We enter the building and immediately feel the atmosphere of the night city. The huge glass doors open before us, and we step into a spacious room. Dim light, bright neon signs, and lamps give the club an air of mystery. High ceilings with mirrored panels reflect the light, creating an illusion of infinity. Massive columns stand in the corners of the hall, hiding light sources and adding grandeur to the interior. People, like shadows, move to the rhythm of the music, and the sounds of drums, basses, and synthesizers blend into a pulsation, making the space tremble with sound.
The bar is stylish, made of dark wood with metal accents. The bartenders, masters of their craft, slowly pour drinks, creating a sense of smoothness and professionalism. The bar is surrounded by people—some whisper shyly, some laugh, while others just stand, absorbed in the atmosphere.
But the most interesting part is ahead. In the center of the hall stands a stage, surrounded by red velvet curtains, giving it intimacy. On it is a pole, sparkling under the neon lights. My gaze cannot tear away from the girl dancing on the stage. She is lost in the music, her movements exquisite, full of passion and energy. My eyes can't leave her curves, how she slides down the pole without losing an ounce of grace. I am stunned by what is happening before me. Everything I know about nightlife fades in comparison to this art, to this whirlwind of energy. I think I am hard to surprise, but it seems that Katrin has found the moment when my amazement can reach unimaginable heights. Seeing my stunned gaze, she pulls me toward the bar, throwing a few joking words.
"Looks like you need a drink."
The nightclub is filled with bright lights and basses that strike the consciousness like a lightning bolt, making everything around tremble. People are dancing, laughing, and drinking, but amidst this noise, I feel like a dimmed star. I, who have always sought stability, suddenly find myself at the center of chaos—surrounded by unknown emotions and thoughts I don't want to share. The misty light, sparkling through the flickering neon signs, subtly shows how every detail of this world overshadows my perception. Every face, every glance, every whisper creates sensations I can't quite grasp, but I know I am on the edge of something unexplored. And there she is—Rebel Girl—standing before me, like the focus of all my unclear feelings, like a flame I can't help but approach. I try to understand what is happening inside me, but my thoughts slip away. Her presence is so overwhelming that I can't focus on anything else. And maybe that's what attracts me—what makes me forget the rules, the familiar, my fears.
"Let's have a couple of shots," her voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts like a knife, and I feel the world around me starting to take shape again. "How about you?" When she turns to me, her gaze is piercing, her question direct but gentle, as if she is waiting for an answer that I don't even know myself.
"I don't even know."
Everything is too new and confusing. I don't know how to react, how to behave, and it creates an anxiety that both captivates and frightens me.
"I'm glad you like it," her words sound confident, like a statement, but there is something more in them, something that makes me think: What if I'm missing something? Maybe she expects more from me, and I feel it.
"Not sure I'm feeling that right now. Honestly, I don't know what I'm feeling," I admit, briefly realizing how strange and uneasy I feel. It's a moment of weakness, and I'm not ready to face what she might see.
Katrin keeps looking at me, while I just continue to get lost in my feelings.
"Let's have a couple of shots, sit at a table, order something, and watch the show," I realize that she isn't just trying to help me relax—she is already playing her game.
"What show?" Her words catch me off guard.
"The girls dancing on the pole."
My answer escapes unconsciously, not giving me time to think.
"Not sure I want to watch their lewd dances," I feel the words leaving me, but I can't stop them. It isn't just dissatisfaction; it's an inner resistance to everything happening here.
"Do you only like my lewd dances?"
"Yes."
"Give this club a chance," she pauses, and her smile never disappears. "If you don't like it, we'll go to another one. Okay?"
Maybe this is exactly what I need—to relax, allow myself to immerse in the moment without thinking about what will come next. I nod, trying to convince myself that she is right. I have to trust her, even though it seems difficult. I'm not ready to relax, but I think that maybe it's worth trying—just for a change. After all, she has brought me here with one goal in mind—to get me out of my shell, have some fun, and forget about the tension that has been holding me back. Either way, one thought guides me: this evening is a chance to see other sides of life.
I feel the same way as when the Friday night starts with the desire to leave but then turns into something unexpected. Inside me, there is uncertainty, as if I have become that shy and resentful guy again, the one who always sits on the sidelines. The anger towards Katrin still pulses inside me. I am angry at her for winning, and now she is forcing me to spend two weeks with her, a commitment I haven't signed up for. She is the source of my problems, the one I consider defeated, and I want to prove to myself that I can win in this game.
But, as it often happens, everything turns out differently. This is her victory. She not only wins the argument but also gives me a lesson I don't expect: "Books aren't everything, and by immersing yourself in them, you won't gain real friends, joy, or relationships." In this club, amidst the noise and bright lights, I realize she is right. Here, in this world that is completely not mine, I can learn how to have fun, not just read pages hiding from life.
We find a spot on one of the sofas. I feel my shoulders relax, and I glance at the girl. She is so confident, in herself, in us being here, and ready to enjoy the moment. And maybe, I too can feel something like that.
Drinks and snacks are brought to us. I take a glass, feeling its weight, which slightly calms my nervous thoughts. The snack isn't just delicious, but so simple and familiar that it immediately reminds me: sometimes in life, you don't need to complicate things.
"Let's drink. The first toast, of course, is for fun."
I raise my glass, not thinking, just smiling, giving in to her mood. We drink, and the first sip feels like a small step into the unknown, into this world I don't know but still feel is mine.
"The next toast is for you."
"How about we drink to us?" I suggest, feeling that in this offer, there is something more, something real, that doesn't follow the rules and expectations.
"I'm all for it," her reply is quick, without hesitation, and the second glass is immediately empty.
I feel a slight dizziness, but not because of the alcohol, more because at this moment, I am finally starting to let go of my strictness, my doubts.
Suddenly, her gaze becomes more focused, as if she senses that something is about to happen. She tilts her head slightly, and her voice is low and almost mysterious:
"It's starting," Katrin says, catching my attention.
I turn my gaze to where she is looking.
The girls on the pole move smoothly and confidently, their movements filled with grace. Each spin and lift creates an illusion of lightness, despite the difficulties hidden behind this art. Their bodies slide down the metal pole, adding more passion and provocation with each move.
But to me, the spectacle seems inappropriate, even irritating. I can't understand why the girls choose such a form of self-expression, and my gaze becomes more detached. Instead of excitement or impression, this display leaves me indifferent.
We sit at the table, sipping drinks and snacking, while two half-naked girls continue dancing. Their movements become smoother and more seductive, but to me, it all seems distant. Maybe before, I would have watched with interest, a bit embarrassed, or even excited. Now, I feel nothing but indifference. My gaze slides over them again and again, but nothing touches me. My cheeks burn from the alcohol, but not because of what is happening on stage. Everything that once might have excited me now seems meaningless.
"Do you like it? They're dancing well, right?" Rebel Girl asks, clearly waiting for my opinion, almost hoping to hear confirmation of her correctness.
I still can't understand what is attractive about it. It seems disgusting, even repulsive. Not because of the girls, who, by the way, are really trying and doing their best. It's just that, sitting next to Katrin, this scene loses all meaning.
I look at her and feel her gaze, watching my reactions carefully. Despite all her confidence, I can't lie.
"Sorry, but no," I say, glancing away. "It would have been better if..."
It would have been better if she danced for me herself. That would be a completely different matter—not just beautiful, but real. All these pole dances seem foreign to me, not what I want to see. I can't enjoy this spectacle when she is sitting right next to me—Katrin. At that moment, I realize that I actually want to see her in a different role. The role of a pole dancer would be entirely different if she were the center of attention, if her movements were directed only at me.
The desire that arises inside me leaves no choice and pulls me forward. I haven't finished speaking, understanding that the evening is just beginning. This isn't the moment to hide in the shadows. It's just the beginning, and now I need to understand how ready Katrin is to take it to the next level. What if she refuses? What if she doesn't want to dance for me? It's a big change, and I need to ask, even if it means taking a risk.
There is no choice, and I decide— I have to ask.
Katrin watches me closely, and with every second, I feel her tension grow. She can't understand what is hidden behind my words, and this gives her gaze a wary look, as if she expects me to say something that will clarify everything. But at this moment, I want to stretch the pause, to keep this silence so she feels— I know exactly what I want.
"Better what, Max? Why don't you like it?"
"Right now, I'll like everything," there is something elusive in my words that makes her become alert. "Because I've figured out the wish I want to make for you."
A hint of indecision flashes in her eyes, she swallows, as if trying to understand what exactly I want from her. At this moment, something inside her starts to crumble, and everything becomes much more serious than it was just a minute ago.
"What's your wish?"
I move a little closer, feeling her breathing change. She waits, and I enjoy the sensation of this anticipation, this fragile thread connecting us at this moment. I whisper in her ear, on the edge between reality and fantasy:
"I want you to dance for me."
She pulls back slightly, staring at me in surprise, with an expression of confusion and tension in her eyes.
"There?" the girl points ahead to the stage where the dancers are continuing their performances. Her question sounds puzzled, as if she doesn't fully understand what I mean.
"No. I don't want anyone else admiring you but me."
Katrin goes quiet for a moment, as if thinking about what this might mean. Finally, she breaks the silence, her voice soft but tinged with a slight boldness.
"Shall we go to the VIP area?"
The idea doesn't excite me. The VIP area sounds tempting, but it doesn't solve the main problem. There, too, could be something foreign, and anyone could pull aside the curtain at any moment—and we would be back in the spotlight. I don't want anyone witnessing what is happening between us.
"There are VIP rooms on the second floor, and there are poles for dancing there too."
Her words catch me off guard. It's as if she senses I'm not fully ready, that I need something else— a more secluded place, just us and this atmosphere, without any extra gazes. Her suggestion carries not only understanding but also a desire to create comfort for me, to allow me to relax and completely immerse myself in the moment.
I nod, realizing that this is exactly what I'm missing— space free from everything unnecessary. There is no point in retreating now.
"Yes, let's go there."
We stand up and head for the bar, where we arrange the room number. The bartender greets us with a smile, but I notice the girl is discussing something else with him. Something about drinks… For some reason, I don't pay much attention to it, since it doesn't matter to me. Everything around seems small and insignificant as strange anticipation builds inside me.
After going upstairs, I feel my heart race. We approach the door, receive the key, and I hear the metallic rod slide with a slight clink in the lock, opening the way to our room. When I enter, my gaze sweeps across the room. The space is small but cozy and filled with intimacy. Everything is simple, but with taste: a bed, a sofa, a small table… and a pole, which draws the eye as if it's the center of the room.
The bed is to the left, slightly separated. Its dark lines contrast with the soft light from the window. It looks cozy but evokes strange, pleasant associations. Across from the door is a small sofa—compact but spacious enough for two. Its warm upholstery seems to invite a touch. Nearby, a discreet yet stylish little table. And across from us is the pole. It doesn't just complement the décor; it creates an atmosphere, promising something more. Positioned so that it's visible both from the sofa and the bed, it becomes the room's center, setting the rhythm for it— a rhythm of anticipation and intrigue.
Almost immediately after us, the waiter enters with a tray of drinks for Katrin. His footsteps sound muffled, his voice politely restrained. When he leaves, the room closes in around us. I sit down on the sofa, feeling my pulse quicken. Anticipation hangs in the air, permeating every glance, every movement.
I sigh, and without saying a word, the girl walks around me and turns on the pole's backlight. The soft light illuminates the room, plunging it into semi-darkness while making every detail sharp and vivid. In the shimmering light, her silhouette seems to come alive, casting playful shadows on the walls— it feels as if the space itself begins to dance. She turns off the main light, and the atmosphere immediately changes. The backlighting is perfect: not too bright, but expressive enough to highlight her figure. Everything becomes mystical, alluring, as if time has slowed down. Even the walls now seem to be part of something bigger.
Rebel Girl approaches the table, skillfully pouring the drinks, and confidently offers me a glass. I take it in my left hand, feeling the cold glass against my fingers, but that isn't what matters. What matters is her presence, her gaze, which I feel even without looking into her eyes. She walks over to me and sits on my lap. For a moment, I'm at a loss. We came here for her dance, for the promise of something bright and unusual. But she is intentionally slowing the moment down. I try to figure out what she wants. Our expectations have intertwined, and now I don't know what will happen next.
Her closeness, movements, touches— everything plays with my senses, making me lose myself in what is happening. We are so close, yet there is an almost imperceptible line between us, like an invisible wall that she isn't trying to break, but perhaps is only strengthening.
"This room will be at our disposal for an hour. Don't worry, I'll fulfill your wish, and you'll get a pole dance from me," the girl whispers to me, her warm breath brushing my ear.
Relaxed, I place my hand on her waist, feeling how her body responds, as if it is made for my touch. She presses herself slightly against me, and in that movement, an almost imperceptible shiver passes through her, igniting my own desire. I slowly slide my hand down, feeling the warmth of her skin. My fingers run along her thigh, and with a gentle movement, I squeeze it— and between us, a spark flares, thin, invisible, ready to turn into flame.
"Why a dance, of all things, did you want from me?"
"Because I don't care about the girls who danced. They didn't excite me at all. I wanted to see you, how you dance for me," — it is a confession that she is the only one whose presence matters, whose body can ignite a fire in me.
Katrin tilts her head slightly, her lips parting, as if trying to catch something more in my words than just desire. In her piercing gaze is an entire world that I want to unravel.
"I will dance only for you today."