No one told me I would want to break the rules.
They told me the customers couldn't touch me. They told me I couldn't touch myself "down there". They told me no sexual acts.
I scoffed at their words.
Exotic dancing was just a way to get through college. Sure, it wouldn't have been my parents' first choice of side job, but where else could you work for eight hours and get enough money to pay the rent?
So, I auditioned for The Pussy Cat Club. It seemed easy enough. And the owner seemed to like me. He kept saying something about "easy money" as he stroked his beard. I was scheduled to perform the next night.
I was introduced as a "Virgin to the Stage", which got a rousing cheer from the crowd. I played off my young, college charm and sauntered out in a plaid skirt and white collared button-up, tied at the waist. "Good for You" by Selena Gomez played as I swayed my hips and bit my lip seductively yet shy. They ate it up, and by the time my skirt slipped to the floor, bills had already filled my G-String. I slowly untied the men's button-up shirt and let it hang loosely with my smooth legs peaking out while I danced.
As I made my way around the edge of the stage, my eye caught an older man, aged enough to have silver hair but not enough to have lost his chiseled features. He nodded slightly, beckoning me to him. I bent down so my hips were at eye level, and he whispered, "Baby girl, you belong in my lap, not on that stage." Then he slipped a Benjamin into my G-String. The feeling of his fingers grazing my skin left me breathless.
"Yes sir," I murmered as I rose reluctantly to finish my set.
As I cleaned up back stage, I wondered how a random stranger could have such an intense affect on me. He's as old as my father, I thought to myself as I fixed my costume in preparation for my turn around the floor. I wondered if he would be waiting for me. I tried to ignore the feeling of anticipation that made my pulse increase and my body heat rise.
He's as old as my father, I reminded myself scoldingly.
