Dirty Nights

by A. M. Hargrove

Mom sits next to my bed, holding my hand. Like that’s supposed to make me feel better? The doctor just left and said he hopes … yeah, he hopes I’ll be able to put weight on my right leg again. So much for my fucking career. I refuse to have visitors. Selene came by a few times, but I couldn’t stand to see the pity in her eyes. I’m a has-been when I barely got started. My life’s been ruined by some fuckfaces who wanted a few measly bucks and my credit cards.

  The doctor also told me he’s going to begin weaning me off the morphine today. Great. Fantastic. Now I’m going to have to face this without the numbing effects of opiates. Apparently my stab wounds have healed sufficiently, along with the surgeries on my leg, that I can be moved to a restorative unit. I can’t go home until I can demonstrate I can move around on my own. How the hell will I be able to do that? My leg is in some kind of contraption with enough hardware attached to it I look like an Erector Set. Maybe the damn thing has a special button on it and it turns into a Transformer, making me a SuperCar or something. Who the fuck knows?

  A snarly bastard. That’s what I am. I don’t talk anymore. I yell or growl. If anyone asks me something, I either give a sarcastic reply, or scowl at them. I’ve gone from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde. I’ve made my mom cry so many times now I don’t even care any more. Why should I? I’ve been fucked. And it keeps getting worse. This fucking hardware on my leg … no, wait. Let me amend that. This fucking hardware IN my leg, they’ve just informed me will have to be removed. Well, some of it anyway. Screws, pins, bolts, and who knows what else … probably fucking rebar for all I know.

  And then the doctor in his smart ass way, says to me, that I should be thankful they didn’t have to amputate it. Because apparently when they initially saw it, that was a strong possibility. Nice. Just perfect. And I’m supposed to be thankful, doc? That a couple of motherfuckers destroyed my life. Really?

  Oh, and Selene. Dear sweet Selene. Yeah, she dumped me. Didn’t want to hang around with someone who couldn’t keep up with her career. Bitch.

  THREE

  Skylina

  Present Day

  It takes every ounce of strength and whatever else I can pull together not to gag when I breathe. The client that’s seated in front of me is so darn smelly that I swear he must’ve rolled around in a pile of dead skunks. Why do I always end up with the stinky dudes?

  And then there are his looks. I’m not usually one to say bad things about the way people look, but holy ravioli! This guy looks like he got run over by the ugly truck. First off, he’s skinny. I mean emaciated. And I should feel sorry for him because maybe he can’t afford food. But if that’s the case, then why the heck is he here? The entrance fee to Exotique-A isn’t cheap and neither are my services. Then there are his shifty eyes. They’re sunken into his long, narrow face, leaving huge dark circles beneath them. Cheekbones protrude creating deep hollows below and his thin lips have large sores on them. Gross. And ohmigod his freakin’ hair. Super greasy, almost to the point of dripping. Has the man ever heard of this invention called shampoo? And, to top it all off, he’s going bald and has a ferking comb over. Yep. A comb over that’s dripping grease. My guess is he’s around forty-five. Large nose and missing half his teeth. But honestly, I could get past all of that if the man had just bathed. Eck. There I go again, forcing back a gag. When I take in the whole picture of him, I have to think that he’s either ill or on drugs. Lots of them.

  He ogles me. I daresay, he hasn’t blinked one time in ten minutes and I have twenty to go. Will I make it without puking? Please, God. Just this once. I swivel my hips and sway to that geeky music he requested. Who the ferk listens to this kind of shiz anyway? Night Fever by the Bee Gees. Now all I need to do is drop to one knee and do a John Travolta-Saturday Night Fever move. Thank God I have a pole in here. My hands latch onto it and I swing my body around, picking up enough momentum so I leave the floor. Using the muscles of my inner thighs, I squeeze it and flip upside down. Looking at him from this angle isn’t so bad.

  “Come closer.”

  Oh crap. I was hoping he wouldn’t ask that. Clients can’t touch, but they can request the dancers to get right in their faces if they want. Please don’t let me hurl on him.

  I dance my way closer, shimmying and doing my usual moves. I’m topless and he’s locked onto my girls, drooling and licking his ulcer-covered lips. Forcing myself to think about something else, my thoughts move to what I’m going to cook for breakfast. Now that was a mistake because the thought of food, combined with his fetid odor, makes me want to retch.

  “Put them in front of my mouth.”

  Oh gah. If I puke on this dude, J.D. will kill me for sure. He’ll put me back down to the list of skank clients. And I can’t afford that. Holding my breath for as long as I can, I inhale again when he says, “Turn around and bend over. Put that ass right in my face.”

  Oh, good grief. At lease the stink pot isn’t breathing on my face now. But when I feel his nasty fingers move the string of my thong aside, I straighten up and take the two long steps I need that get me to the button on the wall. My palm slams it and seconds later the door swings open.

  My head motions toward Mr. Smelly and I say, “He touched my butt. Moved my thong aside.”

  My bodyguard asks no questions. Those are the rules at Exotique-A and they’re nonnegotiable. Always. And they always go in favor of the dancer. “Out,”Jimmy says with his arm extended, finger pointing.

  “But …”

  “I said out. You know the rules.”

  Mr. Smelly stands and the towel that was on his lap falls. His pathetic hard on is standing there, staring at him, begging to be touched. But there won’t be any help for it in here.

  “Stick your dick in your pants and get out. Now. Last chance or I throw you out.”

  Jimmy doesn’t mess around. I’ve seen him do it plenty of times. He’s strong and very protective of me. Suddenly, he sniffs and says, “What the fuck died in here?”

  I want to giggle, but I don’t. I shrug and sidle out of the room. My goal is to be well away from the door so I don’t get another whiff of Mr. Smelly. My feet carry me to my tiny dressing room as fast as they can and when I get there, I plunk myself down on the chair. But as soon as I do, I leap back to my feet, grab a handful of sanitary wipes off my dressing table, and proceed to rub my butt cheeks. That muther ferker touched me! He touched my butt! Of all the men I’ve been with, he was the most disgusting thing ever! Before I can complete my thorough scrubbing, Jimmy pulls the curtain aside and stands there, laughing.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “That smelly thing touched my butt! I’m getting his germs and God knows what else scrubbed off of me.”

  He laughs and says, “Need a hand?”

  “Oh, shut up! He was gross.”

  “Damn right. He was one rotten smelling fucker all right.” Then he hands me a roll of cash. "J.D. says it’s yours. Just for putting up with the smell."

  We both laugh. I know J.D. would never give up any cash so that’s coming from Jimmy.

  “Thanks, but you don’t have to do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “You and I both know that J.D. would never give up a buck.”

  Jimmy puts his hands on my hips and says, “Just take the money, baby. You know I watch out for you.”

  “Thanks, Jimmy. You always take care of me.” I kiss his cheek. Jimmy and I go back a long way.

  “You’ve got someone in the wings, doll. You want me to send him in the box?”

  “Yeah, but can you fumigate it?”

  “Oh, shit! Let me get on that.”

  He tears off down the hall, calling the clean up crew. They’re used to taking care of all kinds of icky things in here.

  Cara walks in. Her dressing room is next to mine. “I heard you had a smelly one.” She laughs.

  “Shiz. Smelly doesn’t come close. Nasty one, he was. And the ferk touched me.”

  “Ewww! That’s so wrong. What is up with those pervs? Don’t
they know the rules?”

  “Guess they don’t care.”

  “Sky, we need to grab drinks soon. I miss my girl. And it looks like you could use a girl’s night out.”

  “Yeah, I could. And I miss you, too.” We hug for a second. Cara’s my best friend. We both started here at the same time and have been friends since. “Let’s make it soon.”

  “What about tomorrow?”

  “I can’t. I have a client,” I say.

  Cara frowns. “I’m on the next five nights after tomorrow. Next week then. Let’s try to make it a date.”

  “Okay.”

  Jimmy’s back, letting me know a new client is ready for me. “You’ve got props.”

  “Perfect, just perfect.”

  “Don’t worry baby. It’s only a chair and a water bottle.”

  “Oh, no. Don’t tell me. Another Flashdance-er. And let me guess what he wants to hear. Maniac.”

  Jimmy lets out a hearty laugh. “You got him pegged.”

  “What is it with these old ferks and that Flashdance crap?”

  He’s still laughing as he says, “All they know is they wanna see a sexy girl that can dance. And Flashdance had it all back then.”

  “But I’m a blond for Pete’s sake.”

  “Yep, and a damn hot one at that. Go on now and score some big tips.”

  “Hang on.” I reach over for the little vial. “Want some?”

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  I dip in and get enough for a good snort. When I’m all nice and coked up, I head down the hallway.

  Here we go again. Music is cued and this time it’s an over-cologned hairy dude that sits on the chair waiting for me. As soon as I walk in, I hit the music and Maniac starts playing. I spray myself with the water bottle, soaking me until I drip.

  The client gives me a toothy grin. Way too toothy, in fact. The dude must’ve spent millions on those babies. I swear they’re so big and white, if we had a power outage, he could guide us out of this building by grinning alone. It takes all the control I have in this body of mine not to break out in laughter.

  “Ah yeah, that’s right, sister.”

  Sister? What the ferk? What am I? A nun? Sister Mary Skylina, the Private Dancer. Oh yeah, that has a nice ring to it now, doesn’t it? A giggle bubbles out of my lips, but thankfully the music is so loud, Big Teeth doesn’t notice.

  My hips tweak and Mr. Toothy grabs his crotch. There’s a towel on the arm. It’s there for a purpose. Clients can jack off under it if they choose, but they cannot touch me or display themselves, at any time. I wonder if anyone explained that to Mr. Toothy. I don’t speak to clients. They can tell me what to do, but no conversation takes place between us.

  The chair is right in front of him and I straddle it, spreading my legs wide. My hands move all over my body, and then I’m up and moving, gyrating, twisting and doing all sorts of things that Mr. Toothy apparently is enjoying because beads of sweat are springing up on his forehead. My Flashdance routine is perfection and by the time the song ends, Mr. Toothy is huffing so hard, I wonder if he might have a heart condition. His hand is still grabbing his balls and he looks as though he’s in pain. Now I move in for the kill.

  Spinning, I turn and slam my palms on the chair and bend backwards. Now I’m on the floor in a wide split facing him and I put my chest on the floor too and slide forward. Toothy’s hand clamps the arm of the chair so hard, his knuckles go white (but not as white as his glowing teeth) and suddenly he groans. Holy moly! The guy just blew his load in his pants! He lifts up the hand that’s been holding his crotch and a nice little stain appears, spreading outward.

  “Jesus, holy hell, what did I just do?”

  You shot your ferking wad Mister, what do ya think you did? I don’t answer him out loud though, but Toothy sits there and rubs his crotch.

  “Jesus, you’re a hot piece of ass. Turn around and bend over so I can have a peek.”

  I do as he asks.

  “Oh, God. Oh, God. You’re a prize, I’m telling ya. A real prize.”

  I flash him a shy smile. They always love that. He shoves his clean hand in his pocket and pulls out a bundle of cash and hands me the whole thing.

  “Your name’s Lena, right?”

  I nod. That’s my stage name.

  “I’m coming back Lena. Just for you. You’re a fucking prize. And next time, I want that sweet ass right in my face.”

  I lick my lips, nice and slow and give him another little smile.

  “Oh, shit. Lena you’re a prize.”

  Then I sashay out of there because Toothy’s time’s up. I hit the hall running and when I’m out of earshot, I die laughing. Jimmy hears me and is there in seconds.

  “Oh my God. The guy came in his ferkin’ pants.”

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

  “No! And look what he gave me!”

  I open my hand and show Jimmy the money. It’s two thousand dollars in hundred dollar bills.

  Simultaneously, we say, “Jackpot.”

  “Jimmy, did you get a load of that dude’s teeth?”

  “Uh-huh, but with tips like that, who gives a shit?” Then he gives me an odd look.

  “What?”

  “I wish you’d quit this shit.”

  “Yeah. Like that’s ever gonna happen.”

  “Baby, I want you to go to school. Dance school. And become legit. Not do this. And give up the other stuff.”

  “Stop Jimmy. I know you care. But I can’t. You know that’s not possible.”

  “Yes it is. You should audition.”

  “Please, let’s not have this conversation again. We’ve had it way too many times.”

  “I know, but Skylina ...”

  “Enough!” Now I’m angry. He’s sticking his nose into something he knows I don’t want him to.

  “You’re letting that fucking bitch destroy your life. She’s taking it away from you, bit by bit. And the thing that pisses me off the most is you’re letting her.”

  “Jimmy, butt out now! You don’t know anything about this stuff.” But the truth of it is, his comments hit way too close to home. I shove him away from me.

  “Where are you going? You have a john tonight. You can’t leave.”

  My chest is heaving I’m so angry. “Damn it!”

  Right now, the last thing I want to do is go and service someone. Jimmy has ruined my night. He means well, but he needs to stay the ferk out of my business.

  “What time is it?”

  “Eleven twenty.”

  “Damn. I gotta get a move on or I’ll be late.”

  Jimmy touches my arm. “Please think about what I said.”

  I snatch my arm away. “Let it be, Jimmy.” I start to rip my clothes off. He’s seen me naked more times than I care to count. I grab handfuls of sanitary wipes and run them all over my body. I don’t want to smell for my customer. Then I spray on some perfume. It doesn’t take long for me to dress, since I’m used to changing clothes between dances. I tug on a lacy thong, a super short mini-skirt, a tight shirt that exposes half of my stomach and displays my perky nipples. After a quick fluff of my blond tresses, I’m ready to go.

  “The car should be waiting for you.”

  Nodding, I dash down the hall. Being late is not an option for my client. And now that Jimmy has effectively spoiled my mood, I’m not looking forward to this at all. This guy loves his blow jobs hard and he likes to watch me get myself off. I’m great at faking, but I am so not into this tonight. Not that I ever am, but now all I want to do is go away somewhere and hide.

  The car pulls up in front of the high rise apartment building. I wait for the driver to open the door. When he does, I tell him to pick me up in an hour and a half. That’s what I’m paid for tonight.

  The building is all glass. Sleek and contemporary. The doorman smiles as he opens the door. Security asks for my name and when I give it to them, they start to tell me which floor, but I cut them off. “Eighty-first. Thank you.”

 
The elevator doors make a soft swooshing sound when they open and close, and the ride to the penthouse is nearly silent. When the doors open, I enter a dimly lit room.

  “Hi, Lena. Come on in. Can I make you a drink?”

  It’s the usual greeting. He knows I don’t drink. We don’t waste time with chit chat. My head flicks back and forth as my coat lands on the floor around my ankles. I continue to make my way toward him. He’s seated in his favorite chair. It’s a barstool, leather and expensive. He always pulls it in the middle of the room. Directly across from it is another chair. But it’s a wooden one, regular height.

  “How was your day?”

  “Perfect. And yours?” I use my husky voice when I’m with him.

  “Horrible. I thought about you all day and you distracted me.”

  “Well, now you don’t have to think about me, because I’m right here.”

  Walking up to him, I lean in and run my tongue along his neck. “Is your cock nice and hard for me tonight? Are you ready to see my wet pussy come all over my hand for you?”

  “Oh, Lena, you know I am.”

  In a firm voice, I say, “Then take off your fucking pants, George. You know I hate when I get here and you’re still wearing them.”

  He jumps up and takes his pants and tightie whities off. George is in his early fifties and is in great shape for his age. In fact, he’s not bad looking either. But he has some weird fetishes.

  “Now, bend over, George, because you’ve been a very bad boy.” He complies and I whack him on the ass with my palm about a dozen times. I have to stop because my damn hand stings. “George, if you’re wearing your pants the next time I come here, I’m going to whip you with your belt. Are we clear?” And I have half a mind to do it anyway because this spanking crap kills my hand.

  “Yes, Lena,” he whines. “Good. Now, grab your balls and squeeze them until they hurt.” Don’t ask me why he loves this, but he does. As soon as he squeezes, he gets a huge boner.

  “Oh, George. Would you look at that? Now you’re making Lena happy. Go sit down in that chair over there because you’re going to watch Lena make herself come. But George, if you even touch yourself, with one tiny finger, Lena will stop. Do you understand? Lena will stop and go home.”