As a teacher, I find it repulsive to read stories about sex between teachers and their current students. We have a responsibility to care for these students while they are in our charge, and abusing that for sexual pleasure is a violation of the trust that their parents and society puts in us. Once they graduate, however...
It was a Saturday night in late May, and I had decided to go to McStiffies for some entertainment. Technically, the strip club was called McGregors, but there was also a restaurant named MacGregors about 30 miles in the other direction. The club was a 45 minute drive into the outskirts of the city, making it incredibly unlikely that I would run into anyone connected to the school, staff or parent. At least, that was my expectation. It had been several months since I had been there, as I only went three or four times a year and that was usually during summer break. I knew that the turnover of girls was high. Generally there was a core of a half dozen who were making a career out of it for as long as they could, and the other 12 to 15 girls stayed a few months making cash until something came up or they got fired.
On this particular evening, the club was about three-quarters full. Long stage in the middle surrounded by chairs, so that the stage was at eye level when you sat down. More chairs sat back against the wall where customers sat and had the girls hustle drinks from them. They were each expected to get customers to buy them four drinks during their shift, whether they drank them or not. Upstairs was a balcony with a smaller stage with a single pole, a smaller bar, and some dark corners where you could get a lap dance. When I went, I usually sat up here because it was higher than the speakers and I could hear myself think and, on occasion, actually have a conversation with the girl hustling drinks from me.
The girls usually liked talking to me because I looked safe and didn't try to hit on them in the first two minutes. If I found a girl I liked, my first question to them was to ask how many drinks they had left to get. This seemed to put them at ease because they knew that I knew the drill. I got a beer from the bartender, sat down at the edge of the balcony and surveyed the room. I saw a few girls I recognized, then heard with interest as they introduced "Ginger" to the main stage. I always liked redheads, so I gave my attention that way and waited with anticipation. A 5' 2" beauty with straight, shoulder length red hair made her way up the steps, and for a moment I thought I recognized the young woman but brushed it off as wishful thinking. Still, she was gorgeous and moved like she had been a dancer as a kid. She looked young, but with the amount of makeup these girls sometimes use and my point of view, looking down from above, it was hard to be certain. I was definitely waiting for her to come upstairs.
At McStiffies, on crowded nights the girls did a set on the main stage, then a set on the upstairs stage, then hustled for drinks and lap dances before going off to change and clean up before their next turn in the rotation came up. After Ginger finished her set downstairs, she was escorted upstairs by the incredibly large gentleman who served as the upstairs bouncer. Gino had been a defensive lineman at one of the local universities 15 years ago or so, but he was more show than go. He got winded going up the stairs and if he recognized you, he didn't feel any urge to get off his bar stool and hassle you. I watched him help the redhead up the steps, and then recognition hit me. "Ginger" was Veronica Adams, a senior at my high school. She was 19, old for a senior but she had been in foster care for a while and had lost a year when she had dropped out for a time. She had been in my class two years prior. We had a good relationship—nothing too close, but we talked about things other than schoolwork from time to time. She felt out of place being older than her classmates, and she felt more comfortable talking to me than to them.
I turned away so that she did not recognize me right away; I wanted that to happen while she was on stage so she couldn't go anywhere. I knew it would scare her to be recognized, even so far away from school, so I wanted her to have time to process it all and then come sit with me. She began dancing, twisting and turning around the pole like a snake, so fluid and graceful, all the while looking downward with her eyes half closed. After a minute I went up to the stage with my dollar bill in hand. She didn't instantly recognize me. It must have been the lighting. She pulled her garter away and gently slid the dollar bill up her thigh and under it. She snapped it close and looked at me to say thanks, then her hand shot to her mouth as she gasped in recognition. I quickly put my finger to my lips in a "shhh" motion, then said, "It's ok, come sit and talk to me. No one else knows."
She finished her set on autopilot. She definitely had less energy than before, and I knew why. One of her teachers had just saw her wearing only her panties, and that had to be uncomfortable. She had awesome breasts, by the way. A B-cup, perhaps, with very small nipples and a few freckles that showed up against the pale skin. She wasn't very tan, which I attributed to her being a redhead and this being May. Veronica came over to where I was sitting and sat at the seat next to mine. Of course I'd have preferred she sit on the bench seat with me, but I wasn't surprised at her choice. As always, my first line to her was "Hi, Ginger. How many drinks do you still need?" She seemed stunned that I didn't use her real name or start bombing her with questions.
"Just three, umm...". I could tell she was searching for something to call me.
"Max," I said simply.
"Just three, Max. Thanks." I waved over the lone waitress serving the upstairs, ordered myself a beer and said to get Ginger whatever she wanted. Ginger nodded, the waitress nodded in response and went to the bar.
"Do they let you drink?" I asked.
She sighed and said, "No, unfortunately for both of us. I'm getting a diet Coke and they are charging you for a real drink. They can't afford to get busted for me drinking underage, but they need you to think I'm old enough to drink."
The waitress brought our drinks. I handed her a $20, got back a short stack of singles and gave her two. Always tip your servers, folks, even in a strip club. "How long have you been here?" I asked Veronica.
"Four months," she responded. "I aged out of the system when I turned 19, and have been living on my own since February. I get SSI, but it just barely pays the bills. You're not going to tell anyone, are you?"
I shook my head. I leaned in close so no one else could hear. "Seriously, Roni, who am I going to tell? If people find out you work here, you get embarrassed and get more business. It's not like you have anything in common with those kids at school anyway. Me, on the other hand, it could get messy for me if little Susie's mom finds out her teacher goes to strip clubs. I don't think they can fire me over it, but they can definitely make my life uncomfortable. I'll make you a deal, sweetie. For tonight, you're Ginger and I'm Max. I've been coming to places like this for a long time, and I know how the system works. I'll buy you all the drinks you need so you don't need to hustle anyone else. Feel free to go work the room like any other night. Don't feel like you owe me anything to keep me quiet. If you want to sit and talk, even if it's just to get away from some shithead who doesn't know how to behave, I'd be happy for your company. Just promise me that Monday you'll come see me during advisory period so we can talk like real people, ok?"
