The ultimate sanction, perhaps. In a way it made the evening a little more of a challenge. It was a game that he had played in the clubs back home in the UK -- basically: what could a guy get away with?Climbing up a short set of stairs, Mike chose a seat where he could see the room and the stage; more importantly, the lighting was such that the big wing chair the club favoured was a little more hidden than most of the others."Good evening, Sir. May I get you a drink?" Engrossed in the performance of the young lady currently on stage, Mike had missed the girl's arrival."Oh! Yes, yes, a beer please." At that, he returned his gaze to the stage. It was odd really; watching the girl disrobe was having little effect on his libido. Mike felt like a detached viewer, looking in from the outside. The bare flesh was interesting and almost erotic. But sexy? No. It was too clinical. Mike sighed as he realised that the girl on the stage had effectively switched off; there was no 'soul' in her. He doesn't get that I understand him, and that I am not trying to push him away. Just that I am trying to be true to myself. He lay beside her, feeling no warmth from her body, because he had been careful to create that space between them on the bed. He watched her, as her chest gently rose and fell with her breath, as her face lay there motionless but not expressionless. As he watched her, he wondered what she thought about, what went on inside of her as she slept. As she dreamt. He watched her and tried to imagine her thoughts, but he too was tired, and he fell asleep beside her, losing the battle to his exhaustion, to the too few hours of sleep he has had during the weeks before. He fell asleep, and he lay there, on his back and uncovered by the blankets he had spread over her alone. He lay there open to the night, and his body and soul, re-united, surrendered to his own dreams. How did I get into bed? I don't remember getting up from the living room and coming here. And I am.
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