Free Skin on My Skin by John Burks Page B

but what the hell would we do without you bastards?”
      I finally passed the suit area, skipping the whole disrobing part, and made my way to the small stool in front of the bar. I was surrounded on both sides, top and bottom, by hard Plexiglas and I glanced nervously at the caulk seals joining the seams. The sides were painted black so you couldn’t see into the next hermitically sealed block, but the paint had scraped away over the years and, if you looked just right, you could peak through. The stool sat chest level with the stage and there was a flexible rubber membrane separating the viewer from the dancer. There was also a smaller version of the banker’s drawer next to the membrane that allowed the dancer to serve the customers drinks and receive tokens.  
    Hard rock pounded across the club’s speakers, reverberating inside my suit. The dancer moved about the stage mechanically in the dim light. At first glance she seemed young and vibrant, but that was just the lack of quality lighting. I peered in closer at the half naked woman. She wasn’t young by any stretch of the imagination. She was nearing fifty, at least, and rail thin. Her breasts were desiccated, hanging limply in front of her. She moved with the gravity of a lead weight and I wondered how long she’d been at it, entertaining scavengers from the ruins in this place.  
    “That’s one hot bitch, ain’t it boy?”
    I cringed. Was he talking to me? I leaned down and peered through the scratch in the window.  
    “She isn’t the best they have. Not by long shot, but that black fucking bitch is hot.”
    There was a twinge of madness in the man’s voice. I didn’t answer.  
    “I’m going to fuck her,” the man said. “I’m going to fuck that bitch in the ass and I’m going to make her like it.”
    At that point I didn’t know if he was talking to me or not. The muscle bound, scarred man looked back and forth from the crack I stared through to the dance floor. The madness in his voice was matched by the crazed look in his eyes. He had to have moved quickly from his lair, and the rape scene there, to Club Flesh. He salivated as he watched the dancer.  
    “She’s going to like it, ain’t she?” the big man said, then turning back to the glass separating him from the dancer. “Come on, honey. Bring it to Big Woody. I got some shit for you.”
    The DJ droned on. “Don’t forget, my good friends, if you have a token for a hand job, turn the red light on as soon as you’re ready. Miss Kitty is looking for a dick to play with, aren’t you Kitty? She likes them nasty scavenger dicks.”  
    The black woman looked around the bar, bored, looking for a light to come on. When she started walking towards me, I panicked. Not that I wouldn’t mind a hand job, mind you, but I didn’t want to die from the experience. She didn’t come to my window, however, and ended up next to me.  
    “Looky, looky, ladies and gentlemen. Miss Kitty has her a catch. Do him good, baby, and we’ll just wait till you’re finished,” the DJ crooned, putting on a slower paced Motown song.  
    “Come on, baby,” Kitty said to the man next to me. “I ain’t got all night. Put your chip in the drawer and let’s get this shit on.”
    I peered through a small scrape in the paint and watched as the same guy I’d watched fucking earlier kicked his stool back, stepped up to the bar, and pushed his bulbous, scarred cock into the rubber membrane. The rubber sealed around his dick, acting like a giant condom. Kitty knelt in front of Big Woody, stroking his member from the other side of the plastic wall.  
    “How is that, baby? Is that right?” the stripper said, the boredom apparent in her voice, laced with the faux eroticism. “You’re going to cum good for momma, ain’t ya?”
    I listened to the man grunt as she worked his cock and couldn’t believe the guy’s nerve. The rest of us in the wastes were limited to getting off to fifteen- year-old porn and here