to receive a light, bare-assed spanking. He rolled his head, looking like he was really into it, and the guy even leaned in and kind of motorboated himself (or attempted to) with Ant’s scrawny ass. Damn… Ant always got the wild ones! I turned my attention to my table just as Ant was slipping out of the panties completely, tossing them somewhere into the audience.
“Hey boys,” I purred, backing up to the trio and bending backwards over their table as they quickly removed their drinks. I could feel several cool spots of beer bottle sweat on my back as I contracted my stomach, rippling my abs to call their attention.
“Fuck…” I heard one of them mutter. Perfect. That was my job—making cash and blowing… minds.
“Go ahead and touch…” I whispered, staring the one toward the back of the table dead in the eye. All three reached forward, running their hands shakily over my pecs and abs. Damn I was gonna rake it in…
“You’re the best guy in the show,” I heard one of them whisper. “You’re so incredible. I’d do anything to have you…”
“You got me,” I said, guiding his hand down from my pecs to my inner thigh. I wasn’t technically supposed to let them touch my junk, but sometimes they slipped, and it gave them a thrill.
“I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful when they’re hypnotized…”
Hypnotized?? This must be another one of those fetish jobs. Guys blurt out the wildest subconscious shit sometimes when they’re getting a dance. But you gotta roll with it.
“Why don’t you let me hypnotize you with this dick,” I winked, sitting back up and beginning to grind on my feet, making sure the bait and tackle were swinging freely.
“I love you…” he all but sobbed. Damn. Sometimes these guys got lonely. That could make things a little rough, but I had a job to do.
Come on, honey, tell me so…
A strange, second rhythm began to bump under the song. What the fuck was going on? If they were fucking up with the sound system again I was seriously gonna- Oh shit. The conga. I’d totally forgotten! Barely even saving a thought for what I’d been doing, I dashed back into the aisle looking for the last guy in line. How had I managed to forget we were in a competition?
Spotting where everyone was lining up and beginning to scoot forward, I dashed up, quickly placing my hands on the hips of the guy in front of my and pushing my pelvis forward as close to him as possible. The myriad of tattoos on his shoulders and back told me this scrawny form had to be Ant, and for some reason, his round, smooth cheeks felt strangely familiar, just the right place for my hips to press up against, flaccid dick sliding neatly between.
Overcome by the rhythm, our line began pressing forward, slowly, as this was one of the most difficult formations you could undertake in conga. A few moments later, I felt a pair of delicate hands take me by the waist. Glancing back, I saw Jake behind me, looking spacey as always but seeming furiously committed to our routine, given the fervor with which he was pressing his hips into mine.
We continued like this, gradually reaching the stairs and slowly making our way onto the mezzanine, then the upper level. That was one of the trickiest parts, as we all had to take the stairs in time, but eventually we got through it, or at least most of the way up, before something strange started happening with the music again.
She sits alone, waiting for suggestions…
Fuck yeah, that’s right, these guys and gals needed a lap dance. I spotted a trio of women and scooted over, putting my hands over my head and letting my hips lead the way, turning around and gyrating to give them a great view of my ass. That’s the thing about ladies—they generally prefer a bit more tease over out-and-out dick-swinging. I knew that my toned posterior and back should be just the ticket.
Right I was, as I felt one of the closer two—the chubbiest and least attractive, in my opinion, but her money was as green as anyone else’s—reach out and slap me on the backside. I turned and looked over my shoulder, giving her a wink and scooting closer.
“God, I wish I could get subs like this…,” she sighed as I ground back into her knee.
“This deep or this hung?” asked one of the other ladies.
“Both!” she chortled, and the three reached in and clinked their glasses. I wondered what she meant by “deep.” If she was talking about her G-spot, I could certainly deliver—not that she was going to find out!—and if it was a reference to my talent for sparkling conversation, well, my rates stayed the same by the hour.
“Hey Mike,” said the lady opposite her, offering some drink in a tall glass that looked like a mai tai. I usually wasn’t supposed to accept drinks from strangers, but hell, I was kinda thirsty, and it was great for the act. Still resting against the first lady’s knee, I leaned across the table and wrapped my lips around her straw, drawing some of the sweet liquid into my mouth—more for effect than a proper drink.
The lady laughed and her friends joined her, and I hopped back to my feet, bumping and grinding to the rhythm.
If you want my body…
“All right, boys, keep circulating. Let everybody have a chance to enjoy you,” I heard booming over the loudspeaker, and I realized the voice was right—I had a lot more ground to cover with my team.
Scoping out the surrounding area, I spotted a number of faces I recognized: Kyle was across the aisle, leaning forward and letting an old guy in a suit spank him on the ass while the rest of his table laughed. That Indian guy Arpit was at the table next to me, straddling some buff, mid-40s guy’s legs and rubbing his non-existent tits in his face. The guy was laughing and giving one of his little chocolate-drop nipples a lick, pink tongue darting swiftly from the sandy Brillo-pad surrounding his lips. Down on the mezzanine, Hector and Ryan were grinding back-to-back, flexing their abs as two neighboring tables felt up their taught stomachs. Josh was straddling the railing between the levels and riding it like a cowboy, while people from beside and below were running their hands over the undulating muscles in his thighs. One of the rave boys, Jay or Sam, had even climbed up on the bar and was twisting like a go-go boy, while his compatriot was performing similarly below him, to the delight of a cadre of onlookers. Fuck. I really needed to step up my game if I was going to keep up.
Spotting a table of well-dressed guys that looked like they needed service, I strutted over, confidently hopping into the closest man’s lap and starting to ride just like Arpit—though, I was sure, a hundred times better. Grabbing his hands, I pressed them to my stomach, sucking in and flexing my abs to give him a thrill.
“Fuck, dude, you’re such a good stripper-drone,” he groaned, sighing with ecstasy.
Stripper-drone… What the fuck was that? I decided to roll with it.
“Wind me up and play with me,” I whispered, trying to think of whatever the hell a drone was supposed to say.
“God, I wanna be just like you. So under control…” he murmured, and I could feel the erection straining his slacks. Fuck yeah I was in control. I was the best dancer in this joint.
“Hey Mike, can I get some over here?” I heard a voice growl, and looked over to see a biker guy sitting at the next table, waving a big wad of cash. For some reason he looked familiar, like I had seen him before, but I couldn’t place him. Nevertheless, he looked like a good tipper, and money talks…
“Come on, man, stay at your table. We haven’t even had one here yet,” one of the guys near me protested, and started waving his own wad of bills.
“Guys, guys, there’s enough to go around,” I said, standing and grinding in place, giving everybody an opportunity to gather round. I felt a forest of hands reaching out, caressing me—shakily, roughly, and everything in between. Feigning like I was closing my eyes, I nevertheless kept one half-peeled to spot any wads of money being thrust at me, and made sure to grab them while I could.
Come on, honey, tell me so…
There it was again. That thumping. What did that thumping—oh right! The conga!
I dashed back into the aisle, dropping the wad of napkins I had been holding (why did I have napkins?) and seeking the end of the line. Not really seeing anything, I spotted only one guy in front of me—Paul or Parker, I couldn’t quite tell with the clothes off—and dashed forward, grabbing him by the waist and pressing my hips into him. Noticing Jay or Sam hopping down from the bar, I felt his compatriot grab me from behind, pressing his hips and tight, smooth torso into me. His partner followed suit, and we were soon forming a decent conga line, beginning to swivel our hips and shuffle forward with the music. As we moved, I couldn’t help but notice that whoever was behind me seemed to be enjoying himself a bit too much, as he was fitting between my cheeks more in an upward than downward direction, if you catch my drift. Definitely a no-no by Competitive Conga rules, but I imagined there was little he could do but think of baseball and hope it passed before the judges noticed.
Bumping and grinding our way past the bar, I felt patrons from all sides reaching out and slapping us on the side of our butt cheeks as we passed. They were laughing and yelling to each other, and it all seemed just a bit inappropriate, but we were delivering such a phenomenal conga I wasn’t surprised in the least. I figured it was best just to roll with it and keep going—this was a winning contest performance for sure!
The stairs once again presented an obstacle, and it took some careful maneuvering to step down while still trying to keep tightly pressed into our neighbor’s backside. It was a slow journey to the mezzanine, and even slower still once our part of the line began descending to the main floor, while the back was still trying to make its way onto the mid-level.
After about half of us had made it to the lower floor again, I began to notice a strange interruption in the music, something I felt like for some reason had been plaguing us all night, with another melody beginning to intrude under the beat of the conga. What a nuisance. I sure hoped we wouldn’t be penalized if this threw off our rhythm.
She sits alone, waiting for suggestions…
Fuck, what was I doing with these guys? I had an audience to entertain! Strutting over to a nearby table, I noticed that it and another beside it were both crowded with Asian businessmen, all dressed in fairly conservative suits and nursing half-finished beers. I’d seen stuff like this before—probably some kind of sex tour or something. Guys like this were always easy prey—loads of money to spend and I could barely do any wrong. I immediately threw myself in the lap of the nearest guy and began gyrating, leaning in and breathing heavily in his ear.
He whispered something back to me I couldn’t possibly understand, but I just breathed hot against his cheek—the universal language—and rose up, straddling his lap and rolling my abs to his delight. He ran a shaky hand up and down them, then held out a fresh, crisp hundred-dollar bill that I grabbed, kissing him on the cheek. He said something to one of his compatriots, and the two laughed nervously. It sounded for some reason like the two kept calling me Simon.
Figuring I probably had a better chance of wringing some more Benjamins out of the rest of the crowd than over and over from a single guy, I hopped back to my feet and began bumping and grinding in the space between the two tables. The various guys around all clapped, except for a few toward the back, who were distracted by Kyle shaking his ass at them. The two started slapping it lightly, like a little bongo, and the whole crowd burst out laughing anew, a few of the guys near me even reaching out and giving my bottom a playful swat as well.
Never one to miss an opportunity, I stuck my butt out further and began cranking my hips, and the guys seemed to take the hint, as I soon felt the soft pat of various palms striking my naked flesh. Meanwhile, across from me, the guy I was facing flashed an absolute wad of cash and beckoned me closer. Knowing what side my bread was buttered on, I turned and backed into him, grinding my posterior against his tight-suited crotch. A stiff protuberance provided the only resistance, yet also an open invitation to continue.
Sitting in the guy’s lap, I leaned back, breathing hot against his neck and allowing him to run his hands up and down my torso, from tits to the top of my pubes. As his fingers trailed just a bit too far south, I reached out, gently brushing them away and wagging a finger playfully. He passed me a wad of cash and I reached down again, money still in hand, and directed his fingers to the forest at the top of my shaft.
“Kiss?” he whispered with a heavy accent, and I leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek, along with a wink. He passed me another couple bills and I smiled, thanking him.
If you really need me, just reach out and touch me…
“All right, guys, keep moving. Free dance is almost over,” I heard a voice boom over the music, and I realized it was right—I had to keep circulating, mixing it up. Bidding my generous patrons goodbye with a sultry nod, I turned and strutted further into the tables toward the middle of the room, which I could see were getting less service. Kyle, who I had noticed before, had moved south, and the only other guy I could see nearby was Hector, grinding back and forth on some Bill Nye-type dude’s lap.
Spotting a table nearby with a couple thin, well dressed 30-something guys and a girl, I sauntered over and started putting on a show, bumping and gyrating and swiveling my hips.
“Fuck yeah, this just gets better every year,” one of the guys yelled to his friends.
“God, if we could just trick Jordan and Bryce into coming down!” the other guy replied. Meanwhile I was making eyes at the lady.
Now, ladies don’t usually tip as well—I guess men are just total horn-dogs and easy to lead by the dick—but I’d been working my ass off all night and had a wad of bills in my hand to show for it, so I figured I might as well treat myself, as she wasn’t half bad-looking. Rounding the table, I began to bump and shake for the brown-haired girl, who giggled and clapped as her friends cheered her on.
Turning around and flexing my back and shoulders to show off the goods, I knew I was killing it when I felt her soft fingers gently graze my lats, followed by another nervous giggle. Turning half around and still trying to keep the goods out of view to provide a bit more tease, I met her gaze with a smoldering stare and watched as bright red flooded her cheeks, visible even in the dim lighting.
“Hey, Mike, let me get a peek at you,” yelled the third guy at the table, who I really hadn’t swung too close to yet. He flashed another wad of cash and that decision was made. Fuck, was everyone at this club loaded tonight?
Hector had moved further back toward the railing dividing the mezzanine, and I watched Jake strut past a group of jeering accountant types as I rounded the table and wrapped an arm around the neck of the second guy with absolute impunity. Sitting my bare ass in his lap, I leaned in and whispered breathily, “Hey, stud,” as I plucked the proffered bills out of his hand. Swinging around and straddling his lap, I began to grind into his pelvis, too—hard like the rest of them—and leaned my head back in mock ecstasy, really trying to sell it.
“Goddamn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy get this into it!” he laughed, in a catty little voice that fully confirmed what the tent in his pants already gave away. Goddamn right I was into it. I was the best exotic dancer on the planet.
Just tell me so… Just tell me so…
“All right, boys, it’s last call. Cuddle up close to that special someone… In fact, I want you to sit right in their lap if you’re not already, wrap those arms around them…”
Mm, fuck yeah. Didn’t have to tell me. I’m the world’s greatest lap dancer. Still, it was strangely hot getting up close to this guy… having my legs straddling his… arms over his broad but slender shoulders. His silky, teal dress shirt felt sensuous beneath my forearms, and the patch of smooth, tan flesh that peeked from between its open buttons was strangely inviting. I stared the guy dead in the eye, trying to get him to blush too. He was cute in an awkward kind of way, a little too lanky and thin, hair gelled and parted and swooped up a bit in the front. He had these big sonar ears that were kind of adorable. And, of course, a broad grin in between them as my arms wrapped around him.
“That’s it, boys. Take a nice, deep breath and hold on tight as you just melt down and sleep now…”
I heard a snap over the loudspeaker and suddenly felt myself swoon, eyes rolling into my head as my entire body collapsed, knowing just where to go, resting against the firm chest and shoulder of the man in front of me…