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Strip Club

Written by  Amanda Lovell

 

The protector sat up higher than the rest of them at the front desk, in order to “keep an eye on things”. He was silent most of the time, rubbing the wrinkles out of his forehead and smoking peach cigars. He was a genuinely sweet man. Not the kind of personality you would generally expect from a strip club owner. The protector respected them, which was hard to come by from a place like this.

The first customer of the night came in. I forget what his name was. Angel rolled her eyes. Eagerly, the trashcan turned her head. She got up, and the smoke from her Newport followed her to the counter. She batted her stubby eyelashes at the customer. He was horrified. “I’ll have a two song lap dance,” he said to the protector.

“The girls dance on stage for you, then you pick which one you want for your lap dance.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, go sit down.”

The customer wasn’t all too unattractive, like some of the others. He picked up his briefcase and walked to the front of the stage. He sat as close as he possibly could get and loosened his tie. The trash can danced, Angel danced, Shorty danced. The customer stuffed bills in their g-strings generously. He picked the trashcan for his lap dance. I didn’t know why, unless he was into the whole trash thing, or it could have been that she was trying to thrust her pussy into his face the whole time. Whatever works. At the last minute, he changed his mind and decided on Shorty.

The loud music started and Shorty did her thing. He tipped $5. She danced and he watched. His eyes never moved the entire time.

“Aren’t you going to take your top off?”

Not for five dollars, she thought, pulling at her garter, coaxing for more money. He gave her $10 more. She frowned. Still might not be enough to see these, as she pointed to her tits. He sighed and slipped in another ten-dollar bill.

“Can you at least come closer?” She pulled at her garter again. Another $20. She laughed to herself.

It’s kind of funny, isn’t it?

It isn’t.

 

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