Chapter 8: Change in the Wind

To avoid confusion, this chapter begins from Dylan's perspective.

I finally gave in to my desperate yearnings for Morrigan. Returning to the strip club was mildly embarrassing; by going in alone it was sadly evident as to my intentions, for I could not even pretend to be going there to socialise rather than salivate over the women. Well, one woman, at least.

I was disappointed to discover that not only had Morrigan already performed on the stage that evening, but that her private shows were entirely booked out. No surprise there, I thought bitterly; with the way she moves, it's a wonder they ever let her out of this place. Sighing, I turned to leave, resigned to another lonely evening with my hand. At least Niamh wasn't at home tonight, though, so I would have free reign of the apartment- much good as it would do me.

Just then, the bar attendant's walkie-talkie crackled into life, something indistinct issuing from the speaker. "Hey," he called. "Hey, dude. Got some ID?" Just what I need. Getting carded, what fun. Gritting my teeth, I fished out my wallet, withdrew my driver's licence, and presented it to the bartender. He lifted his walkie-talkie up, saying "Yeah, it's him. What should I do?"

Do? What the hell was this? I was beginning to wonder if I had somehow upset someone. Visions of the large bouncers bouncing me off the pavement flitted through my mind, and I eyed the door warily, trying to decide if I could make it out of the place before they got to me. The portable radio squawked back into life, and the goateed bruiser behind the counter nodded. He gave me an envious look as he set the device back down.

"Seems you've made an impression on our Morrigan, eh? She says that you should have a drink and wait for her. Not often that she works overtime. You her boyfriend or something?"

Relieved, I relaxed, muscles untensing and putting all thoughts of flight out of my mind. Wild horses could not have dragged me out of the place now. I shook my head. "No. Or at least, not that I know of. I wish..." I trailed off, and the bartended leaned in, conspiratorially.

"Oh, don't we all, lad. Well, whatever you're doing, keep it up. Woman like that, she could have anyone." I gave him a manly snort of agreement, then went to an empty table, free beer in hand. As I sipped it, one of the interchangeable Candys of the club strutted over, climbed on top of the reinforced table-top, and proceeded to give me a table dance. She was an attractive enough woman, long tanned legs, an amplified bust, and dyed blonde locks, but she had nothing on Morrigan. But then, who did?

I tapped my foot impatiently, all but ignoring the hostess as she removed her bikini top, draping it over my head. She climbed down from the table carefully, teetering alarmingly on her high heels, then sat down on my lap, waving her breasts in my face. She kept it up for a while, eventually pouting at me and stopping. Her hands brushed against my groin, where I remained flaccid; she might be good, but she wasn't that dark goddess of sex I craved so badly.

She eyed me curiously. "You all right?" she asked, her voice a nasal, Southern twang. I shrugged.

"No offence, miss," I began, "but I've kind of fallen for someone else." She sat back, giving me a good view of her ample chest, tan lines showing off the contrast between her sun-darkened skin and the creamy whiteness of her breasts. Even then, my gaze never wavered from her face, and she sighed, wistfully rather than with malice.