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Pearl nods in agreement. “Well, that’s a true thing, but just keep your guard up a little, Lola. I ain’t ever seen you all up like this, those other girls be fallin’ every damn week for some no-good guy, but not you. I don’t want you getting hurt, baby girl. Women like Willow don’t date strippers.”
“I know, Pearl, thanks for caring.”
She stands slowly, with a smile.
“Oh, I don’t care. I just be thinkin’ bout those tips we be missing if we ain’t got no Lola on stage!” she says with a wink, as she gives my shoulders a little rub. “You go get em, girl.”
And I nod.
I will.
The lights flicker a harsh white strobe that casts shadows over my figure. The spotlight rises and reflects off the black PVC and I know my tanned skin looks pale against it. The contrasts are stark and exaggerated. A contradiction. Just like me.
“Don’t need permission . . .” I stroll forward, my heels are so high that my instep has to stretch to follow the curve. Latex, pulled tight up my legs, rides the bend of my knee up to my thighs. My one-piece is a work of art. Laced tight at the back,e my waist is drawn in. The PVC skims my hipbones to slip between my thighs, and the boning that supports my chest makes my breasts look enormous. They heave against the plastic with each deep breath I take.
“All that you got . . . skin to skin . . . Oh my God . . .” My palms glide over the latex, following the accentuated curves of my waist and moving down between my thighs, where the PVC pulls tight against my sex.
I let myself moan in response to my own touch.
I reach the front as the music climbs. My dark hair is pulled up high into a ponytail and bunny ears are bent on one side, the blend of sexy and cute. My eyes seek out Willow in a sleek blue Armani pantsuit at the bar, looking like she belongs anywhere but here. She’s the one I am dancing for. I slowly thrust my hips forward to that deep, low pulse of the beat, hoping she is enjoying the show.
As the dance goes on, I feel more and more turned on. Willow is watching me. She wants me and my dancing is elevated. This performance is real. So real.
“All girls want to be like that . . . Bad girls underneath like that . . .”
As I strip the corset off and my breasts spill out, it feels so good to be free. Cash is being thrown onto the stage and I’m enjoying every last dollar of it.
As we reach the finale and my panties come off, I’m filled with both same thrill I always feel and an extra thrill, just for Willow.
The walk home from the club is always a special time with her. Kisses are exchanged between us, sending shivers down our spines. Our hands thread together, tightening with every step we take. The city buzzes around us, but we are lost in our own world. As we walk, we laugh and whisper secrets to each other, lost in the moment. It is a perfect night; they all are. Slowly blending into each other.
Pearl’s words linger in my mind, but when I taste Willow’s kisses on my lips, all the warning signs fade away.
Women like her don’t date strippers.
How could I doubt that there is anywhere else in this city I’m supposed to be than right here, with her?
10
Willow
At seven a.m. sharp, my feet slip into the straps. To anyone else, I am just a woman sweating on an exercise bike in the gym. But in my head, I am escaping, trying not to think about the future. Focusing on the present moment. With each push of the pedals, I can feel my muscles working hard, urging me to peddle faster. Beads of sweat glisten on my forehead as I push myself to my limits. Watching me, you can tell I am not one to give up easily, but right now I feel the waves of uncertainty washing over me.
I’m not worrying about Lola. Lola is the single best thing that happened to me for as long as I can remember.
The dread comes from the upcoming benefit ball tomorrow night. I don’t want to go and I would normally not go. But this is the one event that has an actual impact on my career. My boss’s boss will be there. And if I know my mother and father, I will be placed right next to this man from the appetizers all the way through to dessert.
I can usually stomach one or two of the fancy events a year, which I have been bred for and trained up for since birth, but my patience has been starting to wear thin in recent years and now things feel different.
Lola just isn’t the kind of person that would be accepted or taken seriously in any way, shape, or form as my partner at an event like this--nor in my life in general.
The list of reasons why start with her being female, but that is not by far the most problematic thing about Lola.
There is also the fact that she doesn’t come from money. She lives on the wrong side of town. And she takes off her clothes for a living.
Hell, I don’t even know Lola’s last name. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t use one. She is just Lola.
Sure, in polite society, there are eccentrics whom everyone enjoys as entertainment. But they are usually very wealthy women with a penchant for the peculiar. They aren’t strippers who come from nothing.
