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***
Life's tough since the refinery shut down. Matt has a job part-timing at the garage, but that barely covers the mortgage. And his wife Becky, well, there aren't a lot of ways to earn money with only a high school diploma.
But there's always the Pit Stop.
She starts by dancing and waitressing six shifts a week, then eight shifts when management notices the clients like her, and extra work when the racetrack's busy. Matt doesn't like it, not by half, but these days a paycheck's a paycheck. Or in Becky's case, singles, fives, tens and the occasional twenty. He doesn't come down and watch her at work after that first week -- she says it makes her feel dirty, and Matt doesn't like seeing the way the other men look at her. He knows what they're thinking, damnit.
But it's not *that* kind of club - not like the ones downstate, with their "special rooms". And anyway Becky always comes home to Matt, and what she does in the sack with him, well, he'd have to be made of stone to say no to her. He's lucky, and he knows it.
Still, he's sitting at the back of the club today with a gimme cap tugged down hiding his face. He watches as a couple of dancers take their turns on the small stage, each one putting her bikini top back on when they leave to make the rounds of the tables. He finishes his beer and sets the bottle down when a long-nailed hand slides over his shoulder and he smells a mixture of sweat, cigarettes and cheap perfume.
"Hey Matt, what brings you out to our little place?"
It's Connie - five-nine, big-titted, and well-padded where it counts. She settles her ass on his leg and slides a moist kiss across his lips. "Things a little slow at the garage today? You decide you want the businessman's special?" She rubs her thigh against his crotch and leans into him, blocking his view of the stage and giving him instead a view into her strained bikini top. She reaches between them and tugs the bottom of her bikini down, just so he can't miss any of it.
Connie says, "You know that driving spot's open whenever you want it." She emphasizes the word "want" with her hand squeezing his crotch. Connie's husband Lou has a small racing team, but that's not the kind of driving she's talking about. Lou's got a trucking firm that runs things out to the backwoods. Guns. Meth. Whatever makes money - small town, open secret. Matt doesn't want any part of that job, but Connie seems to have her eyes set on him.
