An Erotic Juggalo Odyssey Ep. 01 Ch. 01

DISCLAIMER: This story is in no way endorsed by or affiliated with the Insane Clown Posse or Psychopathic Records. It is NOT implied that ICP or any real persons mentioned in this story are depicted accurately or condone the behaviors portrayed. It also does not attempt to define or exemplify the Juggalo lifestyle. Juggalos come from many different backgrounds and lead such vastly different lives that trying to portray a 'typical' Juggalo would prove impossible. There are Juggalos of all races, all classes, all genders, and all sexual orientations, and this story is only meant to reflect a small, fictional group within that larger whole.

EPISODE 1: HOT TICKET

Chapter 1: "Sweaty Bettie"

GARY'S TOPLESS VILLA

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

It was a disappointing crowd for a Friday night. The place was far from empty, but it was even further from full.

Shit! Liz thought to herself as she shed her street clothes in the dressing room, exchanging jeans and an ABK t-shirt for an uncomfortable studded leather bikini top and thong combo. Where is everybody?

She needed to make some cash fast. It was already July, and she had next to nothing saved. Fridays were supposed to be her good nights.

Maybe there's a fight at Caesar's Palace. Liz remembered seeing a boxing match or an MMA bout being advertised on a billboard over the 95 as she rode the bus into work that day, but she hadn't paid attention to the dates. If it is today, that could mean a nice surge later.

Her shift was just starting, so she'd be set to still be on stage during the prime slots when the fight let out. Heavy traffic also seemed to indicate that there were more people in town than usual, but before she got too carried away she reminded herself where she was...

Gary's Topless Villa.

Right. How many people who have $300+ to drop just for a freakin' nosebleed seat would actually make their way to a place like Gary's afterwards? She sighed as she picked up a pair of purple chaps with a red fringe belt and started strapping them onto her lean, muscular thighs. None.

Gary's Topless Villa was a legitimate Las Vegas strip club but only because of the zip code. It didn't show up in city advertisements or guidebooks and it didn't have anyone hawking half-nude flyers for it on the Strip. A few miles from the real action of Vegas, the parking lot had never seen a limo and cab drivers avoided the place like the plague. Even the back pages of the local free papers -- the sections geared towards adult fun and naughty excursions -- made no mention of it, but it existed. Gary's was not the type of strip club most people thought of when they thought of Sin City -- it was more like a dive bar that just happened to have titty dancers.

And this is my life. Liz slipped her biker vest on in a huff and looked at herself in the mirror.

She had a good body, and she liked the way she looked...for the most part. She was lean and fit, but she lacked curves typical of the more successful girls in her line of work. Her butt was nothing Sir Mix-A-Lot would write home about, and her boobs had ample space to breathe in the padded B cups she wore at the moment. She was skinny and athletic, not voluptuous or sexy.

Not sexy in the stripper way, she told herself, but sexy enough. She smiled.

After playing with her hair for a few moments, she checked her reflection a last time then walked to the performance list posted next to the door. Scanning the sheet, she knew there must be a mistake. Six full spots down the page was her stage name: Sweaty Bettie.

"Pedro!" Liz ripped the paper from the wall and stormed into the back office to find a short, squat man wolfing down a giant slice of pizza. "What the fuck, Pedro?"

The man slowly sat up, dropped the crust into the trash, and with a full mouth managed to garble, "What's up, Bettie?"

"The list," she said. "I don't go on for over an hour."

"Is that right?"

She slammed the list down on his desk. "Why?"

"It's randomly generated, babe. Bad luck, I guess."

"But my shift starts now. Why would I sit here all this time when I'm not even dancing?"

"So you can go get a private," he belched. "That's where the money's at -- you know that!"

Liz folded her arms across her chest. Of course she knew that, but that wasn't the problem.

"How?" she asked. They both knew that dancing on the stage was how the girls got the guys interested in a private dance. The stage only garnered some singles tossed up there by the losers sitting in the front rows, nothing compared to where the real money was. It basically served as an advertisement for the girls to suck a guy in for a lap dance backstage; that's how the business worked. "Move me up. Please. Swap me with Jen. She's been here since four. She always gets the top spots."

"Jeff's in charge of the list," Pedro said, throwing his hands up together and making as if they were tied.

"Yeah, and she's blowing him. Why do you think she gets whatever she wants?"

"You can blow him too if you want," he let out a chuckle. "No rule against that."

"Pedro, I gotta make bank. You know I'm going to be gone for most of the month."

"That's on you, babe, not me."

"Please. Can't you just bump me up a few spots?"

"Mingle," Pedro said as he picked up another slice of pizza. "Positive attitude and a little ass works every time." He smirked and tilted his head to look at Liz's behind. "A little ass..."

Liz rolled her eyes. "Thanks for nothing," she said as she left in a huff. There was no use arguing, and she knew that. She had two options: blow Jeff or try to sell a lap dance while she waited for the stage.

* * *

"Private dance?" Liz asked at each table as she made her way across the room.

Most of the men dismissed her with a wave of the hand as they kept their eyes glued to the stage. A new stripper named Raven that Pedro had hired only the week before was dancing, and her triple D's were attention grabbers to say the least.

The few guys that were able to peel their eyes away for a quick glance at Liz simply offered her a 'maybe later' brush off. To these men, Liz flashed a coy grin and promised she'd return to take them up on the offer.

She wasn't really having any luck speaking more than a few words to anyone until a group of four guys in Redskins jerseys stopped her and asked when she was going to be on stage.

"Soon," she assured them. "Maybe you want to buy me a drink while we wait?" Every drink a customer bought for her was not only a drink she got for free but also a club bonus of five dollars that was tallied into her payout at the end of the night.

"How about after you dance?" one of them said to the absurd delight of the rest of the crew. "We gotta see them moves first. See if a bitch is worth it." The guys laughed at this, and Liz buried her contempt for them under a fake smile.

"I'm definitely worth it," she replied. "I know how to work a pole better than any girl here."

"Work a pole?" the guy replied with a wink.

"You know it."

This seemed to excite the group. One of the other guys decided to join in on the conversation. "How 'bout you flash us dem titties, and I'll give you a sip from my beer," he said in a southern drawl while holding out his frosty mug to her.

"Sorry," Liz said, pushing it away. "Not allowed to drink from the customers' glasses."

"Why not? Is there something wrong with it?" he asked, making a big show of examining his beer by holding it up to the light and squinting at it. "I'm drinking it, and it seems fine to me. You guys don't piss in the hooch here, do you?"

"Management says it's a health issue."

"She thinks you're gonna roofie her," the first guy laughed as he elbowed his friend playfully. "And you do look like the type, Clem."

"Fuck you, Steve!" Clem slugged Steve in the shoulder, and they all laughed some more. Steve slugged Clem back and there was some playful back-and-forth with taunts about who had the bigger dick thrown in for good measure.

When they finally finished the horsing around and quieted down, Clem turned back to Liz and said, "I promise I won't drug you." He took a long drink from his mug and then held it out towards her again. "See? Perfectly safe."

"I'm sure it is, but them's the house rules," she said, pushing it away again and starting to get visibly peeved. The night started off bad, and she guessed it wasn't going to get much better.

"Show dem titties anyhow."

"Yeah, management allows titties for sure!"

"Buy a lady a drink and she just might," Liz said, flashing another forced grin.

"A lady!" Clem nudged Steve, and they both laughed briefly before their friends joined in again.

"Come on," Steve said. "How about a free preview? You're gonna be up there showing them to everyone anyhow, but they seem awfully tiny. Why not give us the first peek up close and let us really see 'em? Don't you like us?"

Liz was about to open her mouth and say something she'd regret, but luckily she was interrupted.

"What goes on during a private dance?" a voice from behind her asked. "I might be interested."

Liz turned around to see a man sitting by himself in a booth. He was a little bit older than her, probably early thirties or so, and he was clean shaven in a button down shirt with a sports jacket -- definitely out of place here. He motioned for her to come over.

"Later fellas," she said as she left their table.

"What about dem titties?" they yelled to her back.

"What about that drink?" she said, flipping them off without turning around as she made her way to this new man's booth. They laughed again and went back to talking amongst themselves and gulping their beers.

This new man was a stark contrast to the four yahoos she had just left. He had a refined air about him -- gold watch, manicured fingernails, slicked hair with not a single strand out of place. He even had a handkerchief poking out of his jacket pocket that matched his shirt. He looked out of place in a dive like that, but Liz immediately got the sense he had money to burn.

He pulled a cigarette out of a case he had lying on the table, lit it, and then offered one to her.

"No thank you. I don't smoke tobacco," she fluttered her eyebrows and smiled.

The man smirked and stared at her with his piercing blue eyes.

"Probably for the best," he said before closing the case and sitting it back down beside his drink. "So tell about the private dances."

Liz leaned on his table and licked her lips seductively. "They're more fun than sitting around out here, I can tell you that."

"I expect so." He inhaled deeply and said, "What is it going to cost?"

She ran one of her fingers across the stainless-steel backside of the cigarette case, making a squiggly line before giving the whole thing a spin. "Twenty bucks gets you one song. Fifty gets you three."

"And what goes on during these songs?" he asked, exhaling a blue cloud of smoke. He reached out and stopped the spinning case, his brow furrowed in detached amusement.

Liz smiled and looked deep into his eyes; there was something different about him. "I get to dance for you in our very own private room behind the stage where no one else can see." She paused and winked. "Even better, I get to dance against you. You don't get to touch me, but I will rub my body all over yours. Grind against you. Get real cozy, if you like."

He nodded in approval and fought to suppress a grin. Liz knew he was interested.

"Do you get totally naked back there?" he asked with a cough.

"I lose everything but the panties."

He shifted in his seat and pulled away from her. "Well, shit." He took another drag and shook his head disappointedly. "That's not what I wanted to hear. Don't get me wrong, I love breasts, but deep down I'd rather be like looking at..." His gaze moved from her eyes to her crotch area then back up, and he grinned again.

Liz nodded in agreement. "I totally understand. But it's the house rules...because we serve alcohol and all."

"That's a shame," he said.

"It is," she nodded with an exaggerated frown before leaning in closer and giving the cigarette case another spin. In a whispered voice she added, "But under these chaps I'm only wearing a tight, tiny thong that doesn't leave much at all to the imagination. And chances are you may catch a glimpse or two of what's hiding underneath because it's never quite fit me right..."

"Really?" He sounded intrigued again.

"It tends to shift about a bit while I'm dancing. And you will get very up close and personal with it, that I can guarantee."

He regarded her and said, "It really does sound like it could be fun."

"Trust me, it is." Liz gave him a wink.

With that, he grabbed his drink and downed the rest in two big gulps before slamming the glass back down on the table. "Let's do this."

He snuffed his cigarette as Liz gingerly took him by the hand and led him to a beaded curtain at the side of the stage.

"This way..."

* * *

GARY'S TOPLESS VILLA

PRIVATE VIP AREA

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

Liz brought the man to a small room in the back with carpet on the walls and a tiny plastic chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A miniature black speaker dangled from a wire in the corner and relayed the music playing in the rest of the club...but without most of the bass and occasionally adding an unnatural crackle every so often. Liz pulled close a curtain that served as the room's door and ushered the man to the solitary worn, pink sofa.

"So, what's your name?" the man asked as he settled into his seat, resting one leg on the other. His socks had little red anchors on them. Classy.

She dropped the wad of money he had given her onto a small table under the speaker and answered, "Sweaty Bettie."

He coughed abruptly. Liz figured that if he would have been drinking at that specific moment the guy would've done a spit take like in all those old comedy films with actors like the Three Stooges.

"Sweaty Bettie?" he asked, cocking his head back in confusion. "That's your stripping name?"

Liz nodded, and after a pause she smiled. "It's actually my Juggalo name, but I also use it for work."

"Your Juggalo name?"

"It's a music thing. I like a group that--"

"I know what a Juggalo is," the man interrupted. "Believe it or not, I'm down with the clown, too." His words came out awkwardly and she may have doubted his sincerity, but Liz found something cute in the admission, true or not.

"Really?" she asked.

He nodded.

Liz playfully tossed her arms in the air. "Whoop! Whoop!"

The man smiled and mimicked her motion by throwing up his own arms. Liz laughed at his childish enthusiasm. Most guys would say anything in the back room in order to see if they could work a little something extra out of her. However, this guy seemed different. He may have been awkward, but it seemed that he at least knew what he was talking about.

"That's a weird, weird name," he said before adding, "and not a real sexy one either."

"It's very sexy," she said as she started to sway her hips in time with the music thumping in the background. "They call me that because I work up a sweat when I dance. When it comes to anything physical, I give it my all every single time in every single way," she winked.

The man smiled and seemed to relax again. "I guess I picked the right dancer."

Liz nodded with another wink. She liked his smile. It felt genuine and innocent, not like the lecherous smiles she was used to from most customers.

"Since you're a Juggalo, too," she said playfully, "I know something you'll appreciate."

His mouth opened to speak but before he could respond, Liz turned around and forcefully ripped off her purple chaps in one motion. They made a loud slapping noise as they slammed together in the air in front of her. She immediately bent over and swung her thong covered ass directly into the man's face, shaking it to the beat of the music. She heard him take a deep breath and then begin to chuckle when he noticed the red tattoo on her right cheek.

"The Hatchet Man. Nice. Got any others?" he asked.

"Maybe..."

She moved away from him and checked the curtain. She discretely peeked outside and then quickly turned back around to face him, still swaying from side to side to keep the dance going. She licked her lips and began to make her way in his direction, closing in on him a half-step at a time, always moving in rhythm with the music.

"Maybe," she said again, "but all in good time."

He watched her every gesture with marked anticipation, unable to take his eyes off of her gyrating body. Her thin frame allowed him to see the taut muscles and tendons at work just below the skin. She had strength not curves, and she showed it off.

When she was close enough to reach his knees, she gripped them forcefully and pushed them wide apart before relaxing. She watched his bright blue eyes widen as she gently ran her hands down his inner thighs. He shivered a little and moved his hands to the sofa, planting them firmly beside his hips. She knew this move and had seen it many times with the more respectable of the club's customers. He was trying to maintain his composure. He wanted to assert visible control over his hands for fear he might accidentally reach out and break the 'no touching' rule. She knew he wanted to touch her badly.

As she danced closer, Liz spread her own legs apart slightly, just enough to straddle one of his, and slowly started to make her way up his thigh and nearer to his torso. Moving back and forth, her thighs occasionally brushed up against the sides of his and each time it happened she noticed that he took a quick gulp of air.

When her crotch was mere inches from his face, she brought her hands down to her pelvis and dug her thumbs under the waistband of her leather panties.

"Riddle Box," she whispered.

"What?" he gasped, not making eye contact but fixated on the body invading his personal space.

She pulled the front of her panties down a little, revealing her cleanly shaved mound and just the very top of her dark lotus. She was careful not to reveal any more than just the hood of her clit because she wasn't trying to show him her pussy at the moment -- that might come later -- but for now she simply wanted to fully impress him with her favorite tattoo.

His jaw dropped open as he stared at the purple and green clown that snaked upwards with a twisted neck from the hidden recesses of her cunt. With a snake tongue, wicked hat, and a sinister grin, it looked like an evil jack-in-the-box ready to pounce on an unsuspecting victim.

"It's the Riddle Box cover," she said.

"Minus the box..."

"Because I've got my own," Liz finished with a giggle.

"Of course you do," he realized with a chuckle as he finally looked up at her face. "You're a true fan."

She pulled her thumbs out from the waistband and the panties snapped back against her flesh with a thwack. "Wait'll you see me on stage. My first song tonight is 'The Great Milenko.'"

"Mmmm. That sounds like a real treat." He cocked his head and squinted. "You go full clown makeup and everything?"

"Ha! I wish. I tried it once, but it didn't really go over with the customers here...or the management for that matter."

"Somebody's got to have a circus fetish."

Liz shook her head. "They don't go for nothing freaky here. Nurse, cowgirl, biker chick..." She motioned towards her own studded leather attire. "This is about the extent of the fantasies we cater to."

"What a shame..."