Emily, Exposed

"Emily."

Looking up from her tablet, Emily saw Marcos, one of the club managers, staring down at her. She often got lost in erotic literature before work, it made the job more palatable. Back when she first started, it used to be romance novels but since there often wasn't time to finish a whole novel, she'd since moved to online fiction or the one-shot erotic stories. Well, that and it looked foolish to be reading a sweet Nicholas Sparks book in the back of a strip club.

"Yeah? Is it time already?"

"Yes. I shouldn't have to come back here and remind you of it. Don't forget to take those" pointing at her glasses, "off".

They were only readers but the difference wasn't important; all he knew is that it didn't fit the image. Smiling up at him, she removed the frames and watched him walk away. More than once he'd described Emily as too dreamy, but as far as descriptions of the girls went it was far from the worst. He had described some as flibbertigibbets, coarse-he had a much more impressive vocabulary than one would initially think. Before joining this lifestyle Marcos was a high school guidance counselor. He'd since had some issues, no one "in the know" was willing to share the whole story but there were some drugs involved, and he wound up here after losing his license. In any case, his previous training with high school girls was probably good experience for handling all the bullshit the girls at the club could dish out. It would be easy to imagine that back, before all of this, he was a much kinder person. He had a soft face, even though years of working here in the dead of night had caused his eyes to be tired and saggy, and dealing with all the egos was causing him to grey prematurely.

"Emily!" he snapped the tablet snap out of her hands and up, "what the fuck did I say five minutes ago?" Reflexively she looked a little contrite, he almost never yelled and of all the managers, he was the most kind. Seeing her face, his tone softened slightly; "Do this shit on your own time. You're not valuable to us back here."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. A little lost in thought."

It wasn't the right thing to say.

"You're always lost in something; a book, your journal-get your head out of your ass and let's go. Look at you-you've only got one eye done." Turning toward the mirror she laughed a little; the eye makeup was so heavy that it was painfully obvious she'd forgotten to do the other side. Looking at her reflection for a minute, it was like looking at two different people. One was plain, with brown eyes and pale skin, and small but simple features. The other was sultry, with large pouty lips, heavy eyelashes, high cheekbones, and a certain amount of "glow" throughout her face from a healthy amount of bronzer. The sexy girl, Starr, was her stage name. Starr was mysterious and confident, Starr was sexy-the stuff wet dreams are made of. Starr was nothing like the bookish Emily that resided underneath.

It was a typical Saturday evening at the club, busy but not packed yet. Scanning for some of her regulars she spotted James, one of her favorites. Strip club patrons come in all shapes and sizes; most who have never partaken in this form of entertainment see them as degenerates, as they saw her. In truth, there's a wide variety of men and women that enjoy coming for just for entertainment or in some cases, companionship. James, in particular, was veteran who had some physical and psychological damage after serving in the military, and would frequent the club just for the company. Emily didn't understand why he'd feel the need to pay for attention, he was so kind and respectful, and at only somewhere around 40, relatively young to have given up looking for love. After becoming a regular she realized why he did; the guy had really been done dirty by the universe: he'd lost his family in an accident, had some injuries from being overseas that wouldn't allow him to function in the bedroom, and had been scammed by an online "bride" when he finally had the courage to get out there again. All of this was discovered over time, over dancing and talking and developing a sort of superficial intimacy that comes with the territory. It's one of the only things she truly enjoyed about this line of work, getting to see people at their most vulnerable, because with the outside world they're embarrassed of their fetishes or their life, their "dirty little secrets". But here, we ARE the dirty little secrets. There's nothing to be ashamed of here.

Walking over to James, a huge smile started to form, he loved it when she'd notice him on her own and make a beeline for him. It made him feel special. Although, at one point, they had to have a heart-to-heart about the fact that she was working and he couldn't monopolize the time. It added another facet to her knowledge about why he had trouble with regular relationships-the guy was clingy. Clingy but kind, a girl just had to learn how to work with it.

Approaching him softly, she smiled; "James, you made it out! I was so hoping to see you tonight." It made her feel like a phony saying that to some, but not to him.

"Hey babe" he replied, "you came to me!" He smiled, the kind of smile similar to that of a child's that is begging for mom and dad's attention and then finally receiving it. A beaming smile. He always gave her one, it never got old.

"Of course sweetie" she started to straddle his lap; they were very comfortable together, "want to go somewhere, just the two of us?" The somewhere was a private dance, it ruined the moment to call it that so Emily always just said "somewhere". He'd been a regular for a while and knew the drill.

They went to a private booth after he paid the standard fee, she proceeded with his favorite style of lap dance; it started by sitting on his lap reverse cowgirl style. Arching her back, slowly, she started pumping her bottom as though they were really fucking. "Mmmm", she whispered in his ear, inhaling his scent; "you wore my favorite cologne again." He wore "Reaction" by Kenneth Cole and she'd complimented it once before, so now he wore it all the time or nothing at all. In truth the cologne was just okay, what she liked about it was that he would continue wearing it just because she said she liked it once. It showed a certain amount of special consideration to her, too. He groaned, at this she twisted her body to face him and ran fingers gently down his torso. He looked up at her eyes-now was the time. She moved his hands behind her body and let him pull the string that would release her top-her breasts popping free in an instant. They weren't large for a stripper, but they were perky. She watched him stare hungrily at her little pink nipples-what he wouldn't give if he would only let him lick them, just once.

"Please, baby" he started, looking up, "just a taste. Just one." She smiled and touched his face, his lips with her fingers-he knew the answer. It didn't matter, he would always ask. He closed his eyes and she started grinding his body gently, sliding her torso up and down his chest and running fingers softly through his hair.

"You like this?" she asked, putting her hands under his shirt, over his nipples. There's nothing in the rules against the girls touching the clients above the waist, assuming they're comfortable. He bit his lip, at this she ran small circles around them, the sweat from his body creating a natural lubricant that made her fingers feel like a tiny tongue.

Just then, the last song he paid for ended. He knew it, she did too. He smiled and handed her a tip, then they silently walked out together to get him seated near the front of the stage. Emily couldn't spend all night with just him, even though some nights she wished it was possible. After getting him comfortable, she stood to look for another regular, if one wasn't there she'd go in back and get ready for a dance. She saw another one, Frank, his beady little eyes lighting at the sight of her. Now Frank...Frank was no James. He was a slightly younger guy, maybe in his mid-thirties, had some family money and worked as an attorney at a small firm his family owned in the city, but he was a fucking tool. The first time she'd danced for him he asked her to bend over and spread her cheeks for him, he wanted to know if she had a bleached asshole. In that moment, she wanted to tell him to look in the mirror if he wanted to see a bleached asshole; he got regular teeth whitening treatments that made his mouth look ridiculously white, so white his mouth glowed in the blacklights at the club. Instead she had to be sweet, redirect him to other activities. But his disgusting ways never let up, and since he never did anything other than say disgusting things there wasn't much she felt inclined to actually do about it-aside from charging him more than she did clients like James. Frank lifted his chin and motioned with his index fingers to come. 'Ugh', she thought, but started walking over just the same, fake smile and all.

Until she heard someone say; "Starr."

Emily looked over her shoulder, usually regulars would just signal with their hands and she'd catch their eye. Very few actually use the name "Starr", they all know it's not her real name, no one's that dumb. This guy did look familiar though, very familiar. Plus, he wasn't Frank to two for two! Smiling, she walked over slowly, looking right in his eyes, he looked so familiar, but from where? There was a fail-safe way to greet men if you couldn't quite place them, so she said...

"Hey honey! How have you been?!" Honey, sugar, sweetie...they all worked...

This guy just stood there looking amused. No response. It was starting to feel awkward; she tried another icebreaker; "I'm so happy to see you again sweetie, it feels like it's been a million years." At this, a big shit-eating grin fell across his face, and he leaned in and motioned for her to move in. Typical. She looked around for the bouncer, he was probably going to ask for a private dance but she'd need to find a nice Disney-princess way of telling him he had to go through management to have it arranged if he wasn't a regular of hers.

As she looked, he leaned in himself and simply said; "I haven't been here before, Emily."

'No' Emily thought, 'oh fuck'. He knew her from outside of here, knew her real name. The bouncer was already on his way over, she tried to signal him to go back. 'Was he one of my classmates from high school?' she wondered. No, he was older than her by at least a couple years, she deduced, and besides if that were true, how did he know her stage name? Maybe he was one of the guys she met in the beginning, one of the criers. The first time few times she did a private dance she was a little rattled, in all honesty more than the first few times, maybe he was one of the sad ones that she foolishly tried to befriend back...

"Hello, sir. Were you looking for a private dance?" the bouncer's voice boomed behind him.

Most guys jumped hearing Ray talk, he sounded like a mix of Vin Diesel and Tommy Lee Jones, the authority of the former and the joylessness of the latter. This guy seemed like he didn't even notice.

Before Emily could insert herself, she saw a gleam in his eye at the mention of "private dance" and he replied; "Yes, that's what I want. Which way?"

"This way" Ray stated, "and Starr is one of our seasoned girls, she sets her own rates for private dances."

'I'm twenty fucking three years old and in this place, I'm 'seasoned'" she thought. There's a woman in back who used to dance and now does the books, the same one that fucked her ex just for kicks. 'If I stay here as long as she has' Emily thought to herself, 'what will I be described as then? Marinated?'

Laughing a little, both Ray and the client looked back. Emily realized she laughed louder than she thought and it definitely wasn't a joke that can be shared. Switching gears she told him the standard rate for dances privately in the general area; there's no wall between you and the next girl that's dancing...it's like a padded cubical. A wholly private dance is its own small room, they call it the "blue room", walls and a curtain with a whole row of private seating and a small stage area. It could run about a $1000 difference, depending on the length of time. It's a pricey difference, and most men wouldn't go for it unless they were regulars or wealthy enough that the money was no deterrent.

"I'd like the blue room" he said "for 3 songs." He turned to the bouncer then to her and asked that Ray lead the way. They walked quietly, Emily was still trying to place him in my mind, and he didn't seem interested in talking in front of Ray at any rate. Toward the end she made sure to walk ahead to give Ray the space to do the usual "tough guy" talk about how this isn't a whore house. She appreciated that about this place, some clubs aren't concerned about reputation.

As they walked in Ray nodded to the client and Emily, and left the door. Now it was just Emily and him, only "him" knew her and she couldn't narrow down where she knew him from. Gently she touched his arm, motioning him to sit. The player in the back had to be turned on, and Ray would consider 3 dances a max of 15 minutes so she needed to hustle. She clicked on the music, a song called "Wild Horses" and one of her favorites to dance to, came on. She started swaying with her eyes closed, still trying to place him in her mind, when suddenly he touched her hand and said, "Emily, look at me".

That did it. She had to bite, "Where do I know you from honey?" not concerned about the song anymore. Where did she know him from? It was his eyes, that strange color. It reminded her of one time, as a little girl, an electrical storm and she and her brother went out to watch -the sky cracked with lightening and color-his eyes were that color. Like a storm.

He smiled, "You wrote me a few months back. You liked one of my stories."

That was it. 'Fuck, of course, I know him' Emily thought, 'Paul, the writer. The one I met online, chatted with, and for some reason shared my whole horrible story with. Paul.' He looked so different in real life; gentle and sweet. Not even remotely capable of the smut he wrote. Paul.

"Paul?" she questioned, knowing it was true but looking for confirmation. His smile said it all.

"I didn't mean to surprise you like this" he started "but I happened to be called out for a conference in the city and remember you saying you worked here. I'm kind of surprised I came myself to be honest."

Now, she should be creeped out. But there's no feeling other than excitement and embarrassment. This man came along at the lowest point in her life, her relationship was ending, she was starting a new life. It was a rough time and she'd made the mistake of sharing too much about her personal life with the veil of the internet, and he was just so easy to talk to. She shared not only that she danced but some professional photos and almost immediately, felt embarrassment at sharing. He seemed to like her regardless and she had still felt compelled to fall back on her looks to keep him as a friend. It felt stupid. She'd stopped talking to him months ago, almost immediately after sharing the pictures.

Paul spoke first, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I just happened to be in town. I never heard from you again, you left no other way to contact you. I'm sorry if that's what I did, in coming here. It wasn't my intent." The song had changed, meaning in her mind there was 5 minutes less to talk.

'Just talk' she thought. "It's cool, I'm happy to see you." He didn't look like he believed her. The next song came on, 'Am I supposed to dance?' she wondered. Emily started dancing and swaying, his eyes locked on hers though, not on her body. She stopped, "Did you just want to talk? Because we can do that." He just looked at her sideways. The next song was halfway over, if she didn't do something in the next ten minutes, he'd be escorted out with no way to see me again.

"I feel like I'm making you uncomfortable, Emily" he lamented "and like I said, I didn't mean to do that, I just wanted to check on you. I don't expect anything." And he seemed so sweet in person, totally normal.

"You're not," she replied, "I'm just surprised. Honestly, I'm excited to see you." He seemed at peace with the answer and sat back. She started to dance now, didn't want him to waste his money just talking. She started by walking up to him, maintaining eye contact. He looked up softly, she smiled and straddled his lap slowly-it's a bit trickier when you don't know what the client enjoys yet, and their talks were almost nonsexual, his only likes had been fairly mundane but intimate-things like when a woman would wear his shirt, nothing she could work with. Carefully she pushed him back into the horrible 80's style seats, they made up for being so ugly by being extremely comfortable. Then she closed her eyes, felt the music, and started a routine she typically did for one of the tech guys that came on Fridays, it was a slow, sensual set up. She moved his hands to the back of her costume to let him undo the top; all men like the act of being allowed to undress a woman. But as soon as she touched his hands, and moved them to the back, his arms stiffened and he held both hands firmly, effectively stopping her. 'What did I do wrong?' she wondered.

"Um, is everything okay? Am I hurting you?" she was barely touching him but maybe he had an injury she wasn't aware of.

"You're not hurting me, Emily. I remember what you said, about being seen naked. I don't want you to do that for me, here."

He remembered something she'd shared once, a deep secret, one ironic to her profession. She hated being seen naked. Obviously psychologically it could be moved past, but she still didn't like it-feeling exposed. It wasn't about being ashamed of her shape, she proudly sported a bikini on the beach, it was hard work to have a toned body. But the act of someone she didn't love or care about seeing parts of her she'd hoped only to share with someone special-it was something she could never quite come at peace with in her heart. And now it was too late to go back, too late to save the honor to be shared with only a few select people. If she was being honest with herself, that's why it bothered her, because it was a value she'd compromised to move up in this industry, and learned the hard way that once you start compromising your values, it becomes harder and harder to respect yourself.

The song was winding down and Paul's hands were still on hers. He was going to be escorted out soon. She decided in that moment, after that show of unsolicited consideration, that her apprehension was unwarranted and went for it; "Look, when I offered to let you stay at my place if you were ever in town, it wasn't just talk. It's not huge but it's got a spare room that you're welcome to." The response took him off-guard.

'God, what if he says no?' she wondered, 'I was a mess, maybe he's just checking to make sure I'm not dead yet or something.'

Every low scenario ran through her imagination when suddenly, he replied with an easy smile, "Alright. I'd love to catch up with you. Let me swing by the hotel and grab my stuff. Where should we meet?"

Her heart leapt, "At my place, 900 J Street. I'm in #502, I leave a spare key in a false-frame above the door so you can let yourself in. I'm off at 4."

He looked a little surprised at how easily she shared the information, "In a false frame? There's no alarm?"

"There is", she replied, "but I only set it when I'm there. It's off." A look of disapproval fell across his face, he did security and the system wasn't very secure. But she'd forget when coming back late, and it was a silent alarm, if you set it up and the cops came out unnecessarily they charge you. There was on-site security and Emily wasn't worried about any things being stolen, only about someone coming in when she was there.