by Nikki Chase
“Fuck you,” the asshole says with an annoyed, embarrassed chuckle. He finally lets go of my hand.
I take two steps back and shoot the friend a grateful look. He nods at me and mouths a silent sorry.
The friend—my savior—doesn't look friendly at all. His handsome, angular facial features are frozen in a perma-grump, but something in his intense dark eyes doesn't quite fit the gruff exterior.
Like the rest of his group, he’s a big guy with beefy muscles and hair shaved close to the scalp. I’d bet all my tips tonight that they’re military.
The guy who just saved me… Even standing here among other big, strong men, he towers over everyone else. Wide shoulders, broad chest, hard muscles all over. Through his white crewneck, I can almost make out the lines of his chest and abs underneath, even with the dim lighting inside the club.
Now, if he were the one to ask me for something more than a lap dance…
Well, it would still lead to nothing, actually. I’m serious about my policy to never see any of my customers outside the club.
Still, as I make my way across the floor toward the dressing room, I wonder if he's checking me out my ass.
Good thing I’ve got my stripper strut down pat. It's not hard, really. Just wear impossibly high heels. They push your butt out and force you to swing your hips.
It takes a lot of practice to stand and dance on these babies for hours every night, but my feet still hurt sometimes. Like now, when my shift is almost over.
Most of the men have their eyes on Desiree, who’s wrapping one long leg around the pole as she sways her hips seductively to the loud music. The men standing right by the edge of the stage are shouting at her like they’re her choreographers.
“Show me your ass, baby!”
“Oh yeah, shake those moneymakers!”
A few men sitting at the tables check me out as I walk past, their lusty gaze roaming all over my exposed cleavage, my uncovered midriff, my bare legs.
While the military guys from the group I entertained are fit young men, the average patron in a strip club is… Well, not in such a good shape.
I don’t know why my co-workers date these men. It’s not like they go on to have healthy relationships. From the stories of the girls I work with, dating a customer only leads to trouble.
No doubt the fact that the guy has, at some point in time, walked into the club and gotten a lap dance from his girlfriend affects the relationship dynamics profoundly.
According to the girls who have told their stories in the dressing room, boyfriends bury their resentment at first until it all blows up into ugly arguments and accusations.
“Here’s $20. Maybe that’ll get you in the mood,” said one such boyfriend.
“How was your fucking day? Been rubbing that pussy all over random guys’ dicks all night, as usual?”
“Why won’t you quit for me? Still holding out for a richer guy, huh? I’m too poor to be your sugar daddy?”
Yeah, no. I don’t want any of that in my life.
I enter the dressing room and close the door behind me, shutting out the loud music and the even louder crowd.
“Busy night,” I say to no one in particular as I step out of my shoes.
There’s no answer. Strange.
Someone is always in the dressing room, changing or doing make-up or exchanging the latest gossip. This silence is unusual.
There’s a row of mirrors in front of me, while some lockers line the wall beside me. On the other side of the room, a tall cabinet where we store our costumes and makeup items separates the changing room from the showers.
The smooth concrete floor feels cold on my bare feet as I step toward the cabinet. When I peek behind it, I realize why it’s so quiet.
Nancy stands in the corner, her shoulders hunched, as if she’s trying to make herself as small as possible. Stan, the owner of the club, towers over her, his stance aggressive.
When Nancy’s terrified gaze lands on me, Stan turns around with a glare.
“Everything okay, guys?” My voice comes out steady even though my heart is jumping against my rib cage. Stan is a big, scary guy, but I can’t just watch Nancy in distress and do nothing.
Stan grunts in reply and stomps past me to leave the room. Dance music pours inside when he opens the door, only to be muted again once it’s closed.
“Are you okay, Nance?” I close the gap between us and pull her body into a hug. She’s shaking. Poor thing.
Nobody quite knows the exact nature of the relationship between Stan and Nancy, but all the guys know enough to never even speak to Nancy and all the girls know enough to stay away when they’re together. All the girls except me, that is.
“Yeah.” With her body crumpling into my arms and her eyes avoiding mine, she doesn’t sound very convincing.
“Are you sure? Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No. Really, I’m fine.” Nancy pulls away from me and gives me a weak smile. She looks so pretty when she smiles. Too bad she doesn’t do it often. “Done for the night?”
“Yeah. I should go home now. My mom’s probably fallen asleep in front of the TV again. With no blanket. She gets sick a lot these days. I don’t know why it’s so hard for her to just grab a blanket.” I get my clothes from the locker and change.
“I don’t know how you do it. Classes during the day, working during the night, and then you go home to take care of your mom.” Nancy leans against the cabinet, her arms folded across her chest like a shield.
I shrug. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”
“You should spend some time on yourself or you’ll go crazy. You’re young. Have a little fun.”
“That’s not a bad idea, actually.” I smile as I put on my ballet flats. They feel like heaven after eight hours on my ridiculous heels. I look back at Nancy before walking out. “Take care, Nance.”
“You too, Scarlett,” Nancy says.
Some girls don’t mind sharing their real names with one another, but I use my stage name exclusively. I’m not going to be a dancer forever after all. This is only temporary.
I make my way outside and toward the back door of the club, the beat of the bass from the speakers thumping into my skull.
Maybe Nancy’s right. Maybe I should take a break and have a little fun one of these days.
My mind brings back a recent memory, of the guy who saved me earlier. He seems like the kind of guy I can have some fun with. I can just imagine the weight of that big, hard body pinning me down, those muscles rippling beneath his skin as he moves…
God, it’s been way too long since the last time I got some action. I swear I don’t usually fantasize about random strangers, but there’s something about that guy.
Sure, a relationship with a customer is a bad, bad idea, especially when I already have so much on my plate.
One night of fun, though? Surely it couldn’t hurt.
I’d make an exception for a guy like that, if he’d only ask. Too bad it’s always the weird ones who do.
2
Jacob
Three Years Ago
I take a long drag from my cigarette, the long, slender stick delivering a dose of sweet, sweet poison into my body.
I lean my back against the wall in the dark alley and flick off the ash forming at the lit end of the cigarette, watching it disintegrate into thousands of little white bits mid-air.
The door opens just as I exhale the smoke out of my mouth. Before it has a chance to dissipate, a girl walks out the door and right into it.
“Jesus,” she says in the middle of her coughs. She waves her hand in front of her face and makes a face at me. “Dude.”
“Sorry.” I shoot her an apologetic look.
As I look more closely at her face through the thinning veil of cigarette smoke, I realize she’s the stripper Andy creeped on earlier tonight. This is my second apology to her, and we’ve only exchanged exactly three words so far.
“Oh, hey, it’s you,” she says
, her face lighting up with recognition. “That’s fine. Thanks for rescuing me earlier, by the way.”
“No problem.”
“I had no idea military guys smoked. I thought you guys were the fit, healthy types,” she says, her lips curling up to form a dazzling smile. I guess both my apologies have been accepted.
“No. Plenty of us smoke. You’re confusing us with gym rats.”
She flashes me her straight rows of pearly whites, tiny little lines appearing on her nose and around her eyes. A small girlish giggle escapes her rosy lips.
There’s a lot of makeup on her face—probably something her job requires. She has beautiful natural features, though. Perfectly pouty lips, fiery red hair, and big green eyes. I bet she’d look amazing with a bare face.
Although she’s wearing a loose black T-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans now, I already know how tantalizing her body is underneath. Perky tits that defy gravity, full hips, and a slender waist.
So far, I’ve seen her body almost naked, but I haven’t seen her natural face yet. This seems a little backward and upside down as far as introductions go, but I’m not complaining.
“I actually did quit, though. Smoking, I mean,” I say quickly before she decides to walk away and disappear into the night.
“Oh?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, inadvertently pushing her tempting tits up and out. It’s strange how she looks sexier like this than she did dancing with her top off. Maybe it’s the way our bodies gravitate naturally toward each other. With her right arm propped against the wall, she turns to face me. “And now you're picking it back up just so you can quit again later?”
I should be offended. There's nothing I hate more than self-righteous people.
But the way she says it, I don't feel like she's judging me for my admittedly poor decision-making skills. Instead, it feels like light teasing, like she's an old friend who's gently making fun of me—if that old friend were sexy as hell and looking at me with obvious want in her eyes.
“You must know a lot of smokers,” I say, chuckling.
“Uh, hello? You do know where I work, right?”
I have to laugh at that. Damn. She's hot and funny.
“Yeah, you have a point there.” I take another drag from the cigarette and blow the smoke out the side of my mouth, away from her. “I really don't smoke much anymore, though.”
“Life getting stressful?”
“Yeah, you can say that again.” I take a deep breath. “They're shipping me out in a couple of weeks. I just found out today.”
“Shit.” She shoots me a look of sympathy that somehow doesn't look like pity. How does she do that?
“Yeah. Shit.”
She goes silent, her gaze distant, like she’s thinking about something.
I take the moment to drink her in with my eyes, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. It dawns on me that I can just grab her, pin her against the wall, and take her right here, right now. A dainty little thing like her, I can overpower her without even trying. And I have a feeling she wouldn’t mind either.
We seem to have hit a conversational dead end, where neither one of us knows how to get back on the easy track. I don't want her to leave yet, though. And she doesn't seem to be in a rush either.
“You hungry?” I break the silence.
“Depends.”
“Depends on?”
“Whether you’re asking me out.” Her deep green eyes look straight at me, her pupils dilated in the darkness. She has a cheeky smile on her face.
“What if I am?” I smirk and trap her gaze with mine.
“Then I’d say yes. But that’s only if you were asking me out.” Her smile grows wider as she challenges me with her eyes.
“So, if I were asking you out and you were to say yes, where would you want to go?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “You’re the one who’s hypothetically asking me out on this hypothetical date.”
I square my shoulders and stub out the cigarette on the wall, a chuckle escaping my mouth.
Holy hell. I’ve been stressed out all day and not even a night out with my brothers could take my mind off the mission, but just a few minutes with this girl has turned this night around.
“You’re not going to believe this, but I’ve never done this before,” she says breathlessly underneath me while I slip one hand inside her shirt, feel the warmth of her skin on my fingers, and cup her breast.
“Mm-hmm.” My mouth is too busy tasting the salty sheen of sweat along the column of her neck to answer.
“I’m serious. I…” Her voice trails off and turns into a raspy moan when I bite down on her flesh. I roll her hardened nipple between my fingers.
She hasn’t even touched me yet and I’m already painfully hard. My cock strains against my jeans.
She gently pushes me with her small hands. Everything about her is so fucking delicate. It makes me want to protect her and crush her all at once.
“I’m serious. I never go out with guys I meet at the club.”
“Technically, we met outside the club.”
Before she can protest, I grab a fistful of her hair and yank her head to the side, exposing her long neck to my hungry mouth. My free hand travels south to unbutton her jeans and pull them down her thighs, along with her cotton panties.
“Take them off,” I say as my fingers explore her soaked folds and find her clit.
She gasps, her eyes glazing over. Her body is so damn sensitive, too. My cock pulses in my jeans and I press it against her bare thigh, showing her my impatience.
“I said… Take. Your. Jeans. Off.” I press her clit with every word I say, making her shudder deliciously against my chest. I let my thumb rest on her clit without moving. I can see this is driving her crazy by the way she lifts her hips up to gain more contact. I pin her down with my weight. “Be a good girl and take off your jeans. Your panties too. And then I’ll continue.”
She wiggles her legs to get out of her jeans and panties, her eyebrows taut with concentration. Every time it looks too easy for her to complete the task, I press lightly on her clit and make her gasp.
“Good girl,” I say when she’s finally done. None of the other men at the club gets to see this, or touch her at all. Yet her she is, practically offering herself on a silver platter just for me.
I lazily rub her clit with my fingers, while my other hand unbuttons and unzips my own jeans. I kick them off as I rub more insistently on her clit.
She starts to tremble and shake. I bite down on her throat, triggering a violent orgasm within her. She throws her head back and arches her back off the bed, her eyes squeezed shut. She moans and grabs onto my arms like her life depended on it.
Keeping my finger on her clit to extend her climax, I line up the head of my cock and push inside her.
Her eyes snap open. She looks right into my eyes as her muscles grab onto my cock. She looks so hot when she’s coming. It feels tight and wet inside her. She bathes my shaft with her juices, allowing me to slide in smoothly.
Fuck. I wanted to stretch this out as long as possible, but I’m not going to last long like this. Her pussy is milking me for all I’m worth.
I try to maintain a slow, steady pace as I slide in and out of her, but she wouldn’t have it. Her fingernails drag down my back and dig into my flesh as she desperately pulls me closer. She rocks her hips off the bed, pumping up to meet my thrusts, urging me on.
I could pin her down and do it slow, but I don’t want that either. Ah, fuck it.
I get up onto my knees and pull her up. With her dainty feet on my shoulders and my hands on her tiny waist, I plunge into her with everything I’ve got. Harder. Deeper. Faster.
She explodes beneath me as I slam into her again and again. My balls feel heavy when they slap against her, like they’re about to boil over. She shudders and quivers, her muscles massaging my cock. I unleash and fuck her with reckless abandon, until I finally come deep inside her.
I collapse onto her, both of us still wearing our shirts, now soaked with sweat. We lay there for a minute or two, catching our breaths as we gently come down from the high.
“I know you said you’ve never done that before,” I whisper into her ear. “But how about we do it again soon, before I ship out?”
“Yeah. I’d like that,” she says.
A smile spreads across my face, blissfully unaware that she’s lying to me, even while my cock remains buried inside her.
3
Jessica
Present Time
The drive to Ashbourne High School is short. I probably spent more time waiting for the engine to warm up than I did on the road.
I could've walked from home—I actually do that sometimes—but I have a bunch of stuff to bring with me this morning. With my bag on my shoulder and a thick stack of paper on both my hands, I struggle out of my old beat-up Toyota and step into the school hallway, passing the rows of red lockers.
“Morning, Miss Lake,” a student says as she walks past.
“Morning.” I nod and smile back at her.
I read somewhere that smiling even if you don’t feel like it can make you feel better, and I find that to be true this morning. By the time I reach my classroom, my anxiety has simmered down a little.
I drop the stack of papers onto my big wooden desk with a loud thump and breathe a sigh of relief. It’s pretty heavy and my arms were getting tired.
I take a seat and cast a quick glance around the classroom.
On my first day here, I came to work and saw a dreary, uninspiring space. Grey linoleum floor, yellowish cinderblock walls, and off-white drop ceiling tiles. It looked depressing, which wasn’t too different from the way I was feeling then.
It was funny. Not in a ha-ha way, but in an ironic way. I’d always wanted to be a teacher. Every night when I was taking my clothes off on stage, I’d dreamed about having my own class of young minds to inspire.
Then on the first day my dream came true, I was at the lowest point of my life—which is saying a lot, considering all the the messed up things I’ve gone through in my twenty-five years of existence.
