Darla raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on my very obvious nerves. She expected us to do our job and not bitch about it. “She’s waiting in the 70’s room.” She shooed me and I quickly made my way to the narrow hallway at the back of the club. There were three rooms, doors all closed. Each had a “theme,” if you could call it that. The 70’s room was complete with shag carpet and tacky wallpaper. It looked like the set of a bad porno. Which, I guess was the point.
I braced myself before opening the door.
I could do this. It’s a thousand dollars! That was a lot of money. It was for one hour of my time. That was it.
I’d worry about the shame later.
I opened the door.
“Hi there,” I said, affecting a sultry tone. I slipped into my role seamlessly. I was a sex god. I was the alpha hero of their smutty fantasies.
The woman was sitting casually in a two-person velvet-lined chair sipping dark liquor from a highball glass, her long legs crossed. “Hi,” she greeted, her voice smokey and deep.
She was older, but she wore her age well. If I was a betting man, I’d say she was at least forty. And she was hot, with a body that was curvy but toned. She wore tight-fitting jeans and a low-cut blouse. Her boobs were massive and practically spilled out of her shirt. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head. She wore quite a bit of makeup, but it looked good on her.
I walked further into the room, unsure of how this was supposed to go. Was I meant to start dancing right away? Talk to her first? It would have been nice if Darla would have given me some pointers.
The woman watched me, her eyes sizing me up. She had paid well for my time so she clearly wasn’t going to hide her interest. She licked her lips. “You’re prettier up close,” she rasped, giving me a steamy smile.
“Thanks,” I said lamely. What do you say to something like that?
The woman crooked her finger, beckoning me closer. “Come here.”
Shit. Okay.
I strolled over, trying to act unaffected, even though I had started sweating like a pig. I stopped in front of her. She tilted her head back and took me in. “You’re positively yummy.”
I licked my lips and gave her a slow, seductive smile. “Would you like to eat me?” Ugh. I felt so cheesy saying it but figured I had a part to play, might as well go all out.
The woman cocked her head and then after a beat started laughing. I blinked, unsure what to do. Was she laughing at me? When she was finally able to get herself under control she patted the cushion beside her. “You’re nervous. That’s cute. Sit down. Talk to me a little bit.”
“Don’t you want me to dance for you?” I asked, confused.
She smiled, the expression was full of promise. “Eventually. But not yet. I’m a firm believer in delaying gratification. It makes things so much more...tantalizing.”
Alright then.
I sat down beside her. The chair, while deep and wide, still had me pressed up against her. I towered over her. I wasn’t a big guy but she was a small woman. I liked that about her. And she smelled good. Like honeysuckle. From my position, I could see straight down her shirt and she had one fine set of tits.
She took another slow drink of what I could now smell was whiskey. “I’ve seen you dance many times, Billy is it?”
I chuckled. “Oh yeah? I’m guessing you like what you saw otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”
She laughed too. I liked the sound of it. Rich and low. Like her speaking voice. She really was hot. “I liked what I saw. More than that, I loved it.” She looked up at me. “I’m assuming Billy isn’t your actual name.” She held out her hand for me to shake, which I did so a little awkwardly. “My name is Tiffany.” She withdrew her palm delicately. “If you don’t want to tell me your real name, that’s fine, but it’s also okay if you want to tell me.”
Our stage names were our stage names for a reason. The dancers needed a level of distance between what they do on stage and their actual lives. It was a safety measure first and a privacy measure last. Darla had been clear never to reveal your real name. “These people aren’t here to know the real you. They want the fantasy you create for them,” she had said to me on my first night of work and I had been careful to remember that.
Tiffany’s eyes were a pretty blue. Her skin was remarkably unlined, but I could tell she had had work done. Botox probably from the smoothness of her forehead. “You’re a person first, Billy. Remember that.”