Nope. Not worth it.
Outside I still looked the unflappable professor, bow tie in place, my hair in need of a cut but at least combed back a bit. My beard was trimmed a respectable length. Not like the rest of these men. I aggressively shook my hands around to dispel the water droplets and carefully opened the door with my elbow to get out.
I needed to leave before I caught a rash.
The exit was in sight when the music stopped and the lights all dimmed save for one spotlight focused on the main stage set up in the center of the room. A hush fell over the crowd, like everyone took in a deep breath at the same time. A quick guitar strum filled the air shortly followed by the thrumming tempo of a foot-stomping beat. On stage, a woman materialized from the blackness. She walked forward confidently. The same woman I tried to see in the hallway but who had averted her face from me. I had that effect on women. Especially women like that—women who captured the audience of every man that they passed.
My workload nagged at the back of my mind. Time to leave. Papers waited to be graded, grants needed to be applied for. I didn’t have time to deal with a backwoods hillbilly trying to buy me off for a side job I didn’t want or need. And yet, my feet remained planted.
A dark cove near the exit beckoned. I crossed my arms and settled into the dim area to watch her unseen. No harm in watching her dance. If she took off her clothes, I’d leave. The music had a life of its own. It existed to highlight her movements and seep under my skin. The tempo of the bass drummed down my chest and out through my extremities.
With every stomp of dark tempo, she glided her way toward a gleaming pole in the center. Her hair flowed like a living entity as she tossed it around. Onyx waves reached just to the top of her luscious…
I cleared my throat and shifted my feet.
As the melody built, her movements became more exaggerated and complex. She dropped to the floor suddenly, arched her back, crawled, writhed, flipped her head, and spread her legs, all with intention and fluidity. She was sexuality incarnate. The area around the stage filled with men and women surging forward, waving their cash and trying to get it in her outfit. Occasionally she made her way to them to allow them to slide bills against her glistening skin.
She was flawless. She was a beacon of pure light in this grotesque pit of hell. Her sloping waist, her creamy skin—all perfected to allure men. She was a siren with cash crashing at her feet like boats against rocks.
Good God, she even made my thoughts poetic. Pathetic.
The chorus started and with a small head start, she jumped to the top of the pole in an outstanding act of pure athleticism. The sultry voice blaring through the speakers sang of rivers and mouths and sex and power. Goosebumps prickled my arms and neck.
Her body spun around the bar completely unaffected by gravity. She ran and flowed and never stopped collecting the attention of everybody around her. It looked effortless, but immense strength powered those smooth curves.
I was transfixed. It wasn’t just the way she mastered the room. It wasn’t just how her choreography perfectly correlated with the entrancing music. It wasn’t just her sex appeal. It was that unwavering gaze and focus on her task. To the rest of the room, staring blatantly at her admirable—ahem—assets, she was an object, but I recognized the barely controlled passion roiling under her skin. What would it be like to be that strong? Not just physically, but strong in a way that allowed her to bare her soul to a group of greedy strangers. My passions were locked away safely inside me and yet she put it all out there. Such bravery and passion.
In certain moments, I swear she looked right at me—quick, stolen glances that shot a bolt of adrenaline down my spine. Perhaps this was a skill she learned to earn more tips, as the money was out in droves now, peppered over the stage and her sweating skin. But I swore she saw me. Saw through me. To the things I didn’t want seen. I stepped back further into the darkness knowing my concerns were irrational but unable to tear my eyes off hers. I was stronger than this. I was thoughtful, pragmatic, and not a victim of animalistic natures and poetic fantasies.
Though she occasionally snapped the thin strips of material that made up her outfit in a playful tease, she never took any clothes off. She didn’t need to. She’d managed to capture the attention of every person in that room with her movements alone.
My body reacted despite my rationale; heart pounding, skin aflame. I needed to leave. I wouldn’t be like the rest of these people.
The song crescendoed and in a show of strength, she launched herself back to the top of the pole once again. A small gasp escaped from me but the music drowned out all noise. She performed a trick that made her appear to fall down the entire length of the pole, tumbling over and sideways, limb over limb, only to catch herself at the bottom using only her thighs. She hung upside down, panting, dark hair sprawled out around her and her gaze set on me. Her eyes were a brilliant emerald, unlike any color I’d ever seen. They were luminescent in the stage lighting. Even across the hazy bar, they were transcendent. Glowing. Fixated on me.
Nobody else.
I swallowed but it wasn’t easy. The song ended and the lights went out. The crowd went wild. Several moments passed before I gained control of my faculties again. With that control came the shame of watching her. The understanding that just seeing her perform was enough to make me forget who I was. That couldn’t happen.
I got out of there as fast as I could. The entire drive back to Knoxville my chest heaved at an alarming rate; my body remained a mass of tension. Her hypnotic gaze flashed repeatedly in my vision no matter how often I tried to shake it loose.
Thankfully, I’d never see her again.
Chapter 3
Suzie
Ileft the stage sweaty and satisfied. That’s more than I could say for the last few sexual experiences I’ve had. “Like a River” by Bishop Briggs was a risky choice over the usual crowd pleasers but her demanding voice and that hungry tempo hit nerves. I’d put on one hell of a show and made more money than expected. Sometimes the music spoke to me and my body moved in just the right way so the crowd ate it up. More than speakingtome, it spokethroughme. It made me feel like I was more than a stripper. It made me want to be something extraordinary.
Not that I’d ever tell anybody that. I could just imagine the look of one of the Black Demons as I explained how powerful and alive I felt when I moved around that pole. They’d likely tell me to shut my trap and spread my legs.
I organized my bills, flattening and stacking from singles to the fifty. The fifty I folded up and hid in the thick strap under my boob. Despite everyone calling me dumber than a bag of bricks, I knew enough to keep some cash hidden. That should get Daddy through the week. I made my way back to Occum's office.
Occum took over the Black Demons right around the time I came looking for help about eight years ago. He ran the G-Spot and was in the process of upgrading it from a dive bar with strippers to a fancy nightclub—also with strippers. He was only sort of rough before he busted faces to get to the top. Now, there was a cruelty about him that made my skin itch. But he was the boss so if I wanted change, I went through him.
Still panting from my routine I pushed into the office. Maison was in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck. She was new and eager to prove herself by shoving her tongue in his ear. I hid a shudder. I had been there only a few years ago. Thank God I’d moved up the ranks because I could still recall the smell of sour cigarettes in his uncombed beard.
“A couple of guys just sat in your section,” I told her. It may or may not have been true.
