Another night. Another bar.

The stripper shimmied down in front of him, wagging her
pendulous breasts in his face, and Mulder lackadaisically
stuffed a buck into her g-string for her efforts.

"Thanks, peaches," she drawled, and sauntered over to the
next poor sap sitting along the edge of the runway.

Another drink. Mulder sighed heavily and gestured to the
waitress to bring him a fresh Caffrey's. She set it down with
a muted clunk and resisted scowling at him this time when he
handed her a five. He had been tipping the strippers a lot better
than the waitress this evening. In his defense, he felt the strippers
were working harder.

Another lap dance. The exotic dancer gyrated her pelvis and massaged
her breasts, licked her lips and tossed her hair. Mulder watched
her nipples bob up and down inches from his face, the two rosy
circles casting their own brand of hypnosis. She was good, this one.
Very attractive. Non-synthetic breasts, tight stomach, tanned skin,
long straight black hair. He liked it. Bleached blondes tired him.

"What are you doing after this?" he asked.

She licked her finger and circled her left nipple with it, tried not to
look too bored. "Why, you interested in parting with more of your
hard-earned money?"

Another moment of hesitation. "Yeah."

She looked into his eyes as if sizing him up, deciding if he was
worth her time. Apparently he passed her test because she said,
"I get off at 12. Back room. Tell them Iris said it was okay."

The bar's emcee had introduced her as Tempest. "Thanks, Iris."

She nodded and undulated perfunctorily a few more times before
leaving.

Another cell phone call. "Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me."

"What is it, Scully?"

"I wanted to remind you to bring in that file on Benedict that you've
had at home for the past three days. I need it or Kersh is going to
have my ass in a sling. Again."

"Yeah, I'm on it." He chewed on his lip, craning his neck to try
to see the stage from where he was standing near the restrooms.

"Mulder, where are you? What's that music?"

"Neighbors are having a party. Look, Scully, I'll see you tomorrow,
okay?"

"Okay," said the skeptical voice on the other end. "Remember the
file."

"I will."

Another guilt trip. What the hell are you doing, Mulder? Who the
fuck do you think you are, waiting for a stripper to get off work so
you can pay her to suck your dick? Is your life really that empty,
that meaningless, that pathetic? You want to get some head, why
don't you go see your partner? Why don't you go over to Scully's,
throw her down on that IKEA bed, fuck her senseless, and then have
her suck your dick? Why aren't you man enough to do that, Spooky?
When the fuck are you gonna get your shit together and start living
your goddamn life instead of hiding from it?

Another pointless rendezvous. "Iris sent me. She said it was okay."

The hulking bouncer looked him up and down, frisked him up and
down, and finally let him pass. Mulder was only wearing his ankle
holster and the bouncer was too lazy to be that thorough. The dark
back room smelled of booze and makeup and sweat and come and
disinfectant. There was a chair and a bed and a table that boasted a
dark stain of dubious origin.

"What'll it be? Blowjob is 20, sex is 50." Iris had changed into a
loose-fitting black silk negligee. It looked a lot more comfortable
than the leather thong she had been sporting earlier.

"Twenty bucks' worth, I guess."

"Have a seat."

He sat down on the unyielding wooden chair, shoulder blades pressed
against the vertical slats on the chair back, and watched as she unzipped
his jeans and took out his partially erect cock. She expertly teased it to
full hardness with a few efficient strokes, rolled a condom over him
in a few tugging motions, then took him into her mouth.

Another blowjob. He gripped the edges of the chair as Iris
manipulated him, sucking strongly, outlining the crown of his cock
with her tongue, gently cupping and squeezing his balls. Her thumb
worked the root of his shaft as her mouth worked the rest, all in one
steady, building rhythm.

Another fantasy. He closed his eyes and imagined his partner there,
red hair replacing the black, red head bobbing up and down, red lips
closed around him. Red swam across his inner vision. Always red.

His breath came in short, raspy pants now, low animalistic moans
sounding deep in his throat. His hips jerked and his hands twitched
from wanting to touch her. But he didn't. He gripped the edge of the
chair harder and those lips that tongue those teeth that mouth god I'm
going to die going to die oh god

He climaxed violently, spurting into the condom, letting her milk him as
he spasmed and spasmed with each draw of her mouth. When he was
done she rolled off the condom, tossed it in a nearby wastebasket, and
then shocked him by licking his dick dry, albeit with all the passion of a
housecat. She put his cock back in his jeans, zipped him up. "Thanks
for your patronage," she said with a trace of smugness.

"Th...thank you," he stammered. He pulled out a twenty and handed it
to her before making his exit.

Another drive home. Moonlight glittering off the wet streets and noisy
kids patrolling their turf.

Loser loser loser have to pay someone to suck your dick...

Maybe tomorrow he'd tell her. Maybe tomorrow he'd hand her that
file and then throw her down on the desk and go at her like...like...like
someone willing to pay to have his dick sucked.

Another night. Lying on the couch and flipping channels. Wondering
which porn to pop in the VCR. Counting the hours until work.

Another night. Another day wasted.

Someday, things would be different.

If he could just work up the energy.

end.