3. Lola

Differences hover in the air from last night and the setup is a bit altered, but the atmosphere still tingles, all the same. The buzz of adrenaline. My eyes are already glazed as I lean in for the final swipe of crimson, pupils dilated so my blue irises seem to have darkened to black. I stand slowly, tall on skyscraper heels, barely dressed in slips of silk, and my bronze skin is perfectly oiled . . . . I step out onto a dark stage.

The strobe sweeps over my skin, starting at my ankles and rising up my bare, toned legs as my fingers curl around the polished pole. My knees part, thighs spreading, and my hips dip into a slutty drop. A slither of fabric barely covers my blushing sex. My stomach presses forward and I feel the kiss of cold steel against my skin, as my breasts rest heavily in tied silk on either side of the pole.

My grip closes, red painted fingernails tightening their hold as I begin to writhe, my body following a seductive rhythm as I grind myself against the pole.

I love to dance and know I am an exceptional dancer. My body was created for men to look at and I’ve made my peace with that. My body is lean in the right placesand full, luscious, and curved in others. My waist is narrow and my legs long. I possess a natural elegance that cannot be learned. My lips are full and my blue eyes seductive.

Men want me. They always have.

At first, when I realized this at twelve years old, it was alarming. I didn’t want the men in return and in the following years, it became very clear that I was gay.

It didn’t matter. I learned to accept that men wanted me--wanted to look at me. So I learned how use that to my advantage. My significant financial advantage.

Now when men gaze at me, they pay for the privilege. In my opinion, that is exactly how it should be.

Now my body is begging for attention. The attention it so deserves. My body understands as I feel the eyes in the room following me. My head tilts and I sweep my hair around, my natural long dark curls flipping away from my face.

I see a woman in the crowd. Unusual, but not the first time, or, I suspect, the last.

I only catch a glimpse. The intensity of her gaze surprises me. At a glance, the woman looks immaculately put together and expensive. I choose to meet her gaze with my own, giving her a view into my dark soul.

My right thigh rises upward, knee bending as my leg snakes around the pole. My body follows in a seductively salacious curve. My spin is slow and deliberate, my back arching so that my hair trails behind me as I go round and round. My body is much stronger than it looks. As well as hours spent training on the pole, I do weights in the gym. I eat well and look after my body. I take my work seriously. I do everything in my power to be the best I can, and I know it pays off.

My stiletto finds the floor and I stand with my back against the pole. McLandon’s is dark as the strobes dim, but then the backlight bursts with life and my frame is displayed as a silhouette. My arms curl upwards, fingers tangling through my curls and then pulling on the string around my neck. The moment the bow unties, my breasts fall with a soft bounce. Fabric falling, discarded, as I bare myself in tiny panties, waiting for dollars to line the floor.

As the spotlights dance over me once again, I feel their heat on my naked skin. My body is their canvas and they paint me as they please. I feel my nipples harden conveniently under their glare, knowing that it adds to my allure. My hands reach up and take hold of the pole above my head as I lower myself. My knees spread outwards, thighs parting as my ass settles just above my heels. I hold myself wide, and open. Almost everything is on display. Almost.

Letting go, I fall forward. My knees find the stage, palms resting against the floor, fingers fanning outward. I crawl toward the front. My eyes are filled with dark temptation because I know I can be exactly what the clients want. And by doing so, I can take their money.

Do you want me to beg for you?I think. My tongue rims my lips as I inch forward. My breasts fall heavy with soft swings and my hips snake, the sway of my ass mirrored around the stage. I am naked except for a small flash of red silk that aches to be torn from me.

I see the woman again and am drawn to her. She is beautiful in a posh business type way.

Focus, Lola.

I pick one of the guys and choose to focus on him instead.

I find the stage edge, rising up onto my knees. I’m so close you could touch. Do you want to? My body tempts and teases as my hands drop to my hips. My nails scrape against my pale flesh, drawing lines of lust while peeling down my thong. I’m not worried about being naked. I never am. It is all part of the game and I am the best player.

I know you are looking at my pussy. It is inviting you in.

I run my hand down seductively between my legs as the stage plunges into darkness.

My arm sweeps through the shadows as I try to collect all the dollar bills I can. I know I will get the remainders, but it’s a habit I haven’t broken from the good old days, before Venmo and card. The days when we would have to hover around naked, picking up every dollar. Now Chuck deals with it all. I trust him more than I do myself when it comes to spending my money.

As I stand, letting the darkness cover me, my gaze seeks out the woman out again. I have seen all sorts of people, from all walks of life, inside this place. I don’t judge. I don’t care who you are or what brought you through the doors. We all have a story, right?

But she just doesn’t fit. It’s not about the expensive clothes or her fancy salon-styled hair or the fact that she quite obviously has never stepped foot in a place like this before. It’s deeper, a look in her eyes, a part of her that calls out to me, that says I don’t belong here. It makes me wonder: where does she belong?