Page 3 of Voyeur
“It’s my middle name,” she said. “If you want advice, Zoey, pick a name and stick with it. There will be creeps who’ll come up in here, who will zero in on you and decide you’re their new favorite. Everybody wants to take a stripper home.”
Probably good advice, something I should heed. But, then again, what the hell did I care? Maybe if I used my real name it would somehow get back to mommy and daddy. The real question was if I was spiteful enough to put myself in danger when it came to creepers just to stick it to my parents.
The answer to that was always yes. So much yes, it bordered on unhealthy.
“Thanks for the advice,” I said, tossing a glance over my shoulder to see that Crystal was finishing up her dance. Men threw money on the stage for her, and she bent over, letting them stuff some of the bills into the string of her thong.
Jamie spoke, “I’ll get those drinks for you.”
I thought about saying I wasn’t twenty-one yet, so legally I couldn’t serve it, but I kept my mouth shut. If the boss found me and yelled at me, I’d shrug it off, tell her I forgot or something. I didn’t want to single myself out here, because it looked like every other worker here was serving.
Crystal appeared by my side, lightly touching my back as she said, “Let me go put this stuff in my locker, and then I’ll be right out.” She was in the process of pulling out her tips, having already collected everything off the stage. With a wink, she was gone.
My eyes roamed the place. So many men. Most of them were middle-aged, though I did spot a few younger and a few older. My parents had always kept me away from the dark side of things, so this was new to me.
It was new to me, and strangely, though I thought I’d hate flouncing my body around for men to gawk at, I didn’t hate it. Granted, I hadn’t gotten up on that stage yet, hadn’t even served any customers yet, but I knew I wouldn’t.
Bryan didn’t appreciate what he had when he had it; at least I knew these guys would. They’d want to see me strip, want to see me prance around naked, my tits hanging out for everyone to see. They’d want to get my number and take me home, fuck me until their dicks couldn’t take it anymore.
Maybe with a thought like that, I was never really a good girl after all.
Crystal returned, free of stray wads of cash. A bit of sweat lined her forehead, and she gave me a smile. We spent the next hour or so between tables, and I watched her. How she interacted with the patrons, how she responded to the men who had greedy, grasping hands, hands that only wanted to get a hold of her round ass. Some of them she was playful with, the regulars, I assumed, while others she dodged.
I learned she did a lot of cocking her hips, and she had a habit of pushing her tits together to make their already impressive size look even larger. All tricks I’d have to learn, Crystal told me, if I wanted to take home decent tips every night.
When it was our break time, we went outside in the back of the Dollhouse. The night air was cool, the moon hanging high above us. I shivered in my bra, but Crystal seemed fine.
“You’ll learn which ones to stay away from,” she said, “and which ones are harmless. Autumn doesn’t like us going home with them, but if you want to, you can. If you need the money, you gotta do what you gotta do.”
Prostitution. She was talking about prostitution, wasn’t she?
“Have you ever…” I trailed off.
She laughed. “You saw the big black doors behind the stage, didn’t you?”
I nodded.
“Well, there’s a party room back there, reserved for our most high-paying customer. All rules are off back there.” Crystal’s blue eyes twinkled in the fluorescent light. “When Roman tells you to do something, you don’t say no.”
Roman? What kind of a name was Roman?
“He’s usually here on Friday nights,” she went on. “I wonder what’s holding him up?”
Hmm. I wasn’t sure if I liked the sound of that or not. So, some rich guy came to the Dollhouse so much, he had his own room where he could basically have sex with any of the workers?
I knew what I should think: it was wrong, illegal, all that stuff. And yet, as I stood there, counting down the minutes until our short break was over, I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d do, if this Roman guy approached me to go fuck him in the back.
As much as I hated to admit it, I’d only been with Bryan. It wasn’t that I didn’t like sex—I loved it, when it was done right—I was just, you know, faithful. Fuck that. Fuck relationships. Fuck everything.
We went back inside, and the night wore on.
An older gentleman got handsy with me after I brought him his beer. Crystal stood back and watched, letting me take the lead. “You’re new here, ain’t cha?” he asked, grinning as he reached for me.
I could pull back; the man didn’t move that fast. I’d put him in his late fifties, maybe. But I didn’t; I stood there, let him run his hand on the curve of my ass as I said, “I am.”
“I could tell,” he said, eyeing me up like a piece of meat. “I’d remember that pink hair… and that tattoo. Why don’t you be my personal waitress for the night?”
“It’s my first night,” I told him. “I have other tables to take care of.” That hand was still on my ass, still rubbing small circles on my left cheek, like he’d already decided I belonged to him.
