Chapter 1
1
Kimberly looked at the Caller I.D. and cried. For the second consecutive week her mortgage company was calling, and each message left was worse than the one before. The message yesterday told her that foreclosure proceedings would begin immediately if she did not pay the four months past due mortgage payments. It was money that she did not have.
The phone beeped indicating another new message.
Kimberly wept.
2
Six months earlier her husband of eleven years had left her for another woman saying that Kimberly was not adventurous enough in bed; that she did not satisfy him. In Kimberly's estimation it was a lie, an excuse to do what he wanted, her feelings be damned. While she was not a slut, she was more than brave enough and doting enough to try, and even enjoy, most of the thing he had wanted. She dressed provocatively for him, stripped in public for him, even enjoying the feeling of knowing that she was not only exciting her husband, but anyone else who may have seen her performance. Thanks to her husband, her ex-husband, she had a secret turn-on with exhibitionism.
She had participated in threesomes for him even though she had not enjoyed it. She had dressed in costumes for him; acted out his fantasies; spanked and been sparked by him and others at the swinging parties he would drag her to both willingly and unwillingly.
She was not a stupid woman; she could see the end coming. It was the vindictiveness of it that surprised her. He had emptied the joint bank account, removing his name from the account while she taught Freshman English at the local Junior College. She had returned from work to find the furniture all but gone, the electricity and phone turned off and the bank account empty. Her clothes were in shreds except for the most outlandish and revealing items she owned; the clothes that he knew she liked to wear in private during their game time. It was not the type of clothes that she would wear to teach the young men and women in her care during the day. Only her most revealing and humiliating clothing remained untouched by the scissors he left stabbed into their marital mattress where her head would normally lay.
It was an act of hate, the way he left her. She did not cry that day. That day she vowed to herself that she would land on her feet and do it with dignity. She would prove that she was stronger than he was; that she was more man than he ever could have been.
It did not work out that way.
3
"Miss Turner," she cringed hearing the distaste in the voice of the unnamed woman on the answering machine. "This is our fourth attempt to contact you this week. As of today we have begun foreclosure on your property and unless full payment of the past due balance is made by the close of business..." Kimberly stopped listening. She had heard it before. A certified check (they would not take a personal check they had told her) for the past due amount as well as the current payment that would be due in less than a week, must be presented to the bank or the bank would take her home. Take the only thing she had.
Following her husband leaving and using the few dollars that had been stashed away in the house in their emergency fund for new work clothes, she had slowly rebuilt. She had purchased a new bed; theirs having a huge hole in the mattress and seeing it had made her cringe in shame and anger. It meant nothing to him and it would mean nothing to her.
She was living paycheck to paycheck, her meager third year salary at the college just enough to make ends meet. Then, as life will do, things went from bad to worse. She had had to buy a second hand car as they had only had one and since she got the house, he got the car. The car she purchased froze up and refused to start one day and that turned out to cost her almost a full check to repair and she was now a month behind.
Then the refrigerator's fan motor seized, making the house smell like a fire was about to erupt and a second payment got missed. The first calls started then; polite ones. We'll work with you. Pride stepped to the plate and Kimberly just knew she'd be okay. She would work it out.
Her newly fixed car got stolen from the teacher's parking lot on campus. Restitution...none. Cost: another two months behind.
Kimberly looked at the ad she had circled in the paper. Dancers wanted; nudity required. She exhaled a sad, weepy sob and picked up the silent phone. She needed another job, one that paid well and paid quickly. She had taken dance when she went to college, and she knew she had an attractive body; her ex-husband told her often enough with both words and his obvious arousal at her provocative shows. With her secret thrill of exposing her body and her desperate financial situation, she figured it would be a short-term solution for her monetary problems.
Dialing the phone, she made the call.
She cried when she hung up. She had an interview that she did not want to make but knew she'd have to and she just knew she would get the job.
4
Kimberly looked at the black door that lead into Pussy Cats. Why, she wondered, did these places always have such suggestive names? Well, she supposed, it did draw customers. With a sharp exhale she opened her car door and made her way inside.
The place was empty and the overhead lights were on. She had, of course, been inside strip clubs with her ex-husband. She had even appeared on stage during an amateur night contest. She did not win but felt pretty good about herself coming in second to the nineteen year old strumpet that had won. She had been twenty six at the time, twenty nine now, and she was certain it was just the age of the young woman that had won that put her in second place.
"Can I help you," a young man asked standing in the corner next to a wall of electronics that controlled the clubs sound system.
"Yeah, uh, yes," Kimberly said. Her mouth was dry. "I have a meeting, an interview." She was tripping on her words.
The man nodded his head, "through there." He indicated a maroon curtain hanging to the right of the main stage.
"Thanks," she said.
Kimberly walked through the curtain and peered down a short hallway with three more dark curtains, one to each side of the hall and one at the end. "Hello," she called out in a small voice.
"In here."
She followed the voice through the back curtain and saw a fat man with a stained T-shirt and black shorts sitting on a stool before a large mirror. There were about a dozen stools in the room, six spanning each side with two wall-length mirrors and along the back wall there was another curtain and twenty small lockers stacked two high, most of them having a small lock in the silver hasp. To her left was a sink with a medicine cabinet above it. "Can I help you?" The fat man asked.
"Um," she swallowed, "I have an interview."
"Can you dance?"
Kimberly nodded.
"Can you get naked?"
Again, she swallowed.
"Show me."
She looked around the room seeing herself countless times as her reflection bounced between the twin mirrors. "Here?"
There was no patience in his voice, "look, you want the job?"
No, she thought, I do not want the job. "Yes."
"Then dance."
Kimberly wiggled her hips and slowly began to dance. She kicked off her sneakers and turned, pushing her ass out in an invitation to the man watching her. She spun around and with a quick move pulled hem of her blouse out of the waistband of her jeans. Kicking her legs she slowly unbuttoned her blouse and with a flourish she pulled the halves apart revealing the white bra that she wore. She shrugged the shirt free of her shoulders and threw it to the sink behind her.
She felt a stirring in her crotch as she exposed her half-naked chest to this stranger. It was the same feeling she got when her husband had made her strip for him in the car or at the beach or once in a Macy's fitting room. Reaching up behind her she unfastened her bra and bending at the waist so that her breasts hung free she dropped the bra down her legs and to the floor. She swung her long, brown hair in a circle, almost hitting the fat man with her hair.
She stood up and still shaking her hips and now her naked breasts, she unfastened the snap of her jeans. Her breasts were not overly large, but were not tiny either; her husband...ex-husband...had called them perfect and seeing this man before her staring at them she knew her B-cub did indeed look good. She turned again and inched her jeans over her ass revealing a small, black thong. She stepped out of the jeans and with a spin and a flourish kicked them away.
Her nipples were hard points and she knew it was not just because of the cool room; she was sexually aroused. She could see the excitement in the fat man, his black shorts not hiding his obvious approval at her revealing performance. She could also feel her own excitement; her panties were damp with it.
Still, she danced. She turned two complete circles and then staring the man straight in the eyes she dropped her panties to her feet, stepped out of one side, and lifted them to her hands with the other foot. She grabbed them, held them to her nose and inhaled the evidence of her arousal. She then spun again and threw her panties behind her. She stood before him, her hands at her sides not covering her breasts or the thin triangle of her pubic thatch and pussy. She wondered if she had taken one breath during her dance.
