Chapter 5: Shakin' Hands

The lab had been abuzz for a while after one of the more dissolute employees had gone to a strip club. There, he'd seen what he described as the "hottest woman on the face of the planet," one who could perform amazingly gymnastic routines. He'd been able to drag a number of the other male lab staff along to the strip joint with him over the past few weeks, and all had returned in utter agreement with him. To be honest, I wanted to see what the fuss was all about, but it really wasn't my scene. About a month after the first whispers of Morrigan began doing the rounds, I inadvertently supplied the guys with an excuse to drag me along to the club by acing my exams, finishing all four of my subjects with no mark lower than a Distinction.

I allowed them to "persuade" me into going out for a celebratory round of drinks, in the sure and certain knowledge that we'd be heading to Morrigan's haunt. As we entered, I was surprised by what I saw; I had imagined a dive, the air hazy with cigarette smoke, dead-eyed women gyrating whilst bored patrons stuffed dollar bills into their g-strings.

Instead, the club was airy, well lit, and had a strict no-smoking policy. Male waiters moved among the tables, with a throng of customers chanting "MO-RIG-GAN!" in front of the stage. We'd arrived just in time, and as we joined the crowd the opening strains of Nickelback's Shakin' Hands blared from the speakers around the stage, its deep bass thrumming through the excited patrons. As the song began, Morrigan strode onto the stage, moving with grace and poise.

I was too far away to make out her face, but her body was incredible, every bit as amazing as I'd heard. She seemed short, but had added to her height by wearing exaggerated stilettos, emphasising her well-muscled legs. Her chest was barely contained by a too-small bikini, jiggling with her every movement in a way that suggested they were natural rather than man-made. Morrigan was evidently wearing a wig, a long platinum-blonde affair calculated to match the silvery metallic swimsuit that just barely covered her. She writhed in time with the beat, shimmying and swaying across the stage before dipping into a sudden split, her crotch pressed to the black-painted stage as she leaned forward to emphasise her ample charms.

Matt leaned in to my left, clapping along with the drums of the song. "See, dude?" He was forced to yell over the din. "What did I tell you? Hot!" I nodded dumbly, transfixed by the skills and body on display. As the song wound down, Morrigan was joined on stage by a number of other dancers, none of whom could even compare to her talent, let alone her phenomenal physique. In tune with the final chorus, Morrigan deftly slid her bikini top off, releasing her breasts to a wave of applause and catcalls from her rapt audience. She twirled it around her delicate fingers, releasing it to fly off-stage. In time with the last beats of the song, Morrigan shook her gorgeous breasts, then demurely covered them with her arm in an oddly familiar gesture. I idly wondered where I'd seen it before, my eyes following her off-stage.

As the music faded, the announcer let the audience know that Morrigan would be available for private dances for the rest of the night. I looked back over to Matt, who was already over by the bar. I wandered over to meet back up with him, to discover that he was booking in for a solo session. The bar attendant took his cash, then nodded to me as I stepped up. "This him?" she asked. Matt grinned; so did she. "Well, enjoy the show. And good work on the grades, kiddo."

I raised an eyebrow at Matt, who jerked his head towards the tables nearby, where noise baffles would allow patrons to converse more easily. "My gift to you, champ," he explained. "But I want all the details, you hear?" Moments later, one of the waiters dropped by our table, letting me know that Morrigan was ready. I gave Matt and the rest of the gang two thumbs up, and hurried off to enjoy what I was sure would be another dynamite performance.