Never Giving Up (Never #3) (10 page)

“You’re sure I don’t look like a float in a parade?” I kept turning from side to side in front of the mirror, trying to see my body from all angles.

“I’m not really sure what you’re asking me, but you look fine.”

I shot my husband a ‘you’re not helping’ glare. “Fine? I don’t look fine. I look fat.”

“There’s no way anyone would look at you and think you’re fat.”

I was fifteen weeks pregnant and I was stuck in the Fat Zone. I didn’t look pregnant. My belly hadn’t taken on any particular roundness, but I definitely had a bulge. I loved my bump—Porter
really
loved my bump—but it didn’t say “I’m pregnant!” Instead, it screamed “I ate an entire pizza by myself!” Tonight was Megan’s bachelorette party and I had squeezed myself into one of my previously looser dresses, only to find that it had transformed into a sausage casing.

“I hate the way I look right now.” I wasn’t above whining. I watched in the mirror as he came up behind me. He placed his hands on my hips and rested his chin on my shoulder. His words tickled my ear and I took just a moment to breathe in the wonderful scent of wood and soap that lingered on his skin.

His hands slid over the fabric of my dress, slowly sliding to the front of me, running smoothly over the tiny hill on my belly that held our child.

“You look beautiful. Anyone who sees you will know you’re pregnant. You’re glowing. You’ve never been more beautiful.”

His words went a little ways to making me feel better, but I was a little more focused on how much he
liked
me being pregnant. The moment my body started changing, from my bigger boobs to my swollen belly, he was extra attentive to it. I couldn’t complain really—Porter could pay my body as much attention as he wanted and I’d always be more than ok with it. But as much as I loved his personal and private adoration of my new body, it didn’t always make up for the fact that I wasn’t used to having this much extra belly.

I took in a deep breath and tried to shake off the ugliness I could feel coming over me. I promised myself that tonight would be fun, drama free, and nothing but a good time. And here I was ruining it before it had even started. Besides, it really was only important that Porter liked the way I looked anyway.

“Thank you,” I whispered as I pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek. “Are you ready for tonight? How many lap dances are you going to buy Patrick?”

“As many as he wants, I suppose.” He turned from me and left the bathroom, heading towards our fantastic closet that still made me smile every time I walked into it. I bit my lip to try and keep my thought in my head. I did not want to come across as the jealous wife. Who was I kidding? Porter, in a strip club? I decided to let my mouth open.

“And how many lap dances will
you
be getting?” I asked, really trying not to sound too needy or jealous. I was going for the relaxed wife who didn’t care if some mostly naked woman rubbed her not-pregnant, flat-stomached, body all over my husband.

“I don’t know,” I heard him say from within the closet. “One, maybe two if I’m lucky.”

And then my mouth
really
opened—in shock. I turned quickly towards the door to see him walking out of the closet, adjusting his outfit. He wore black suit pants with a white button up shirt and a black blazer. The top two buttons of his shirt were open, and the little V of skin that showed was just enough of a tease that my eyes were instantly drawn there.

I blinked at him a few times—the first few were to make sure that what I was seeing was real, that my husband was really that delectable. The last few were to emphasize my astonishment.

“
Two
lap dances? I’m sorry,” I placed my hand on my hip and cocked it to the side, hoping I looked and sounded as annoyed as I felt. . “You’re going to let
two
women grind up on you?”

“No, just one.” He winked as he walked up to me and, without hesitation, took my mouth in a searing kiss. I opened for him instinctually, felt the heat of his mouth envelop mine, his hand reaching around my back, pulling me even closer to him. I moaned into his mouth and felt every part of my body flush when he growled in response. His other hand reached around to the back of my neck and held me in place as his mouth assaulted mine. He kissed me, angling my face to fit his perfectly, until I was clawing at his blazer, trying to rip it off of him. When he pulled away, my bottom lip was caught between his teeth and he slowly released it, gently licking it afterwards, forcing all of my blood to flow to the ache between my legs.

He looked smooth and sexy, not one hair out of place or wrinkle in his outfit, and I was all loud breaths, chest quickly moving up and down, hair mangled, with lips swollen and sensitive.

“I was hoping when we got back tonight
you’d
give me a special show.” His eyes twinkled, a smile breaking over his face.

“Oh,” was all I could mumble in response.

“You don’t think I’d let a stripper anywhere near me, do you?”

I shrugged.

“It’s a guy thing,” I said, still trying to recover from the world’s most absolute hottest kiss ever.

“
You’re
my thing.”

“Ok.”

He placed another kiss on my lips, but this one was small and sweet. It still made my knees shake, but gave my pulse a break. “You about ready?” He gave my butt a small tap as he left the room. I gave myself a look in the mirror and shook my head. He’d mussed up all my hard work.

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

We arrived at our hotel in Portland in the evening. Everyone attending the parties had gotten a room for the night. Porter and I hadn’t wanted to drive to Salem, and Kalli didn’t want to make the drive to Seattle. Megan and Patrick just wanted an excuse to stay at a fancy hotel and take a limo. That was good enough for me; whatever Megan wanted, Megan would get. The guys and the girls said goodbye to each other that evening with plans to all meet back at the hotel.

Megan, Kalli, and I were all sitting in a stretch escalade limo, surrounded by a few of her friends from high school and college I was familiar with, along with a few I didn’t know. We all did introductions and then I sat back to watch my baby sister in her element. Kalli hopped into the seat next to me.

“Feeling old?” She asked with a smile.

“Old and pregnant,” I replied, refusing the urge to place my hand over my belly.

“Don’t worry, us old ladies will stick together.”

Kalli was my age and I was so glad that I wasn’t the only person over thirty in the limo. We watched the girls laugh and take selfies, drinking, and making toasts. I glanced down at my bottle of water and sighed. When the limo came to a stop, it was outside of a small theatre not very far away from the west bank of the river.

“Here we go, ladies!” Megan hopped out of the limo first and we all filed out after her. We stood in line against the brick wall of the building, waiting for the doors to open.

Megan looked like the typical bachelorette. She wore a white halter-top dress that hugged every single curve the girl had. Her hair was styled and fell into perfect, dark brown curls down her back. She wore a pink tiara in her hair and a pink sash that draped from one shoulder proudly stating that she was the bride-to-be.

One of her friends walked up and down the line of us, handing out necklaces that had tiny replicas of penises dangling from them. All of Megan’s friends giggled as they placed the necklaces over their heads. I held it in my hand and looked over at Kalli.

“Are we really going to wear a penis necklace?”

Kalli smiled at me. “Come on, big sis. She’s only going to get married once. Don’t be a stick in the mud.”

“You’re right,” I said, placing the necklace over my head. I looked at my sister, talking with her friends, seemingly having the time of her life, and decided not to act like I felt: completely out of place and uncomfortable. I would do anything to make sure she had the best time.

A few minutes later a woman came out of the theatre and looked up and down the line of us. “Is there a Megan here? A Megan Sinclair? Celebrating her last night of freedom?” This woman, she had a very,
very
deep voice. I looked closer and realized that the woman was actually a man. I leaned over to Kalli very slowly.

“Kalli . . .” I whispered.

“Yes?”

“Are we here to see a drag show?”

“It would appear that way, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m right here!” Megan’s hand shot up into the air, waving around.

“Well come on, Momma!” The queen said loudly while waving her towards the door. “We’ve got your table all set up for you.” Megan squealed and rushed in the door as we all followed.

The next two hours we spent watching very talented drag queens perform some of my very favorite songs from the eighties. I stayed in my seat, but many of the women in the audience made their way to the front to slip dollar bills in the queen’s bras or panties. Megan got progressively drunker as the night wore on, and the drag queens loved her. They also loved all the money she shoved in their dresses. She was having a blast so none of us tried to reign her in.

When the lights came on, I stood up and grabbed my purse, ready to head to the door.

“Sit down, Sister!” Megan yelled from her chair.

I looked around, confused. “Aren’t we leaving? The show’s over.”

“The
first
show is over. There’s another one,” she said with a grin. I looked at Kalli and she just shrugged her shoulders. I sat down again, still confused, but willing to do whatever Megan wanted.

The head queen came over to our table and Megan stood up and hugged her. The queen laughed and told her that our table had a round of drinks on the house in celebration of her bachelorette party. Shouts came from Megan and all her friends, and Kalli and I just laughed at them. A waiter came and took all of their drink orders and I ordered a cranberry juice.

When the waiter returned he was accompanied by one of the queens from the show. She was a small little thing with skin the color of caramel. She had on a long blonde wig and wore a short, black miniskirt with a matching halter top. The waiter delivered all our drinks and the blonde bombshell started addressing the audience, holding on to a microphone so all could hear her.

“Ladies,” she said in a high feminine pitch, “and gentlemen.” Gentlemen was said in a very burly, low, gravely tone, making the audience laugh. “Tonight is this woman’s last hurrah as a single woman. She decided to come here to celebrate with a bunch of drag queens.” She stopped talking for a moment and had a confused look on her face. “What the hell are you doing here with a bunch of drag queens?” The audience laughed again and Megan giggled in her chair.

“In any case, she’s here to celebrate, and we are here to show her a good time.” She snapped her fingers and the lights went out at the same time a spotlight appeared on her and Megan. Loud music rang throughout the auditorium and I instantly recognized Beyonce’s “Single Ladies.” The queen started grinding all over Megan’s lap and Megan was laughing hysterically. My mouth gaped open watching the whole scene, and about thirty seconds into the song I came to my senses and pulled out my cell phone to take a video.

Halfway through the song more spotlights appeared behind Megan and four more queens showed up and executed the signature dance perfectly. We all laughed so hard, my phone was shaking and I knew the video wasn’t going to be great, but I wanted to capture the moment. Megan’s smile was so big and she was enjoying herself so much, I knew she’d like to watch the video some other time to remember how much fun she’d had.

The song ended, the lights came back on, and all the queens took turns kissing Megan on the cheek and wishing her good luck at the altar. The whole party giggled and sipped their drinks when a few minutes later the lights dimmed again. I prepped myself for another drag show, wondering if they did different numbers the second time around.

When the spotlight lit up the stage this time though, my mouth popped open again, but this time I was gawking at the half-naked, fully tanned, one hundred percent ripped,
man
on the stage. I looked over to Megan and she winked at me. The little slut had known all along.

For the next hour we watched a dozen men strip down to tiny little banana hammocks, bumping and grinding all over the stage, sometimes coming into the audience to tease the women. At one point, they pulled Megan on stage and gave her the lap dance of her life. Three very handsome male dancers took their turn rubbing up on her, shaking their barely clad asses in her face. She loved every minute of it too.

I’d be a liar if I said it wasn’t entertaining and, ok, a little sexy. There were more than a few moments that I felt like fanning my face, but I contained myself and tried to seem like I wasn’t affected. I was married after all. At one point I looked over at Kalli and she could have been watching a presentation on stock options and IRAs. I nudged her with my elbow and she looked over at me. I leaned towards her and put my hand up, cupping my mouth, aiming it towards her.

“These guys are pretty hot.” I pointed towards the stage. She shrugged and turned back to watch the mail man deliver his “package.” I poked her again and she looked over at me. “You ok?” She nodded and gave me a weak smile. I didn’t believe her, but wasn’t really in a good place to question her further about it. I turned back to the stage and SURPRISE! The package was his dick.

Again, Megan and her friends brought the house down with their screams and whistles and, while I enjoyed myself, I was very glad to be in my thirties, pregnant, and over the period in my life where male strippers were on my list of things to see. Eventually, after a very provocative finale, the men all took their scantily-clad bows, accepted the dollar bills being thrown up to the stage, and made their exit, bare asses in full view of everyone. The lights came up and I stood, not waiting to see if Megan had other plans. I’d spent many hours watching men, in various forms, shaking what their mommas gave them and I was ready to go to bed.

Once we had filed out of the auditorium and were back to standing on the street, Megan turned to her younger friends.