Disclaimer: Blah blah blah, I don't own either of these things I'm writing about. Anyway, please don't hate me for making Poland play the role of Lucy the slut. I really couldn't think of anyone more suitable in my current half-conscious state. And so, without further ado, I present to you Toris and Feliks' rendition of "Special."
Toris sighed as he walked down St. Mark's Place. His job as a secretary for a psychopathic Russian mob boss was going nowhere (and he was pretty sure that the whackjob had a bizarre sexual attraction to him, too, something that he didn't want to think about), the love of his life had taken one look at him when he'd arrived at her door with a bouquet of roses before slamming the door in his face (and on his hand, thus breaking all of his fingers, hence why his right hand was currently in a cast), he'd just been accosted a few minutes ago by a perverted blonde Frenchman on the subway who'd attempted to stick his hand down his pants while claiming to be searching for nuts and as the arsenic-laced cherry atop of the shit sundae that was his day, it was raining. As in, it was pouring buckets of more likely than not chemical-laced rain from the sky, complete with howling winds and occasional flashes of lightning and roars of thunder. And he didn't even have an umbrella, since it had been stolen from him on the train by some little punkass kid with huge eyebrows wearing a sailor suit while he was trying to fight off the creepy Frenchman's advances.
Stopping to wring the excess water from his hair, a taxi blaring Turkish belly dance music from its radio sped by him, splattering him with a combination of muddy water and God-knows-whatever was running through the gutter. Which was more likely than not a mixture of human waste and specks of crack rocks. As Toris tore at his hair in frustration, he heard grating laughter coming from the backseat of the cab, along with two German and Italian-accented voices shouting the words "Schadenfreude, bitch!" at him.
Cursing his luck, or lack thereof, he ran into the nearest store for shelter. He figured that he'd just pretend to be perusing whatever the hell it was that they sold while waiting out the storm and then leave without buying anything. Hey, it was New York, people pulled dick moves like that all of the time. It was like, an unspoken rule of all New Yorkers.
Shouldering open the door, Toris found himself looking not at rows of candy and magazines but deep-red walls, black leather couches and a 4'x4' wide x10" stage with three poles bolted to the ceiling in its center. Above the stage in glittery pink cursive were the words "Vaginas R' Us."
Toris' eyes widened to the size of saucers until he thought they would pop out of their sockets. "Oh," he said. "Oh. I-I need to get out of-Before he could make his grand escape, he found himself being pushed onto one of the couches by an immensely busty woman with short blonde hair and turquoise blue eyes wearing nothing more than blue nipple pasties whose tassels continuously twirled in circles, a matching g-string, thigh-high stiletto-heeled boots and elbow-length gloves that were probably made of vinyl.
"Really miss, this is not the sort of place that I usually frequent," Toris began as he stood up from his seat. Alas, the incessant circular motion of the tassels lulled him into a state of hypnosis and he sat down like an obedient child, nodding with a blank expression on his face and blood trickling from his nose.
"There there dear," the woman with the hypno-boobs said in a thick Eastern European accent. "Just keep staring at my milk-makers until the show starts and I assure you that by the end of the hour, all of your troubles will be forgotten." She sauntered off as the lights dimmed and bass-heavy techno music began to reverberate through the smoky little room, heels clicking loudly against the hardwood floor as she strutted away, assured that the power of her immense knockers would keep him firmly rooted in place.
Blinking dazedly, Toris wiped away the blood that had collected above his upper lip and looked around, confusion written all over his face. "What just happened here?" He muttered. He thought for a second. "Oh yeah. Hypno-boobs." Shrugging, he began to dig around in his wallet for some singles. "Might as well stick around, at least until the rain stops," he reasoned. True, strip joints weren't really his thing, but hey, when in Rome...Er, Manhattan.
As Rob Zombie's "Pussy Liquor" played in the background, Toris and all of the other lonely men sitting around him in the audience were bombarded by a sultry voice from behind the red velvet stage curtain that absolutely oozed the promise of all manner of filthy sex acts whispering...All of the reasons why they were here instead of out with women that they didn't have to pay to see get naked? What?
"Yes," the sexy voice whispered, "you're all losers in one way or another. Deep down, you all know that Plan A, a.k.a. picking up a woman for consensual, non-purchased sex failed. So here you are, on to Plan B, ready to stuff one dollar bills down a strange woman's thong for some quick gratification. But not only will your satisfaction be short-lived, but the likelihood of any of you actually getting laid by one of us is lower than Atlantis. Remember, our slogan is "At one's pleasure by one's own hand", so don't get grabby unless you want to be hauled off in a squad car." The voice paused. "Some of you are fat. Some of you are ugly. Some of you have no jobs and are using your diabetic mother's insulin money to pay for your visit here. Some of you are all of the above. And some of you are just hapless schmucks who ran in here to get out of the rain and now feel obligated to sit down and toss some money our way. It doesn't matter, because either way, sex sells and you all damn well know it. Why do you think there are more varieties of KY-jelly than there are of Smucker's? But whatever. Now, without further ado, I present to you our dancer of the day...DIXIE NORMOUS!"
Toris' pondering over the oddness of that stage name was interrupted by the appearance of a woman with tilted green eyes and honey-blonde hair cut in a shoulder-length bob crawling across the stage.
Clad in miniscule leather short-shorts, fish-net thigh-highs, a jacket partially unzipped to reveal some very nice cleavage, platform boots and with shiny handcuffs dangling at her hip, the girl perched her police hat at an angle so that it coquettishly covered her left eye before bending over so that her head touched the floor of the stage before smacking her ass.
Officer at attention, Toris thought as he felt the front of his pants begin to tighten.
For the next ten minutes he and his fellow strip joint frequenters were treated to Dixie Normous' erotic display of skilful gymnastics and dance moves performed to the tune of Fat Joe's "I Make It Rain." Her flexibility was mind blowing, bringing to mind other things that they wouldn't mind having blown by her. She grinded, she twirled, she hung upside down on that pole with no hands like it was nothing, flowing effortlessly from drags to corkscrews to swan spins to side princesses' to front and backs to pole slides to elbow stands to straight climbs to double taps and back. It was so beautiful in its graceful sensuality that it brought tears to all of their eyes as surely as it did uncomfortable hardness to their nether regions.
And then, something amazing happened. She caught Toris' eye and winked at him. Feeling the blood rush from his penis to his face, Toris stared at her in amazement. Is she interested in me?
As if reading his mind, she nodded her head slightly before leaping off the stage and into his lap, where she began to rub herself against him.
"You know," she whispered with a husky Polish accent, "I've, like totally got a little song I'd like to sing for you in, like. private. Wanna, like, take this to the back room?"
Toris scratched his head. Well, the girl I'm in love with hates me to the point that she's held me at knife-point so that I'll stop rooting through her garbage, my boss is a psychotic man child with a drinking problem and I haven't gotten laid in...Well, ever. Not like I have much to lose. Unless this chick turns out to have an STD or something, but there must be condoms somewhere around here, right?
His decision finalized, Toris tossed the giggling woman over his shoulder and hastily shoved open the door labelled "Hump Room: Be safe and clean up after yourselves." Placing her carefully in the middle of the room, he sat down on the straight-backed chair pushed up against the wall, watching her eagerly. To his confusion, rather than tossing off her clothes and jumping his bones, Dixie Normous instead stretched languidly and began to sing.
Ugh. Fuck me, Toris groused internally. I thought that I was gonna get to hide my pickle in her ham sandwich. Damn it.
"I can like totally make you feel special"
"When it sucks to be you."
"I can make you feel like really special"
"For an hour or two."
"Your life's a routine that repeats, like, each day."
"No one, like, cares who you are or what you say."
"And sometimes you feel like you're nobody,"
"But you can totally feel like somebody with me" Dixie sang.
Toris frowned. "Is this supposed to make me feel better? Because if you really wanted to make me feel special, you could take off your bra-
Dixie stopped for a second and gestured towards her breasts. "Oh yeah. Just for the record, these, like, aren't real," she said offhandedly.
"Oh. That's...Pretty disappointing, actually," Toris admitted. "But it's not a deal breaker. I'll just have to be careful so that I don't rupture one of your implants, I suppose. Now, if you could stop singing for a second and-Once again, he was interrupted by her bursting out into song, thus cementing the fact that indeed no one gave a shit about what he had to say, just as she'd sang earlier.
"When we're together the earth will, like shake"
"And the stars will totally fall into the sea."
"So come on, baby, like, let down your guard."
"When your girlfriend's stabbed you for the fourth time,"
"I'll slip you my card (it's a wicked hipster pink, by the way)"
"I can tell just by looking that you've like totally got it hard"
"For me! For me!"
"For me! For me!"
"For me! For me!"
"I can tell just by looking that you are especially hard for me!"
"Actually," Toris said hesitantly, "I kind of lost my erection somewhere between 'stabbed' and 'wicked hipster pink'. No offense, but that song was decidedly un-erotic. It was like an instant cure for arousal; a kind of lyrical form of erectile dysfunction, if you will. Kind of as if I simultaneously sprayed ice water all over my penis while thinking of my grandmother's back rolls." He stood up. "So er...thank you for this. I think. But I really must be going now." Out of politeness (and the fact that her pole dancing routine had been way better than her singing) he pulled out a fifty dollar bill from his wallet and held it out to her.
She stared at it, cocking her head to the side. "You wanna know why my stage name is Dixie Normous?" She asked, a strange little half-smile on her.
Toris scratched his head in bewilderment. Random. "Uhm...You like enormous dicks?"
'Dixie's smile widened as she began to unbutton her shorts while shaking her head.
Oh hell yeah, that's more like it, Toris thought.
"Nope," she said, putting emphasis on the pe. "It's because I have an enormous dick." 'She' tugged down her hot pants, revealing a very...healthy piece of man meat with a Prince Albert piercing going through the head. "Now," 'Dixie' murmured, voice deepening to an unmistakeably male tone, "like, show me your penis and junk!"
Screaming so loudly that the walls shook, Toris threw the fifty aside and ran out of the room, shrieking at the top of his lungs. He shoved past several other patrons, knocked down the lady with the enormous hypnotizing tits into a table and bowled over the tall black bouncer with the cross shaved into his hair in his desperation to get out of Vaginas R' Us.
Panting in the middle of the sidewalk with his head between his knees, he hyperventilated for a full minute before he was able to get his breathing back under control. "Never again," he gasped. "I'll stick my dick in the garbage disposal before I ever go into another strip club." Just as he made this declaration, the same taxi cab from before (he could tell by the music blaring from it) drove past him, once again splattering him with dirty-ass rain water while the German and Italian guy who were still for the some reason in the back seat (probably paying the driver extra just so they could drive around scouting the city for more people to splash and mock) once again laughed uproariously at his misfortune. "Assholes," he muttered darkly. "I hope they crash into a fucking bus." Cursing under his breath, Toris began to storm down the street to his apartment.
"Now that I think about it, I should've seen the fact that she was really a he coming," he said. "I mean, St. Marks' Place is one of the gayest parts of Manhattan. Geeze." Shaking his head at his gullibility, Toris continued down the sidewalk, once again erupting into a burst of expletives when the sky yet again opened up and began to pour down rain on him. "MOTHERFUCKER!" He screamed as lightning cut across the sky and thunder roared in the background.
Meanwhile, back in the private room of Vaginas R' Us, a certain Polish bodega worker/part-time cross-dressing stripper was having a good laugh. Flicking a tear from the corner of his eye, Feliks grinned widely. "Oh man, that was totally fucking hilarious," he sighed. "Hot cop outfit: $90. Hooker boots: $50. Realistic prosthetic tits: $150.99. The look on guy's faces when I pull my dick out on them and ask them to show me theirs: Priceless!"