Intercosmic - Chapter 15 - Private Therapeutic Sensual Dancer

 

“You saved my life; I have to take you out. Show you a good time, meet some ladies,” Patrizo insisted as he drove.

“It’s not really necessary, he wouldn’t have killed you.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t let him get the chance to try.

There is nothing of interest in this town and he wants to show me a good time. With what? Is there an old lady that crossbreeds plants and animals? A zoo of creatures not native to Sol? He’s threatening me with a good time and I can’t imagine, nor do I want whatever it is.

“We have arrived in paradise” Patrizo cheers as the car lowers to the ground.

A small building with a single entrance and sparsely populated parking lot awaits us. I step out into the cold and observe his paradise in all of its magnificent glory. I spot a small sign over the door that reads ‘Plutoopolis,’ with a pair of human breast substituting for the double “O.”

“You brought me to a strip club?”

“The best strip club in all of Pluto.”

“Probably the only strip club on Pluto.”

“And thus, the best strip club.”

Patrizo is greeted at the door like a regular while they search me for any weapons or contraband. The metal detector goes over my arms several times. I’m forced to remove my gloves and roll up my sleeve to show that my arm isn’t real before the bouncers repeatedly taps it and believes me. I’ve probably been in a dozen places with metal detectors and never dealt with this. Who is coming to Pluto to start a fight?

The air is thick with perfume of different scents, enough to make me want to sneeze and cough at the same time. The music is playing at levels no normal person would tolerate for long. All of this is normal, yet bizarre at the same time. Still Patrizo is at home, unbothered by any of this, he seems at home in this place. We take up a pair of seats in a booth that that has a view of the stage and Patrizo eagerly awaits the next girl to perform her routine. He waves his hand and a scantily clad woman with brown hair makes her way over.

 “What can I do for you tonight,” the waitress asks.

“I’ll have the plasma-grilled sausage and he’ll have the algae pasta with oxo puffs,” Patrizo orders.

“And drinks?”

“I’ll have a beer, and he’ll have,” Patrizo starts.

“Just water for me. Thank you,” I cut him off.

I didn’t want to be here; I’m not going to get drunk with him. I’m just here because everyone insisted it was a great idea. I didn’t have a choice but I’m not going to go all out with him. I had my fair share of nights like that when I was younger. His eagerness is actually surprising. There’s not much for marines to do on leave but drink and go to strip clubs. I’ve seen strippers of at least four different races and maybe four genders, and a few species without genders. None of this is new or exciting to me. The first time I visited a strip club it was wonderful, the second time it was okay and every time after has been just a night I wish I could be doing something else. It’s been, nine, ten years since I enlisted, there’s nothing here I haven’t seen before.

I couldn’t even grow a beard when I enlisted, now I shave every day. Maybe I should just grow a beard, not like there’s any regulations preventing me now. I’m curious if mine would be patchy like my uncle’s or even like my father’s.

A human woman takes the stage and it becomes clear she’s a splicer as well, webbed feet and a reptilian tail. This is the second splicer I’ve seen in just as many days. They really shouldn’t be this common, I’ve only seen maybe four outside of the marines before this. Is Pluto some kind of safe haven or is there a doctor around here that specializes in the operations?

I suppose a lot of Pluto has been like that so far. The planet of misfit humans. Everything feels modern, but fifty years in the past as well. The fashion, the laws, the vehicles, even the television shows airing are from a decade ago and treated as brand new on local stations. Most of the people I meet are rather secretive, which is fine because they don’t ask questions about me either. It feels like the whole planet is filled with secrets and things you aren’t supposed to see.

“Plasma sausage for you, and oxo puffs for you,” the waitress sits the food down and heads off.

It isn’t what I expected, but it’s okay. I’m not really enjoying myself here but Patrizo seems to be having the time of his life. Someone to laugh while he hoots and hollers at the women. None of them seem to mind since he’s a regular, but everyone else doesn’t seem so thrilled.

“I’ll be right back,” Patrizo vanishes before I get a chance to answer.

It doesn’t take long for him to arrive with a Vaznian, obviously working at the club. I know they haven’t done anything to me but I tense up. The last time I saw a Vaznian I had just murdered a child. As long as I was dealing with my own issues, I could put that to the back of my mind. Now I’m suddenly confronted with it. They don’t know that kid, and they don’t know me, but I feel judged for it. Patrizo is excited, he’s paid for a private dance with a nightmare of my past. As they lead me to the back room, his shouts of joy fade into those of my team blended with gunfire.

The room is dark and the music is raunchier than it is sensual. I close my eyes and try to get through this without speaking, or looking, just focusing on happy thoughts. The Vaznian grinds across my laps, guides my hands across the feminine shapes of their body. I try to pull away, not enough to be offensive, just enough to show I’m not interested.

“Would you prefer my male form? There’s no shame in it. You wouldn’t be the first male to come here looking for a male. That is my main clientele here,” they speak sensually.

“I don’t really care,” is all I can muster.

I feel the body shape shift in my hands as I wonder how long the song is going to last. The motions don’t change, but they’re more forceful, and somewhat stronger, more pec than breast. There’s nothing arousing about this either. Instead I find rage filling my body. I’m not mad at the dancer, they’ve done nothing to me. I’m mad I can’t speak up. I couldn’t just say that I didn’t want this. I can’t say what needs to be said.

“I killed you,” I don’t recognize the words.

“What,” the dancer asks.

“I said I killed you.”

“Are you okay.”

“Yeah, I’m still here. I left your body on Xioshaa, and then your people took my arm in revenge. It’s my fault really, being an outsider in your holy war. I’m sorry I killed you.”

“If roleplay gets you in the mood, it’s okay you killed me. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t my fault, but I fired the gun.”

“Then un-fire it,” the Vaznian kid responds.

“How do you do that?”

“I don’t know, I’m dead,” the kid responds, fading away with the song.

“Do you want another dance,” the dancer asks.

“No, I’m good,” I make my way out of the door.

Patrizo isn’t in the booth when I make my way out. I take the opportunity to put my head on the table and contemplate what just happened. I could have sworn I was speaking with the dancer. The kid I killed shows up to ask me some philosophical questions. I’m losing my mind. I need to get off of this planet forgotten by the sun; there’s nothing good for me here. The only thing this small town is good for is being surrounded by my own thoughts. I didn’t want to come out here tonight and now I’m questioning my own sanity. I just need to get through a little longer, and I can get out of here.

“You have a good time,” Patrizo leans against the table.

He smells like beer, sweat and other bodily fluids. The huge smile on his face already tells me what he’s been doing. Somehow, I lose a bit of respect that I didn’t know I had for him as he barely manages to stand and feel proud about bringing me on his sex run.

“Yeah, great time. You ready to go?”

“Oh yeah, I’m ready to take on the world,” Patrizo stumbles as he attempts to shadow box.

Outside I take a few big breaths of air and check my surroundings. I don’t know if I’m expecting to be ambushed by enemies, captured by some soldiers or suddenly end up back on Xioshaa. I almost throw a punch at Patrizo when he slaps me on the back in his drunken state, handing me his keys.

“You have to drive.”

“Don’t you have auto-pilot?”

“That piece of junk? Nah, it barely runs. Let’s go.”

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