Lindsey and I were the only stragglers still left at the now defunct club, and a blackness began to creep up the alley, threatening to swallow us. We linked arms and went back onto the main road where the street lamps gave us a bit more safety.
“Well, I guess we could always try to go back to another club with our tail between our legs, like everyone else is probably already trying to do just about now…”
As soon as I suggested it, I realized how dumb of an idea it was, although I had a little hope because Lindsey was always everyone’s favorite, and Lindsey was also one of my best friends. But I also heard Willow’s voice in my ear, scolding me about other opportunities out there besides stripping.
“Not a fat chance,” Lindsey quickly said. “I had a friend looking to start dancing. I knew that Bar Seven wouldn’t hire her without experience, so I called every other club in town, trying to cash in favors from back in the day before I started working at Bar Seven, to help her out, you know? And they were all like, ‘Sorry, babe, we remember your fine tits but we can’t do anything to help you out even if you show ’em to us again for old times’ sake.’”
She made her voice sound like an old perverted strip club manager as she said it, and I cracked up. It was good to laugh even though I otherwise felt despondent.
“They said, ‘You should be glad you moved up and on while you had the chance because we’re really suffering around here and there’s already such a glut of dancers trying to get enough shifts and hours in between there being so many of them,’” she continues, “‘that we can’t possibly take another one— not even for you, Sugartits.’”
Even though I was upset and disappointed, I couldn’t help but laugh even more heartily at good old Lindsey. Her fake, exaggerated accent was hilarious. As was the reminder of her nickname, “Sugartits,” and how she’d earned it.
Lindsey always performed an act to Pour Some Sugar on Me in which she would literally do just that— or have someone else come up on stage and do it to her. Then she would lick the sugar crystals off her large breasts while she was up stage, sometimes right in front of the face of the lucky customer who had the honors of pouring the sugar on her.
Finally, she’d pour some sugar on her pussy and let all the guys inspect the sparkling white crystals up close as they glistened on stage under the lights. They weren’t allowed to really eat it, of course, or even touch it, but she made a big production out of acting like they could, and pretending she was literally serving up her sugar-laced pussy to them.
She made a lot of money from that act, which was entirely her invention. Guys who were regulars or who had heard about her act— some came for miles to see it— would offer up large tips to all her night long in a bid to be the one called up stage. She’d always do it as her final act so she could string along the mystery of who would be chosen along late into the night, with guy after guy buying lap dances with her and tipping better and better. The more the night wore on, the more they’d drink, and the more they’d drink, the better they’d tip, and the more excited they’d get over hoping they’d be the one she’d choose for her act, which only helped fuel the entire process over and over and over.
It was an ingenious plan and it worked so well that other girls at the club started trying to copy it. She’d go up to them and tell them they’d better knock that off. At first, they’d taunt her by saying, “Or what? Did you file a trademark? Are you gonna sue us over it?”
But then she started saying “No, actually, I’m gonna kill you over it,” while making air movements that pretended to slit their throats. I knew that Lindsey was a peaceful soul who would never harm anyone, but the other girls were scared enough by her crazy portrayal of a crazy person that they actually started to wonder if she was, indeed, crazy.
“Where’d you learn to sound so scary and convincing in your death threats?” I’d asked her once.
“From binge-watching Orange is the New Black,” she’d replied.
I’d laughed, but she’d been serious. Whatever worked, I supposed. I’d always admired Lindsey’s business acumen, as well as her confidence on stage and in every other facet of her life.
Lindsey wasn’t like me or most dancers, who claimed— but I really mean it, of course— to just be doing the whole stripping thing temporarily because we really needed money, and who also claimed to not really like it. Sure, I needed money to live and I was willing to do whatever it took to get it. But that didn’t mean I loved doing it. In fact, the opposite was true. I didn’t really like anything about it, other than the fact that it made decent money.
But Lindsey had always been the one to say, “Fuck this, I own what I do and I’m proud of it,” and she’d always meant it, too. She liked to go off on speeches about how stripping is true feminist entrepreneurship— women using their assets to profit. She would ask why she’s supposed to feel bad about taking her clothes off for money when the guys aren’t supposed to feel bad for paying her money to take off her clothes.
Now, Lindsey stopped sighing and her pretty, dark brown eyes popped back open at me. “Come on, let me drive you home. I know you need the ride.”
“Thanks.”
I supposed there was nowhere to go but home. And at least I had a friend to take me there.
Chapter 3 – Stacy
Once I was back inside my small studio, I made a bubble bath and soaked in it like there was no tomorrow. But even the soothing mango scent of my favorite bath soap couldn’t stop my mind from racing around like a cat running after a ball of yarn.
Bills here.
Bills there.
Bills everywhere.
Hell, I could look in the damn sink and find a bill there.
My income was cut clean off, and the other jobs out here as a cashier or a waitress weren’t gonna cut it. Before I’d started dancing I’d tried quite a few other jobs and none of them made anything compared to that. There was only one card I had left.
Since my mind sped up faster with worry and panic, I slopped out of the bathtub and walked over to my phone. It was like I was a zombie who had forgotten about the need for a towel until I went to use an electronic device. Drying my hands on a stray throwaway shirt, I picked up the phone and dialed Willow.
I didn’t like having to ask favors, but this was life and death in all honesty. If I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t live.
It rang a few times, and then she picked up. I gripped the phone tighter, nervousness welling in the pit of my stomach.
“Hey, Stace, what’s going on?” Willow asked, in her usual cheery voice.
“Hell. Jim just closed down the club, and didn’t even bother to tell us before we took the time out of our day to get down there.”
The soap bubbles on my body were popping and sliding down my legs as I stood in the doorway, talking to Willow.
“Oh my god?! Really? That’s insane. Do you need help finding something?”
There was my cue, like an invitation handed out to me.
“Willow, can you hook me up with something?” I pulled at a stray strand of hair that was clinging to my face.
“Sure! You’ve called at the right time.”
The worry and anxiousness that had been gnawing at me instantly subsided. Phew.
“Good. What is it?” I asked, walking back to my tub.
I was taking a risk since this phone wasn’t water proof. But what the hell, I needed to calm back down. If talking to Willow on my phone while in the bath was going to do it, then I’d do it.
“Grant Carter.”
Those two words made me freeze in my steps. “Wait, the Grant Carter? Of Carter Enterprises?”
I majored in business and dabbled in IT, so his name was constantly thrown around in my classes. When I saw his face plastered in the magazines for being the world’s newest billionaire a few years ago, my panties nearly melted.
Grant Carter was a walking stick of sin and sex. No wonder he was rich.
“Yup, Darien is a good friend of his,” Willow said,
mentioning her husband, “and he just had a position open up for a personal assistant. He was asking us if we knew anyone who could fill it so I was actually going to ask you. But I figured you’d just say it didn’t pay enough compared to dancing, or whatever excuse you always give me to keep doing it.”
I laughed, because she was right. Had I not been forced to find a job due to the fact that Bar Seven closed down, who knows how long I would have stayed there, telling myself that one day I would leave, and with Willow continually prodding me, or giving up because it was futile. But still, Grant Carter was so gorgeous—how could I not be interested in working for him?
I swallowed a lump in my throat. Being a personal assistant to Grant Carter? I wasn’t good enough for that. I had no experience. But the money… the money associated with this had to be good. Maybe not Bar Seven good, but better than flipping burgers.
And I wasn’t in the position to be picky. Plus, this was considered a legit job; hell, I could brag about it anywhere I went without that black cloud of shame that seemed to hang over me whenever I had to tell people what I did.
No more old ladies shaking their heads, no more lies that I couldn’t keep up with. No more thinking no one would ever want to marry me or have kids with me, or, if they did, that I’d have to skip out on making dinner because my shift at the only nudie club in town that accepted older ladies started in half an hour.
Just a simple everyday job and the possibility for an actually “normal” future. Nice. Even though it seemed like a very big change.
“Sure, I’ll give it a shot,” I said, my voice breaking with uncertainty.
“Great,” Willow chirped. “I’m so glad you’re going to take this position!”
“Wait, don’t I have to go to an interview? I mean, it’s not guaranteed, right?” The bubbles in my bath had faded out, and I could see my bare legs under the milky water.
My nerves were achy from being wound up so tight.
“Of course it’s guaranteed. This isn’t an open public position. Referral only, and I know for a fact he has none so far.”
Willow was confident in her words. Darien and his constant swagger must’ve rubbed off on her big time in the business world.
“Okay, Willow, I’ll go for it then. Thank you so much, I really needed this.” I leaned my head back on the bathroom tiled wall and swished my feet around in the warm water.
“No problem, let me get everything setup. I can have you in there tomorrow! I’ll call you in the morning with more info. But make sure you pick out something professional to wear. Probably couldn’t hurt if it’s a little sexy. That would probably impress Grant.”
“Sure thing. Really, thanks again, Willow.”
We hung up and I managed to squeeze enough energy to soap up my wash cloth and wash myself down.
Grant Carter Enterprises. I couldn’t believe I’d be the personal assistant to someone who had started such a successful company. That right there was enough to put on a resume and go anywhere.
But would I want to go anywhere? Not while I had the opportunity to work for a gorgeous billionaire…
I couldn’t help letting my fingers find their way to my naked pussy because it got so wet just thinking about Grant Carter and the fact that I’d get to be near him soon. Willow had said to wear something sexy. I imagined him ripping my clothes off and bending me over the desk in his office.
I wished a guy like Grant could take me for my very first time. Most guys were intimidated, being with a stripper. They didn’t get that a woman could show off her body for money but still be quite naïve when it came to actually having physical contact with a man.
It was easy, up there on stage, with many eyes on me from a distance. One on one was a completely different thing. I had to admit I was scared to open myself up emotionally as well as physically. Scared to be vulnerable.
I rubbed my clit, wishing that Grant could be doing it instead. I bet he had a big cock. I bet he knew what to do with it.
A rush filled my body as I was close to climax. One more thought of Grant thrusting his big cock inside me was all it took to come. I let out a gasp as I felt the sweet release. It was a welcome distraction after a crazy day.
At least it had turned out to have a happy ending. And a new beginning.
Chapter 4 – Stacy
After my bath, I sunk back into my bed and turned on my iPad. The rush of bright lights in my now dark studio made my eyes wince for a moment. Life was lonely; I didn’t even have a boyfriend.
I also thought I didn’t need one. All that love and relationship stuff just got in the way of everything. Love didn’t pay bills; it made them worse. Although I imagined a distant future in which I was married, I had never met the kind of man I would want to marry or even seriously date.
So far, my “relationships” with men had been a series of economic transactions. And that had suited both parties just fine. I always thought that maybe later, after I finished school and had a “real” career, I’d find the right guy.
That reminded me. The day had been so busy that I had forgotten to check my school email.
Touching the screen to open a tab, I loaded the email platform for my school and checked it. There was an email from financial aid. It was probably just one of those regular emails they sent out, but I always made it a habit to check anyway.
The beginning of the email was addressed to me. That was odd. I had never seen that before.
Dear Stacy Endow,
We regret to inform you that Worshot University has risen our tuition price and the new amount exceeds that of your loans. Please consult us further in the financial aid office to learn what other options might be available for you.
I had stopped breathing for the entire time it took to read the email. Fuck me, why the hell did this have to happen now? I couldn’t afford to pull out of school at this time. If I didn’t complete next semester, then I’d have to wait another year to get into the economics class I needed for graduation.
And financial aid had already told me I had a limited time to complete my degree before they would stop funding me. They had no mercy for students who had to take the slow route on their educational path due to also needing to work for a living.
That was one reason I had always been grateful for exotic dancing; at least I could attend school during the day and work at night. I hadn’t thought about how changing to a daytime position as Grant Carter’s assistant would hurt me academically, especially in combination with this new information about my student aid.
Well, crap.
Had I really thought I could get off so easily, by having Willow hook me up with a job through her rich husband? Sure, it seemed like the perfect gig, with a hot billionaire to whom I’d just masturbated less than half an hour ago, back when things had seemed great. But I should have known it was all too good to be true. I was used to having a difficult life, and that wasn’t going to change in one day just because Willow’s life had turned out to be so peachy keen.
I knew I had to get to sleep but I was hoping I’d be able to do it without tossing and turning forever. I tried to tell myself that maybe I wouldn’t need my degree after all; maybe I could just be Grant Carter’s assistant for good, even though that sounded rather unrealistic. It was something I focused on to try to drift off to sleep while forgetting my problems.
Just when things had been starting to look up, they were more dire than ever. I was really at my rope’s end now.
Chapter 5 – Stacy
Damn it, what in the world should I wear today? I should have been figuring that out last night instead of fantasizing about my new boss.
I stared at my face in my bathroom mirror. I had such a doll face, innocent and pure, and it made me look even younger than my twenty years of age.
That kind of look worked well at the clubs—customers couldn’t believe I’d be in the industry and they were always eager to hand over money to try to corrupt me. But now that I was about to start a professional job, I
wanted to look more mature than some silly cute young thing.
I picked up some neutral foundation and prettied my face up from the slightly dark rims under my eyes, due to my restless night. They were a step away from puffy. Which wasn’t gonna cut it in this situation.
After I was done applying “normal looking” makeup— which is quite different from “exotic dancer” makeup— I left my bathroom and braced myself for the craziness that was my bedroom closet. I dug around through the frilly strings and lace that adorned it. Much to my non-surprise, I seemed to own nothing but sexy stuff that was way too unprofessional for my first day of work.
I kept digging around. I knew there had to be something in here I could pull off. To my relief, I finally found it. There, in the back of my closet was a cute business get up. I really had always planned to go to a job interview one day, so at some point I had bought this suit and stashed it in the back of my closet, where it had gotten lost behind all the lingerie I had bought since then.
This will work, I said to myself, holding up the pencil skirt, matching suit jacket and frilly, pastel pink Victorian blouse. I added the finishing touches of a neatly wrapped bun, subtly sexy stockings, and black pointed heels.
Damn, I looked good.
I’d almost think I looked too good, for a girl who hoped to leave the stripping world behind her and head to the professional world, but Willow had told me it would help if I looked sexy. Therefore, her wish was my command.
I had to remind myself to breathe. This was a major step in the right direction. No more exotic dancing for me, and luckily I had a good friend to make sure I didn’t have to try to dip back into that life. It may have taken fate to get me to this point, but at least I was on my way, and nothing could stop me now.
Phone, check.
I.D, check.
I had everything in my small black purse, ready to go.
My phone rang, blasting the White Stripes’ song “We’re Going to Be Friends,” which I had programmed as Willow’s ring tune.
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