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I totter toward the doorway, trying to make myself into Cerise. I start with my walk. Head held high, shoulders pulled back, arms nice and loose, lengthen my strides.
When I’m playing Cerise, I’m confident. Smiling. Teasing. Winking.
She likes men to look at her, to fawn over her tits and ass, to rain singles down as she slithers on the pole. She’s my opposite in so many ways. I’ve never dated anyone, much less had strange men touch me as boldly as my customers will tonight.
Cerise is confident and worldly, I am introverted and naive. It’s just easier to be Cerise for a while, a mask that I can slip off and leave in my locker at the end of the night.
Heading down the dark little hallway to the stage, I mount the steps and wait for the emcee to announce me. My heart rate rises. My smile stays plastered in place. In the seconds before I go onstage, it feels the same as it does when I’m waiting in the wings in my tutu and pointe shoes.
“Now appearing on the main stage, it’s Cerise!”
My heart beat sounds like a drum in my ears. My music comes on, MIA’s “Bad Girls”. At the sound of the first notes, a switch is flipped for me.
There is a spotlight illuminating a shiny stripper pole on Club main stage. Everything around it is dim, made more so by my singleminded focus. I strut out onto the darkened stage, barely seeing the audience. All I can see is the stage, bare, waiting for me.
A shiver of excitement slides up my spine. I reach out for the pole, caressing it with one hand as I turn to face the audience. I don’t really see them, though. Just the bright stage lights down front.
I grin and skim my fingers down my hip, biting my lip. Turning toward the pole, I slip my shoes off. As soon as I grip the pole and push onto my toes, a few whistles leave the crowd. I go into point briefly and the face away from the audience, leaning against the plot as I slide down into splits. I raise my arms over my head and then swing my hip around, grinding the ground beneath me. I keep a look of pleasure on my face as I get up, quickly turning it into climbing the pole and artfully sliding down. I step away from the pole and arch my back.
Taking a deep breath, I move away and focus on the audience members. A cluster of men in the front row grab my attention by waving a hundred dollar bill. I slide over to them, a knowing smirk on my face, and get on my knees. Plucking the bill from the customer, I push my breasts together and squeeze them. At the same time I spread my knees farther apart and run my hand down to the band of my bikini. Feeling naughty, I make sure to cup my pussy and pluck at my nipple, all the while making eye contact with the stage man.
Then I get on my stomach, never breaking eye contact, and slowly roll my ass so that I hump the floor in slow motion.
I don’t see his reaction. I have no idea if it’s good or not. I’m just sucked into the performative nature of that slow body roll.
When I finally get up, I spread my legs wide and skim my bottoms down my legs. Bending over, I make sure that the customer gets the first look at my pussy.
Then I stride back to the pole. I lean my ass on the pole facing the audience, sliding down, an orgasmic expression on my face. Dollar bills rain down from above as I complete my splits, reaching above me to help myself back up. This time I go on my tiptoes with one foot, lifting the other high above my head. I lower my leg to the floor and raise my torso, steadying myself as my arms come up in an arch above my head.
I tear off my top, my breasts bouncing free. I climb the pole again and wrap my legs around it, dropping the piece of fabric and letting my entire body fall backward oh so slowly.
I let myself slide down until my hands can touch the floor. Then I gracefully round into a back bend and rise once more. Composing myself for a moment, I lift onto my tiptoes and execute a half-pirouette. Planting my right foot, I sweep my left leg skyward, then fold my body into the splits again.
All of this takes just a heart beat… or so it seems. Before I know it, the song shifts. The applause makes me turn pink.
I blink a few times and then run down to the end of the stage, collecting the cascade of dollar bills that I earned. After I sweep up most of them and grab my bikini, I hurry off stage. A minute later, I have my bikini on again and the money stashed in a little locked drop box beside the stage.
I didn’t really have time to count, but the dollar bills felt weighty against my palm. One more step closer to independence.
I strut out to see at least five tables signaling to me that they want a private dance.
That’s the least favorite part of my night. But at least guys are interested in what I can provide… I credit Mia with giving me tip to improve my onstage presence.
Lifting my chin, I’m about to walk toward the closest table when one of the dark-suited managers raises his hand to me.
I shoot him an odd look, but he continues waving me over. I look at the table of customers, hold up a single finger, and then scoot over to the bar.
He sniffs, rubbing his nose. “You got a guy waiting for you in the platinum room, darlin. The customer isn’t a regular but he’s very rich and very private. This customer is to be treated with kid gloves, you got it? Whatever he wants, you give.” He looks me up and down. “Whatever’s legal, anyway.”
I am absolutely sure that he means all but the last part. My heart rate picks up. I nod my head, glancing at the tables.
“Hey,” the manager says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “Don’t worry about them. Worry about the guy in the platinum room. You could easily make three or four times as much tonight as you would’ve normally. Now get going.”
Eyes widening, I nod and scurry toward the Club’s staircase. I bite my lip, trying not to look worried. Usually I’m not called in when customers choose dancers for the luxurious private rooms. Then again, it’s only been a few days since Mia gave me a critique to earn more on stage.
Maybe it has started to work. Maybe it is really my time to shine.
As I climb the stairs, I try to convince myself that I deserve to be called back to the most expensive private room of all.
