Thanks, love

A young guy achieves a first-time event in his life...and it's not what you think

     "Good evening, sir," Max, the door bouncer said. "Welcome to the Ritz Gala. ID?"

     "Yeah, sure," I replied, pulling out the lump of leather and plastic from my right cheek pocket. I opened it up. And took the plastic out. "Here you go."

     He took it from me, eyeing it carefully. It was his routine protocol, what he was paid to do. He looked at me, half second-glancing my photo and sizing me up. "You new here?" he asked me. "Never seen you come around here before."

     I stared back at him somewhat blankly, not quite sure how to respond to his inquiry. 

     "In fact, eh, you kinda look like you have no idea what you're doing here. Like, at all. You know?" Max looked at me rather on-point, as if calling me out or something. It was a bit outside his normal protocol, I gave him that much credit. But still, it was a little out-of-the-ordinary to have such a discussion, even in this moment. 

     "I'm new here, yeah," I replied, with all the innocence and uncertainty a guy could offer a door bouncer in that same type of situation. I mean, seriously, I thought, how the hell am I supposed to respond to something like that? "My first time actually being inside one of these places. That is, of course, granted I am allowed in."

     "Is it that obvious?" I asked him.

     Max looked at me in a funny way, like he had no idea how to answer that nor was he paid to. How ironic, I thought to myself. "Eh, maybe. But whatever, man. You're good. Come on in."

     I stepped through those wooden, brown oak doors, lined with beige-gold linens of color, giving a Las Vegas-style feel to the central Austin area venue. My nerves were definitely rolling into a new level of unknown, of uncertainty. And I was, in an odd but unique sense, loving every moment of it. I had finally, "FINALLY", come to understand that there was nothing wrong or weird about going to a place like the Ritz Gala. Some people love going kayaking and deep-sea diving for their fixes, I thought. Others get their moments from watching and having a certain proximity to a woman, an unknown person really, with a false sense of pleasure in mind. It was their tofu--they get a certain fill from it, but it may never fully satisfy. 

     The plush carpets lined every square inch of the palace of lust and modest, civilized sex. The tables every 5 feet, lining the floor abound, held the paying customers hostage, locked in their moments of "woo" and fascination. One or two of said-tables were vacant, calling my name. I proceeded. 

     "Hi," a female's voice rang out to me as I sat in the cushioned friend. "Welcome to the Ritz Gala. I'm Megan. I'll be waiting on you while you're here with us."

     "Good evening, Megan," I replied. "I'm Jake. You look lovely."

     "Why, thank you," she said to me, a little taken back by the compliment. "Can I get you anything to drink, dear?"

     (I scoffed) "Can I be honest with you, Megan?" I started. "Sure." Her direct, welcoming and partly compassionate tone of voice was both inviting and understanding. It appealed to my inner desire for longing and mutual appreciation, I suppose. 

     "This is literally my first time ever being inside a place like this," I started. "Your door guy, Max, right?, even gave me an odd look. He almost kinda called me out for not being a regular here. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do now that I am." 

     She studied me for a moment or two. Hard. As if reading my signals and vibes to figure out if I was being honest-to-God truthful in my open confession to her or completely bullshitting her in order to get better perks. Her focused, studied look said she understood where I was coming from, in a way, wasn't going to give me s**t for it and felt the inner need to console me in order to make me feel welcomed. It was comforting, actually. "It's okay, sweetie," she said. "Most of the people you see here don't either. I mean, they might have a really strong sense of whatever the f**k it is they're looking to get here, but they don't know if they'll actually find it. Around here, it's really 'to each their own'. Ya know? Listen, you don't have to pretend that you know everything there is to know about being here if you have no clue. Okay?"

     "Thanks," I said.

     "So how does it go here anyway, now that you mention it?"

     "Well," she replied, "You can order drinks from me, if you want, like I said. Or, you can go to the bar." She gestured her arm and shoulder to the bar area, noting the obvious visual display of selections available and such to the naked eye. "Your pick."

     "I'm still listening," I said, calmly. "The girls on the stage will do their thing up there while the songs play. You can tip them as you like and all if you want but you are not obligated. At any time, if you want one-on-one attention--you probably know what I mean--you can request a private dance with any of our girls whom are either available for taht or do that specifically while they are on duty, on the floor, for example."

     "There's a menu for any food and drinks you may want to order," she pointed it out and waited a moment, letting it all sink in for me. She knew I had no idea what I was doing. And she was cool about it. Actually, she wasn't just cool about it. She was awesomely welcoming and kinda heartwarming about the whole thing. She must sense my innate uncertainty, I thought. Stating my appreciation for playing her part, but serving her greater role in this memory-defining moment, there were only two words that I could give her; that I needed to give her: "Thanks, love," I said.

Author's Note

Although this may contain content unsuited for anyone under 18 years of age, this short story piece is not meant to be labeled "Mature." It is merely meant to be a fictional anecdote of sorts. I may add more to this later. However, the originally-intended version of this piece is presented here.