knitting. I left the room slowly, looking forward to going to bed. Going to sleep was a very exciting thought for once.
.
six
Present
The bell dings on the door as I exit Anthony’s Pizza. Refreshed and energized after spending twenty minutes surrounded by teenagers, I make my way down Broad Street toward the club, avoiding my usual route because I don’t want to see the Quickie Mart again. I walk slowly, scarfing down my slice of pie, and before I know it, I’ve reached the club.
I enter through the back and nod hello to the bouncers as I make my way to the dressing room.
“You got a request. ” Rick approaches me in the hall outside the dressing room, his eyes honed in on my chest like a moth to flame.
“Already?” I just got here.
“Room three.”
“Thanks, Rick.” I smile and gently touch his arm, and he melts into the slouched image of an eighty year old man. Really, you would think he’d avoid me. He can’t be oblivious to the fact that he gets exhausted when he molests me with his eyes.
I quickly appl y my makeup, slip on my costume—a black top with thigh highs and a garter belt, and make my way to room three. I slowly part the beaded curtain and slide into the room. Inside, a man wearing a button up dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and tight black pants sits in a relaxed position on the purple velvet sofa, one arm hanging over the back. His jet black hair is slicked back, but the oddest thing about him is he’s wearing sunglasses.
A chill runs through me and every hair on my body stands on end. I don’t know this man, but he feels familiar. I scan him again, but nothing stands out that rings a bell as to why.
“Take everything off,” he commands. His requ est is not as surprising as the tone he uses.
“I don’t take everything off.” I stay by the door and assess the situation. If this guy is some kind of jerk, I’m going to leave.
“I paid for you to be naked.” His accent seems foreign, but I can’t place where it’s from. Maybe like an immigrant washed with an American accent.
“No, you paid for me to give you a lap dance.” I smile, but maintain my stand.
“Take it all off.”
“Perhaps you woul d like another dancer.”
“Perhaps I wouldn’t.”
“I’m not taking everything off,” I re-affirm. We stare at one another for a brief moment, a battle of the wills, and finally he breaks the silence.
“Then dance.”
Against my better judgment which told me I should exit immediately, I slowly sashay towards him, doing my best to excite him. He watches, but he seems bored and not impressed. He makes no movements or facial expressions. I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to watch the train wreck that’s my dancing either. Once in front of him, I bend over, my behind in his face and slowly stand, rolling my back up while keeping my legs straight. I move my body in rhythm with the music, occasionally bending down and snapping back up so the hair from my red wig flies up with me. I turn back to see if any of my moves have affected the mysterious man. He’s watching me, but his face lacks any expression.
“Am I boring you?” I move with the beat. Slowly, I unhook my bra and let it slide off of my arms. I will make this man come apart. He shifts in his seat, leaning forward for a brief moment, but sits back again, and exhales loudly. Guess that worked.
The tattoo on his right forearm catches my attention, but before I get a good look at it, he jerks his arm away and rolls his sleeves down.
“Thought you didn’t get nak ed.”
“J ust the top. I’m wearing pasties,” I place my hands on the back of the couch behind his shoulders, and lean over him so that my breasts hang in front of his face. I lean back, then raise my left leg to the arm of the sofa and slowly roll my hip into him. He exhales again.
“Getting pretty close to it aren’t you?”
I lean forward again so that my chest is in his
.
six
Present
The bell dings on the door as I exit Anthony’s Pizza. Refreshed and energized after spending twenty minutes surrounded by teenagers, I make my way down Broad Street toward the club, avoiding my usual route because I don’t want to see the Quickie Mart again. I walk slowly, scarfing down my slice of pie, and before I know it, I’ve reached the club.
I enter through the back and nod hello to the bouncers as I make my way to the dressing room.
“You got a request. ” Rick approaches me in the hall outside the dressing room, his eyes honed in on my chest like a moth to flame.
“Already?” I just got here.
“Room three.”
“Thanks, Rick.” I smile and gently touch his arm, and he melts into the slouched image of an eighty year old man. Really, you would think he’d avoid me. He can’t be oblivious to the fact that he gets exhausted when he molests me with his eyes.
I quickly appl y my makeup, slip on my costume—a black top with thigh highs and a garter belt, and make my way to room three. I slowly part the beaded curtain and slide into the room. Inside, a man wearing a button up dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and tight black pants sits in a relaxed position on the purple velvet sofa, one arm hanging over the back. His jet black hair is slicked back, but the oddest thing about him is he’s wearing sunglasses.
A chill runs through me and every hair on my body stands on end. I don’t know this man, but he feels familiar. I scan him again, but nothing stands out that rings a bell as to why.
“Take everything off,” he commands. His requ est is not as surprising as the tone he uses.
“I don’t take everything off.” I stay by the door and assess the situation. If this guy is some kind of jerk, I’m going to leave.
“I paid for you to be naked.” His accent seems foreign, but I can’t place where it’s from. Maybe like an immigrant washed with an American accent.
“No, you paid for me to give you a lap dance.” I smile, but maintain my stand.
“Take it all off.”
“Perhaps you woul d like another dancer.”
“Perhaps I wouldn’t.”
“I’m not taking everything off,” I re-affirm. We stare at one another for a brief moment, a battle of the wills, and finally he breaks the silence.
“Then dance.”
Against my better judgment which told me I should exit immediately, I slowly sashay towards him, doing my best to excite him. He watches, but he seems bored and not impressed. He makes no movements or facial expressions. I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to watch the train wreck that’s my dancing either. Once in front of him, I bend over, my behind in his face and slowly stand, rolling my back up while keeping my legs straight. I move my body in rhythm with the music, occasionally bending down and snapping back up so the hair from my red wig flies up with me. I turn back to see if any of my moves have affected the mysterious man. He’s watching me, but his face lacks any expression.
“Am I boring you?” I move with the beat. Slowly, I unhook my bra and let it slide off of my arms. I will make this man come apart. He shifts in his seat, leaning forward for a brief moment, but sits back again, and exhales loudly. Guess that worked.
The tattoo on his right forearm catches my attention, but before I get a good look at it, he jerks his arm away and rolls his sleeves down.
“Thought you didn’t get nak ed.”
“J ust the top. I’m wearing pasties,” I place my hands on the back of the couch behind his shoulders, and lean over him so that my breasts hang in front of his face. I lean back, then raise my left leg to the arm of the sofa and slowly roll my hip into him. He exhales again.
“Getting pretty close to it aren’t you?”
I lean forward again so that my chest is in his
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