CHAPTER Four
Snoop’s “I Wanna F*ck You” starts to play. I keep my back against the pole, facing away from the audience. I concentrate on the feeling of the cold metal against my skin. The lights turn on; they are dim but enough that I can be easily seen. A few men whistle, and then start to yell out as I swivel my hips, slowly lowering myself down the pole. When I’m crouching low, I sit forward onto my knees, and then spin so I’m facing everyone. The cheers get louder, and I try to tune them out as I raise my hands and hold onto the pole, opening my thighs as wide as they can reach. Then, in one sharp move, I pull myself up and spread my legs out, so I’m doing a split. Lowering myself to the ground, I sit there for a few seconds, before I lift myself up until I’m standing. I walk around the pole, so the men have an unobstructed view of my ass. I lift the lace dress off me and throw it on the floor. More catcalling. I bend over and hold onto the pole, sticking my ass out, wearing nothing but my thong and bra. I start shaking my ass, like you see on music videos. The men seem to love it by the looks on their faces when I turn back around.
Classy bastards.
I stand up straight and step closer to the pole, pulling myself up and wrapping my legs around. When I’m steady, I lean backwards so I’m hanging upside down. Yes—I’ve picked up a few tricks along the way. My huge boobs push up into my face, almost suffocating me. The men call out lines I’m sure they would never say to any other woman, or at least I hope not. I pull myself upright and swirl around the pole, then slide down and do a little shimmying. I undo the back of my bra and let it drop. This is the part I hate the most, the part where I have to go into that place in my head to perform. The red lace lands on the floor, and the whistles and catcalls get louder than ever. I avert my gaze and gyrate my hips sensually, and then turn back to work the pole some more.
I just hope the night passes quickly.
*****
I let the water drip down my face, scrubbing off all traces of makeup. I wash my face three times, making sure it all comes off, not wanting any more curious questions from Grayson.
Grayson.
It would be a lie to say I’m not excited for our date. Okay, I have butterflies just at the thought of our date. I turn the shower off and wrap my white fluffy towel around me. I double-check my face in the mirror, grabbing a wipe to remove the remaining black smudges under my eyes. Then I dry my body and hair and put on my pyjamas. Sliding under my sheets, I sigh in contentment. My feet ache from wearing those ridiculously high heels, and it’s not long before I fall into a deep sleep.
*****
The next morning, I wake up with a smile, which quickly turns into a scowl. There is no point in getting attached to Grayson. The minute he finds out what I do, he’s not going to want anything to do with me. After a shower, I throw on a pair of worn jeans, a black singlet top, and my black ankle boots. I brush out my hair and tie it up in a ponytail. I go makeup free as usual, wearing only a tinted moisturizer. Walking out of my room and into the kitchen, I see Anaya has stayed over at her boyfriend’s place again. I make some toast and Vegemite, eating one piece in the kitchen, and taking the other with me as I walk out the front door. My phone vibrates with a message as I’m almost to the library. I pull it out of my bra where I had slid it in for safekeeping and check the message.
See you tonight/ ? Pls msg me your address so I can come and pick you up.
P.S. Wear something casual.
Grayson. I smile, and finish my toast, before I reply with my address.
So, I guess I’m really doing this. There’s nothing to say I can’t have a casual relationship with someone, right? Grayson doesn’t have to know that I work the pole two to three nights a week. I hate the thought of being dishonest, but there’s no way around it. No way in hell am I telling him that I’m a stripper. That I take my clothes off and give lap dances for money to pay my debt and bills. The minute he finds out, he will lose all respect for me and look and treat me differently. Just like my brother. The thought puts me in a dejected mood, and I walk into the library feeling like shit.