by Olivia Grace
Normally, I wasn’t a drinker. For years, Tyler drank so much that alcohol left a bad taste in my mouth. I didn’t start drinking it until about a year ago; usually while hanging out with Sabrina and peer pressure had forced me to look cool and underage drink.
But considering the way that I felt, a shot of Sabrina’s favorite vodka didn’t sound so bad.
Now that I was alone, I clambered for my phone.
I was literally shaking. I missed him so much, and I had to tell him.
His green light was lit up like a Christmas tree, so I knew that he was online.
I opened up our chat box and told him: I miss you. I’m about to do something that I never thought I would do, and all I can think about is you.
I stared at the inbox; waiting, hoping, wishing, and praying. For ten minutes, I just waited and stared at the romantic poetry that had been our conversations over the past few months.
One sentence jumped out at me: I can’t share you.
What he didn’t realize was that, he didn’t have to. I was all his.
“C’mon, Karrie!” Sabrina barely noticed my solemn expression as she entered her bedroom and made a beeline for her closet. “Put some clothes on, girlie. No booze in the kitchen. We have to hit the store.”
Minutes later, I’d managed to compose myself enough to dry my tears and dress myself. Despite the gray clouds in my heart, the sun was shining brightly in our small town. It felt like beautiful Florida weather as we climbed into the Benz and took off.
“Shit!” I had been in my own thoughts as Sabrina made her way through town. “The fucking cops are behind me.”
“You should stop speeding then,” I told her.
Sabrina looked like she was worried about more than a speeding ticket that her rich father would pay for without batting an eye.
“What’s wrong, Sabrina?”
“My license is suspended...And I have coke on me.”
“WHAT?!”
“Ssshhh! Calm down.”
The squad car behind us now had sirens blaring.
Sabrina reluctantly pulled over to the curb as we lost our breath and muttered in unison. “Shit.”
“Great,” I muttered sarcastically. “This is just great.”
Sabrina’s usually perfectly tanned skin was now white as snow. I just sat there, fed up with Sabrina’s constant ability to deliberately to be such a dimwit. She had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but she preferred to do lines of coke off of it.
I cringed as the officer approached the driver’s side window. “License and registration, please, ma’am.”
The voice was eerily familiar. I turned my head and met the eyes of my dad’s friend.
“Karrie Stahl!”
He was not only my dad’s friend, but his partner on the force as well. Therefore, he had been at my dad’s house a lot when I would visit last summer.
“Hi, Officer Miller,” I greeted, trying desperately to keep my face from flushing red.
Officer Miller was a breath of fresh air on this stressful day. God, he was hot.
Hot was an understatement, because he set my body on an all-out eight alarm fire.
He was much younger than my dad, late twenties. He was a 6’3” frame of a physique that was architecturally designed by the muscle gods, which was easily seen through his uniform. His athletic build gave him a superhero appeal while perfect cheekbones, emerald eyes, and just the right amount of rugged facial hair made him the envy of any Calvin Klein model. However, he was way too masculinely rough to be anyone’s model. He was a man’s man, with aggression oozing from him. He was the hot scruffy. Yet, his scruffiness was made even more alluring with dimples the size of manholes. A killer white smile illuminated a perfectly sculpted face that was the canvas for his godlike features, full tempting lips and stunning, mysterious eyes adorned with full lashes that I envied. He was hot, sexy, and, not just your typical hot or sexy, but the kind of hot that every mother wants her son to mature into. He was the kind of sexy that authors made up in steamy erotica.
“Hey, c’mon now.” With that smile, those simple words sounded like romantic poetry that made my sex jump. “I told you to call me Brad.”
Shit, I was nervous. I was shaking and stumbling over what clever words to say.
But leave it to Sabrina to totally dominate the conversation with her overbearing charm and oozing confidence.
“Well, hello there, Brad. I am Sabrina’s best friend. Why don’t I know you?”
“He’s my dad’s friend,” I told Sabrina, who was staring dreamily into Brad’s eyes.
I’m sure he didn’t mean to, but his eyes burned a seductive hole into Sabrina’s as he said, “You were speeding, young lady.”
His chastisement became amusing as he allowed his smile and dimples to appear. I felt my sex twitch and twerk better than the moves that I was attempting earlier that day. Sabrina was barely able to catch her breath. Her usually powerful feminine approach had been conquered by this man’s essence.
“I’m sorry,” was all that she could say.
“Good thing Karrie’s your friend. She saved you from a ticket. Thank her.” Then he tapped the hood. “Slow down… Bye, Karrie. I won’t tell your dad that you’re riding around with a speed demon.”
Just as quickly as his heavenly presence had consumed the air of the Benz, he was gone. We both turned to watch him slowly glide towards the squad car. He seemed to be walking slowly on purpose, teasing us with the sight of his perfect ass.
Both Sabrina and I sat dazed, overwhelmed by his sex appeal and undeniable charm.
“Mother of God, he’s gorg! Why have I never heard about him?”
“I told you about my dad’s hot partner.”
“You said ‘hot,’ not fucking to die for! Sheesh!”
She turned the ignition with little to no strength. That is what Officer Brad Miller did to women - left them breathless, bewildered, and helpless.
Seven
That day, in Sabrina’s car, I was so sure of the decision that I’d made.
Then, there was no second-guessing. Even if I wanted to change my mind, the requirement for a higher education in order to get a better job than ringing up combo meals convinced me that there really wasn’t another choice.
Yet, after stepping out of the Benz and into my apartment, back into my reality, I wasn’t so sure anymore.
For a week, I muddled over the idea. I weighed the pros and cons. I even tried to get Tyler’s opinion. Though I lied to him about the new “job,” telling him that it was a waitressing gig at a bar in Chicago, his lackadaisical response was no help.
“Do what you gotta do, babe,” he answered as he stabbed at the baked chicken, that I wasn’t so sure tasted like my mother’s recipe, Tuesday night.
“I don’t know,” I said with a sigh. “It’s downtown Chicago and it’s so late at night.”
My yearning dough eyes met his forehead. He wasn’t even looking me in the eyes as he said, “If it will help, why not?”
Inwardly, I sighed with disappointment. I wanted him to care. I wanted him to stop me. I wanted him to beg me to be his moral little girl, to remain working in this small town that we both only knew.
When his eyes moved towards mine, my heart flickered with hope, anticipating the attention and the love that I would finally get from my boyfriend. “This chicken is kinda dry, babe.”
I swallowed the urge to stab him in the eyes with my fork.
“Are you hanging out with Sabrina tonight? I’m going to Tony’s…”
His voice faded away as my need to speak to my love drowned him out. I wanted nothing more than to cozy up to Justin’s poetic words, to read his thoughtful and enduring opinion. Yet, for days my messages of yearning continued to go unanswered and even unread.
By Thursday, the end of the semester was approaching with as much certainty as the next disconnect notice. That evening, I called Rosie, who was all too excited to hear that me and my red hair would be on stage
the following evening.
“Grande! A domani! Assicurarsi di guardare sexy, bambola!”
Her deep, raspy Italian pierced a head that was hurting with confusion and fear. “English, Rosie.”
She sucked her teeth and spat. “Make sure you look sexy, doll. See you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow was now the present, and Sabrina and I were walking through Pink Rhino. Her steps were much more assuring than mine, as she strode through the crowd of men in clear six-inch strappy pumps that were similar to those worn by the dancer who was currently on stage. With flawless olive skin and an abundant up-do, she was swinging around the pole as effortlessly as a Julliard student. I was timidly on Sabrina’s heels, carrying a duffle bag full of outfits that Sabrina had helped me pick out at some slutty boutique on Belmont Avenue that afternoon after class.
As promised during Sabrina’s call in the car a few minutes prior, Rainy was standing outside of the dressing room waiting on us.
“Hey, guys. Right this way.”
She didn’t even give me a moment to prepare as she opened the cracked, old wooden door. As if she knew that I would run, Sabrina slid behind me and ushered me through the doorway. I received tons of glares - some evil, some curious, some judgmental, and some all of the above - from the women inside of the small dressing room that resembled the locker room at my old high school. However, instead of timid, frail girls hiding their nakedness from one another as they dressed for gym, grown women with curves that I envied, smooth skin that I adored, and hairless everything paraded around the room without a shy bone in their body.
Sabrina looked as if she fit right in as she stood courageously beside me, eyeballing each dancer that glared at us with intimidating and territorial expressions.
“This is my friend, the new dancer that I told you guys about,” Rainy spoke to them. “Her name is…” Rainy’s introduction ceased and then she put me on the spot. “What’s your stage name gonna be?”
Shit. I hadn’t thought about it.
They all watched me, waiting, questioning my comprehension as I stood there with no words leaving my lips.
A 5’7” dancer, with skin the color of dark chocolate and an ass that rivaled Kim Kardashian’s, snickered, which broke the silence and caused them all to shake their heads at my obvious freshness.
“Ginger,” Sabrina spat. “Her name is Ginger.”
“Well, welcome, Ginger. You better take those clothes off fast. Ralph’ll be callin’ you on stage soon,” the snickering chick shot over her shoulder.
I looked at Rainy for confirmation, and she nodded knowingly.
Rainy let me share a locker with her. Luckily it was tucked away in a corner, away from the rest of the girls who’d finally taken their attention off of me. She unlocked it and left to tend to her customers.
As I finally got the courage to shed my clothes, I noticed Sabrina practically falling off the bench as she sat perched on the very edge with a snarl on her face while clutching her Gucci bag tightly to her chest.
Watching her curiously, I asked, “Why are you sitting like that?”
“Trying not to catch Heps A through C back here.”
I chuckled in astonishment. “I’m sorry? I don’t understand. I don’t speak bougie.”
“Just hurry up and get dressed so that I can get the hell from back here,” she spat as she failed to discreetly look around the room in disapproval at all the bare naked breasts, butts, and cunts.
“You are the one that told me to do this,” I reminded her.
“I know. I’m here for you, but hurry up.”
“You better tip me,” I said with a smile to take her mind off of her eyes becoming lesbian every second that she sat back there.
“I have the ones in my purse.”
“Throw your panties on stage too,” I joked. The joke was actually to ease my nerves, not her disgust, but it didn’t work.
“Mine are too expensive,” she said as she began to rummage through my duffle bag.
“What are you looking for?”
“Your panties so that I can throw yours.”
Instead of my Walmart thongs, she pulled out her makeup bag. After dressing in the get up that we purchased - equipped with a lace bra and thong, garter, thigh highs, and six inch heels - I sat in front of a vanity mirror as Sabrina stood behind me. Again, I was Sabrina’s little doll. She adjusted my outfit, made me up, and did my hair.
Once she was done, I was in awe at the woman in the mirror. Her sexiness was foreign to me. A slow smile curled at the tips of Sabrina’s lips as she stood behind me eyeing me up and down. Our approving glances met in the mirror.
Yet, a sharp, snappy tone broke our approving eye contact. “Ginger, I’m up. You’re next!”
It was the rude dancer that had laughed at me.
“Okay…” I wanted to acknowledge her, but she never told me her name. Actually, no one had taken the time to.
“Midnight,” she said answering my stupidity as she reached for the doorknob. “My name is Midnight.”
It fit perfectly.
“Okay, Midnight. Thanks,” I said in a nervous whisper.
“Here. Drink this.” Rainy came out of nowhere. My nerves were giving me tunnel vision. I didn’t see her until the harsh bitterness of the liquid that she was shoving under my nose burned my eyes.
“What is this?” I asked, frowning as I took it from her French manicured fingers accented with a massive amount of rhinestones.
“Tequila. Down it.”
Downing it didn’t help at all. It only seemed to intensify the nerves that danced around in my stomach as I followed Sabrina and Rainy out of the dressing room.
Meghan Trainor’s voice swam through the speakers as my eyes floated towards the stage. There was Midnight, nearly lost amongst the darkness of the club’s atmosphere. I was sure that the way that her body moved was the way that mine should have that day in Sabrina’s room. It was the way that mine needed to in the next few minutes if I didn’t want to embarrass myself completely. Every time she moved as if it was designed for her body to, I grew ten times more insecure. Yet, as I watched the many dollars land on her skin, I realized that this truly was the answer.
The DJ’s voice broke me out of my trance. I heard him introduce “the new, hot girl next door” as Midnight came stomping by with sweat dripping from her every pore. When her slanted eye, which was covered by thick, intense false lashes, actually gave me a little wink, it made me feel slightly better.
Sabrina kissed my cheek and said, “Break a leg…Well, not really, but…You know. Good luck!” Then she and Rainy scooted away into the crowd. I knew that Sabrina was making her way to the front seat next to the stage.
I wanted to zone out. I needed to pretend that I was somewhere else, somebody else. The bouncer, Ralph, assisted me up the four steps that led to the sixteen by sixteen and a half main stage. I didn’t look at any of the approximately one hundred patrons that were in the crowd that night. I didn’t catch eyes with Sabrina. I couldn’t. I was figuring out who to be and where to go to get myself through this.
Then, as a slow bass line filled the air, wishful thoughts of Justin came to mind. I wished that I was with him, that I was near him, so that’s where I went. That was the safe place that I zoned out to. With Justin was where I felt confident, sexy, and secure. I imagined being in his bedroom, wearing this getup for him, wearing this makeup for him and dancing for him. Just as in my imagination, I teasingly caressed the silver pole for him. I cupped my breasts for him, licked my lips, and touched my sex that I wished he knew so well. I allowed my legs to fall into a split, how I would if he was hovering above him. I smacked my ass as I wished he would, and even smiled coyly in reaction to his vulgarity. I straddled his imaginary physique and grinded against what I knew was a heavenly impressive work of art. In my mind, I was telling him that I loved him and that I missed him, as I imaginably rode him while teasingly cupping my breasts to the bass line that I could hear vaguely in the distance.
<
br /> Even the seat of the overpriced thong between my legs began to moisten with the thought of him. On that stage, I lost myself in thoughts of him and allowed the love that I felt to flow out of me.
I caught eyes with a man far in the distance, underneath the exit sign. He was short, overweight, and bald. Yet, I continued with my fantasy. His eyes were not brown; they were as blue as my lost love. He was not bald; the swoop dark bangs that I’d watched for months dangled in his eyes. I watched him flirtatiously, invitingly, as I moved about that stage for him, to entice him, to bring him back to me.
I didn’t hear the catcalls. I didn’t hear the raunchy grunts. I didn’t feel the dollar bills as they landed on my skin and stuck to my perspiration.
Something was happening to me on that stage, in those thoughts of being secluded with Justin. I was sexy. I was secure. I was confident. I was who I was when I was in Justin’s presence; who I was in my head when I thought of us.
Eight
I didn’t hear the bass stop. The only indication that the next dancer was coming to the stage was the moment that I caught Sabrina’s eyes. She was staring at me with her mouth slightly agape with a look that I had never before experienced her give me.
She was in awe of me.
She was proud of me.
Swift movement caught my attention. Ralph was using a broom to sweep up dollar bills as I noticed a Spanish dancer, with huge perky breasts, long, lean legs, and a nonexistent waist, waiting at the end of the steps. I slowly stood from my crouching position and with the swift assistance of Ralph, descended the steps.
He handed me a plastic bag as he took the other dancer’s hand just as Rainy and Sabrina bombarded me. I hypnotically stared at the bag, in awe of the amount of bills that had been stuffed inside.
“You were great!”
“I’m so proud of you!”
They spat acknowledgements at me as I fought to catch my breath and come back to reality.
Yet, I realized that in my fantasy was where I needed to remain since I had more work to do. I had a few more hours to pretend that that sexual prowess was something I owned outright; when really Justin held all the copyrights.