UNTOUCHABLE (Siri's Saga Book 1)

by Klide, Jessika

  Spinning around to view my ass, I cup my cheeks like I did my boobs and jiggle them. My ass is booty-ful and bountiful.

  Facing the mirror again, I frame my Lovers Heart with my thumbs and fingers, saluting myself. It's my own personal trade mark. When I had my pubic hair removed by laser, I decided to leave a small patch shaped like a heart on the mound. It isn't very big and I keep it buzzed short. It is about an inch in diameter, but it symbolizes so much for me. The bottom point ends where my pussy begins. Hunching my hips, I apply a little blue hair mascara just for myself. Turning to exit, I blow myself a kiss. I like my looks. I don't think I would change anything.

  Walking into my bedroom, I pick up my iPhone, plop on my bed and text Cat. *Hey, Lady. Met a guy. A fucking fine feast! Can't breathe around him.* I hit send and wait.

  She doesn't respond immediately so I roll on my back, stretch my arms over my head and wait. She is probably at the bar checking the liqueur levels about now. Then she'll do a quick head count backstage to see which dancers are there warming up. She'll check her text in-between to see if anyone is calling in sick. I sigh. I miss that lifestyle but it's been good to get away and really rest. I feel rejuvenated. Fresh. As my granddaddy would have said, 'Rip roaring, ready to go!'

  I envision Cat walking in the dressing room with her dominatrix outfit on, leaving no doubt to anyone who is in control. She has taught me everything I know, and she still has a lot to teach me. Cat is my teacher, my personal trainer, my mentor, my manager, but most of all, she is my best friend. At somewhere between 35 and 45, she is still one hell of a beautiful woman, one hell of an erotic dancer, and one hell of a pole dancer. No one knows for sure what her age is, but every new recruit asks and then tries to guess. Especially after she dismounts the stripper pole in a demonstration of what she is looking for, or what she expects from them. When the inevitable question is asked, she tells them she is 21, then she explains. "I set fire to my birth certificate in a satanic ritual on my 21st birthday. I will never age." The smart girls always guess 21 after that. I did.

  My iPhone rings. "Brick House" by the Commodores plays. It's Cat. *Hey baby girl! You've met a man?*

  *OMG! Yes! He is absolutely gorgeous! I'm so excited!*

  *That's dope! How?*

  *He moved into my apartment building.*

  *Sweet! And convenient! :-) What does he do?*

  *Army helicopter pilot.*

  *That's so fly! :) Have you hooked up yet?*

  *No. I don't even know his first name but his last name is Moore.*

  *I can tell you want Moore. ;D*

  *Oh yeah! I'm dreaming of more with Moore.*

  *Hey I have to run. Call me with details.*

  *Ok. I miss you! Give the girls my love and Bart too.*

  *I will. Laters.* And she's gone.

  I should really try to snap a pic of Moore to send to her. Maybe this weekend over wine. No, before wine, when we still have our clothes on. I smile at the naughty thoughts of how we will drink the merlot. I better get off this bed before I satisfy myself. I want to be horny, and ready for his fireworks!

  Walking to the living room, I mount the pole and give myself a good physical workout. The rest of the night I spend working on the moves to the "Happy" video and taking notes. I leave my doors open on the balcony so I can listen for Moore's truck, but he doesn't come home before I go to bed.

  Laying there, resting, I think about how lucky I am. My job at Been Jammin' in Vegas is actually two fold. First, I perform as an erotic entertainer on the dance floor, free styling and in groups with the other girls, along with the stripper poles and private lap dances under my show name, Seary. It's pronounced the same, but has fire connotations that I love!

  And, second, I am Surreal. An anonymous dancer who impersonates celebrities dancing their video's live on our stage or on the dance floor with the crowd. The idea was a complete accident but has propelled me to stardom and riches beyond my wildest dreams. Thanks to the celebrities that bought into the idea, and the choreographers who signed off on it and who sometimes assist with the details, we keep the crowd guessing who is actually performing for them that night. Is it the real celebrity or Surreal?

  Jennifer Lopez was the first to participate. "Let's get the house going!" And she rocked the party! I'll never forget after my costume was on, how nervous I was peeking out to watch her from behind the curtain of the stage, waiting to go on. Damn, she can dance. And the crowd ate it up! They loved having her party with them. When she ran up onto the stage, threw them a kiss and exited into the wing, they chanted her name. When I switched places with her and danced her video for them, they went wild! No one caught on! She pranced out on stage when it was over and the two of us stood side by side looking like twins. A hush fell on the place until she took my hand and held it up. "Let's give it up for Surreal!" The crowd screamed! It was fucking awesome! I'll never forget it!

  Britney Spears was the second celebrity to buy into it. She came by within the first month too. She was so professional. She wanted to review my performance first. I danced and she gave me her dainty hand clap, then left. She is one of my favorites to dance because everyone knows her work.

  Pretty soon there was, and continues to be, celebrities constantly stopping in for a flash dance. I've been fortunate enough to work with the likes of Beyoncé, Miley, and Katy Perry, who is also a favorite. Her videos are so elaborate. They are a lot of fun! I hug myself. Now, when I take the stage, the whole crowd is guessing if it's the real deal or Surreal. I love my job! And I am fucking killer at it!

  Rolling over to check the time, I wonder if the Golden God's Raptor is back. I get a drink of water and walk onto the balcony. His spot next to my Shelby is still empty. I'm not sleepy. The night air is pleasant. The moon is up. I'll sit here a little while. Maybe I can catch a glimpse of him walking like a fucking God from his truck to the building. I've got it bad for him!

  While I sit on the lounge chair, my thoughts drift back to the night I was "discovered." It was the summer I graduated from FSU. My college roomie, Piper, and I went to Vegas to celebrate. We were only supposed to stay a couple of weeks, but when we both got jobs at Coyote Ugly, we thought, 'Hell yeah! Let's stay all summer.' We blew off a lot of steam! I smile thinking how hard we laughed about how we spent all that good money getting a fine education only to work at a Tits and Ass establishment dancing on the bar and serving people food and drinks. Living the dream, completely happy!

  But then in September, Piper went home to London. I tried to talk her into staying, but she said she was ready to return to the real world. "I miss me Mum, Siri, and the rain! It never rains here!" Not me, I couldn't bring myself to come back to Alabama. I wasn't ready to surrender my youth to the red necks and hicks from the sticks.

  On her way to the airport, Piper stopped by work for one last hug. I held her tight in the parking lot. "I don't know if I will ever see you again." We cried in each other's arms. When the taxi took her out of sight, I was heartbroken, crying my eyes out. She was the sister I never had.

  Bart was my first customer that day. I introduced myself in a mono-tone. "Hello, my name is Siri. I'll be your waitress today."

  "Hello, Siri. I'm Bart." He held out his hand for me to shake.

  I took it and looked into his eyes and said in robot like fashion. "Nice to meet you, Bart. Do you know what you want to drink?"

  "Your eyes."

  "Pardon me?"

  "I want to drink in your eyes, Siri. Your eyes are practically glowing. Did you know that?"

  "Oh, yes, sorry. They do that when I cry."

  "I'm not sorry I've seen your green eyes glowing. They are crucial!"

  "Thank you, Bart. That's awfully nice of you to say."

  "Why were you crying?" I tell him the quick version of the whole sob story. "It'll be ok." He told me, and it was. His next questions were about dancing. "I've seen you dancing on the bar. You're very good."

  "Thanks."

  "No. I sincerely mean that.
You are very good. Too good to be dancing here. Have you ever thought about dancing in a big club? You could make a lot of money."

  "No. Not really. I've been happy here. This is a big bar. But I am going to have to do something to make more money. I can't make ends meet working here without a roomie to share the expenses. What kind of dancing are you talking about? And what kind of money?"

  "I've got an idea. Why don't you come tonight to my club and see for yourself. If you're interested in the type of dancing there, we will train you, and in a couple of weeks you can be earning more in tips in a single night than you make all week in here. Would you like that?"

  "Maybe. What's the name of your club?" He pulled out his business card and handed it to me. When I read Been Jammin', my mouth fell open. This guy was the owner of the hottest night club in Vegas. Piper and I could never get in.

  I decided right then and there that I didn't want to spend that first night without Piper alone, so I took him up on his offer. He sent a limousine to pick me up. When I arrived, the bouncers cleared a path for me and the doorman whisked me in like I was someone important. The place was starting to get cranked up. Bart himself, gave me a quick tour and a quick peek inside a couple of VIP private party rooms. I was surprised to learn that he owns and operates several different businesses under one roof. There is an upscale gentleman's club, along with a fantastic steakhouse, plus the hottest night club in Vegas. It has it all! I was very impressed.

  After the tour, he sat me at one of Been Jammin's bars. It has a stage with finger runways that feed several elevated stripper poles, and a big dance floor. He introduced me to the bartender, Cat, and told her to watch over me. He would come get me and have the limo take me home before dawn.

  Cat and I hit it off right away. I spent the whole night on that bar stool pouring my heart out to her or on the dance floor dancing the night away. I told her about growing up in rural, south Alabama. How I never fit in with the rednecks and hicks. How I loved men, had a lot of boy friends, but never anyone serious enough to call a boyfriend. How I had never found a man who rocked my world and who I would be willing to follow to the ends of the earth. How I was holding out for that one special guy and refused stubbornly to give up on him. "I know he is out there! It's just a matter of finding him!" I told her how Piper, my English friend who left Vegas today, told me I seriously needed to see a therapist or something. We laughed at that. Cat told me not to give up. I would know him when he walked into my life. 'But in the meantime, live it up!'

  I now know that Bart was in Coyote Ugly recruiting new talent and thought I had amazing raw skills, so he brought me in for Cat to evaluate. I danced that night but I was only a girl having a night out on the town until Beyoncé's "Dance For You" started to play. When I heard the opening notes, I knew what it was. The choreography of Sheryl Murakami on that video is superb. I could see Beyoncé standing in the door in a raincoat. I couldn't control the dancer within me. She came out.

  From my bar stool, I became Beyoncé, dancing exactly like the video. The people closest to me noticed first, then there was a hush that spread like a wave over the room. The only sound was the music. The only one dancing was me. When Beyoncé walks to her man at the desk, I left the bar stool and walked onto the dance floor. The crowd parted, someone produced a chair for me and I danced the whole song right there as Beyoncé, exactly like the video.

  When the music stopped, I got a round of applause. I was embarrassed. "Fuck! What have I just done?!" I hid my face and tried to walk back to the barstool, but the crowd closed in. People started pushing each other and trying to touch me. It was crazy! I couldn't see for the phone camera's flashing in my eyes. I was almost in a panic when the crowd parted and Brutus found me. Sweet, big man, Brutus! He didn't say a word to me, he escorted me back to my stool with Cat, then took up post behind me. He became my personal body guard that night. He's had my back ever since. I miss you, you big ole' baby!

  Brutus was silent as stone as he posted guard. The people closest were asking him. "Hey man, is that really Beyoncé? Can we get a selfie?" Cat told me she had never seen anything like this before. "People think you are Beyoncé. I heard the rumor circulate while you danced." She puts her hand to her ear pretending to be on a phone call. "It's Beyoncé! She's here in the club dancing! Yeah, right now! I'm watching her!"

  It was both funny and ridiculous to me, but Cat didn't laugh. She recognized that there was a real gold mine sitting on the bar stool across from her.

  The bar did bumper business after the dance. People were pushing their way up to get a selfie snapped with me in the back ground. All I had to do was keep my face turned away. I had curled my hair that night so they saw what they wanted to see. Beyoncé.

  Around 4 am, Bart came to get me, he put his arm around me, and whispered in my ear. "Beware, fame is addicting." Then he addressed me in a voice loud enough for the surrounding crowd to hear. "Brutus will take you to your dressing room now. We really appreciate you stopping by and gracing us with your presence."

  When I stood up, I kept my clutch in front of my face, blocking all the cameras. The room lit up like the 4th of July. I followed Brutus to the back where he put me in a dressing room and told me. "I'll be right outside the door if you need anything."

  "Good Gawd! What happened? This is crazy wild!" I was stunned at the crowd reaction.

  Laura was sent in to get me. "You must be Siri. I'm Laura. Those were some pretty impressive dance moves, girl." She had dark brown hair and freckles, but a beautiful slender body with a long waist line and great legs. I liked her from the start. She was a girl just like me; someone who didn't want to go home yet.

  "I guess I shouldn't have done it. I got lost in the moment."

  "Nonsense! IF you can dance like that, you SHOULD dance like that." She winked. "Besides, it gave me a break. I was on the pole and saw the whole thing. When you flipped your hair the first time, the guys around you turned to watch. When you flipped your hair the second time, everyone around you turned to watch. When you flipped your hair back and spread your legs, the hush started moving through the crowd. By the time you walked around the stool and headed for the dance floor, there wasn't a single person in the room, including me, that wasn't watching Beyoncé. Rumors flew around the whole club that Beyoncé was here dancing."

  I stared at her wide eyed. "I knew the room was fooled, but the rumor spread through the whole club? Wow!"

  She laughed. "Yes, it did. I'm not shitting you. Bart will be thrilled. You can't buy that kind of publicity!"

  Sure enough, the other dancers hurried back to meet Beyoncé, but instead found me. They were all sweet and full of compliments.

  When I left that night, Bart 'snuck' me out the back. The paparazzi cameras were flashing. Bart on one side, Cat on the other. We climbed into a limousine and were whisked away. Bart opened a bottle of champagne and toasted me. "Here's to the glowing green eyed vixen who is about to make us all a lot of money."

  Seary was hired to dance at his club and the mysterious Surreal was born on September 7 in the back of that limousine. We rode around for a couple of hours brainstorming, hashing out the details, and making sure the paparazzi were gone.

  Bart would be my agent. Cat would be my manager. They moved me to the apartment building that Cat owned. She had the penthouse, but I would live in the condo one floor down. Paradise!

  I trained the next couple of weeks learning to do lap dances, the dance routines with the groups, how to maneuver the stripper pole, and an array of celebrity dance videos while Bart hammered out the details with the singer's agents, the choreographer's and the legal teams. We would pay them a cut of the entire take on the nights when I danced under their name, doing their routine.

  Cat was delighted when she discovered that I could dance anyone. "You are a natural talent, baby girl! I'm so happy we found you! What a waste it would have been if you had not been discovered." It has been a win/win for everyone.

  I look at my phone, it's well after
midnight. Moore is partying with the bros. I finally give it up and go to bed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Thursday morning, the sun has to wake me. When I check the time, I freak! SHIT! I'm going to be late! I throw on my suit and run to my car. Once in it, I make up time easily. I walk in with a minute to spare, but no one notices. Charlie and TD are not in yet. They arrive mid-morning in golf shirts.

  Charlie greets me. "Good morning, Siri."

  TD mimics him. "Good morning, Siri."

  "Morning. Did y'all have a successful trip?"

  Charlie replies then winks at TD. "Yes, we did. Did you miss us?"

  I roll my eyes at them.

  TD chimes in. "Of course she did. Right?"

  "Umm hmm." I lie.

  Charlie, who thinks he is a serious playboy, is in his 30's but tells everyone he is 25. Tall, dark and handsome, I'm sure, have always been used to describe him. He is physically fit and a stud by most standards. I catch him staring at me from his office a lot. I've seen his type in Vegas. He would be a regular in the VIP lounge. He grew up here, graduated college, moved back home, was hired by Mr. Connors, and has worked here since.

  Then there is TD, short for Thomas David, but he tells everyone, it's short for Touch Down. TD, who has a serious case of hero worship on Charlie, is barely 21. Short, pale and cute, I'm sure, have always been used to describe him. He has shoulder length, white blonde hair, deep blue eyes, salon tanned skin and slightly crooked, but very white teeth. He is a transplanted, metro man that blow dries his hair with a big brush to give it a little extra body and manicures his nails. He left college early, then couldn't find a job. His mother called in a favor from Mr. Connors and he was hired. As soon as I met him I knew he was another spoiled, rich kid and a Mama's boy. I've seen his type in Vegas too. I don't care for them very much, but their money is as green as everyone else's and they usually tip extravagantly because it isn't their own hard, earned money. TD is no exception. He drives a fire red Porsche. Nuff said.