I know I had a choice. I didn't like the available options, but too bad, really. This wasn't magic fairyland where you could close your eyes, click your heels three times and have it all go away. This was real life, where when you owe $5,000 to a loan shark, you either pay up or dance his dance. So, in this case, I literally danced.
My name's Harriet Wilde. I'm a middle school teacher in a relatively small California town. I'm 34, single, brunette, slim and relatively attractive. In my mind, I'm no slut – I mean, I only date one guy at a time, although sometimes that's only one date – but I'm no "Miss Priss" either. I keep in shape. I keep my pussy hair shaved; I have 36D boobs and I tend to dress to keep them covered. I mean, I teach middle school, for crying out loud. That's when my students bump into puberty, and I do not want to become the masturbatory fantasy of the young boys because I flash too much skin. It wouldn't be fair to them, and it would make teaching tougher.
On the other hand, when I go out, I'm not at all shy about showing off what nature gave me. Most of my "going-out-wear" consists of demi-bras that barely cover my nipples (if at all); thongs, stockings, garters and short skirts. Of course, I live a few towns away to the west of where I teach, and I go even further west away from there when I'm out. That lets me be as free and exhibitionistic as I want. And since I enjoy the male attention that gives me, I'm fine with flashing various portions of my anatomy. I occasionally go out commando; depending on the location and my alcohol intake, I've been known to flash my cooch a bit. Hell, one bartender at a favorite watering hole trades me drinks for flashes!
So, as you might guess, I'm not bashful about my body or sex life. But I have limits. At least, I thought I had limits. But that was before I made the mistake of borrowing money from a high-roller at one of the clubs I visit. I was worried that my bank wouldn't give me a loan, or that people I know would think bad of me for asking for money – in other words, I was thinking with my feelings and worries instead of my brain. Never-the-less, I needed money (I'm not saying why, so don't go looking for the answer to that question) and I borrowed $5,000 from Tony (I know, it sounds like something from the Sopranos – but it really was his name!) without really paying close attention to his terms. That was my mistake – not the blowjob I gave him as a thank you. There were only two blowjobs I ever regretted in my life, and I try to keep the memory of them buried down deep. The rest – hey, sex is part of life! What's to regret?
Anyway, a month had gone by, and I showed up the club where I met Tony with $200 of what I owed him, which is what I could afford and what seemed to me to be a sincere effort on my part. I walked in and saw him alone at a table, so I walked over and sat down.
"Hey, there's my Teacher! How are you, honey?"
"Hi, Tony. I came to make my first payment. Here's.."
He cut me off with a gesture. "There's certain things we don't talk about, okay? You could just slip me what you have and we'll take it from there."
I nodded. I mean, it was his money, so it was his rule. No problem. I reached into my purse and pulled out the cash and then slid it into has hand below the table, blocking the view of the transaction with my legs. He took it from me and then spoke.
"Excuse me a minute, Teacher. I have to see a man about a horse. Be right back. Go ahead and order yourself a drink. It's on me." He slid out of our booth and headed in the direction of the restrooms. While he was gone, I snagged a waitress and ordered a vodka martini. The drink arrived just as Tony returned.
"Put it on my tab, Gwen" He said to the waitress.
"And as for you," he said, turning to me, "are you joking? Are you pulling my leg?"
"What? What do you mean?"
"I mean, the amount you gave me was due three weeks ago. You owe me three times that amount at this point. Did you think I wouldn't notice? Did you think that your little oral adventures would dim my recollections?"
"No! It's all I've been able to save so far. I mean, I have to eat and pay rent. I haven't gone out, the only coffee I've had has been that crap in the teacher's lounge – I'm saving every penny I can to get it back to you."
"Oh, woe is me. The problem with your story is that you borrowed money and have an agreement about repaying it. And if your first effort is any measure, we'll both be old and grey when you are done. IF you ever get done."
"I'm doing everything I know how to get it back to you as quickly as possible. I just don't see any other way."
"Well, sweetie, you should have thought of that before you took the cash. So now, you better find a way to come up with more the next time you see me, or be prepared to face the consequences."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Nah. I'm just letting you know that, like everything else in life, there are consequences to your actions. You watch too much crappy TV. You'll get a choice if you don't deliver. That's all. And don't go thinking about going to 'the authorities' about anything – that would be a big mistake, given why you needed the money. Understood?"
"Yes. I understand."
"Good, then get out of here. See you soon, Teacher."
I left that night, and it was a long drive home. I began to think of how I could raise money. Bake sale? Not a valid option. A GoFundMe page – maybe I should have done that to begin with, but after seeing how they went after the crew that put up that BS about the homeless guy and his last $20, there's no way I could pull that off. I had no relatives to speak of, let alone any with money. I thought about selling things, and decided I'd go with that first.
The Saturday after my meeting with Tony I spent the entire day going through my belongings looking for things of value. I had some older comics, some first edition signed books, some older vinyl records and some jewelry that I no longer needed. Putting all that together, and then visiting consignment shops and pawn shops I came up with $350. With the $200 I pulled from my next check, I was a little more confident when it came time to meet with Tony.
Once again, I visited the bar he frequented. Again, we did the little dance with the "sit in the booth, slide him the money, wait for him to go count it and come back" steps.
"Better, Teacher, much better. But you got yourself a problem, don't you?"
"What are you talking about?"
"This is the kind of thing I see all the time – someone realizes they have to dig deep to
deal with their obligations, so they sell personal stuff and bring me back a larger payment. Except they can't sustain it. They run out of things to sell. Tell me something, Teacher – do you dance?"
"What? Dance? What do you mean?"
"I mean, do you have any rhythm? Can you shake your tail? Can you express yourself in motion?" He giggled! "I stole that from somewhere. Kind of like the phrase, don't you?"
"It's okay. But I don't understand."
"You owe me money and you aren't going to be able to pay it off in a timely manner. So, your choice is simple – go to work for me, or give it all up and run away. And I don't think that's a very inviting alternative. Do you?"
"No, not at all. So, what would I do for you?"
"Like I said, if you can dance, I got some acceptable work. If you can't dance, I also got work available, but I doubt it would be a first choice. So? Can you dance?"
"Yeah, Tony, I can dance."
"Good. Then this coming Friday night, I expect you to show up at 6:00 at my club. Ask for Francie."
"And how long do I have to dance for you?"
"If you're really good, you could be earning $200 a night in tips. That will all go to me. I'll pay you a salary and that will cover your gas and stuff. But turn over the tips to me and it'll pay me off in a year. If you're good, of course."
"But..." I stammered.
"Your other choice is an old fashioned one – they call it the world's oldest profession for a reason. Take your pick. You now work for me until you pay me back or I let your school district in on what you've been up to. Is that understood?"
"Yes. It's understood. And I'll take the dancing."
"Good. Then get out of here. See Francie on Friday at 6PM and don't be late."
I left, and the drive back home was horrendous. See, I knew the name of the club on that card. I hadn't agreed to being a social dance partner – I'd agreed to be an exotic dancer. An ecdysiast. A stripper in a titty bar. But then, it could have been worse – it appears the alternative was working as a hooker for Tony. Interesting choice. Get up on stage and get naked (or very close) or get fucked by strangers. I'll admit that, at some point in my life when I had too little money and too much to drink, I had contemplated turning tricks. But only as long as it took me to sober up. So, the choice with Tony didn't require much thinking. However, I didn't know shit about dancing for a living.
Thank goodness for the Internet! I got on Google and searched for a bunch of things. Came up with a bunch of YouTube videos on how to dance on stage, instructional videos on pole dancing, and more. A lot farther down the list, I found some very interesting articles. One was from a former stripper and I spent two hours reading it.
To say it opened my eyes would be an understatement. Carolyn (her stage name) had been interviewed for a sociologist's project, and she was very up front about everything that happened in the clubs where she danced. She told about club owners and managers who expected sexual favors from dancers (and that was where I realized Tony's blowjob was a big mistake); about gay dancers; about how the real money was in lap dances; about how many dancers did drugs to numb themselves to selling themselves; and how it really was possible to get successful without all of that – but how hard that was. She talked about how many of the dancers who came and went while she worked were younger women who started it out as a lark but who got lured by money into turning tricks. What the fuck had I gotten myself into?
I think I spent about one minute trying to figure a way out of my dilemma before I gave that up. I got myself into it. I could get myself through it – if I was smart about it. That's when I started looking at the videos. I also took a good, long look at my body, naked, in a mirror. Front and back. My boobs were probably the outstanding feature – like I said, 36D, firm, with large nipples. My stomach was flat. One thing in my favor – no tan lines. I spent all my sun time in the nude. I worked up a sweat doing what I thought was a pretty good imitation of the videos I found, then took a shower and went to bed.
The next few days in school were nothing special. As Friday approached, I began to get nervous. But I made it through the day, and arrived at the Kit-Kat Klub at 5:45. I waited in my car until 5:55 and then went in. The club wasn't all that much – especially with the lights on as the staff cleaned and prepped. I went up to the bar.
"I'm looking for Francie." I said.
"You must be the new girl. I'm Joe, I have the opening shifts. Francie's in back – through that door." He said, pointing.
"Thanks, Joe. See you later." I went into the back, and the first person I found was a big, very muscled dude in a t-shirt. When I say big, I mean he was over 6-foot, 5-inches, and probably weight about 300, of which most of it was muscled.
