Chapter Text
“You’re onstage in five.” Dirk pokes his head in long enough to shout at me. As much as Dirk ever shouts. What he does is this steady drawl that says when he talks you better shut your whore mouth and listen. Usually, onstage means some kind of Shakespearian thing, maybe a musical. Or a one woman monologue, the kind that are put on by rich college girls so middle aged white women can go to them and think they’re so sophisticated and cool. Clap clap, how inspired, darling.
For me, it means that in five minutes I’m going to be taking off my dress for a bunch of strange men and grinding in their laps until they throw enough money at me to do the same damn thing tomorrow. Four, now. I mutter a ‘shit’ and rifle through my bag, squatting down and shoving both hands in until- there. A tin case, emblazoned with the characters from Peter Pan, expressing delight at being sprinkled with fairy dust. Yeah, I can feel you there. It makes me smile every damn time, even when the clock’s ticking and I find my hand mirror and my library card, my own smiling face looking back at me when I cut into my own magic. Fifty dollars buys me half an hour, tops, thinking about nothing in particular and moving fast enough to convince myself that maybe I’m the goddamn superhero of the day.
Then, it’s time for me to go and I throw open the curtain, acting like I own the place. Which, in a way, is true. No girls means no cash means no club. My dress is disposed of in moments, discarded to the side to languish in it's faded-white despair. Stripping is a generous term for it, really, since any and all clothing is thrown away within moments of entering the throbbing lights reflecting off of the pole. I might catch a cool fifteen onstage but offstage, where the drinks are flowing and the three minute lap dances are twenty bucks a pop- that’s where the real money’s at. A couple of jumps and spins later, I’m on the floor, legs spread and wiggling my ass so that sweaty palms can stuff dollar bills in my crack.
I hop off the stage, locking eyes with my first ‘customer’. He’s balding, middle aged, the kind of fat that comes with decades of sitting on your ass. His shirt has a ‘witty’ slogan on it, something about how I should place my mouth on his dick to check how drunk I am. Uh-huh. Real classy. Dude’s waving a twenty, though, and looks like he’s got enough cash to keep me occupied. So on his sweatpants I go, flinging my arms around his neck and rubbing my thong-clad cunt on him while he pants and tries really hard not to touch me. Poor thing. Another perk of the job: if they touch me, Zahhak will kick their ass to the curb hard enough the poor slobs won’t be able to walk the next morning. I always tip him well at the end of the night; he spends his income on gourmet teas for his friend and archery equipment, not to mention his fancy-ass at-home gym. Never cusses, keeps his head down, that sort of guy.
Speaking of, right now he’s checking the IDs of a three person group that just sauntered in. The shortest one, this little black haired twig of a boy, looks like he’s no more than sixteen. Evidently, however, they check out alright, being led onto the floor. The blonde doesn’t take off his shades, plopping his ass in a booth and doing that annoying ‘c’mere’ gesture to one of the waitresses. Twiggy sits like the chair contains a pressure sensitive bomb, and the third, a girl, wraps her arm around blondie too-cool-for-this and smiles this big, dumb smile at him. Jesus, girl, lay off a little, we get it, you loooooooove him. Shit, wait, he just nodded over at Dirk. Is this the kid brother I’ve been told so much about? The song ends and I climb off sweaty when he refuses to pop another twenty, sauntering over, swinging my hips. Twiggy swallows, his huge glasses bobbing on his nose.
“This the Dave I’ve heard so much about?” I ask, voice low and sultry.
“That’s the name, don’t wear it out.” Yeah, definitely a relative of Dirk’s, then. “The one, the only, Dave motherfucking Strider, ladies and gentlemen!” Girl smiles, rubbing her nose on his cheek. Gross.
“Mmmmmmmm, and who are the friends?” Clock’s ticking, I should abandon these chumps and find someone else.
“Jade and John, siblings and huge dorks.”
“You’re the dork!” Jade smiles at him.
“Don’t even hate,” he counters instantly, not breaking his fucking flat face. “And John here is looking for a dance. Think I could tempt you to provide?”
“Oh God no!” John squeaks, glaring at Dave.
And then the younger Strider reaches into his pocket and pulls out a fifty dollar bill like it’s a handful of pocket change. Smiling, I take the cash, folding it and pulling aside my garter enough to slip the cash inside before climbing onto John. His eyes go wide as dinner plates, cock instantly hardening under his jeans. A newbie- that’s adorable. The next song starts and I am swirling myself on his lap, shoving my tits in his face when he opens his mouth to complain more.
“Get some!” Dave hollers, Jade kissing his cheek and signaling over one of my coworkers. She climbs into his lap, smiling over at me. I smile at her, and we lean in for one of the best moves that can be delivered- sloppy make outs. Another fifty finds its way into my underwear. That’s much more like it. Sucking this boy dry while he hoots and hollers at his friend is much more fun than floating from asshole to dirty asshole.
“Is it someone’s birthdaaaaaaay?” I ask, rolling my hips forward across his clothed sex. John nods, swallowing hard. He’s practically a dear in headlights, hands clutching the sides of his chair, forehead breaking out in a thin sheen of sweat.
“Yeah, thought I’d take him out for his big day. He is now a man! Well he’s been a man for a year but the dude needs to get out more, y’know?” His girlfriend is laying sloppy kisses on him when he pushes the other girl off his lap. The music swells and he has to shout to get his point across. “What, Egbert, you look like a frightened schoolgirl! Come on, relax, I’ve got a fuckload of cash to blow on you tonight- pun intended.” God, could his half smile get any douchier? Probably not. Nothing could be worse than his stupid giggle-snort-laugh thing. John, on the other hand, is cute in a geeky way, the kind of kid your dad would be happy to have you bring home to dinner. The kind of kid who pulled a solid 3.8 GPA, who did three different after school activities, who was a great friend. It’d be nice to be that kind of kid.
His time ends nearly three hundred dollars later, Dave shaking his head when I glance over. With a smile and a wink, I blow a kiss to the poor kid. Dirk gives me a slight nod when I head backstage. Obviously I’m not done for the evening, but there comes a time when the money needs to be emptied and the blow reapplied. Once satisfied, I sit for a moment, contemplating my next move in the cool room. The lights were giving me the worst sort of headache, too, the one that makes lesser women curse the Gods. The floor makes this gross sort of lurching motion, coming closer to me, and I blink a couple of times to set it straight.
No, wait, that’s the floor actually making contact with my face.