Page 3 of Too Hot to Sleep
Oh, there'd been a couple of unremarkable encounters with other grad students in college, and one or two brief relationships since. But the men hadn't excited her, hadn't tapped into her secret garden.
Georgia walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, sighing with relief when the cool air hit her skin. She lifted the tail of her T-shirt to cool her stomach, then removed a banana from the crisper to munch while her refrigerator worked overtime.
She eyed the banana and sighed—everything looked phallic these days. She bit off the end and fanned her shirt. By immersing herself in work, she'd managed for the most part to keep a lid on her powerful urges... until a year ago. Then, triggered by either the surge of hormones most women experience in their early thirties, or years of repression, or this damnable relentless southern heat, her body had launched a quiet rebellion.
Georgia had always assumed she would marry one day, but she'd stepped up her efforts to find Mr. Right, thinking that exploring her fermenting sexuality would at least be safer within the confines of a monogamous relationship. Rob Trainer had seemed like the perfect candidate: handsome and successful, well-mannered and reflective, intelligent and friendly. She liked him immensely. But after investing the past several months in their relationship, she had come to one conclusion: the man had no interest in sleeping with her.
She was ripe for the picking, and he seemed content to walk around the tree.
And, if truth be known, it was more than the sex she craved—it was the closeness, the intimacy generated when two loving people shared sex. The tingly "you complete me" stuff she saw in movies but observed between too few couples these days. If the specter of true love still existed, she wanted it. Matchless love, not the desolate, co-dependent relationship her parents had passed off as a marriage. She wanted a man who would lower his guard, a man who would make a fool out of himself for her, a man who would cherish her.
Georgia sighed and fanned herself. Meanwhile, that inner rebellion was now reaching cataclysmic proportions. During her nursing studies, she'd read documented cases of spontaneous combustion. At the rate her internal furnace was stoking, and with no end in sight to the scorching summer heat wave, she feared she might be approaching flashpoint.
She finished the banana, and reluctantly closed the refrigerator door, then studied the deep crimson pedicure on which she'd splurged in the feeble hope that Rob nursed a foot fetish. But last night he hadn't even blinked when she'd worn her new strappy high heels. Instead he'd warned her about falling and breaking her neck, then suggested that she double-check her disability insurance coverage and kissed her on the cheek. She'd never thought of herself as the kind of woman who would end a relationship because the guy wouldn't take advantage of her, but she had needs that were clamoring to be met. Somehow she had to find a way to let Rob know she was ready to take the next step, and soon.
She made a face at her sofa as she passed through the living room on her way to the bedroom. Soon, too, she'd buy a comfortable couch, but for now, school loans and tips for nude dancing men took precedence. Georgia idly lifted her long hair from her moist neck, winding it into a loose knot. She dreaded the evening, and fervently hoped she wasn't about to ignite a blaze Rob might not be able to put out.
Chapter 2
"COME ON, Georgia, stop gawking and start squawking!" Toni laughed and dragged Georgia to her feet, then cupped her hands over her mouth and hooted at the gyrating man on stage.
The naked bodybuilder wore a headdress and twirled a short stick with fire at both ends, seemingly oblivious of the danger to his lineage. He moved across the stage in little hops to the beat of the calypso music blaring from speakers at deafening decibels. His body was remarkably muscled and proportioned to the point of deformity. Georgia could only stare, and Toni cheered like a woman who'd never seen a baton.
In fact, the entire room undulated with hundreds of standing women, their hands raised to offer tips, their voices lifted to offer encouragement to the men who performed on the U-shaped runway. Of course, the dancers didn't require much urging to remove every stitch of clothing and wag the audience into a frenzy. The throbbing music and high-pitched screams reached such a staggering crescendo, Georgia was certain the shaking mirrors that flanked the stage would shatter at any moment.
She suddenly swayed and grabbed the back of the chair in front of her for support. Embarrassment rolled over her in waves. Every square inch of her skin tingled. Her breasts felt heavy and, since the room was stifling hot, she couldn't blame their hardened points on the cold. Her stomach swam with dizzying desire.
Georgia held her breath and allowed the atmosphere to consume her. The scent of the performers' body oils, the taste of perspiration on her upper lip, the press of bodies around her,the flashing spotlights that criss-crossed the room, the pulsing music, all swirled around her like a haze of sexually charged ions. It wasn't so much the dancers' naked bodies but the blatant openness that she found so titillating, the fact that the men were proud of their physiques, and that the women weren't afraid to express their appreciation.
Georgia wet her salty lips. It was enough to drive a decent woman to do things she might not ordinarily do.
She fumbled behind her for her untouched rum drink. Curving her hand around the cool glass, she lifted it to her feverish cheek. Georgia glanced at Toni to see if her friend had noticed she was quietly freaking out, but Toni was laughing and waving dollar bills.
Thinking the alcohol might numb her too-keen senses, Georgia gulped the drink. The fire twirler exited in a blaze of glory, only to be replaced by a construction worker with a swaying tool belt. Within minutes, he had stripped down to his hard hat and was taking bids from the women on the perimeter of the stage. Georgia felt a tingling in her thighs and frustration crowded her chest. She tried to project Rob's face onto the body of the dancer, but she couldn't reconcile the two separate images of stability and sensuality.
"Some hammer, huh?" Toni asked, nudging Georgia out of her reverie.
"Hmm?" Georgia scanned the man's considerable attributes. "Oh, yeah, I guess." She drained her glass in another deep swallow.
"Hey, are you okay? I was just teasing about Rob earlier. Did you guys have a fight or something?"
"No."
Toni's eyes narrowed and she jerked her head toward the ladies' room.
Georgia grabbed her purse and followed a bit unsteadily, sensing an inquisition but grateful for the break from the onslaught of erotic cues.
Before the door closed behind them, her friend had lit a menthol cigarette. Georgia frowned, then opened her purse and retrieved a lipstick. "I didn't know you smoked."
Toni exhaled and leaned her rail-thin body against a condom vending machine. "Special occasions only. So, are you having a good time?"
She ran a finger around the collar of the sleeveless white button-up shirt she'd worn tucked into loose black jeans. "Sure."
"Liar. You've been in another world all night."
Her heart pumped the rum through her body, bypassing her empty stomach and sending the alcohol straight to her brain, making her feel floaty and somewhat philosophical. "I have the all-overs."
Toni squinted. "The all-overs? Funny, I don't remember that one from school."
