She arches a brow. “Owing your dad sounds like some white nonsense. You should be saving every penny and looking for ways to get to the next level.”
“And what’s that?”
“I already told you, girl. Apatron.” Her gaze catches on my white kimono. “I wouldn’t wear that out on stage. It’s too light colored. It’ll give you little fuzzy white balls in your armpits.”
I glance down at my kimono, biting my lower lip. “I’m not planning on wearing it out there. It’s just for comfort in here.” Smiling, I stand up and head back to my locker. I swap the white kimono out for a black version, figuring it’s better safe than sorry. “I am thinking of doing something a little different with my first routine, though.”
Mia leans forward, snagging her top and putting it on. “More fancy ballet shit?”
My face goes hot red. “Yeah. You think it’s a bad idea? I’m still on my month of probation with Club X…”
She looks at her teeth in the mirror, checking for lipstick. “I think you made a shit ton of money when you did that standing on your toes bit last week. Anybody would be crazy to tell you not to do it.”
She eases out of her chair, her long legs gleaming as she stalks over to the lockers. I follow her, shrugging out of my kimono. As I put the robe away in my lockers, I whisper to Mia. “Hey, remember how I told you that I’m a dancer during the day too?”
She’s changing into a different bikini, this one black pleather. “Uh… yeah, I guess I remember.”
I scrunch up my face. “No one at my day job knows about this place. And vice versa. It’s like… very much not allowed for ballerinas to…” I suck in a breath. “You know, dance for guys.”
She closes her locker, favoring me with a smile. “Your secret is very much safe with me, honey.”
“Cerise, Fawn, Latisha,” the bored employee announces. “One minute till showtime.”
Cerise. That’s me. I take a deep breath, looking toward the doorway.
“See you a little later,” I tell Mia. She smiles at me, counting her money again.
I totter toward the doorway, trying to make myself into Cerise. I start with my walk. Head held high, shoulders pulled back, arms nice and loose, lengthen my strides.
When I’m playing Cerise, I’m confident. Smiling. Teasing. Winking.
She likes men to look at her, to fawn over her tits and ass, to rain singles down as she slithers on the pole. She’s my opposite in so many ways. I’ve never dated anyone, much less had strange men touch me as boldly as my customers will tonight.
Cerise is confident and worldly, I am introverted and naive. It’s just easier to be Cerise for a while, a mask that I can slip off and leave in my locker at the end of the night.
Heading down the dark little hallway to the stage, I mount the steps and wait for the emcee to announce me. My heart rate rises. My smile stays plastered in place. In the seconds before I go onstage, it feels the same as it does when I’m waiting in the wings in my tutu and pointe shoes.
“Now appearing on the main stage, it’s Cerise!”
My heart beat sounds like a drum in my ears. My music comes on, MIA’s “Bad Girls”. At the sound of the first notes, a switch is flipped for me.
There is a spotlight illuminating a shiny stripper pole on Club main stage. Everything around it is dim, made more so by my singleminded focus. I strut out onto the darkened stage, barely seeing the audience. All I can see is the stage, bare, waiting for me.
A shiver of excitement slides up my spine. I reach out for the pole, caressing it with one hand as I turn to face the audience. I don’t really see them, though. Just the bright stage lights down front.
I grin and skim my fingers down my hip, biting my lip. Turning toward the pole, I slip my shoes off. As soon as I grip the pole and push onto my toes, a few whistles leave the crowd. I go into point briefly and the face away from the audience, leaning against the plot as I slide down into splits. I raise my arms over my head and then swing my hip around, grinding the ground beneath me. I keep a look of pleasure on my face as I get up, quickly turning it into climbing the pole and artfully sliding down. I step away from the pole and arch my back.
Taking a deep breath, I move away and focus on the audience members. A cluster of men in the front row grab my attention by waving a hundred dollar bill. I slide over to them, a knowing smirk on my face, and get on my knees. Plucking the bill from the customer, I push my breasts together and squeeze them. At the same time I spread my knees farther apart and run my hand down to the band of my bikini. Feeling naughty, I make sure to cup my pussy and pluck at my nipple, all the while making eye contact with the stage man.
Then I get on my stomach, never breaking eye contact, and slowly roll my ass so that I hump the floor in slow motion.
I don’t see his reaction. I have no idea if it’s good or not. I’m just sucked into the performative nature of that slow body roll.
When I finally get up, I spread my legs wide and skim my bottoms down my legs. Bending over, I make sure that the customer gets the first look at my pussy.
Then I stride back to the pole. I lean my ass on the pole facing the audience, sliding down, an orgasmic expression on my face. Dollar bills rain down from above as I complete my splits, reaching above me to help myself back up. This time I go on my tiptoes with one foot, lifting the other high above my head. I lower my leg to the floor and raise my torso, steadying myself as my arms come up in an arch above my head.
I tear off my top, my breasts bouncing free. I climb the pole again and wrap my legs around it, dropping the piece of fabric and letting my entire body fall backward oh so slowly.
