"Emily."
Looking up from her tablet, Emily saw Marcos, one of the club managers, staring down at her. She often got lost in erotic literature before work, it made the job more palatable. Back when she first started, it used to be romance novels but since there often wasn't time to finish a whole novel, she'd since moved to online fiction or the one-shot erotic stories. Well, that and it looked foolish to be reading a sweet Nicholas Sparks book in the back of a strip club.
"Yeah? Is it time already?"
"Yes. I shouldn't have to come back here and remind you of it. Don't forget to take those" pointing at her glasses, "off".
They were only readers but the difference wasn't important; all he knew is that it didn't fit the image. Smiling up at him, she removed the frames and watched him walk away. More than once he'd described Emily as too dreamy, but as far as descriptions of the girls went it was far from the worst. He had described some as flibbertigibbets, coarse-he had a much more impressive vocabulary than one would initially think. Before joining this lifestyle Marcos was a high school guidance counselor. He'd since had some issues, no one "in the know" was willing to share the whole story but there were some drugs involved, and he wound up here after losing his license. In any case, his previous training with high school girls was probably good experience for handling all the bullshit the girls at the club could dish out. It would be easy to imagine that back, before all of this, he was a much kinder person. He had a soft face, even though years of working here in the dead of night had caused his eyes to be tired and saggy, and dealing with all the egos was causing him to grey prematurely.
"Emily!" he snapped the tablet snap out of her hands and up, "what the fuck did I say five minutes ago?" Reflexively she looked a little contrite, he almost never yelled and of all the managers, he was the most kind. Seeing her face, his tone softened slightly; "Do this shit on your own time. You're not valuable to us back here."
"Yeah, I'm sorry. A little lost in thought."
It wasn't the right thing to say.
"You're always lost in something; a book, your journal-get your head out of your ass and let's go. Look at you-you've only got one eye done." Turning toward the mirror she laughed a little; the eye makeup was so heavy that it was painfully obvious she'd forgotten to do the other side. Looking at her reflection for a minute, it was like looking at two different people. One was plain, with brown eyes and pale skin, and small but simple features. The other was sultry, with large pouty lips, heavy eyelashes, high cheekbones, and a certain amount of "glow" throughout her face from a healthy amount of bronzer. The sexy girl, Starr, was her stage name. Starr was mysterious and confident, Starr was sexy-the stuff wet dreams are made of. Starr was nothing like the bookish Emily that resided underneath.
It was a typical Saturday evening at the club, busy but not packed yet. Scanning for some of her regulars she spotted James, one of her favorites. Strip club patrons come in all shapes and sizes; most who have never partaken in this form of entertainment see them as degenerates, as they saw her. In truth, there's a wide variety of men and women that enjoy coming for just for entertainment or in some cases, companionship. James, in particular, was veteran who had some physical and psychological damage after serving in the military, and would frequent the club just for the company. Emily didn't understand why he'd feel the need to pay for attention, he was so kind and respectful, and at only somewhere around 40, relatively young to have given up looking for love. After becoming a regular she realized why he did; the guy had really been done dirty by the universe: he'd lost his family in an accident, had some injuries from being overseas that wouldn't allow him to function in the bedroom, and had been scammed by an online "bride" when he finally had the courage to get out there again. All of this was discovered over time, over dancing and talking and developing a sort of superficial intimacy that comes with the territory. It's one of the only things she truly enjoyed about this line of work, getting to see people at their most vulnerable, because with the outside world they're embarrassed of their fetishes or their life, their "dirty little secrets". But here, we ARE the dirty little secrets. There's nothing to be ashamed of here.
Walking over to James, a huge smile started to form, he loved it when she'd notice him on her own and make a beeline for him. It made him feel special. Although, at one point, they had to have a heart-to-heart about the fact that she was working and he couldn't monopolize the time. It added another facet to her knowledge about why he had trouble with regular relationships-the guy was clingy. Clingy but kind, a girl just had to learn how to work with it.
Approaching him softly, she smiled; "James, you made it out! I was so hoping to see you tonight." It made her feel like a phony saying that to some, but not to him.
"Hey babe" he replied, "you came to me!" He smiled, the kind of smile similar to that of a child's that is begging for mom and dad's attention and then finally receiving it. A beaming smile. He always gave her one, it never got old.
"Of course sweetie" she started to straddle his lap; they were very comfortable together, "want to go somewhere, just the two of us?" The somewhere was a private dance, it ruined the moment to call it that so Emily always just said "somewhere". He'd been a regular for a while and knew the drill.
They went to a private booth after he paid the standard fee, she proceeded with his favorite style of lap dance; it started by sitting on his lap reverse cowgirl style. Arching her back, slowly, she started pumping her bottom as though they were really fucking. "Mmmm", she whispered in his ear, inhaling his scent; "you wore my favorite cologne again." He wore "Reaction" by Kenneth Cole and she'd complimented it once before, so now he wore it all the time or nothing at all. In truth the cologne was just okay, what she liked about it was that he would continue wearing it just because she said she liked it once. It showed a certain amount of special consideration to her, too. He groaned, at this she twisted her body to face him and ran fingers gently down his torso. He looked up at her eyes-now was the time. She moved his hands behind her body and let him pull the string that would release her top-her breasts popping free in an instant. They weren't large for a stripper, but they were perky. She watched him stare hungrily at her little pink nipples-what he wouldn't give if he would only let him lick them, just once.
"Please, baby" he started, looking up, "just a taste. Just one." She smiled and touched his face, his lips with her fingers-he knew the answer. It didn't matter, he would always ask. He closed his eyes and she started grinding his body gently, sliding her torso up and down his chest and running fingers softly through his hair.
"You like this?" she asked, putting her hands under his shirt, over his nipples. There's nothing in the rules against the girls touching the clients above the waist, assuming they're comfortable. He bit his lip, at this she ran small circles around them, the sweat from his body creating a natural lubricant that made her fingers feel like a tiny tongue.
