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I’ve always had to worry about earning money and affording rent.
Don’t get me wrong. I do well financially. I make great money from tips and private dances. I am not struggling. But it wasn’t always this way. Money drives me. No-one else will pay for me if I don’t.
But despite our differences, we have effortlessly entwined ourselves with one another. One day we were two separate people, then in the way lesbians have done since the dawn of time (I imagine)—ever since that night we first had sex, we melted into one and have barely been apart since.
I sleep while she works, and I wake to messages of lust and longing. I catch Willow after her long days and we eat, laugh, and talk. And then usually we have sex once, twice, three times. However long we can fit in until I have to leave for the club.
Sometimes she’ll come to the club and watch me from her spot at the bar, her eyes on me. I can feel them. I dance for Willowe now. When she is there and even when she isn’t. I feel her hungry eyes on my body and I just want to please her.
I don’t mind taking my clothes off for men and their money. I never have. Luckily, Willow doesn’t seem to mind either. It is nothing but transactional and I enjoy that it doesn’t cause her insecurity. Willow Rutherford is very secure in every way. She loves watching me dance.
Everything builds until the moment I can have her again. But that’s the thing about it, it’s not just me having her. She has me too. We are both greedy and gluttonous in our need for each other.
8
Willow
Ilook in the mirror and see that I’m still the same woman. I still have the same reflection. I still have the same goals, the same wants, and the same needs. But there is a difference. I don’t want to be all dramatic and I certainly don’t believe in all those romance novels, but I can see it in me. There’s no denying it.
I knew that I liked control in my personal life as well as my professional one. But Lola made me see just how deep that ran in me. It was a surprise. I’m happy to see her sparkle and I love watching her flirt. She surprises me with her directness--how she can say or do something that others may only think about.
Then it all changes in a second and her body sings for me. She comes apart just for me. Sometimes I don’t even know what I’m saying: I just seem to know what Lola needs to hear to make her magical navy blue eyes fill with devotion.
I’m obsessed with her. With us, and what we are together.
I watch her dance in the club when I can. I feel the sting of jealousy when I see the men looking at her with lust, but it’s only natural and I let myself feel it. But I also revel in the knowledge that for every dollar that gets tucked into Lola’s panties, it will be me that she goes home with. And that makes everything ok.
Lola isn’t interested in them. She is interested in me, only me. And I don’t doubt that for a second.
Lola is an actor, a performer. Lola gives what she needs to give to survive in life.
Her body and face make a living for her. But, at the same time, Lola loves it. She loves the adoration. She loves the effect she has on people when she is nude, smearing neon paint over her incredible God-given body.
And it feels like a privilege to see her do something that she loves, however unconventional.
But it isn’t just about the sex with Lola. For a woman in her late twenties, Lola acts like a teenage girl. She lives her life purely for enjoyment and the for sheer joy of being. For someone who doesn’t see much of the daylight hours, every moment of the night belongs to her. This city that I know like the back of my hand by day becomes a whole new place in the darkness. I love discovering it with her.
“Let’s go to the Big Easy,” she says, dragging me out the back of McLandon’s, a huge smile on her face.
“Big Easy? Why does that sound like the kind of place I won’t like?” I ask. I wrap my arm around Lola anyway and let her lead the way. She laughs.
“Oh, you’ll see, your Gucci won’t be noticed there, but they make a mean JD and coke, and Mac is pretty cool.”
The Big Easy was a downtown dive bar. As far as I was concerned, it was a gritty, run-down establishment located right in the city’s urban core. We enter. The atmosphere is dark and dingy, with a mix of old bar stools and tables that have seen better days. The walls are adorned with neon beer signs, vintage memorabilia, and graffiti.
The bar serves cheap drinks in large measures--in plastic cups--and the music is loud and eclectic, ranging from classic rock to punk to hip hop.
The clientele is a mixed bag of locals, regulars, and tourists alike, all looking for a cheap drink and a good time, and my gaze drifts over them as we make our way through. The conversations are lively, with groups of people sharing stories, jokes, and local gossip.
As I settle on a stool, I can see why Lola likes it here. Mac, the bartender, is friendly and down-to-earth, providing a sense of warmth and familiarity that is often lacking in the more upscale establishments I typically find myself in.
And to my surprise, I like it. A downtown dive bar may not be the most glamorous or trendy spot in town, but the Big Easy has its own unique charm and character.
“See,” she says with a playful wink, as she nudges my knee with her hand. Then, to the bartender, “We will take two of your finest and best, Mac!”
He gives her a smile and I can see the twinkle in his eye. I wonder how many guys she has had that effect on. The Lola Effect is still very much present, even when she is fully and casually dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Her body still sings from beneath her clothes, her incredible skin is still shiny and bronze, and her eyes are still that other worldly dark blue. Most of all, there is her dazzling smile and childlike charm.
Lola’s joy and beauty is infectious and I’m not the only one who feels it. I notice this everywhere we go together.
