Page 25 of Between Never and Forever
Once in place at the center of the stage, I glance to Kenny, the DJ, and give him a nod. He flashes me a thumbs up, then my music starts to drift through the speakers.
“We’ve got a real treat for you all next,” Kenny croons into the mic. “Our next dancer is a crowd favorite, but don’t let her sweet smile fool you. Forget sugar and spice and everything nice. Vixen Viper is all tequila, sass, and a fucking great ass.”
I stifle a snort at his cheesy announcement. He changes it up all the time, and I never know what bullshit is going to come through the speakers. From the way the crowd cheers, though, I’d say this one hit the target.
Young, dumb, and full of cum indeed.
“Y’all treat Miss Viperrealgood, now,” Kenny says, “and I promise she’ll give you a show you won’t forget.”
With that, he cranks my music and flips on the stage lights.
When I first started dancing here, the quick change from dark to bright would mess with my head and make me feel a little disoriented, but I got used to it quickly. Now, a few months into this job, I can adapt like a pro, and I move seamlessly into my routine.
I slide my hands down my body and sway with the music, gripping the pole and launching into a wrist seat spin. Once I hit the bottom of the spin, I make sure to spread my legs wide and drag my palms up my inner thighs before popping back up to standing and going straight into a post spin.
This club doesn’t do full nudity. With the exception of my ass cheeks flashing out the bottom of my leather booty shorts, everything important from navel to tiptoes is covered, but I like to tease them anyway. It’s crazy the tips a caress on the inner thigh or a finger brush over the crotch of my costume bottoms can produce.
These men are damn horny bastards, so I use it to my advantage.
More whistles hit my ears as I hook my leg on the pole and seat myself, arching my back and letting my hair cascade behind me. I use one hand to undo the zipper on my black leather vest. The audience goes nuts, shouting encouragements at me, and I smirk. I let the vest fall open as I complete my spin, then slide it down my arms and fling it to the side of the stage once my feet are on the ground.
My red lace bra is completely see-through except for at my nipples, where there are black leather hearts sewn into the material. I don’t flash full tit until the floor portion of my set. Gotta build up to it.
I climb the pole on autopilot, going through the motions of my routine and letting the music guide my movements. It’s not hard to tune out the crowd, and if I’m not careful, I’ll disassociate entirely. Tips are better when I interact with the patrons. Like Kenny said, they want a show. If they were interested in just dancing, they’d have gone to the ballet.
No, they want the illusion of seduction, so that’s what I give them.
I bite my lip. Pretend to giggle. Make lingering eye contact with a few of the guys who look particularly hard-up for some action. The stage floor is littered with cash before I even finish the pole portion of my routine.
I haven’t even taken off the bra.
Just as I loop into my last spin—one where I’m suspended upside down with my legs spread wide—a face at the edge of the stage snags my attention. It catches me off guard, and I almost fall on my head. I do a double take.
No way.
It can’t be.
I’m so stunned that when my spin slows and my first song fades out, I don’t get down right away. I just stare. It’s only a half second or so, but it feels like longer, and it’s not until my second track starts that I remember I’m in the middle of my routine. I should be starting floor now, but instead, I do one last slow spin on the pole so I can sneak another peek at the patron sitting off to the side of the stage.
Levi Cooper.
I’m not imagining it.
If his sandy blond hair and stern eyebrows didn’t give him away, the stiff and uncomfortable way he’s sitting sure does. I have to stifle a laugh. Levi Cooper in a strip club. That was definitely not on my spring break bingo card.
I strut to the far side of the stage to start the floor portion of my set, but as I go through the motions, I sneak glances back toward Levi. It’s obvious he hasn’t recognized me. I’m not sure he’s even paid the show any attention, judging by the way his eyes are glued to his phone.
The group of guys he’s sitting with are another story, though. I have them rapt as they sip watery mixed drinks and rib one another anytime I do something even remotely sexy. They’re all whistles and cheers and lewd comments, and Levi’s the only one who looks like a fish out of water. It fits perfectly with the memory I’ve kept of him.
Buttoned-up and clean cut. Respectful to a fault. Serious and stern.
A Grade-A Weenie.
I dance my way around the stage, making sure everyone in the audience gets a show, but when it’s time to face Levi’s table, I switch it up. Instead of crawling over there like I’ve choreographed, I sashay back to the stairs and head into the crowd.
I flick my eyes to Bobby and give him a little head shake. He’s tense and ready to snap.
Don’t come for me, Bob-O. I got this.
