Voyeur

Olivia looked up through her lashes, giving me time to digest what she’d just said. I sat there, dumbfounded. Words swam around in my head, but none of them would coalesce to form complete sentences. There was one that stood out, however: Maybe.

“He said over Thanksgiving he had to fire a girl for sleeping with a customer on the clock which is a big no-no. I’ve heard it pays really good money. It’s also a bar. Maybe you could work as a bartender, but you wouldn’t make as much.”

Voyeur. I knew that word. Saw it on some porn site maybe? Read it in a book? It’s when someone likes to watch others. Usually in sexual activities.

Could I let someone watch me?

When the immediate answer wasn’t no, I let my thoughts expand. Maybe was morphing into possibly.

I wasn’t a virgin or a prude. I’d experimented with the boyfriend I had in high school, and then other boys my senior year when we broke up. I wasn’t going to pretend that I knew all of it since I was only nineteen. But I wasn’t so naive and inexperienced that the thought shocked me.

“With your body and looks, you would probably be a shoe-in.”

I laughed. “Thanks, Liv.”

“What? You’ve got the whole girl-next-door thing going on. If the girl next door was a sex kitten.” She curled her fingers into claws, making me laugh with her rawr. “You’re fit and petite. People like that.”

“Petite and fit is a nice way of saying no boobs.”

“Hey, you’ve got a good handful.”

I laughed when she held up her hands like she was measuring. “Besides, it’s not a strip club. I’ve overheard that the more natural and normal you look, the better.”

“Overheard?”

“Well, my uncle doesn’t talk too openly about it when I’m around, but he gets loud when he drinks.”

Biting my lip, I considered my other options. They felt weak and unstable. So did this, but at least if I didn’t make it to next semester, I could say I tried everything.

“Okay. I’ll check it out.”

That night I sat across from a tall, blond man with crow’s feet stamped around his eyes, the only thing showing his age. Otherwise, his slim build hinted at a youth he no longer possessed. His blue eyes matched Olivia’s, and I could see the family resemblance. He wasn’t at all the Ron Jeremy look-alike I’d expected. His casual looks and easy smile had set me at ease.

I’d been there for almost half an hour answering questions and telling him about myself. When he would stop to write things down or turn to his computer, I clasped my sweaty hands together and looked around the dark office.

I didn’t know what I was expecting, dildo statues on the shelves? Pictures of naked women? Books on Kama Sutra?

Actually, there was one on Kama Sutra on the shelf, right next to Moby Dick and Little Women. Hell of a selection.

“There’s no paying for sex,” he said firmly, pulling me back to the rules he was discussing. “I don’t run a prostitution ring.”

“That’s good.” One side of my mouth tipped up in an awkward smile, showing off how uncomfortable I felt. He just laughed and continued.

“The rooms change for different themes throughout the month. A bedroom is kept constantly, but sometimes there’s an office setup, a bathroom, a classroom, a bar. Pretty much anything you could think of. There are also various rooms based on what you’re willing to do. Some rooms, like BDSM, require training before you’re allowed to work in them. I keep my workers safe. All clients sign an NDA protecting your privacy. You will also sign an NDA so they’re safe as well. They pay a lot of money to be here, and it’s important I provide a safe environment for them.”

The more he explained, the more comfortable I felt. This wasn’t some run-down strip club where everything was a free-for-all.

“Clients can watch in an attached private room through a one-way window or sit in the provided chairs inside the room. But no one touches the performers. Ever. You don’t touch the clients. Ever.” His blue eyes held me in place and I nodded. “You will have a panic button close by and a guard outside the room should you need them.” His long fingers flipped a page. “Any questions so far?”

“No, sir.” The words were barely whispered. Each rule he read off made me feel better, but also increased my heart rate at the possibility that this would happen. Was I excited? Scared? Nervous?

Definitely all of the above.

“You can call me Daniel. Or Mr. Wit.”

“Okay.”

He looked back to his list of rules. “There are no cameras or recording devices of any kind. Phones are left in the locker room or at the door. You can perform up to three times in a shift, and the rest of the time, you will be working the bar and common area. You will fill out a form upon arriving and clients will be able to look through the performers in a computer system. You may not always be selected.”