by Rochelle Alers, ReShonda Tate Billingsley, Brenda L. Thomas; Crystal Lacey Winslow
Country Girl’s rolling eyes told me she wasn’t. “Now, you don’t really think she could afford all this dancing around in a tutu.”
“She’s a stripper?” I asked, a little too loud.
“I wouldn’t know what else she does, but a professional dancer is what she lists on her taxes.”
“How would you know about her taxes?”
“Because I do them every year. Now, c’mon. Let’s go outside.”
When we reached the crowded pool area, I could hear a man over the sound system announcing that the fashion show was about to begin. On the deck of the pool stood what Country Girl confirmed was an actual pimp. Pretty Boy, as he was so inappropriately named, was dressed in a cobalt blue smoking jacket, matching silk pants, and slip-on alligator shoes. I must say, I was in a bit of a shock.
According to Country Girl, he lived in Vegas but was in town for a pimp convention, and Belinda’s party culminated the event. I tried to question her further on whether Belinda was a prostitute, but she bypassed the issue by introducing me to her friends. Even though I’d sworn off drinking after the corn liquor, I stopped one of the barely dressed waitresses and ordered a glass of Chardonnay. I’d keep it light.
I stood at the bar and took in my surroundings. It was like something out of a Snoop Dogg video. Damn near all the men looked like pimps, with suits in every shade of the rainbow and accessories that were just as loud. Their jewelry consisted of heavy gold rings and diamond pinkies, and their necks were weighed down with chunky gold chains. I had no idea that pimping really was back in style.
I listened as Pretty Boy began introducing the scantily clad models as his hos. These women, some of them girls who looked to be as young as nineteen, were from all parts of the country.
On the veranda opposite the pool were three tables spread with food, everything from barbeque ribs to lobster tails. The DJ, who boasted of being from the dirty South, kept the dance floor jumping. Needless to say, by two o’clock I was drinking spiced ice teas and had allowed somebody’s pimp to pull me onto the dance floor. I couldn’t help notice, as did everyone else, when Belinda moved into the middle of the crowd. She’d changed into a body-hugging bright yellow catsuit that barely covered the cheeks of her ass. She danced with everybody, but I could see that dancing for her was an act of seduction. The way her body moved stirred something inside of even me.
By the end of the night I was curious to learn more about Belinda, and I had agreed to be a guest at one of her shows.
Week Two
Around midnight Belinda picked me up in her red S-Type Jaguar. I made sure my seat belt was intact because she was a fast and reckless driver. She talked to me at the same time as working her cell phone throughout the entire ride.
“Between the Carolina Panthers and the new Charlotte Bobcats, a girl can make a lot of money in this town.”
“Doing what you do?”
“I don’t do anything illegal.”
“Just dancing, huh?”
“I’m just like you, Maxie. I’m an entertainer, or should I say, an independent contractor.”
“Uh, I think you’re mistaken. I don’t know what Country Girl told you, but I’m a high school math teacher.”
“Really, Max, being a teacher makes you an entertainer. You gotta entertain all them bad-ass kids to make ’em listen.”
“I guess you have a point. But what’s different is that you entertain for a lot more money.”
“And if you add a little dancing to what you do, you could make some real money too.”
“Sleeping with strange men?” I wanted to take back what I said, but it was too late.
“Some I do, some I don’t, but none of them are strangers. Listen, Maxie, I’ve worked very hard to achieve my status. I’m no two-dollar ho. I’m the Princess, so don’t look to see no dollar bills at my feet.”
“I understand, but there’s still a big difference in what I do and what you do.”
“If you say so, Maxie, but you here with me tonight, so that’s saying something in itself.”
We stopped at a few clubs, including the one where I’d made a fool of myself. Belinda was warmly greeted and well known. Men were anxious to talk to her, and women were obviously jealous. She let none of it faze her.
By two o’clock we’d ended up at the smoke-filled Fox Trap club, where, she informed me, she was a silent partner, but tonight she was scheduled to perform for some people who’d specifically requested her.
I followed her into a dressing room crowded with women dressing and undressing for their dances. It was no different than being backstage at a fashion show. There were lighted mirrors where the women sat on stools, applying makeup, smoking cigarettes, and complaining about niggas and tips. Belinda, though, had a private room where she had a stylist apply her makeup and select her outfit for the night. She really took this seriously. Once she was fully dressed, if that’s what you’d call it, in a leopard catsuit with so many cutouts it really wasn’t a suit at all, she instructed me to sit in the audience so I could observe the show.
The club was packed. The number of women present surprised me. A DJ encouraged the patrons to pay for lap dances. Then the lights flashed, and he announced that Charlotte’s very own royalty, Princess, was in the house. With that, the room exploded with excitement.
I was in a trance the minute Belinda stepped onto the stage, moving to the music of Prince singing “Sexy Motherfucker.” She slithered to the end of the runway with an air of confident sexuality. Moving to the rhythm of the guitar, she tossed her long hair and ran her hands up and down her body with purpose. Like she was giving it away if you wanted it. Her hips twisted, coiled, her knees bent, and her hands sensuously touched her body. Belinda looked to be in ecstasy, lost somewhere inside herself. She bent over and gyrated her ass just enough to expose the tip of her clitoris, and that’s when she began to work the pole like it was her lover. The men whistled, and the women cheered her on. I, too, found myself screaming her name. She slid onto the floor, her legs spread apart, picking up another fifty with the lips of her pussy. Belinda’s dancing was wicked.
When she was finished, all that remained were her high-heeled lace-up boots. I didn’t even notice when she pulled the catsuit apart. But it lay there in some man’s lap, and when she went for it, he stuffed a hundred-dollar bill in her boot.
Belinda phoned early the next morning before I’d gotten out of bed, inviting Country Girl and me to lunch. On the way to her house I pummeled Country Girl with questions that she refused to answer, only telling me that Belinda would tell me anything I wanted to know.
When we arrived at her house, Belinda was lounging by the pool in a black bikini that almost matched her skin. While we ate lunch, I wasted no time trying to get answers to my questions.
“Belinda, I have to know how you mastered dancing like that.”
“It didn’t come natural, that’s for sure. I was a klutz when I was young, then when I was about thirteen I started taking dance classes. A few years later while I was in Vegas I found out money could be made by adding a few sexy moves to what I already knew.”
“But how do you get people under your spell? I mean, even the women were giving you money.”
She laughed at first, and then her serious side took over. “The women are the easiest. It’s the emotions of the men that you have to understand. The most important thing to do when you’re dancing is to make eye contact and make each man think he’s the only one you’re dancing for.”
“Oh, boy. Here goes. You done got her started,” said Country Girl.
“It’s important that you have respect for people’s money. You can’t forget what it represents. They work hard, so if a man gives you a hundred dollars, you have to show you appreciate it by letting him touch you just enough to make him think there’s a possibility that he could have you. So what you say, you wanna try it?”
“I’d love to. But there’s no way I could take my clothes off in front of strangers.”
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br /> “Why not?” asked Country Girl.
Belinda continued. “You don’t have to take your clothes off. Only private clubs allow you to get completely naked. And when you do, believe me, you’d forget about teaching school.”
“It’s not that I can’t dance. I’d love to be able to dance like that, but for money in a public place, I don’t think so.”
“The Princess only does private shows, and that one last night netted me how much, Country Girl?”
“Three thousand. Now if you include tips and some other favors, then it’ll give you a total of seven grand.”
Belinda got up from the table and turned on some music. “Well, since you don’t want to dance for money, then c’mon and let me see your moves. I wouldn’t have heard about you if you couldn’t move.”
“Yeah, Maxie. Show Belinda what you can do.”
“Y’all are a pain in the ass,” I said as I got up to dance with Belinda, who was already moving around the floor.
Belinda had a great sound system, so as R. Kelly sang “Thoia Thong,” I closed my eyes and gave it my all. When the music stopped, I was shocked to see that Belinda had gotten naked.
“Don’t pay her any attention. She’s always walking around in the nude,” said Country Girl, laughing at my reaction.
“Damn girl, you do have skills. But you can’t hardly feel sexy in them jeans. Take your clothes off and let’s see how you really look.”
“No way am I stripping.”
“Girl, stop acting so damn citified. It’s just us,” Country Girl said.
“Shit, all right. I see the two of you are not going to let up.”
I turned my back to them and stripped down to my panties and bra.
When I turned around, Belinda screamed out, “What the hell is that?” She pointed to the hair that poked out from my thong.
“Oh, that? That’s my blanket. Lynn likes it like that. He likes burying his face it. Nothing worse than a bald pussy, he says.”
“Girl, that thing looks like a throwback to the seventies,” said Country Girl.
“What do you do in the summer? I mean, ain’t that shit hot?” asked Belinda.
“This is our first summer together, so I’ll tighten it up some when I get ready to go swimming.”
“Well, it’s up to you, but you won’t make any money with that thing.”
“I’m not trying to make any money. I just want to learn the dance. Now, can you show me some moves, since you have me standing up here half-naked?”
We started again, and this time Country Girl put on Belinda’s song, “Sexy Motherfucker,” and I watched her naked body move. I looked at her perfect body. I was sure her breasts were implants, and her silky auburn hair was definitely a weave. But regardless, the control Belinda had over her body fascinated me, and I wanted what she had, every move.
So for the next week I visited Belinda. During the day we’d practice dancing for two hours, sometimes with her standing behind me, guiding my movements. She wanted to show me how to dance slow, because I preferred the fast beats of hip-hop and rap music. Afterward we’d lay naked by the pool and have lunch. I loved it because my entire body was turning a nice shade of golden brown.
Week Three
I don’t know how they did it, but by Friday night Belinda and Country Girl had convinced me to go onstage. My initiation would be at Belinda’s club, Fox Trap. They promised me that the bigger the crowd, the less they would notice that I was an amateur. I wasn’t sure if I believed them, but I had nothing to lose. Belinda coached me on the way to the club, reassuring me that I’d enjoy myself and betting me that I’d want to do it again.
I couldn’t help but feel special as they applied my makeup and fussed over what I would wear. They’d already chosen red as my signature color, even though I told them I was only doing this once. Finally, when they felt I was ready, they zipped me into a red lace corset, matching thong, and red cutout patent leather heels. However, nothing they said could settle the butterflies in my stomach as I stood on the other side of that velvet curtain. I told myself, choose your targets; whoever is looking at you the most, focus on that person and then move on to the next.
Over the music I heard them announcing the next dancer. A surge of excitement ran through me, making my body hairs stand on end—that is, the ones Belinda hadn’t made me wax off.
“Remember, girl, when you see the hunger in their eyes, wind them in.”
I waited until the music hit the pit of my stomach and then stepped onto the stage of another life. I wanted to close my eyes, but I had to see where I was going, so I looked over the crowd until I was at the very end of the stage. That’s when I closed my eyes and let the beat of Joe Sample’s “Fever” control my movements. I found my rhythm, and with my legs spread open, I leaned back until my body almost doubled over and let my hair swing. I came back up slowly, stroking my breasts and then undoing the zipper that held everything together. I spun around and straddled the pole between my legs, pretending it was a strange man I was trying to seduce. I made love to that pole until the roar of the crowd and the money at my feet overcame the music. Before I knew it, my song had ended. I took a bow and walked backward off the stage.
Behind the curtain I practically collapsed into Belinda’s and Country Girl’s arms.
“Shit. Girl, you were the shit! Listen to them, they loved you.”
“Maxie, I love you. Look at all this money,” Belinda exclaimed as I looked down at the twenty- and fifty-dollar bills that lined my thong. “We’re gonna make so much money. Here, c’mon, you gotta change. I got to introduce you to some people.”
Once I’d had a cigarette to calm my nerves, I walked around the club hand in hand with Belinda while she introduced me to her clients. I learned that those who didn’t give you tips while you were onstage kindly offered them to you when you spent a moment talking with them.
Later that morning, when I climbed into bed, I could barely sleep from the night’s excitement. I wanted to call somebody and tell them what I’d done, tell them how much money I’d made. But for now it would have to be my secret.
A few hours later Belinda’s phone call woke me up. I asked her, “Didn’t you tell me you had a client last night?”
“Sure did. Why, you want one?”
I ignored her comment and said, “How do you go to bed at three in the morning and get up to call me by nine o’clock?”
“Maxie, ain’t you ever heard, Don’t nothing come to a sleeper but a dream? Now, get your butt up and get over here. We got work to do.”
“Okay, I hear you, but I have some business to handle first. How’s this afternoon, around two o’clock?”
“All right, I’ll see you then. And by the way, I ordered you some dancing clothes.”
I did have business to take care of. My realtor was e-mailing me some photos of houses in Philly he wanted me to see, and I had to fax my preapproval application to the bank. But first I had to get at least another hour of sleep.
Sooner than I expected, it was time for my next dance. Instead of it being at another club, Belinda took me to a party at The Pointe at Lake Norman. It was being held by one of the Carolina Panthers. The only problem was, she wanted me to give a lap dance. Even though Belinda said I’d perfected it, I was still nervous about dancing that close to someone. Up until that night the only people I’d performed a lap dance on were Country Girl and Belinda. The good thing, though, was that I was gonna do it to my music, “Shake Ya Tailfeather.” Belinda thought I was crazy to attempt that on my first lap dance, but I was determined to give these rich country ballplayers something to look at.
I watched from the bedroom window where we were changing while the other dancers performed by the pool in the backyard. I watched the crowd throw money and laugh, slapping the dancers on the ass and squeezing their breasts. I was about to change my mind when Belinda told me it was my turn.
“Don’t pay any attention to that shit. You got something them girls ain’t got.”
>
I wasn’t sure what that was, but I was willing to give it all I had.
I stood at the doorway to the pool, and when my record came on, everyone stopped talking and looked around for who was next. I strutted into the pool area and found my mark, the quarterback who Belinda had pointed out. Once I was directly in front of him, I spread his legs with my knees and moved into him, locking my gaze with his. I dropped my robe, and I heard Belinda’s and the crowd’s gasp of surprise that I was completely naked with the exception of two red garter belts. I could barely hear the music because of the cheering from the men. I knew I’d made the right decision, so with the approval of the crowd I slithered my entire body onto Mr. Quarterback. I turned around, put my ass in his face, and made the cheeks of my ass clap just enough to make him scream out. I moved away just before his tongue touched me. It was all about timing.
I turned to face him, brushing my pussy against his lap and my breasts against his chest. I could feel the heat rising from his skin, which meant I could also feel his hardening dick. He ran his hands up my thighs and then wrapped them around my breasts, bringing me down onto him. I counted the beats to the song so I’d know how much time I had left before I took him where I wanted him. When I heard the beat of the next song blending in I lifted one leg up on the arm of the chair and gyrated my very bald pussy in his face, then wound myself away from him. Mr. Quarterback was toasted.
When Belinda and I left there that night, we headed to a diner with a purse full of money.
“Maxie, you had them niggas twisted. I ain’t never seen no shit like that from an amateur.”
“I figured I couldn’t go wrong if I was naked.”
“I’m so proud of you. I promise we’re gonna squeeze every dollar outta this town. By the time you get back to Philly, you’ll be able to buy any house you want.”
“I have to admit, Belinda, this is the best break from teaching school I’ve ever had. It’s better than Negril, the Hamptons, or the friggin’ cruise I took last summer.”
