9. Lola

“Idon’t know what else I can tell you, Pearl,” I say. “We haven’t really spoken about that stuff. I mean, I just don’t think Willow sees her family very much and who am I to ask questions about that, you know?” I lean in closer to the mirror to apply more lipstick, watching Pearl out of the corner of my eye, spinning in her chair as she shrugs.

“I get that, Lola, really I do, but that girl got serious money and just cos she out here hooking up with your delicious ass don’t mean she ain’t gonna remember that fact sooner or later.”

I don’t want to roll my eyes at her because I know Pearl is only looking out for me. If I’m the experienced stripper in the group, Pearl is the OG. She doesn’t strip anymore, though, as she’s closer to the wrong side of fifty. She still works hard. Keeps the ship tight, the girls happy, the liquor ordered, and the place generally well-managed. The good thing about Pearl is that she cares and doesn’t talk shit. She shoots as straight as an arrow when she needs to talk to you about having your shit together.

“I know, really I do, Pearl,” I say. “But what’s a girl gonna do? Willow’s hot, sexy, and delicious. She makes me laugh, she turns up, calls me back, and blows my mind when she fucks me. Why make a problem where there isn’t one?”

Pearl nods in agreement. “Well, that’s a true thing, but just keep your guard up a little, Lola. I ain’t ever seen you all up like this, those other girls be fallin’ every damn week for some no-good guy, but not you. I don’t want you getting hurt, baby girl. Women like Willow don’t date strippers.”

“I know, Pearl, thanks for caring.”

She stands slowly, with a smile.

“Oh, I don’t care. I just be thinkin’ bout those tips we be missing if we ain’t got no Lola on stage!” she says with a wink, as she gives my shoulders a little rub. “You go get em, girl.”

And I nod.

I will.

The lights flicker a harsh white strobe that casts shadows over my figure. The spotlight rises and reflects off the black PVC and I know my tanned skin looks pale against it. The contrasts are stark and exaggerated. A contradiction. Just like me.

“Don’t need permission . . .” I stroll forward, my heels are so high that my instep has to stretch to follow the curve. Latex, pulled tight up my legs, rides the bend of my knee up to my thighs. My one-piece is a work of art. Laced tight at the back,e my waist is drawn in. The PVC skims my hipbones to slip between my thighs, and the boning that supports my chest makes my breasts look enormous. They heave against the plastic with each deep breath I take.

“All that you got . . . skin to skin . . . Oh my God . . .” My palms glide over the latex, following the accentuated curves of my waist and moving down between my thighs, where the PVC pulls tight against my sex.

I let myself moan in response to my own touch.

I reach the front as the music climbs. My dark hair is pulled up high into a ponytail and bunny ears are bent on one side, the blend of sexy and cute. My eyes seek out Willow in a sleek blue Armani pantsuit at the bar, looking like she belongs anywhere but here. She’s the one I am dancing for. I slowly thrust my hips forward to that deep, low pulse of the beat, hoping she is enjoying the show.

As the dance goes on, I feel more and more turned on. Willow is watching me. She wants me and my dancing is elevated. This performance is real. So real.

“All girls want to be like that . . . Bad girls underneath like that . . .”

As I strip the corset off and my breasts spill out, it feels so good to be free. Cash is being thrown onto the stage and I’m enjoying every last dollar of it.

As we reach the finale and my panties come off, I’m filled with both same thrill I always feel and an extra thrill, just for Willow.

The walk home from the club is always a special time with her. Kisses are exchanged between us, sending shivers down our spines. Our hands thread together, tightening with every step we take. The city buzzes around us, but we are lost in our own world. As we walk, we laugh and whisper secrets to each other, lost in the moment. It is a perfect night; they all are. Slowly blending into each other.

Pearl’s words linger in my mind, but when I taste Willow’s kisses on my lips, all the warning signs fade away.

Women like her don’t date strippers.

How could I doubt that there is anywhere else in this city I’m supposed to be than right here, with her?