"I think I get it, Bob," Freed said as he stared at a red-lit stage. "I'm a masochist."
The bald bartender with too much makeup giggled at the confession. "Nothing wrong with being an M. I've seen your fencing matches on the tele. A swordsman like you takes pain well."
"Nah, not that type … I think," he added, really unsure what he thought about the kinkier aspects of sex. He never tried handcuffs and such, so Freed really was unsure if he would like that.
"I'm the type who likes to be teased and denied."
"Well, that's why you're here," the cross-dressing bartender said cheerfully.
Freed just grunted. "Yeah. Here." The South Pole Club, a gay strip club, sitting with a bartender he knew by first name, waiting for a dancer whose real name he did not even know. "When will
"Second act, same as always," Bob replied.
"Second," the green-haired man grumbled.
He wanted his favorite stripper to be the opening act, but that coveted spot was only for the club's darling, a true professional named Ice Prince.
That man made everyone else look terrible, but he riled up the crowd every time. The man Freed was waiting for was a polar opposite to Ice Prince.
They called him Thor, probably due to the lightning-shaped scar that ran down his face and over one eye.
It was a frightening scar, plus the man was a massive blond, more like a body builder than a stripper, and when the clothes came off, all of his tattoos made for a stunning visual.
"Threatening Thor" was what some in the audience called him, but that was what made Freed fall for him.
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