MARS Ch. 02-03

On his phone, he browses Twitter. It's flooded with nudity from strippers and pornstars, amature and professional. He composes selfies from the night and makes a post about his birthday. "Only the baddest bitches are on this stage! Happy birthday to me! Don't tell me I didn't slay." He wrote and published.

He scrolls down his feed liking pornography until he comes across a retweet from Reggie Streets. He's going on tour. The tweet makes Vehren cringe out loud, if he could dislike he would. In the comments, people cheer this guy on despite knowing he's a piece of trash. However, there is one comment that Vehren likes.

"Love that Reggie is still getting love even though he literally posted revenge porn of his ex-girlfriend." An argument has brewed underneath this statement. Vehren gets off on the anger of Reggie's fans and the straight facts this person gave back. They remain calm throughout the spam of hateful words. Vehren follows the girl and moves on to the next post.

He smiles at his co-worker from down below. Sevena Cande, the Black and Russian girl who uploaded a new video on her OnlyFans. Vehren retweets her post, adding a heart for the caption. When he clicks the link, it takes him to the app. Sevena is in a shiny, pink swimsuit swinging her hips sensually for the camera. There are over three-hundred likes, equivalent to what Vehren gets on a good day.

On his profile, Vehren has gained fifty new subscribers within the night, totally his follower count at five thousand on the dot. He takes a selfie with the bong, making a post saying thanks to his followers for getting him to such a high number. In the messages, fans ask for private videos. They've sent him five or ten dollars within their message. Vehren responds to each one, promising not only a video, but a live stream soon. A rarity his fans would appreciate.

By the time a half hour rolled by, Vehren got up from his spot to the bathroom. For most of the shower, he focuses on his hair, pampering and conditioning the dark strains. He shaves his pubic hair, all of it, including the hard-to-reach places. Outside of the shower, he air dries in front of the sink. The scale says one-sixty-six, which satisfies him. He's mainly made of muscle and silicone. Brushing his teeth and grooming his face takes him another twenty minutes.

Out of the bathroom, he prepares a protein shake in the kitchen completely naked. Whey protein powder, milk, strawberries, bananas, chocolate, and finally ice all blend together in a fury. He takes a sip and nods in approval. He puts the shake into a cheetah travel cup and heads to his bedroom.

Lucci follows him, having a little sneeze attack as he waddles to the back. Vehren asks her if she okay and allows her to go in first. He prepares an outfit for the day; a simple green tank and black skinny jeans will do. Nothing too revealing or crazy, he has an impression to make. He slides his black socked feet into fresh, white Nikes with a gold chain on the back. A cross dangles down his protruding collarbone, he straightens it in the mirror coated with pictures. His eyes land on Eris sitting on a pink bike. He smiles.

Vehren fills Lucci's food and water bowl in the dining room. Lucci runs over and munches away as he grabs his expensive purse. In the hall, he locks the door behind him and takes a deep breath before his door number, 1A. It's raining outside, sprinkles drip onto his bare shoulders as he goes across the parking lot. Before he could reach his Challenger parked under the garage, he hears the door slam from behind.

"Yo, yo." Jack drops down the deep step, walking up to Vehren. "Hey, birthday boy."

"It's not my birthday anymore." I face my body to him.

"I know. But I saw you dancing, finally." He grows serious. "You're really good."

I cock my brow. "How did you see me?"

"Your post on Twitter."

"The one I just uploaded?" My head lowers.

He smirks. "I follow you. Is that a crime?"

"Actually, it's cute. Did you like it?"

His lips pucker. "I will when I get back to my phone. I did bookmark it, though." Jack huffs a chuckle.

"Of course you did. You should see me in person."

"I'm thinking about that. It seems chill in there."

"It is chill. There's no judging allowed."

Jack lifts his brows. "That's comforting." He tilts his head. "Where ya going?"

"A couple places. I have to sign some shit at Cherryhill Records and then meet my daughter's pageant coach."

His eyes widen. "Cherryhill Records? You mean you goin' to be a singer?"

"A ghostwriter."

"That's not as exciting." He chuckles. "At least you get to meet some celebrities."

"Meet? I get to write for them. Once I get credit anyways. You know how many people use ghostwriters? It's more than you think."

"I don't doubt that. You got any bars?"

I play with my jaw. "Not at the moment. I won't be writing rap; it'll be primarily pop. Yanno, Lady Gaga or Dua Lipa."

"Oh, my bad. That's cool, though. Pop fits you."

"Thanks. What about you? Where are you going?"

Jack looks at the lot. "Meeting some friends."

"Gangbangin'?" I pop my brow.

"Don't worry about it."

I scoff. "I don't. You have fun, boo." My body turns and I head to Coachella.

"You busy tonight?"

My head leans back. "Work." I face him. "I'm free tomorrow. Wanna hang out?"

He smiles. "Hell yeah."

I pop my shoulder. "Good. I'll see you in the morning. Be ready." I wink.

"I will be, baby." Jack walks past me, pulling his keys out from his back pocket. He unlocks his red Dodge Avenger and climbs inside. "You be ready for a pounding."

"I'm always ready." I say, continuing to my car.

♂

Google Maps brought me to Canfield Street outside of downtown Detroit. I park across from Cherryhill Records in an abandoned lot. The building is at least three stories, I can't tell because the widows reach from bottom to top. Inside is decked with gold, beautify decorated with expensive furniture. An elevator is to my right, it dings once I come across it. An omega man comes out with a laptop on his arm. He looks at me with confusion and asks, "Can I help you?"

"My name is Vehren Voegeli. I'm supposed to sign some paperwork for the ghostwriting position. I spoke with Shannon Summers."

"Ah!" The man nods his head. "Come with me, I'll take you to her office." He leads down another hallway that stretched through a cafeteria. Gold, yellow, and blue dominates the walls and decor. There are only a few people taping on their MacBooks, sitting separate from each other. We go into a massive recording studio, entering a small hallway before he knocks on a yellow door.

"Shannon? Your new ghostwriter is here."

"Come in!" She shouts. He opens the door for me and gestures for me to enter. "Thank you, Connor."

"You're welcome." He leaves, closing the door behind me.

"How are you, Vehren?" Shannon stands up, giving me a handshake. "It's good to meet you."

"It's good to meet you, too."

"Please take a seat. I need you to fill out some forms and sign a few documents. Nothing scary, just NDAs for the artists sake."

"I understand." I sit before her metallic desk.

Shannon searches through folders for stacks of papers. She sets them before me. "Just sign where the x's are." I read over the legal babble before I sign my name. As I flip the paper, she asks, "So, what music will you

be writing? You gave us a few samples, but is there a preference?"

"I'll be writing self-empowering songs with a bit of a club theme. You know I'm a stripper, so all I hear all day is club music. It'd be nice to hear some more songs about being confident and where the confidence comes from."

"Interesting. For men or women?"

I have to think for a second. "Women, preferably. I'm just better at writing in a female's perspective."

Shannon nods her head slowly. "So, are you like a transgirl or..." I look at her. "I'm not trying to be rude; I just want to understand."

"I'm a boy, just a bit feminine."

"I know you're omega. You smell good. Are you gay?"

I nod my head. "Really, I'm bisexual. But yeah, mainly gay."

"Sorry. You mentioned having a daughter. I'm just trying to figure you out."

I smile. "It's okay. I know I'm androgynous and hard to pinpoint. I like that about myself."

"It's unique." She tilts head. "Your prose is really beautiful in your writing. It's capturing. I enjoyed reading your poetry, and I cannot wait to put a voice to it."

"One day, it'll be my voice. Just not today." I sign the last page and hand the stack back to her. She checks over each page as she slides the form to me.

"We'll see. Can you fill this out. We'll have to run a backgrou

nd check on you. Got any priors I should know about?"

"I did probation for a DUI, but that's about it." My fingers rub together.

"That's nothing to worry about. We're mainly looking for felons and how severe the crime was."

"I'm no criminal." I write my name, birthdate, and social security number.

"Good." She watches me fill out the form. "I just have to say: you do smell good. Like lavender."

"Is that your favorite?" I glance up to her.

Shannon twists the diamond on her left ring finger. "Maybe."

I chuckle. "It is lavender. You got a good nose."

"Or your cologne is strong."

"I'm not wearing any cologne right now. That's all me, baby." I blink, realizing what I just said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call you, 'baby'."

"It's okay." Shannon huffs a smile, rubbing her neck anxiously. "I am married, just so you know."

"I figured."

The door opens and a brown girl with long pink hair comes in. Her body is banging, breasts overflowing out her yellow tank. She struts in with a unicorn notebook in her hand. "Yo, Shannon! I'm back, girlie!"

Shannon grins, standing up to give the girl a hug. "Welcome back, Alivia! How is your baby?"

"Healthy and beautiful." Alivia looks down at me with her drawn brow lifted. "Hey. What's your name?"

"Vehren."

"You a new singer?"

"Nah, a ghostwriter. Are you a singer?"

"I am. My name is Alivia Amos." Her shoulder pops. "I haven't been on the radio yet."

"Not yet. Vehren is your new ghostwriter." Shannon looks at the forms. "Just having him fill out some paperwork today."

"No shit. You're gonna be writing for me, huh? I like my music sultry and smooth. Can you do that?"

"I can do anything." I smile.

She smiles back. "Awesome. Are we working today?"

"I have to go to my other job tonight."

"What's that?"

"I dance at Milky Way Playhouse."

"You do? I love that place. I've never been upstairs cause my peeps prefers women."

"Do you prefer women?" I cock my brow.

"Nope. I'm all for dick." Alivia laughs.

I finish signing my name on the last sheet and hand the forms to Shannon. "Is there anything else you need from me?"

"No, there isn't. Thank you, Vehren."

Alivia comes before me, subtly sniffing me. "So, what's your name at the club?"

"Mars Aphoenix." I stand up, trying to get a whiff of her scent. However, I can't place her subgender.

"Alright. Imma look for you next time I go."

"I'm always there Sundays, that's when I perform."

"Ooh, you got your own time slot. That means you're good."

"You're right. I'm an OG."

Alivia bobs her head. "Alright, cutie. I'll catch you there."

I huff, glancing at Shannon. "Need anything else from me?"

"Nope. Just come back Wednesday and we'll start on some songs."

"Dope. See ya later, girls."

"Make me some hits, Vehren!" Alivia shouts as I leave out of the office.

♂

Downstairs is always more poppin' than the men's club. It's larger too. I have to push through the crowd to get to the staircase. Girls shake their bare asses to The Weekend; guys count their money to toss on the stage. I don't talk to many of the girls, except the few that pay attention to anyone other than money and themselves.

I see a redhead come from the stairwell rocking an all-pink bikini. Her breasts bounce when she struts. She sees me come by and stops me with her hand on my shoulder.

"You lookin' good, boy." Sevena Cande's eyes are two different shades of brown, piercing, they stare right through me. There are three distinct moles spread across her face and a gap between her upper teeth. "How you doin'?"

"Could be better. You?"

"I'm flawless." Her head lowers. "Sorry I didn't see your show yesterday?"

"What happened?"

"I was with my daddy."

I huff. "How much?"

"A grand. I had to do some daddy-daughter shit."

"Anything for the bank."

She smirks and tilts her head playfully. "He wants to see you again."

"Me and you?"

"He a freak. Three grand each."

I smile. "That's a lot of bank."

"BDSM."

"Of course. When?"

"I'll let him know you said 'yes'." She touches my shoulder again as she walks away. I go upstairs, smiling at two men coming down. When I enter the club, The Dante comes up to me in all silver everything including a mask.

"Somebody lookin' for you."

"Who?"

"Someone named 'Fontaine Dah King'."

My eyes widen and a cold rush runs down my body. "Font? Where is he?"

"Room Three upstairs. He already paid for a private show so go on up there."

I look at the stairwell. "Been there long?"

"Nah, so hurry and get dressed."

I take a deep breath and book it to the dressing room. Inside, I change into a two-piece, purple suit with straps going around my waist, sliding my feet into a pair of black pumps. I apply my makeup in the vanity in a hast. Once done, I quickly pace to the stairwell, taking a deep breath before going upstairs.

Neon blue lights illuminate the single hall. Posters of naked women cover the walls. We share the private floor, so women were walking with their patrons to a room. I enter the third room carefully, stepping my foot in first. There he sat, a muscular dark man with tattoos dripped down his arms and face. His hair is shaved, blonde, and has a black star on the left side. He has a mean look on his face and a grill in his mouth.

"What took you so long?" He says with a deep, hoarse voice.

"I just got here." I come closer, waving my body with each step. "You paid for a private show?"

"I actually came here to talk first. Come sit." I sit next to him on the leather couch. "On my lap." I look at him and crawl to his lap. "That's better."

"What do you want?" I stare at him.

Fontaine smiles. "I need you to do something for me."

"What is it?"

"You ain't gon' like it. But you gonna have to do it."

"Why?"

"Cause I paid for that ass of yours, and I want a refund."

I chuckle. "A refund?"

"Yeah, baby. That booty cost me nine grand. We not together no more, are we now?"

"You said it was a gift. Why should I pay you back?"

"Because I said so." Seriousness falls down his face. "I need the money."

"You got hoes. Have them to pimp for you."

He grins, flashing his shiny, fake teeth. "That's what you're for."

I look at him. "I don't prostitute."

"You don't?"

"No." I stare with intent. "I don't."

"That's a shame. You got such a nice body. You're good at sex."

"What are you asking me? To be your whore?"

"I'm not really asking. It's more of a need."

"Why do you need me to be your whore?"

He plays with his jaw. "You owe me."

"I don't owe you shit." I get off him. Fontaine grabs my arm and yanks me back on his lap. I gasp and grit my teeth. "This place has cameras."

"You think I give a shit?"

"You think I'll just say 'yes' because you gifted me my surgery?"

"You know I don't fuck with money."

I yank my arm away but remain on his lap. "Fuck you. You said you wouldn't hold it against me. I would've never said yes."

"But you did and look where we are. You're in my debt, Vehren."

"That was years ago. Why are you coming for me now?"

"Because I wanted you to have your fun. Now you're a stripper, you make bank."

"Not that much bank."

"Shut the fuck up. I saw the amount of money being thrown at you on your birthday. You got your own fucking slot in this shit. I don't want to hear you ain't got money."

"I also have a daughter to take care of."

"Oh right. Little Eris. I forgot about her. She's why you left me, right? How is she?"

"I left you because you put a gun to my head! I don't fuck with abusive assholes like you." I stand up again. "If that's all you want..."

"I paid for a dance."

Inhaling sharply, I stare deeply into his dark eyes. Blank, nothing is behind them. "That's the thing, Font. I have power here. I can refuse your dance."

"No, you can't."

"I can actually. You touched me, idiot." I storm out of the room, skipping down the stairs, and beaming into the club. Through the crowd, I was able to spot The Dante over by Mourne.

He notices me and stops his conversation. "What's wrong, Mars?"

I take a deep breath. "I'm not dancing for Font. He's my ex-boyfriend who abused me and he's being an ass."

"The one who paid for your surgery?" The Dante frowns. "I didn't know that was him. You should've told me."

My eyes scan to the entrance where Fontaine enters the club. "I wanted to see what he wanted."

"What did he want?"

"To prostitute me."

"Ah, hell." The Dante rolls his eyes. He picks up his transceiver from his belt strap. "Deonte, I need you to remove the blonde gentleman with a ridiculous black star on his head. He harassin' my dancer."

"Gotcha, brother." Deonte responds through the box.

"No abusive niggas allowed in my club." The Dante humphs.

"Thank you." I look over to see Deonte come into the club. He taps Fontaine on the shoulder and escorts him out peacefully. Fontaine sees me, giving one glance before following the security.