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June 13, 2024 Fiction


Evelyn Bamski

Woman photo

Eduardo doesn’t understand why other men don’t go to strip clubs as often as he does. What an experience! A man goes in, watches women undress, and then gets to touch them when he slips dollar bills into their lingerie. If he’s lucky, a beautiful woman will stick around and talk to him – almost like they’re on a true date. 

Bea, a new and inexperienced stripper, sat next to him and struck up a conversation with the short and chubby Guatemalan immigrant who barely spoke English – something that can be overlooked as in this industry, language is a miniscule issue. Behind the bar where the women danced on poles were mirrors. Eduardo looked forward at himself together with the voluptuous brunette and felt like he could switch on all the lights of Las Vegas with a snap of a finger.

If Eduardo has the right amount of money, he’ll take the stripper to the champagne room. That’s what he did that very afternoon. For only one hundred dollars, he took Bea, fresh to the trade behind the dances, into the little dim room after another stripper quickly and discreetly handed her a condom.

“Now, he just finished with me – he might take longer with you, okay?”

Bea bowed her head.

“Be sure to ask for the money first” she warned her.

In her high heels, Bea had to bend down to talk to Eduardo once they were in the room.

“We said one-fifty.”

“No. One hundred.”

“But we said one-fifty.”

“Pero tu es mi novia” he smiled and rubbed her shoulder “one hundred, please.”

Bea sighed as she felt obligated to perform the service that he already paid the house for. She took the five twenty-dollar bills and he pulled down his pants after he took a seat on the worn brown leather sofa. She put the condom on and began to orally pleasure him, the slimy silicone taste invading her mouth. After a few minutes, he had her lay down and got on top of her.

“No” she said trying to get him off as he pulled down her bright red thongs.

“Yes!” his eyes widened.

“More money. Mas dinero” she said.

He reached his hands into his pants’ pocket on the floor and grabbed his wallet out. He handed her another twenty-dollar bill.

“Mas” she said.

“No. Is enough” he got back on top of her.

“Mas” she resisted.

He sat up and dug through his wallet impatiently. He wanted to give her another twenty but only had a one-hundred dollar bill.

“One-fifty” he said “you give me change.”

“Okay” she said defeated.

After he penetrated her while facing her, he turned her to her stomach and continued preforming from behind. When he came, she looked back and saw that he was holding the condom.

“Okay. Change” he said, smiling in pleasure and relief.

As she took him to the cash register, she felt something dripping out of her vagina. Quickly, she ran into the empty dressing room where a shower of sugary perfume lingered all throughout it and pulled down her thongs. She saw the white fluid. Smelled it, just to make sure. In anger, she washed her privates in the little shower that was provided for the dancers and changed her red outfit into a sparkly pink two piece. For a little while, she stayed in the dressing room, hoping he’d leave by the time she got out.

But he was still at the cash register. She ignored him and went on the stage behind him to dance for the other customers. After she went around the bar to collect her money, he appeared before her while she was talking to another customer.

“Change” he said again.

“No” she looked away from him.

“Seventy dollar. I need seventy dollar” he said aggressively.

She took him away from the other customer “you took off the rubber. You don’t get change” she said fast and quietly as she held back her rage.

“We said one-fifty” his eyes widened again.

“What’s going on?” the manager, Mable, an elderly woman with long white hair asked when she approached them. Bea walked away with her and told her what happened in the champagne room.

“You could’ve gotten her pregnant!” she exclaimed quietly to Eduardo.

“Seventy dollar!” he said more loudly.

Mable took Bea into the champagne room and quietly said “just give him the change. We don’t need someone to call the police.”
Bea swallowed with anger and got the change from the cash register. Mable had never seen her mad before and it surprised her a little.
“I’m never doing a room with him again” she told Mable after he left, feeling more fluid leaving her hole “and I don’t think I’ll have anymore intercourse. Just blow-jobs from now on.”

Later in the evening, Bea talked to a nice looking, polite customer on a business trip from Boston. She gave him a dance on stage and was lavished with a twenty-dollar bill after he gave all the other girls only a few dollars. As she talked to him some more, she brought up the champagne room and when he asked what goes on in there, she leaned close to him and quietly said,

“I can give you a blow-job for two-hundred dollars.”

When they got inside, the young man paid her the proper amount and she performed what she promised. At one point, he had her bend down to show her naked backside as he masturbated. This reminded her of her first encounter in the champagne room where a virgin paid her three-hundred dollars only to masturbate to her in the same position. Being paid extravagantly to do nothing but be put in that vulnerable posture fearing that she could get raped at any given moment had aroused her so much that she even masturbated to it on her lonesome.

After the handsome man finished, she told him that they had more time together if he wished to spend what remained. He bashfully told her that he’s satisfied with the time he already spent with her then told her how beautiful she is and how much he’d love to bring her into his hotel room. Bea felt that she could trust him enough to even have intercourse with him and exchanged her phone number with his, indulging in this refreshing shy lustfulness.

After he left, she felt sexually fulfilled. Bea is new to sex work at twenty-nine years old. She married right out of high school, the same time that she got pregnant. Her controlling husband wouldn’t let her leave the house without him and wouldn’t let her wear certain clothes that he thought were too revealing. Her submissive nature allowed him to oppress her but it was this same nature that drove a desire to be at the mercy of men in general. She had been wanting to be a stripper for a good ten years and now that she’s separated, she’s finally doing what she longed to do.

This nature that she possesses makes her not only an expert, but a natural in the field of pleasing and serving men. When she sits down to have conversations with these men, she has them do almost all the talking as she quietly listens and smiles and laughs at their jokes. When a man is extremely shy, she talks in a very relaxed and friendly manner to put him at ease while also attempting and sometimes succeeding to be humorous. When a man is very confident, she’s intimidated and when she’s intimidated, she’s just as aroused as him. After working for two months and dipping her toes in the champagne room, she’s one of the highest earning strippers at the club.

The next day, she sent a text message to the man from Boston – letting him know that she’s back at the club and if he wishes, she’d meet him later in the hotel room. After the club died down and there was no other man she could talk to, she checked her phone to see that he didn’t text her back. For a while, she waited to get a message and after that while has passed, she found herself texting him a message of praise for what a gentleman he was with her, how there’s not many men like him where she works. Shortly after, he texted her to let her know that he’s flying back to Boston. In the dead club, she texted him back to continue the conversation out of boredom, but when he didn’t text her again, she realized what kind of a woman a lovely man like him views her as.

It didn’t bother Bea. In her high school days, she developed a reputation for being promiscuous that she embraced, often encouraging her fellow high school mates to call her a whore. Hearing this quiet and shy good girl saying such vulgar words would surprise them just as much as her raunchy inclination did.

Bea’s had many erotic encounters at the club that she enjoyed. In one memorable lap dance, a tall man she assumed was shy forcefully turned her around from her usual front position that she takes when she reveals her breasts towards men’s faces. He then fondled her breasts from behind while he humped her and she didn’t maneuver at all as she laid her head against his shoulder, feeling helpless and small.

Currently, she’s having an affair with a married man who calls her my whore and pays her for their time. The act of payment is what completes and rewards her role of being the one who’s slapped, choked, and spanked. He never places his lips upon her nether regions, he never kisses her, never cuddles her after they fuck. It’s all she’s ever wanted from a man. 

The sex life between him and his wife is traditional when it occurs, which is seldom. With Bea, all his hidden longings are released. He made her nipples bleed from biting them. He had her beg to have her face smacked harder. He backhanded her so hard that she heard a ringing in her ears as she tasted the blood from her lower lips that got caught between her teeth. Her face was left red and feverish until the next day.

“What else would you like me to do to you?” he texted her the same question for the fourth time while masturbating.

She ran out of creative ideas and said, “you can always pay me more.”

“There’s not a bigger turn off than bringing up money.”

“Money’s what lets me know I’m a good whore.”

She met him at the club where he told her that he would tip her extra if she allowed him to finger her during a lap dance. After obtaining what he wanted, when she asked for her tip, he said that he paid enough and walked away. Attracted to his sheer ruthlessness, she went up to him and told him that she needs to be careful around him because he’s an asshole and,

“I like assholes.”

Her sexual practices are very secretive because such dispositions are not only taboo, but also put her at risk of being taken advantage of so when asked by customers what kind of sex she likes, she usually says (without lying),

“I like making a man feel powerful.”

Bea went on date with a very outgoing and attractive firefighter who she also met at the club. Witnessing such kindness and vivacious friendliness from a man didn’t allow her to imagine how he could be on top of her, penetrating her. Soon after the date, she decided to keep her body strictly for business.

“Why did you start dancing?” a customer asked Bea late one evening after she had a shot of tequila with him. It’s been a few weeks since the incident with Eduardo and Bea has evolved more. As for drinking, it’s something Bea never does because it puts her in a vulnerable position but after witnessing a fellow stripper getting drunk and having so much fun, she craved to participate – most especially when her current customer kept insisting to buy her something she considered extremely valuable and has resisted it for the past nine months that led her to be gifted with only a purple poker chip. Unfortunately, Mable wasn’t working that day; she keeps an eye on her dancers and makes sure they aren’t getting too drunk. Her replacement, Rico, is a young sweet guy who gives Bea the impression that he feels bad when he hesitantly asks for his share of her tips at the end of his shift.

“I always had an exhibitionistic streak. I used to stand naked in front of my window, hoping that a stranger would see me. I normally don’t tell other men this because they might think that I’m not doing this for the money, when in fact, it’s all about the money. Getting paid to do this shit sends me on the most exhilarating power trip I have ever experienced. The more I make, the hornier I get.”
“Oh, really?” The young customer said excitedly as he tipped her some more while she slowly danced in front of him. They both were puffing on cigarettes. 

“Really, truly. I was made for this. Most girls can’t take what I go through and I carry that with pride. Men come here and go to the ATM, reducing us to play things – objects. I love being an object; a high value object – something like gold. Yes, I feel like pure gold here. You men should feel just as powerful when you buy me. I don’t understand why so many of you try to bargain in a place where hedonism can’t be more pure” she took a fourth shot of tequila and bit into the line, skipping the salt “its crazy to think that only two months ago I didn’t know how to dance at all. An older stripper taught me how to dance slowly and I’d practice all day long while I shook as men stared at me – because it pressured me, because it evoked me. Next thing I know, a bunch of dollar bills are flying in the air and falling to my feet and let me tell you, a dollar bill has a different meaning to me now” she said holding one of the bills he gave her, then smiled “I’ll never forget the time I showed my pussy to a willing customer while everyone watched. I spread my legs open as I sat on my ass and he ran to me with a big wad of ones and placed them right over my pussy.”

For a moment, they were quiet. Then he said, “I want to make a bet with you.”

She smiled – continued to smile and didn’t say a word.

“Oh, that smile of yours! I’m serious, I want to make a bet” he smirked as his eyebrows lifted up.

“Well” she finally said “what do you want to bet over?”

“I want to bet that you’ve been dancing longer than two months.”

“I’m flattered, but that’s the truth. You’d sorely lose this bet.”

“I’m willing to bet one-hundred dollars that you’ve been dancing longer than two months” he placed a one-hundred dollar bill on the bar in front of her “that’s what you get if you win the bet. Now, if I win the bet, what do I get?”

She thought to herself and cockily said, “half off the champagne room.”

“And how much is the full price?”

“Three hundred dollars” she said as seductive as she could in her drunken state.

“Three hundred dollars! Last week you said it was two-hundred.”

“So, one-hundred-and-fifty for the champagne room if you win the bet.”

“Does this include the whole service?”

“I start there and offer extra services after you pay.”

“See, that’s not fair. First, you change the cost and now you won’t give me the whole service.”

“Oh, whatever. I’m going to win this bet anyway.”

“So, how about one-hundred on the champagne room with the extra service. Deal?” he put his hand out in front of her and she shook it

“Deal” she repeated and stared at him for a second while her mouth persisted to stretch “how are you going to prove me wrong?”

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s continue talking” he tipped her another dollar bill.

“Okay” she said and continued dancing in front of him.

“Let me ask you something” he smirked “you’ve never danced before?”

“I already told you, no, not since two months ago.”

“You’re telling me that you’ve never danced before these last two months?”

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“So before these two months, you never once danced?” he asked surprised.

“I mean, I danced shittily at parties but never professionally.”

“Oh!” he quickly exclaimed “the bet was if you’ve ever danced. I never once said if it was professionally.”

Bea found herself frozen “well” she finally said “a bet’s a bet.”

“Really? You’re giving up that quickly?”

“A bet’s a bet” she repeated “what else am I to do?”

In the champagne room, she took off her heels to stand at his height and then removed her black bra. She took off her thongs below her tiny schoolgirl skirt that only served the purpose of concealing her stretch marks on her stomach and before she brought her mouth onto his organ, he pressured her to at least drink another half a shot with the knowledge of her weakness that she revealed to him.

“Shit” she stopped “I forgot the condom” she began looking through her purse “shit, I forgot to ask for the fucking money. Give me the one-hundred before I forget.”

He pulled out his wallet and gave her the bill which she put away in her purse. She continued sucking with the condom over and after a while, she switched to her hand. Then, back in her mouth.

“Let me feel that pussy on my dick, just from the outside.”

She hesitated but complied and after a moment of him jerking off while his covered genitals touched hers, she went back to the oral method.

“Let me feel it again.”

“Only from the outside” she said when she felt him trying to go in.

“Come on, you said you’d give me the extra service”

“The extra service was the blow job.”

He sighed and looked at his phone “we have less than ten minutes. Just let me fuck you so I can cum.”

Who else but Bea would pity a man in his condition? Her decision to strip wasn’t only to serve her libido; Bea always had a soft spot for guys. In high school, she talked to the boys that other girls ignored even if she wasn’t attracted to them. She let them fuck her too. At the club, many men come to find an Innocence in her that they don’t witness in other strippers. They can see that she has a good nature – that she has no ill intentions and find themselves trusting her wholly.

“Listen” he continued as he held his penis on the outskirts of her vagina “I really think you’d be a great fit for the society I belong to; it’s a secret society. Right up your alley. Oh, it’s fun and seductive alright – just like you, Bea. Just think about what you’re doing now. How much more can you take this – this work you do with men like me? Soon enough, this spark you have will fade and this job that you speak so highly of will be just another job. Bea, you need something that will keep the flame from burning out. Over there, I get plenty of sex, but like you, I enjoy strip clubs for the power dynamics. Coming here and participating there keeps me balanced” he maneuvered his genitals over hers to keep it from going soft “I would give you more money now but I don’t have it. Come meet me there tomorrow and I’ll give you the money for the extra service.”

Every word he said had such truth to it that it terrified Bea. In the past week or so, she engaged in conversations with another stripper over how bothered they were by these men. Every day, she finds herself more repulsed by all men. Just yesterday, an older man kindly opened the market’s door for her and she purposely dismissed him, not paying any attention to him whatsoever as if to say not even in your dreams. 

The worst men in this industry are those who want to take her on dates and become her boyfriend – worse than the Eduardos. They have no regard for her profession and the setting of where she works. Bea has only been romantically interested in few men, such as the funny and successful Jewish lawyer that she had many things in common with – such as her ethnicity and culture. The sexually overwhelmed man paid her over four hundred dollars in the champagne room after he told her something he thought she’d be offended by.

“I like being offended” she said.

“I think I’m in love.” He never answered her phone calls after that evening.

After they fucked, they exchanged phone numbers and he texted her the time and address of where this secret society will be held as well as the passcode that she will have to say at the entrance. 

“I promise I’ll have the money when you come see me there. I’m a man of my words.”

After being married to a man of his words for over ten years, Bea knew that its thoroughly words that men like that are capable of turning into action, but she was nonetheless very intrigued to explore something secretive and erotic, given her sexually tragic circumstance.
The next night, she walked down Las Vegas’ lighted city streets. She grew up in the shamelessly sleazy city, collecting little pictures of naked escorts on the sides of the road since she was a small child. 

Prostitution in the hole in the wall strip club she works in doesn’t stand to compete with the legal brothels of Pahrump, not too far from where she resides. The thing is, sex is a lot cheaper where she’s employed. 

There’s a sharp pain deep in her throat where her emotions are gobbled in when she receives little pay for selling her body. It’s an attack to her dignity. Bea applied to a few high end brothels but as beautiful as she is, she would need to get a tummy tuck to work there. In the past, she has talked to a working woman and what she said is that she very much enjoys her job – because she enjoys having sex… and having sex for hours. Bea doesn’t always enjoy her customers no matter how much money they provide her with. There’s been many encounters in the champagne room that she felt lasted a lot longer than the thirty minute limit that she’s been so thankful for.
The second time she had sex after she broke her virginity at thirteen, Bea decided that when she grows up, she’d either be a wife or a prostitute. Having done both professions, she can declare with certainty that the only difference between the two is that one is enslaving and the other supplies freedom. There’s been many occasions where she didn’t want to have sex with her husband, but she did because as his wife, she felt it was her duty to reward him for providing for her. 

Aside from his controlling behavior, the other reason she split from her husband is because he wasn’t providing as much as he promised he would and he was irresponsible with money. She waited year after year to break free from the chains of poverty but his pledges for a better tomorrow remained just pledges. Not only is financial hardship extremely uncomfortable, it leaves a person feeling severely powerless, and that’s not something that sits well in Bea who was put on antidepressants for, as she told her psychiatrist, feeling like a fool for choosing to be a wife to someone who doesn’t respect me.

Respect is something that Bea was prepared not to receive from the sex industry. The preparation came from home where she advocated against marriage to her daughter and instead encouraged financial independence. When her daughter got old enough to ask why mom doesn’t practice what she preaches, Bea was already a stripper. She told her daughter not to tell her dad what she does and that if she decides to do it too when she grows up, she’d support her decision. This was a week before Bea ran off to live with her mother. 

The things repressed women say.

Bea reached a dark alley and preceded to walk through it, passing a few garages. When she saw the building where neon pink duct tape sealed a window up high (apparent that it was on the second floor) above a gray door, she knew she was at the right spot. She knocked and waited awhile as she was told to expect. After about six minutes, a large hairy man appeared before her.

“Mascarpone” she said and he let her in.

She saw a few bodies gathered in the dark and kept to herself, feeling extremely uneasy in the silence of the atmosphere. Suddenly, in the blackness that surrounded her, there appeared a circle of candles bordering an average looking man in his thirties with a medium size beard and no hair to match on his head. He was wearing a button down burgundy shirt, which made Bea question her choice of apparel that was composed of just a camisole and jeans.

“Why is it that when a man takes a woman to be his wife, does she remain only his?” The man surrounded by candles asked loudly “why is it that when we love something so much, we keep it to ourselves? Why can’t one share his love with another and another, bringing peace to the world?” he held a candle “Felicia, come my dear” a naked woman appeared before him and unbuttoned his shirt. She then laid down and he dripped wax between her breasts. Before Bea could breathe, the shadows around her formed into one. She could smell the fornication.

A touch startled her, the soft delicate fingers of a woman. She took a step back. Nobody was using any means of protection. She walked fast back to the door and opened it herself then stepped out. She didn’t care to see the guy who owed her money; she was sure he didn’t come anyway.

The next morning she walked towards the market and when the same elder man held the door open for her, she thanked him. Later in the afternoon at the strip club, she struck a conversation with one of her regular customers, Billy, a fifty year old man on a wheelchair from an accident he had in his twenties. His older brother is a professor who wants to help Bea get into college. He’s a regular as well and no other gentleman has impressed Bea with good manners after him. If she wasn’t impressed, she was certainly amused.

“You don’t need to go to school” Billy said “but what other shenanigans can you expect to come out of my brother’s mouth?” he puffed on his cigarette and sipped on his whiskey “he was in school and I was in a motorcycle gang. We’re both still lonely.”

“Well, you know I can always help you with that” she touched his thigh.

“Come on, Bea. My brother would kill me.”

“Your brother doesn’t own me” she smiled.

He chuckled “maybe you should go to school, kid. Learn sex therapy. Then, you can be his teacher.”

“If I were smart, I would’ve liked to make my parents proud” she sipped on the twenty dollar cranberry juice disguised as wine – something she opt to consume in order to keep herself safe while making commission from it “both of them are Harvard graduates with Ph.D.’s. My older siblings have theirs too. I’m the black sheep.”

“Any of them know what you do?”

“Just my mom” she sipped more cranberry juice and thought to herself “you know, I really like being a stripper.”

“You’re not a stripper. If you were, you’d have tattoos and piercings and you’d be a drug addict” he puffed on his cigarette “and you are smart. That’s why you’re here making five hundred dollars a night” he sipped more whiskey and another stripper exchanged looks with Bea as a drunk obnoxious man was loudly bragging about how much money he makes. Then, he tried recruiting fellow strippers for construction contracts. Many customers, including Eduardo, are construction workers who spend all their money on strippers.

“Bea. What kind of name is that?”

“It’s a Brazilian one. Haven’t you heard, I’m Brazilian? Mable loves telling customers that.”

“Yeah, you don’t look like you’re from around here. That’s a good thing; men have an appetite for exotic girls like you.”

“I’m only Brazilian cause my grandfather escaped the Holocaust to go there – but I’ve lived in Vegas since I was five and I forgot how to speak Portuguese. I’m just an Ashkenazi whore.”

For another ten minutes they talked and laughed at Mable’s grumpiness – a real treat in the little hole in the wall described by a loyal customer as Cheers with naked girls. Then, he finally gave into his desires and rolled behind her towards the champagne room. 

“You know, his dick doesn’t work” Mable quietly told her after he paid the house.

When Bea got to the door, she stopped and waited for her customer to open it.

“What are you doing? Open the door for him” the cranky manager said.

“He’s got it” she smiled down at him and Billy returned the smile to Mable. Then, he opened the door and Bea walked in first and he followed. Without her help, he climbed out of his wheelchair and onto the sofa.

Bea knows that sex isn’t all men want from women. Her understanding for what men crave is mutual. Within intimate encounters, there’s a longing for power and trust. The robbery of either one is extremely harmful; it’s what made her experience with Eduardo borderline traumatic.

In the champagne room, visions from the night before intruded her mind. As she steered around his soft penis in her hand, she thought about the concept of control. How many men sought to attain the power of their obsession. What a man would do! Marry and keep her to himself or start a sex cult and exploit her body like a pimp. What a man would do! Pay hundreds of dollars – thousands at Pahrump – for their gratification. What severity a woman’s body holds. You like being a puta a Mexican customer who was new to the club and instantly became a regular of Bea’s once told her. She just smiled at him. Bea, the puta, lusts after control the way a man does.

“Oh, I can tell that you’re into it” Billy said while they made out, Bea getting fingered and exuding her welcoming fluid “it’s so passionate!” 
Bea decided that this was one of her favorite champagne room encounters, not only because she succeeded to put the position of a man on a wheelchair in the right role, but because she was greatly appreciated and that produced a feeling of reward.

Later, she got on stage to perform a dance and to her delight, the DJ played the song she requested a few days back – Girl From Ipanema. As she slowly danced, she looked at the men staring at her with sexual longing. One young guy who’s probably new to the environment even dropped his jaw, and she indulged in it all. Her favorite moment is when she bends down in front of everyone while she removes her thongs onto the floor, encircling her heels. One of her regular customers held a bouquet of roses for her. When she finished her dance, she was gifted with them. It was, after all, her birthday. Bea today turned thirty.

After she put the bouquet in her locker, she released a fart she’s been holding in and about seven more dollar bills fell out of her black lacy lingerie. Then, after she perfumed herself, she went to take a seat next to one of her many admirers and thanked him for the flowers again. She watched her friend, the stripper who taught her how to dance and always cheered her on when she made money, dance the moves she taught her together with him. She’s forty-eight years old, has a tramp stamp but isn’t a drug addict. She’s been dancing in this club since 2005. Bea thought to herself as she watched her – that she can happily work in this profession for as long as she has.

Later, she had an unpleasant experience in the champagne room. It’s unavoidable. It’s part of the job. What’s important is that she sets her boundaries and practices self-respect every day. She’s also fortunate to have Mable as her manager and Manny as the bouncer. He protectively escorts her to her driver every time she finishes her shift. The staff at the club watches out for one another and she considers them to be a special kind of family to her.

“You’re just a whore after my money” the displeased customer said as he left the room. He expected to have sex for one-hundred-and-fifty dollars and she didn’t give him more than a blow job. He said that he can do what she did to himself at home. As offended as Bea was, there’s a masochistic fulfillment to the degrading and humiliating aspects of such experiences. Her role as the proud whore has surpassed itself into a state of complete objectification. The misery of being a woman is still achieved outside of marriage. 

What Bea has learned in her job is that money on a man is an attainment to his person. Like a good personality trait, it makes him attractive. When a man doesn’t bring forth what’s expected to an environment where women objectify themselves entirely, it’s insulting. There’s only been a few young virginal men sometimes overpowered by their libido in a fresh surrounding that she has excused for such deeds.

“I’m such a fortunate man. I always meet the right girl” an old Italian customer told Bea an hour before she was supposed to leave “I bring fortune onto others too!” She quickly learned that he was a rich customer who seldom comes to the club. His son is a doctor so he’s not concerned about leaving behind an inheritance. He enjoys spending his money on beautiful women.

She left with nearly eight hundred dollars that night.

“Good job, baby. You have skill. Billy told me to tell you that you’re not a stripper, you’re an artist” Mable held her hand on her shoulder and whispered in her ear “a little birdie also told me you’re really good at blow jobs” they laughed.

The driver dropped her off at a pleasant looking hotel where she’d be spending the night with the married man she’s having an affair with. His wife is out of town and he’ll be paying her a little more than usual – not the considerable amount she hoped for but what can she expect from a man who never tipped her the extra amount he promised from a lap dance?

It’s a curious venture, her thirties. What’s to come? The following month, she developed romantic feelings for another guy but he stopped talking to her because he knew better than to get involved with a woman who constantly tells him my husband this, my husband that. It wasn’t a loss painful to Bea as she found herself wanting to like him more than actually liking him. The sex industry can be quite a lonely place.

There’s the security of ownership that she misses. It’s the ultimate illusion of control – to be at the center of someone’s world. It’s a fantasy that she engages in with the married man who still calls her my whore. My whore. My pet. My toy. But Bea knows all too well the devastating outcome of living out this fantasy.

Bea talks to her husband about once a week and still wears her rings. She holds feelings of resentment towards him and their conversations aren’t pleasant. He has begged her to continue their marriage even while she prostitutes. She admitted that such an arrangement where she will be the primary provider through the type of work she does would make her lose her sense of respect for him. 

She doesn’t have plans to divorce or to ever get married again. What her plans mainly consist of is attending her job site but today, she’s spoiling her daughter with a shopping trip within a budget. The eleven year old will be staying with her and grandmother for the whole week while her dad saves his money to pay the electric bill in his house that he missed as he has persistently for over the past decade that Bea endured living with a man who refused to work over forty hours and spent his little bit of money on instant gratification.
Although there’s mascara stains on her silk pillowcase as a result of her failed marriage, Bea has put together almost ten-thousand dollars in cash since she first started working three months ago. The drawers she keeps her money in are overflowing with little green papers. There are selfish desires she has no more shame in fulfilling, but being a mother is who she’ll continue to be with the purity of her intentions.

“You know why I wash dishes?” another one of her friends she works with asked Bea over the phone while she was washing dishes.


“Because in the end of the day that’s what I do. I wash dishes and take care of my kids.”