This is my first even partially serious foray in creative writing, and I had good fun with it.
A NIGHT IN HAREM
John and I relaxed on the maroon cushions of our booth. That is, John relaxed, and I was bowed up against the table, wringing cold clammy hands over an amber beverage. “Take it easy, buddy,” said John, “Sit back. Drink your drink.” I did. A warm feeling climbed into my chest, but I was still hardly at ease, and I sure as hell couldn’t understand how John got off on acting so collected. Not after tonight. Yet John always played it cool, and no matter what happened, he seemed to know how things would work out. He lounged there across from me in this feral wool coat with fur trim--he must have been out of his mind to strut around like that. “I'm going to find the phone,” I said, and started up. John put a hand on my shoulder, “He said he would be here.” I remembered suddenly I was in a go-go bar after I spied these two remarkable young women reclined on a dark sofa across the floor. One blonde, one brunette, their soft bodies intertwined, covered by short loose skirts. The blonde looked in my direction and spoke to her partner. They both giggled and the resultant bobbing under their attire was enough to provoke any man. The blonde stood up and rubbed her bare arms playfully, pretending to be cold. She snatched up this pile of cloth and drooped it around her neck. It was at least half a dozen frilly burlesque scarves, of every color. She swanked our way, bouncing like a rainbow pompom.
John and I were the only customers here in Harem other than an unsavory company of three carrying on like hyenas with the proprietor at a table in the corner. Loud, greasy, and vulgar, they were circled around a crystal palace of empty drink glasses. Every minute I heard a quick sniff from the party and little white mounds disappeared from their table. Their escalating unruliness was unsettling.
“Anything Sally can do for you tonight?” inquired the blonde. I observed the sleazy thumping blues rhythm in the air only after beholding Sally up close rocking her hips to the tempo. “Maybe you can, maybe you can't,” piped John. I laughed uneasily, “Let's be reasonable, John,” but he sat there with indifference. “Are you a queer?” she asked, “What are you even doing in a place like this?” “We'll let you know if we need your services,” said John, and the vixen sprung off to the owner's table. My throat burned as I tossed back the last of my drink irritably, “What the hell is wrong with you, John? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were queer.” Now we'd never get so much as a tease in this place.
By now, the dancer was swinging in front of the table in the corner, vibrant scarf tendrils swaying around her. “We can't lose focus,” said John, “you'll be back in the village soon enough.” I had my doubts. Our ride was over an hour late now. Over John's shoulder, I could see the dancer molting each colored scarf: red and yellow slumped across the floor, and Sally cradling Harold's neck with green. The corner table was a ballyhoo, all barking and slobbering like dogs. When the sultry tune overhead throbbed more profanely, the dancer maneuvered more sinfully, letting blue and orange scarves float to the ground. John grinned as if he knew what was happening behind his head. Now Harold's guests were pounding the table madly, and Sally ripped off the last purple scarf and flicked it in the air with a careless gesture. All seven came to rest around her feet in vivid swirls. With great care, she issued the sensual coupdegrâce, lifting her dress over her shapely hips, navel, chest, and head, and the garment drifted away.
Everyone's jaw was on the floor, maybe my own, too. Sally was wearing nothing save for a tight undergarment stretched over her hips, with pert breasts for all to see. She took a seat next to Harold, pecked him on the cheek. He wrapped his arm around her, speaking gently, and she laughed. Sally whispered in his ear, and Harold declared boastfully, “That's right, anything, babe!” Now she was mouthing something, and peaking over at our booth. My heart pounced. “Are you satisfied now?” poked John, back turned to the situation behind him. Harold's speech was very clear when he bellowed, “What? That insolent punk!”
All four stood from their seats and Harold marched our way, followed closely by his gang. My face went cold and a dreadful ache washed over my torso. Harold stood right over us , red-eyed and stern, and turned his head toward me. “Get out,” he commanded. I stammered. “But--” “Get the fuck out right now.” I looked across at John who was expressionless but cool as a cucumber. I climbed out of the booth and one of the thugs shoved me halfway across the room. I caught a glimpse of the brunette from earlier. She winked at me. Two of Harold's friends fell in around John and the one who shoved me pushed me stumbling right out the door onto the craggy sidewalk, and I was enveloped by frigid night air. The wooden door crashed behind me and the bolt clicked. Light-headed, I staggered and sunk against the wet brick wall. My respiration was heavy like I might never catch my breath and I squinted ahead at approaching headlights in the road. There was the driver.
All comments welcome and appreciated. I've been a complete stranger to this forum, but after this venture, I'll have to come around more often to see what everyone is doing.
, but I do feel that we are moving in a better direction. I also feel that it is one of the best programs for any young man/woman to join for the best discipline, motivation, and relevant education (depending on your field) the world has to offer. And this is not just some mumbo-jumbo I've heard from a recruiter. The U.S. Navy is over-capacity right now and my recruiter is less than enthusiastic about really enlisting anyone at the moment.
