“What you mean you can’t do it? Much as Diane been braggin’ about your ass, you’d better get out there and do somethin’,” Creme insisted. But the more she talked, the more upset my stomach became. Soon, I felt the bile churning and threatening to erupt. I rushed to the closest trashcan and leaned over the top.
The other girls were going about their business like nothing had happened. When I was done, Creme pulled me to the side. “Look, I got a little something for you. It’ll help you relax and get into it,” she said. She fumbled through her stuff for a second and came out with a small plastic bag. I knew what time it was. She stuck one of her long fingernails into the bag and held it in front of my face.
I had tried cocaine a few times, but I never really got anything out of it. “Nah, that ain’t my thing,” I said and took a swallow of my Henny.
“Okay,” Creme said and took the hit.
By the time it was my turn to dance, Creme had me pumped, a little drunk, and feelin’ the music. When Bruce Bruce called for me, I was as ready as I’d ever be. Once I got onstage, I sprang to life, surprising even myself. Every time I went down to the floor, I’d shake my behind and spread my thighs. The men loved it. I’d gyrate my hips to the music, stripping off pieces of clothes as I moved around the stage. When I was down to my last stitch of clothing, which was a thong with fringes, I pulled it to one side and used my fingers to stretch my lips real wide. That one really surprised me. These two men stood at the stage feedin’ me money like they had an unlimited supply.
Diane never came to the club that night and I didn’t see her at all for a few days, but by the time she came back, I was a pro. After three weeks into my new profession, the money was rolling in and I was ready to change my name. Delicious was okay, but this customer gave me an idea when he came stumbling up to the stage at the end of my performance one night. “I want to see my kitty,” he slurred. I was trying to clear my money off the stage before the next dancer came up, but he wouldn’t let up. “Miss Kitty!” he shouted. “I want to see her. I live for the part when you stroke that cat for me,” he said.
“What?” I yelled over the music.
“Them other bitches just dance. You put on a show for a nigga. Make him want you.”
At first, I didn’t understand what he was saying. But the more I studied the other girls; I realized he was talking about. They were just dancing. They were merely moving to music. Every so often they may rub a tit, but it was like: one, two, stop and turn; three, four, shake your ass; five, six, drop and spread; seven, eight, get back up. That’s when I realized just how different I was.
When I was onstage, it was like I was in a trance, dancin’ in my very own world. I’d pick a man and stare at him, literally workin’ him over with my eyes. When I danced, I moved seductively and my hands wandered all over my body as if the customer himself was exploring me. I stroked, caressed, and massaged, tryin’ to give them an idea of what it might be like if I’d actually let them touch me.
With his simple request, my new persona was born. I became Miss Kitty. Now, I waltzed out onstage dressed in a short, tight leather miniskirt, with a garter belt and black fishnet stockings. I topped things off with a fishnet shirt, a black leather bra, and a long pair of black gloves. My final touch was a small, elegant silk mask. Within two months time, Miss Kitty had her own small-but-generous following. Their money spoke volumes-telling me without a doubt that they appreciated my well-calculated efforts to make them happy and to make me money.
3
I lay in bed one Saturday, thinking about how my life had changed. I’m not the same person I was when I walked through those doors. If you had told me when I was fifteen that in five years I’d be the premier dancer at a strip club, I woulda called you a liar and might have slapped your face. But every night, I am the queen at Ecstasy. The truth is, I’m enjoying this life that I’ve been living for the past eight months.
But I had bigger plans for my life. I was gonna be big-time. I never really knew what I was gonna be big-time at, but I planned to make a lot of money doing it. At least that part of the plan was working. I was making mad money and was a superstar in my own right. Sure, the men came to see the other dancers, but when Miss Kitty sashayed out of the dressing room, it was like the room was mine.
Nothin’ could touch the high I felt while onstage. That’s the part of all this that has surprised me the most: I’d never been the kind of person that was-you know-stuck on myself. I am by no means ugly, but at the same time, I am by no means the prettiest girl in the room. There are women with better bodies, and there are a bunch of women that can shake their asses off. What separates me from the rest is my presentation. I just worked harder than every other woman in there, because I wanted it more than they did.
I tried to ease up out of bed, only to lie back down. My head was pounding in the worst way. When the phone rang, I would’ve paid someone to make it stop. I snatched it up before it could scream again.
“Heeeeey, girl, I’m on my way to pick you up now. Nine West is havin’ a fierce sale. I know you down, right?” Diane was hollering in my ear.
I slapped my forehead. “Damn. Why are you callin’ here all early with this shit, Dee?”
“Early?” she screeched.
“Shit yeah. I’m a wreck.” I tried to reason.
“Bitch, pull yourself together and let’s roll,” she said, sounding far too giddy to me.
I turned to face the wall and caught a glimpse of the digital clock. “Damn, is it five o’clock for real?”
“Yeah, that’s what I been tryin’ to tell you, Miss Kitty,” she threw in somewhat sarcastically. “We hit Nine West, do the rest of the mall, grab some food, then get out to the club and make some cheddar,” she said.
I rubbed my face and yawned. “Okay, how far are you?”
“I’ll be there by the time you wash your ass and brush your teeth,” she said.
Later that night at the club, I tripped off how easy it was for me to drop a grand on shoes during my shopping spree with Diane. I spent a lot more than Diane, but I used the grand to cop two pairs of Prada stilettos. Then we went to this boutique that sold Le Perla lingerie. Diane’s mouth dropped when I easily laid three grand on the counter to pay for a lace bra with a matching panty and garter set.
“Are you crazy?” she had asked.
“It’s for my show,” I said as the salesclerk picked up her pace, hoping Diane wouldn’t change my mind.
“At the club?” she asked in bewilderment. “Hmmm! I wish like hell I’d spend that kind of paper to shake my ass for those losers,” Diane sucked her teeth.
I didn’t respond right away, but in my mind, I pointed to that extra effort as to why I was so different from Diane and the rest of the dancers. Considering all I spent on the spree, I knew I’d go to work with a vengeance-no wallet was safe with me on the prowl.
Halfway through my act, to my surprise when I went to the edge of the stage, there was a woman calling me with her eyes. She was all but drooling as she stared at me longingly. I slid to her on my knees, steadily working my hips like we were the only ones in the room. She was loving every moment of it. Each time I wiggled she stuffed a crisp, new twenty into my thong.
“You sexy as fuck,” she said when I leaned over to shake my titties in her face. She stroked at me and I scooted beyond her reach. I loved playin’ with girls ’cause it drove the niggas insane and made them drop major paper.
I went to work another section of the stage before returning to my faithful fan. This time I turned around and spread my cheeks so she could stuff more twenties into my garter. She didn’t disappoint. When she reached up to rub my breasts, I moved out of her way and rubbed them for her, squeezing my nipples for good measure.
I had her hot and wet and I knew it.
After I finished working the room, I made my way to the dressing room to change my outfit. When I came back out, I scanned the room, but my new girl toy was gone. As I walked toward the VIP room to see what was going down in there, this dude grabbed me by the arm. “Say, Miss Kitty, what’s up? You looked real good out there,” he confirmed.
“I’m glad you enjoyed the show,” I said as I tried to move on. He tugged my arm again, pulling me back closer to his body. Liquor reeked from his pores.
“What’s up? You get down like the others?”
“Yeah, for five hundred dollars,” I said without blinking. That was my standard answer anytime somebody
