Summary: Bella has a dark past, and forced to work as a stripper. She is refined, unlike any other strippers the stereotypical average may view it as. She works hard to improve her future, and others. But why would the connection of her bittersweet past threaten to ruin her world and crumble away everything she's worked so hard for?
I felt powerful and alive as the last of my outfit was complete. My facial features, as I always refuse, was bare of any make-up and my hair was like a haystack, something I also refused to be changed by artificial applicators, a natural hairstyle I woke up into.
The leather corset wrapped around my torso tight, snuggling close to my body as the leather thong hugged my other curve. High heels were never my thing so I omitted them from any outfit suggestions that people from the club said would make my performances all the more erotic. I didn't need anything to be sexy, I was born for this.
I stepped out, confidence burning as my eyes raked the amount of men that were present in the club today, many of which were incredibly hot and sexy. I always wondered how our club attracted so many of them, but then again, we were the biggest club in Seattle, and perfect; the epitome of sexuality.
The light blinded me for a split second before I headed for the pole, my left hand already holding onto it as I cocked my head to the right, flinging my hair dramatically. The music began to play, disco style almost, and all eyes were on me. Everyone knew when it was my performance, no one had a stray eye. The cheers and screams were definitely beginning to boost my ego permanently.
My legs wrapped themselves around the pole instantly, I slid down the pole with my legs outstretched and spiraled, the sensational touch of the cold iron pressed against my leather thong was invigorating, coursing me to continue onto more dance moves. I stood back up, arching my back so my ass would stick out towards the audience and climbed the pole with my inner thighs, my head throbbed from the rush of blood but I quickly got used to that as I descended again, legs tilted upwards.
Dancing was my second passion, something that I had grown into loving when my father was an abusive father. He had always regarded me with the most horrible of profanity and often disliked how I would be away from home. But was it my fault? After my mother had left and divorced my father, he had chosen to not let it up and as I lived with Charlie, my father, he soon began to hit me. To abuse me, being the reason why my mother had left. It wasn't true, I reminded myself now as moisture began to collect.
I sniffed away the tears and began all the necessary grindings of the pole, against it with my ass, my breasts hanging low many times for the audience to see. One thing I refused to do, was to reveal myself completely in front of the people that gathered. I had a borderline, and as sad as it might be, I'm still a virgin. I chuckled at the stupidity of being a stripper, but haven't had sex.
The cat-walk like strip that extended outwards, to reach the spectators more easily was beginning to flash neon blue, signaling my time to walk it. My hips swayed and hair flew as I walked down the narrow strip, somehow it was nice to have gained balance. I used to be someone who, on many occasions, fell down easily and couldn't walk across a flat surface with absolutely no niches present. But here I am, walking down the catwalk like a model, endlessly on nights to collect my tips.
The men went wild as I walked to the very end, kneeling down to receive my extra tips. Many hands began to appear as they stuffed the cash into the leather purse I produced for tips. Usually, Friday nights meant good tips and for that matter, many of us girls already know it's best to be on our best behaviour, or naughtiest, whichever one it seems more appropriate - but the goal is one: make the men wet in their pants for more.
It wasn't a hard job, seeing as many of these men were either also virgins, businessmen who needed time from work, fathers from their family where sexual act has been forbidden, or just someone that needs a bit of their fantasies fulfilled. God, I love Fridays.
The music slowly died down as I began my descent, walking towards the bar, a routine I've grown into and an excuse to get more tips, when I saw a few men by the tables of the bar. They were undoubtedly, very handsome and all of which had bodies mimicking those of models. They were all in button down shirts and looked to have just finished work. That, attracted my attention.
Money was going to be even more tonight as I walked over, lazily bending down as my hands rested on the table so my breasts would be pressed against my arm and body.
"So, how are you guys liking the show, so far?" I asked with a seducing tone.
All the men seemed to have been pretty scared stiff from before, but now their eyes were just wide, popping out of their sockets. They all nodded in unison, looking like bobble heads as I began my strut to the bar for a water and vitamin drink, the bartender gave it to me with a quickly. It was a daily routine, or nightly one, to replenish my energy for the night. I downed the drink and as many men crowded around me to offer a drink, I refused. But many of them, had money waving, so I didn't hesitate to start my picking.
My last, final work of the night was to climb up the stage, thong barely covering anything, and doing a few more things on the pole. The men were restless, but I wasn't. I was tired and in a few more minutes, my online courses for college was to begin.
My ears almost whined in protest as the applause sounded, every man was standing up, many of which had darkened spots on their pants, at the area of arousal.
I giggled and began walking out of the stage, greeted by a few women who came out just as I left.
Angela, or Angie, as we called her, was at her vanity desk, beside mine. She was fluffing up her hair and smiled as I sat down, or rather plopped down. Every show was tiring.
"So, how was tonight? The men seem pretty excited out there..." she asked, teasing me.
"Oh, you can see the excitement," I chuckled, thinking of all those wet spots.
"You go girl!" She laughed, her brown locks falling behind the chair.
Angela was my best friend at this place. She too, had divorced parents and her father constantly abused her. She had her fair share of beatings and as a result, moved out when she was 17, we both moved out at the same age. Somehow, being in a place where women were thought of as nothing but pleasurable toys, we bonded and vowed to not give into that stereotypical category. We, were changing what normal strippers do. We, were wanted and desired but every man, but never had. We were sisters in this god forsaken world.
I quickly changed, putting on a sweater and jeans to rush home. We both took online courses from colleges, unable to wake up early in the morning for classes and as a result, needed to be in front of the computer at a specific time.
"Rushing to go home for courses?" she giggled, standing up to begin her shift.
"Yeah," I kissed her on the cheeks for good luck and began my way down the busy street.
The cold of the winter night blew my hair, whipping it in front of my face. Tears began to spill down like every other night, wanting nothing more than to earn enough money, and begin a job that I truly wanted. But for the time being, I was stuck.
The future didn't look bright for me, but when was it ever? I had two more years until being a social worker to help children who had been like me was an official occupation. How will I ever wait that long?
It felt like yesterday when I left Forks. I left for my own good, and his. We just weren't meant to be together...
I brushed away the tears and stepped into the lobby, greeting the security guard and entering the elevator. The usual routine as every night, I sighed and stepped into the apartment. It was lit automatically, everything was perfect.
My new life, a life as a stripper, was if most people thought of, was actually pretty glorious. Both me and Angela lived in this apartment and being strippers, you'd think we lived in a run-down building or even on the streets. But no, we were refined strippers.
We had bottom lines, we were virgins, for one.
We were also able to support and pay for the rent of this apartment, a swanky and beautiful place.
We also had goals of changing the lives of others. We wanted to make sure people who were like us, abused and hurt, would not do something stupid.
Our own determination to change situations of teenage girls who fell into the traps of depression and abusive parents made us strong, through the hard times of working in a club.
I turned on the computer, it wheezed awake instantly and the site for online courses began.
Okay, I'm a GUY writing being a FEMALE STRIPPER. Give me a break, kay?