At the Stroke of Midnight (Naughty Princess Club 1)

We found out that not only is she a Sunday-school teacher, she’s also a single mother to a two-year-old boy. Being a stripper gives her the opportunity to work nights while her parents take care of her son, and be home with him all day, making more than enough money to support them, since the father of her son decided he didn’t want to be a father at all and left her the minute the stick turned pink. I appreciate her even more knowing she asked her parents to watch her son for a few hours so she could help us on her day off.

“Tell Clorox Rain Man over there the pole is clean enough!” Ariel shouts so she can be heard over the thumping base of the music Tiffany turned on, giving me a cheeky smile in the reflection in the mirror as she dances around her pole.

The room has one wall of floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and a row of stripper poles, so we’re each able to have our own pole and watch what we’re doing. Or I’m able to stand and watch what Ariel and Isabelle are doing, since I haven’t quite gotten up the nerve to do much more than stand in front of my pole wiping it down with an entire pack of disinfecting wipes.

Tiffany leaves Isabelle and slowly makes her way over to me, giving me an encouraging smile.

“What are you afraid of? It’s just us, no one else is watching. All you have to do is hold on to the pole and move to the beat of the music. Nothing fancy,” she tells me.

“I don’t know if I can do this. My husband . . . I mean, my ex-husband, is the only one who’s ever seen me without my clothes on,” I inform her as Isabelle and Ariel abandon their poles and come over to join us.

“We’re not getting naked today. We’re just dancing and learning how our bodies move to the music. And anyway, Charming’s isn’t a fully nude club. And I’m guessing the house parties you ladies plan on doing won’t be either,” Tiffany replies. “Stripping is all about anticipation. Building excitement and making the audience want more up until the very last second. You’re not going to walk out on stage, or in front of a living room full of people, and immediately take your clothes off. You’re going to dance, you’re going to move sensually, and you’re going to tease them. I’m not stripped down to my bra and underwear until literally the last thirty seconds or so of the song I’m dancing to. As much as the audience wants to see that moment, the excitement is over as soon as they see it, and they’re going to start looking forward to the next dancer and lose focus on you. They want the thrill. They want the expectation; they want the fun of imagining what you look like under your costume more than they want to actually see it. Trust me. You get more tips during the lead-up to the big reveal than you do once your clothes are finally off. You just need to learn how to tease.”

Tiffany turns to face Ariel then and starts swaying her body to the slow beat of the music. She runs her hands over her breasts and down over her hips before grabbing the hem of her T-shirt and slowly sliding it up, stopping when just her flat stomach is exposed.

I watch in awe as she moves closer to Ariel, taking one hand off the hem of her shirt to run her palm down the side of Ariel’s face before turning around, slowly bending at the waist and then creeping back up, running her hand up her leg as she goes, then looking back over her shoulder to give Ariel a wink.

“Damn. That was hot. Forget about dicks, I’m switching to chicks,” Ariel mutters, which earns her a laugh from Tiffany.

“That’s all there is to it. Tease and taunt. Make them want more.”

“I can totally do this, but I think Miss Prude over there might need a few more hours of instruction. And a lot of liquor. And a ban on Clorox wipes,” Ariel says, snatching the now-empty package out of my hand and tossing it to the side. “Stop being in your head so much. Forget about the bills and the pressure and just think about showing that asshole PJ that you’re not who he thinks you are.”

I’ve done nothing but stand for the last hour being hurt and angry about the assumptions that man made about us. And me in particular. It’s one thing when Ariel calls me a prude and tells me I have a stick up my behind, because she sort of knows me and she’s kind of right in most circumstances, but I’m working on it. It’s another thing when a stranger thinks I’m only doing this because I’m a bored housewife. When he assumes I have nothing better to do than go home and bake something for my husband.