TWENTY

Before I leave for work, I pack my bag with short, tight dresses. I leave the leather at home. I made the mistake of mentioning the Ivan thing to Barry, and he freaked out on me for hours.

He’s probably right this time, though. I totally lost control. I’m lucky that the guy kept his mouth shut about it and I didn’t get fired. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a dominatrix. That one’s going back on the shelf where it belongs.

I slip a couple of condoms into my little metal purse.

Cody is the DJ tonight at Angels. I’ve decided that I want to have sex with him. Preferably in the DJ booth. The idea of doing something that’s so completely forbidden is delicious, because not too much is frowned upon in the jaded world of a strip club. You have to push pretty far to get to “forbidden.”

The sun is still shining as I walk up my block to the subway. Four little Pakistani children with Hula Hoops run out of the corner deli, laughing and chattering in their funny language. A car passes with its top down.

The air is thick and sweet. Queens smells like a weird mix of honeysuckle, greasy gyro joints… and those big plastic bags of garbage that rot next to every curb, because no one knew what day they were supposed to put out their trash. Somewhere in the distance, an ice cream truck jangles its bell. Summer came on fast, and I barely noticed the change in seasons. I was too busy working at night.

It’s nice that it’s still light out in the evening. But it kind of makes me sad, because that’s when I wake up. I never get to enjoy the warm weather. Even on my days off, I’m dog-tired. I still wind up sleeping into the late afternoon, and waking without much energy. The job is strenuous. It’s physically taxing.

Barry calls me lazy for sleeping so much, which makes me feel even worse. I guess I should look at who’s talking, but if I thought about it that way, I’d kick his freeloading ass out again.

Another thing I’ve noticed is that I’m starting to feel irritable when I haven’t done coke.

I don’t think I’m addicted, because I never do any on the job. I’ve found that I can’t make money while I’m high. I can drink in the club, or maybe smoke some weed, but that’s it. Anything else and I completely lose my tolerance for the customers. This surprised me at first, because so many girls need to be high or they can’t work.

Most nights, I’m halfway into a gram the minute my shift is over. But as long as I’m not doing lines at work, I feel like I’ve got it under control.

The balmy weather piques my hormones. That’s nice for a change. I’ve gotten so used to being blasé about sex that most of the time, I don’t even want it anymore.

I’ve never really been attracted to Barry, and I can’t think of a single time we’ve had good sex.  Doing it with him doesn’t feel right. When it does happen, I try to make sure it’s over quickly. Ours is an emotional tie.

And the job is definitely affecting my sex drive. I’ve been actively squelching my emotions in favor of being a mannequin for the customers. There’s so much contact in those lap dances, especially in the back room, where I’m usually humping those guys through their pants while they squeeze my tits and ass.

My skin has thickened so that nothing much can get in here, and I need it to be that way. Otherwise, I’d never be able to deal with touching and being touched by all the ugly men… the old men… the fat men… the heaving, nasty breath and the chubby, chapped fingers.

Unfortunately for me, it’s a difficult thing to turn on and off. Sex and lap dancing are nearly the same for me now. I always swore that this was the one stripper cliché I’d manage to avoid.

So when I am turned on, I jump on it. Literally.

Tonight, I enter the club the same way I always do. Out of breath and almost late. Once I’ve finished changing into today’s costume – a short, tight little red velvet number with three holes cut into the front – I hurry over to the booth to see if Cody is working. Sure enough, he gives me a wink.

But when I touch his arm, he shakes his head firmly. I need to wait until there are more people in the club, so Tim won’t notice me slipping in there.

The next several hours go by slowly. This place is a graveyard in the summer. Everyone says summers are bad because these guys can go to the beach and see skin, rather than seeing it here. I think they’re making excuses.

When the club’s slow, nobody really knows why it’s slow. Men who come into strip clubs on a regular basis are not going to the beach to meet women, and deep down inside, I’m pretty sure my co-workers know that. There’s something extra that a mark needs, or he’d take his game to a real bar.

I nod at Cody while I’m on the side stage, but he barely acknowledges me.

Sooner or later, the club picks up. I do a couple of lap dances. Then I get a mark into the champagne room. I emerge from the session with a buzz on. Empowered by liquid courage, I sneak into the booth and wrap my arms around Cody.

“Right here, right now,” I whisper to him in greeting. I run my hands over his chest and down into his lap.

He gives in, grabs the back of my head, and sticks his tongue in my mouth. While we’re kissing, his hands wander along my body. He’s kneading my nipples between his fingers… brushing his hand over my velvet thong panties… shoving his finger into me, and I feel him through his jeans – he is rock hard.

“Go,” he whispers. “I have no more girls to put on stage – I have to put you up there now.”

I pout. “You’re serious?”

“Come back as soon as you’re done with your set, and I’ll show you why it’s worth waiting for,” he says.

“Maybe,” I tell him, and slink out of the booth.

Is he scared of getting caught, or is he leading me on? Should I even bother? Cody obviously cares whether or not he gets fired. We flirt all the time, but it never goes anywhere.

From the stage, I see another mark sitting alone in a corner. This one looks regal. His expression is haughty. He has the demeanor of a Great Dane. Quiet dignity. Nose in the air. His long, thick black mane of hair is shiny and sits atop a fine Italian suit. He has a well-trimmed goatee. He could be a spoiled, medieval prince.

I am immeasurably attracted to him.

When I approach him, he says he’s not interested. He’s just waiting for his friends, who are all in the VIP room. They’ve bought him some Angels “funny money.” The way he speaks to me is arrogant, and borders on outright rude. Those dance tickets are just sitting in his pocket. So of course I take landing him as a direct challenge.

“You might as well use that now, hon, ‘cause they won’t take our funny money anywhere else in the world,” I mention, sensibly. He’s reluctant, but I stroke his hair, and he finally agrees to a lap dance.

I start on him. His South African accent, the way he smells, and his royal good looks are making me horny. I was already turned on from my interlude with Cody. Now all that heat is starting to bubble over.

I have never wanted to fuck a customer before. But suddenly I’m driven to near-madness by some of the most powerful lust I’ve ever felt. I know that if I do not have this man’s cock inside me within minutes, I will explode. And I think he knows it too.

While I dance, I put my face close to his. I look around to make sure no one’s watching, and decide to take my chances. I slide my tongue over his lips and into his mouth. This is the first time I’ve ever kissed a mark. He kisses me back. We suck on each other’s tongues. This isn’t bullshit. We both want to get laid.

The heat between us crackles and spits. Urgently he whispers in his musical accent, “Where can we go?”

I point to the back of the club. “All your friends are back there for a reason,” I explain, smiling wryly.

He sighs and pulls out his credit card. I wave at Tina, she comes scurrying over, and before we know it, we’re in one of the little cubicles with me perched on his lap.

It occurs to me that, although I haven’t done this before, this guy probably thinks he’s with a seasoned prostitute. I doubt he’d believe me if I tried to tell him otherwise. I even have my own condoms with me! But I don’t care so much what he thinks right now. My animal senses have taken over.

He pulls his cock out of his pants. It’s a monster, too – this thing is fucking huge. I’m almost afraid to mount him, scared that it will hurt me. The only position we can manage in this room is with me sitting on his lap. He takes the condom from me and rolls it on. Facing him, I lower myself onto him, and he disappears inside me.

Oh my GOD, this is good! My heart pounds, and I feel every inch of him – both length and girth, stroking areas inside of me that I didn’t even know existed. He rocks me back and forth while I’m seated on his body. Each thrust is like a mini-orgasm. And before I know it, both of us are coming. We climax together, long and hard. I don’t think that we’ve even had sex for two minutes.

He’s immediately distant and cold. He pulls out of me, grabs a napkin for the rubber, and zips up fast. He looks terribly uncomfortable, like he’s going to bolt any second now.

“Hey, relax for a minute,” I say.

I’m a bit awestruck. What have I just done?

No, damn it. I won’t allow myself to feel guilty about this. I wanted to fuck this stranger, we had the opportunity, and so we took it. Big deal.

He must think it is a big deal, because he looks jumpy. Caged. “No, I’ll be meeting up with my mates again now,” he says. “They should be about done, and I have a flight home early tomorrow morning.”

I take a deep breath. I don’t know why, but I didn’t really expect to feel like this much of a leper. Why is he acting this way?

And then I see the wedding ring on his finger. Shit. How did I miss that?

Even so, hell! Ninety percent of these guys are married.

Maybe this one actually loves his wife.

Be that as it may, it’s not my problem. It’s not like I had to hold a gun to his head.

I recover quickly. It’s business, after all, and so I put my business face back on. I didn’t even get a tip from him up front. I’ll be lucky if I get anything extra from him now. I am so fucking dumb sometimes.

“Listen, you still have all that funny money,” I say to him.

“I guess I do,” he replies.

“Well, you know, you could tip me with it,” I suggest. “Since it’s almost time for the club to close, and your friends are ready to leave.”

He doesn’t seem to want to give me the dance tickets, even though I just had sex with him. It crosses my mind that this is the very reason we ask for our tips up front. Whether the mark gets to come or not, the time to get the money is in the moment of anticipation, not after his anticipation has passed.

“You live in South Africa,” I say. If he doesn’t give me those dance tickets, I never want to look at myself in the mirror again. “What are the odds that you’re ever going to be back in here? You have no use for that funny money. It won’t buy anything anyplace else. I, on the other hand, could make use of it. I mean, come on! That’s what it’s for!”

He ponders for a moment, and then I guess he sees the validity of what I’ve just said.

“I suppose you’re right, aren’t you,” he agrees. He reaches into his pocket and produces a handful of fake currency. “You might as well have it. I don’t need it.”

I don’t like the way he says he doesn’t need it. Like he thinks he’s offering me charity.

I count the wad. If it was real cash, it would be two hundred dollars. That’s what he – or his friends – paid for it. But the club splits the value of these tickets with me. So I really haven’t made any more money that I could have gotten for a regular nude lap dance back here.

It was my choice to do more. Nobody pressured me. The truth is I’d have fucked this guy whether I met him here, in a normal bar, or at the supermarket. The fact that I just got paid to do something I would have done anyway is the icing on the cake.

Isn’t it?

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