Human Interaction (2 page)

"This research paper is a minimum of twenty pages, due in four weeks. It's one-third of your grade," cautioned the aging academic with the silver tints through his dark hair. "Don't wait on this, either. I expect at least twenty hours of observation minimum. You'll have to log in your time as well. No shortcuts." His voice lowered as his eyes checked off each and every student in the small classroom before gesturing toward the door. "Get to work." With those parting words, class dismissed for the day.

I gathered up my notebook, shoving it and the pen into my backpack, still pondering my new assignment. The zoo might be fun, but one can only watch the monkeys throw poop so many times. A small shudder raced up my spine. Too many memories of being the poopee rather than the pooper in my past. Better skip that idea.

Restaurants prepared and served food. And dessert. Twenty hours at the dessert bar. On second thought, maybe that wasn't a wise choice either. Cake, brownies, cookies, and ice cream were far too tempting to resist for any length of time.

I couldn't write about my real job. Oh, no. The Peace Protection Division frowned mightily on any written evidence about daily happenings. Heck, a whisper of rumor about a verbal slippage of secrets endangered one's longevity, let alone some document. Too bad. It would save time and energy, not to mention I would collect a paycheck while doing my homework. On second thought, with my life experiences, it might be best to avoid exploring the relationship between workers and the famous Enforcers. My heart wasn't healed enough to take on such a challenge.

Approximately a hundred years ago, the world discovered that other species existed right beside humans, had for centuries if the old myths were to be believed. Vampires and shapeshifters emerged from the shadows to take their place amongst humanity. The transition created an uproar, violence emerged, and leaders struggled on all sides to find an elusive peace. Each group appointed their own head who stood up for the rights of their specific group or species. Vampires had local kings who guarded and controlled their territories with an iron fist. Shifters divided into subsets based on their animal form.

To help keep the tenuous peaceful co-existence, the ruling government created a new department, the Peace Protection Division, which provided a base for the highly trained para-military unit known as Enforcers. This group included humans, vampires, and shifters equally, showing and demanding respect, setting precedence for the general public to embrace. Enforcers patrolled the streets day and night. Regular police took care of the usual crime in the city while Enforcers focused their energies on inter-species issues. In good times, the Enforcers managed to nip any aggression or violence between the groups in the bud, allowing normal people to go about their average lives undisturbed. In bad times, they had the authority and ability to resort to deadly force to put down riots and destruction, no questions asked.

It was on one of those bad times that I'd lost Wills, my husband of eleven months, leaving me a single parent of twin newborn boys. The declaration of 'missing and presumed dead' threw me into a fog of shock and confusion for months. Time eased some of the pain, allowing me to come to a bright realization. Wills would want me to go on with my life, enjoy anything and everything I could because, in reality, life was simply too short to waste. With doubts and uncertainty, I'd stepped forward, enrolled in college classes, and worked part time with the Peace Protection Division.

A fellow student bumping me into my seat drew my attention back to the task at hand.

Where am I going to go for this assignment?
Like I had a ton of free time anyway. With a huff, I concentrated on my professor's words. Human interaction. Not species interaction. He probably decided to stick to the basics and a safer bet rather than take the risk of some student being sucked dry if he ended up ticking off a vampire. Probably a good decision on his part. More than likely the college frowned on research involving high risk of death and dismemberment. Way too much liability for their taste and pocketbooks.

With a sigh, I hefted the dark blue backpack over one shoulder, holding it in place with my free hand, while reaching down to grab the plain brown leather purse resting on the floor at my feet. Puttering out of the room, I maneuvered around students, heading for the exit.

No sooner had I stepped from the cool brick building into the chilly air of fall than the hamster wheel I call a brain began to churn. The squirrels and rabbits bounded here and there, searching out a free meal while avoiding coming too close to human hands, lest they be caught. Gathering nesting materials and food, the cute animals worked hard to stockpile and prepare for the coming winter.

Rabbits mated in the spring. Reproduction. Sexual human interaction.

The answer popped into my head.

What other place would have more human interaction than the local male strip club?

CHAPTER 2

One week later.

I tugged at the rear of my tight jeans, wishing for the tenth time I'd chosen a different pair of bikini undies and discovered
I didn't need a thong to have the butt floss sensation. This pair of jeans used to be perfectly comfortable for daily wear. What happened? Maybe it was a good thing I'd opted to avoid the specialty cookie store for this assignment. Standing at only five foot four inches and tipping the scales at a dollar and change, I couldn't afford to eat too many sweets and still fit into my present wardrobe.

My long strawberry blonde hair normally tickled my rear if left loose, but tonight was in a simple braid down the middle of my back. A pale pink shirt matched the socks, while white sneakers completed my outfit. Probably not the proper attire for a strip club, but I wasn't there to attract men, only to observe, spend my time wisely gathering data. Once completed, I could return home, type up my paper, and prepare for the in-class presentation. Simple.

Earlier in the day, I'd gone through the phone book, making a list of all the local strip clubs, then sorted them for proximity to home, raunchiness, and safety factors. When finished, two remained. Unable to decide, I had pulled a quarter out of my purse, and gave it a toss. The flip had decided my actual location of study. A phone call a few days back had set up my adoptive father to watch the boys while I spent some time at the club of choice in order to complete my assignment.

Hot Lava,
the door read. Loud rock music blared inside, easily heard from two blocks away. The bass thumped enough for the sidewalk to twitch. Taking a deep breath, I dug out a few dollars from my pocket, enough for the posted cover charge. Drawing up my courage, I pulled the front door open and walked in.

Shrieks, moans, and laughter rang out over the music booming from the speaker. Women surrounded tables, stood directly in front of the stage, and sat on the stools at the bar. The only men within eye distance were the bartenders and waiters. Oh, yeah. And, the mountain directly in front of me with two gleaming golden teeth in the front. Dutifully, I paid the cover, double checking that my car keys were still literally imbedded in my pocket, and quickly held out my hand to be stamped.

"First time?" The deep voice rumbled from an equally mountainous cavern for a mouth.

His smile didn't convey much assurance.

"Nope." I clipped in return, directing my attention deeper into the room. I hadn't lied, just left out lots of details about my first visit to such an establishment.

About two months ago a fellow office worker at the Peace Protection Division had invited me to her bachelorette party. Of course, it had to be a strip club and the ladies with me had literally bounced with the excitement of stuffing money in the thongs of the strippers. Less enthusiastic, I'd plodded along behind them wondering if giving up my favorite television show made a good exchange to see men mostly naked. The night had ended with a heaping dose of embarrassment and humiliation as security deposited me not so gently on the curb outside the establishment with a stern warning to never return. I'd taken their advice and tried often to forget "The Incident" ever occurred.

Wide-eyed and determined, I found a meandering trail through the masses, ignoring the deep chuckle from said mountain behind me. Standing on tiptoe, I scoured the room, searching for a quiet table somewhere to sit out of the way and observe, my short stature hindering me greatly. Unable to see diddly squat through the sea of humanity, I headed into the wall to wall press of bodies, hoping something would appear on the other side of the room.

Avoiding ladies bumping and shifting, I kept my eyes ahead, seeking the elusive free table and chair to set up shop for a couple of hours. Twice, different women full of enthusiasm, jumped up, dashing to the front of the stage in an exuberant frenzy, nearly body slamming me in the process.

Maybe the poop-throwing baboons would have been safer after all.
A small, round table loomed in front of me, complete with two scuffed up chairs. Making a beeline, I planted my rear before someone else could take my hard won position. Finally. Stationed in the corner, near the far end of the stage, the spot was relatively out of the line of fire and served as a good enough vantage point for my needs. A large beam shielded the second chair from the view of the room. The other seat allowed for discreet observation without drawing too much attention.

I surveyed the mass chaos in front of me. For some reason, I always considered women calmer, less impulsive, and more thinking than men. That theory not only proved incorrect, it exploded into the stratosphere. These women acted like banshees. They screamed, yelled, pushed, and shoved. I could have sworn it was the annual Day After Christmas half-price sale at the local department store, but no one was shopping for shoes. They sure waved the money about like the highest bidder in a massive high fashion auction though.

A new song began, followed by a tall Caucasian man striding onto the stage dressed in biker leather from head to toe.

Oh, my. Maybe this wasn't such a bad choice of assignment. The scenery certainly perked up by the minute.

"Ladies. May I introduce Meat," the loudspeaker boomed.

Meat? His parents had to be hippies.

Women shrieked and yelled, cheered, and waved.

He stalked across the stage, black leather pants covered an obviously toned body and delectable rear. A matching leather jacket, left open, flapped with his movements, drawing attention to his tanned chest with prominent, rippling pecs, flowing nicely into a six pack abdomen. Dark, nearly black, shoulder-length hair outlined a strong chin and nose, contrasting starkly with deep blue eyes, the color of clouds just before a severe storm rolled through. Muscles rippled while his entire body language shouted power, agility, and stamina. Surprisingly, despite the over six foot stature and carrying a large, but well-portioned frame, he floated with sheer grace and balance. Odd for a man, let alone a large one. Not as big as body builders whose sole aim centered around getting the biggest muscles and least body fat to show off in competitions, Meat carried strength and an impressive mass that could easily put him at home in the backwoods or the boardroom. He had an air and a carriage that spoke of breeding, intelligence, and the temperament to take on the world and kick its rear if he so wanted. Speaking of rears… this guy had one that looked as squeezable as rolls of toilet paper begging to be fondled.
Yummy.

No wonder the ladies bounced, hollered, and cooed. My own belly did a slow somersault just from watching him take his place on stage while my long ago tucked away feminine senses stood up and took definite notice.

Within minutes, those leathers were yanked off, hastily discarded with a flick of his wrist, leaving only a scrap of butt floss and a banana boat to cover the bare essentials. The small piece of material strained and stretched trying to contain the contents. With any sudden moves, the thong shifted just enough to give flashes of bare skin, teasing and taunting, causing me to question if I truly saw what my mind said I did.

The ladies pressing against the stage continually held up and waved money at him. As he danced closer, they tucked bills into his undies, their faces flushed in excitement or maybe it was directly proportional to the amount of alcohol they had already consumed. Oddly, they didn't seem to be lingering or feeling around. What good is putting your hand in some guy's thong if you don't get to cop a feel, especially if you paid in advance?

I focused a bit harder on that area. His bulge seemed a bit too big. He swiveled his hips, inching directly in front of a busty blonde. Oh, yeah. Abnormally so.
Wonder if he stuck an extra-large cup in there with a sock?
Although… Maybe one of those internet spam mails about male enhancement really worked? The pills? The herbs? Perhaps the meditation thingy held precedence after all. Wait! Wasn't there something I read about a group of monks who routinely connected chains to that particular body part and pulled buses? I bet that would do something to a male's size. Just not altogether sure what.

Tugging on my imaginary scientific cap, I surveyed the women, one table at a time. Most dressed in skintight garments, leaving not nearly enough to the imagination. I've never seen blouses cut as low as most of them wore, blatantly putting their assets on display. A small cough and some of those would be popping loose. A few women wore thick makeup, others used a lighter hand. Earrings gleamed in the muted light, mostly large hoops. High heels appeared to be the shoe of choice.

Some ladies remained at their tables, sipping their drinks, and watching the proceedings. I decided they must be the beta women. Hanging back while the more aggressive ones shot to the front, openly seeking attention from the prime male on display. The alpha women stood along the stage, elbowing and shoving for an unimpeded view of the man. They whistled, hollered, and fought for his undivided attention. Height varied as did hair color, but they all shared a few traits in common. Their clothing leaned toward similar fads. Their body language yelled "do me" loudly. They preened, smiled, flirted outrageously. A few could have walked the runway and been gobbled up by a high class millionaire as an ornament for his arm.