Chapter1
Amateur Night
I checkedmy makeup in the mirror behind the stage, adjusted my top, and double-checked my heels. I pulled a strand of my blond hair behind one ear. The blowout I’d gotten at my hair salon had been worth it. My hair still kept its wavy curls, and I looked amazing. I turned my attention to the stage.
“Thunderstruck”blasted through the sound system as I observed Heather rip off her top and shake her breasts in a guy's face, who held a folded twenty-dollar bill between his two thin hands. She moved fluidly on stage, her bare breasts and undulating hips mesmerizing the guests of The Cherry Pie Gentleman’s Club.
She gave her full attention to the man in the dark black suit while lesser patrons flashed their fives and ones, hoping to be blessed by her naked presence. The woman had the moves of a dancer—the best so far on Amateur Night—and I couldn’t help but be self-conscious.
It wasn’t my dancing ability that made me self-conscious. I had been dancing since I could walk and spent some time dancing in Thailand in my early twenties. I wasn’t twenty any longer though and my forty-five-year-old body didn’t always move the way my mind thought it could.
Even my age wasn’t the primary reason I was self-conscious, though. If I saw one of my clients with a stack of ones at the edge of the stage, I’m not sure what I would do. Life as a sex therapist usually requires a very reserved public life, and I had tamed the wildness of my youth ten years ago.
Here I was, though, minutes away from stripping on Amateur Night, watching Heather motorboat men for twenties.
I couldn’t help but glance down and reposition my breasts. They were perky enough. Big enough. Enough to satisfy me, that is. Evidently not enough to satisfy my ex-husband.
I’ll have to ask Heather what size those are,she thought to herself.I could use an upgrade and now I could afford to pay for them myself.
“Hey, girl. You ready?” Carol said as she moved up behind me.
I glanced down at her. She was fun-size at five foot two and I had eight inches on her easily. In my six-inch heels, I towered above her.
She must have seen the apprehension in my eyes as she gave me a squeeze on the arm. Carol had been my best friend since high school. She had helped with costumes and preparation for every beauty contest I had entered and every school play I had been in.
I had helped her campaign for student government, including president her senior year. She had married her high school sweetheart, now a successful lawyer, while I’d married the college quarterback after graduation. Ten years later, after a horrendous divorce and a cross-country move, I had married the most eligible real estate mogul in the LA area. That relationship had ended terribly as well.
Two years post second divorce, I had finally decided to lead a life outside of work and do something that I loved.
Pole Dancing.
Heather had milked the Suit for as much as she could and was making the rounds to the other patrons. Supporting herself with her hands on the floor behind her, she undulated her hips in front of the men lined up along the edge of the stage.
She still had on a tiny g-string but it had one-dollar bills slipped underneath the thin strip of fabric so she looked like a hula dancer with her hips decorated with green bills instead of grass. She was definitely the hit of the night so far, and she had the crowd worked up into a frenzy. The woman could probably dance here full-time and make a decent living, I thought to myself.
I didn’t have to take my top off like Heather, though. In fact, I hadn’t planned on it. It was Amateur Night. The only rules were bottoms had to stay on and we couldn’t kick a customer in the head. Evidently it had happened more than once at the Cherry Pie—four times by accident or clumsiness and once on purpose.
The regulars here said that when the girl had kicked a too-handsy patron on purpose, that he deserved it. Harry, the owner, said that didn’t matter. I liked Harry. He seemed like a straightforward guy who said what he meant and did what he said.
I had on a burgundy wrap-around with a matching bra and panties from Victoria’s Secret. The panties were hip-huggers that still showed off my ass but kept my pussy more private. I completed my stripper outfit with six-inch black platform heels.
The clothes had made me feel super sexy when I tried on the outfit at home before coming to the club. After watching Heather dance, though, I became self-conscious. I pulled the top closed and clutched my hand between my breasts.
“God, she oozes sexuality,” Carol shouted in my ear over the beat of “Here I Go Again.”
I simply nodded.
Heather had slowed down her dancing and moved back to the pole. She grasped the pole with both hands, one above her head, the other near her waist, forming a perfectly sexy triangle. She lifted her body and spun around the pole with her knees bent. Her carousel spin was perfect. Not only was she attractive and fit, she had excellent core strength.
When she finished her spin, she moved, so that she leaned against the pole with her spine aligned with it. She slid slowly and seductively down the pole before bending at the waist and shimmying her bare breasts. Her ass ground against the pole. When her head lowered between her legs, she whipped her head up, her long blond hair flipping up and behind her. No matter which side of the stage the guys were sitting on, they all got a good show.
She moved effortlessly into a backbend, her breasts displayed nicely to one side of the stage and her crotch to the other side. Mr. Suit looked ready to climb onto the stage. He had three twenties lined up on the stage. She was a goddess. A sexually charged goddess.
I had to follow that.
As the song and Heather ramped up to their finale, I turned to face Carol.
“How’s my makeup?” I asked.
