Falling for My Dirty Uncle

Fuck off.

Yeah, I’m a slut. And a damn good one too.

I look down at the stage where two dancers are dancing over what seems like a carpet of one dollar bills, and the place is packed as usual. Which fits me just right, since I’m in the mood for some fun tonight. I mean, it’s Eddie Cleveland and his fucking woodsman’s fault; tha

t guy has gotten me so wet right now that I need to fuck something. Narrowing my eyes into slits, I try to find someone who looks like fun. But it doesn’t seem that I’m in luck tonight. The main floor is packed, sure, but these are all guys in their forties and fifties, most of them probably drunk out of their minds. Right, keep spending, fellas. All those women are laughing at you ugly assholes.

Someone sitting close to the stage grabs my interest. He’s… an acquaintance, if I can call him that.

What?

Okay fine.

Fuck it. Let me just be straight with you from now on. That guy down there I’m looking at is a grade A asshole. A bastard.

His name is Lester Vicks, and he’s the Commissioner of Police for the NYPD.

Yeah. The top man in law enforcement. He's quite a powerful guy, and he’s a regular. And by regular I mean that he comes here almost every night, drops hundreds, sometimes thousands of dollars.

Now, don’t take this the wrong way and start thinking that I’m full of myself, but I know the real reason he comes here all the time: it’s because of me.

The first time he came was on opening day, and I was up on the stage twirling on a pole when he waltzed in the floor, that look of self-importance on his face. But I remember the way his eyes lit up when he saw me dancing, sliding down the pole as the crowd threw dollar bills at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man become that stunned ever since.

“Destiny, it’s an honor to meet you in person,” he told me that night when I stepped down off the stage. I was polite enough to have a one-on-one conversation with him since he stuffed more than a dozen one hundred dollar bills in my thong and between my tits. I’m nice like that, ya know?

By the look he had on his face, I knew immediately that he recognized me from…

Right. We’re being honest.

Well, he recognized me from his laptop screen, most likely.

You see, when I chose the name Dirty Destiny for my club, it wasn’t just because it was a fitting name for a strip club. Dirty Destiny was my, uhm, nom de plume when I did porn. Yeah, that’s right, I was a porn star, and a good one at that.

Don’t you remember the “Daddy Don’t Tease Me” series? That was me.

What about “Shaving Private Ryan?” Yep.

You ever watch those taboo movies? “Banging My Hottie Stepmom?”

Yeah, I did a lot of porn.

I mean, where do you think I got the money to open up a club of my own? In Manhattan? Right in the heart of Midtown on Broadway and 52 Street.

I loved doing porn. No need to feel bad.

I mean, being a porn star wasn’t exactly a childhood dream of mine. But once I graduated UCLA and took my chances as a model, I was hooked. I went from regular modelling to topless photoshoots (they paid so much better), and I loved living the high life. I travelled all around the world making lots of money, and once Arsen Hawke entered my life I knew what I had to do. That’s right, that Arsen Hawke, the king of porn himself.

He offered me the chance to go and work for him, and I couldn’t say no. It wasn’t just about the money (even though he almost drowned me in it), but more about finding out who I was.

And I like sex.

I like it a lot. So it was only logical for me to become a porn star.

That didn’t last long, although I worked in the industry long enough to earn a legion of rabid fans. I always had a good laugh when I saw men doing online polls, trying to figure out if I was the best porn star of this generation, or perhaps even the greatest of all time. But in the end, it just wasn’t for me. It’s a high-stress job, and most girls burnout pretty easily. Not to mention that some just take the money and funnel it into drugs. I didn’t want to end up like that, so I took my money and left, and all this with Arsen’s blessing. I was actually surprised that he didn’t mind me leaving, since I was probably one of his biggest earners, but that’s Arsen, a shrewd businessman, but more than that, an amazing human being.

Anyways, so that’s how I ended up here on Broadway, running my own club. I’m living the dream, you better believe it. Sure, not everything is perfect, and the one thing between me and that elusive perfection is none other than Lester. He spends a lot of money here, sure, but I don’t care for it, and that’s probably because most of the money he spends here is money I’ve given him myself. Yeah, that’s right, Lester is one of those guys, the ones that wield their power and position to step on the people they should be protecting. I don’t take it personally, though. Part of working in this business is dealing with shady characters like him; it comes with the territory.

There’s one thing in his favor, though: he’s actually quite easy on the eyes. He’s in his early forties, but he has been blessed with good genes. I mean, if you have a crooked cop who’s extorting you, it helps if he’s hot, right? Tall and broad shouldered, he keeps fit enough to be mistaken for a thirty-year-old. Which is pretty amazing, if you consider that he’s the police commissioner. Still, it doesn’t really surprise me that he managed to climb the ranks that fast; he’s as shrewd and calculating as anyone can be, and proof of that is the fact that he doesn’t mind lining up his pockets with my protection money. But I pay him nonetheless… He made it pretty clear the day we had our first one-on-one conversation. “You’ll pay, or I’ll close you down,” he told me, making it pretty clear that he was just one phone call away of shutting me down. So, yeah, that was that.