When I first arrived, I was surprised to find that the outdoor area even had its own DJ. The music playing outside is different than what is played inside, but they don’t clash at all.
I glance up at one of the two cabana areas, and I spot one of the club’s owners speaking with a dancer and some other man.
“Are you ready for this?” Sonja asks, pulling my attention back to the moment.
“Girl, as ready as I’ll ever be.”
I swallow back any fear that tries to rise inside of me. No, this isn’t my usual flow, but a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do, and there’s no shame inside of me. Besides, it’s temporary. All I need is a year to a year and a half to get my pockets up.
I drown out Sonja’s verbal assault on the club and what’s going on all around us to take in the dancers all around. Although the club has a lot to offer, their dancers’ performances leave a lot to be desired.
Dancing is so much more than shaking your ass and popping your pussy. There’s nothing wrong with implementing those moves into the routine, but there could be, scratch that, there should be so much more.
These women aren’t true dancers. And the few that are need someone to choreograph their moves. But I’m not here for that.
A tap on my shoulder pulls me away from the tired performances and reminds me of my true purpose for tonight’s visit.
“Are you ready?”
It’s the dancer that I saw on the second-level cabana speaking with the owner.
“Yes,” I say, standing and pulling my knit dress up my hips, over my head, and tossing it onto my seat.
“You’ve got this, girl. And if not, there are always other options!” Sonja shouts after me as I follow the dancer.
My worries aren’t whether or not I will get the job.
There’s no room for worrying in the world that I come from. People will hail you as the queen one minute and hate you the next. The only thing that holds is that no matter how much they sing your praises, they don’t love you.
With that in mind, I tell the DJ what I want him to play, and I take to the stage in my seven-inch heels to teach these tricks how to dance.
The beat thunders through me as a chill runs over my body, hyping me up. I become a beast whenever the music plays, allowing my alter ego to take over. It’s just the music and me on that stage, although I know I have everyone in this club mesmerized.
I can hear Sonja shouting from below, “That’s my bitch!” over Gucci Mane’s I Think I Love Her.
Out of my peripheral vision, I see people coming from inside the club to check me out, but I stay focused on the beat and my moves.
Spinning around, I bend over and touch the floor with my ass in the air, shaking before I come back up, rolling my hips from side to side. A quick, crisscross step and spin turns me back around to face the crowd.
Stomping my right foot against the hardwood floor, I arch my back and rock my body side to side. Throwing my hands in the air and clasping them above my head, I pull my right hand down again and smack my hip, rolling it and twerking my ass as I flap my right hand in front of my pelvis.
Dropping lower to the floor in a squat, I pop a couple of times before coming back up and hitting a few bucking moves.
I can hear the crowd screaming and the DJ chanting over the microphone, but none of that matters to me at the moment. The only thing I care about is dancing. Giving the people what they want with a little something extra.
Grabbing my pelvis again, I stomp forward as I rock my hips side to side.
This isn’t a routine that I’ve choreographed or practiced. But I love hip-hop, and it’s a hip-hop dance that’s edgy and sexy. It brings a certain edge that isn’t always seen in strip clubs, one I’m certain they haven’t seen here if the crowd's reaction is any indicator.
But I don’t worry about any of that. I just let the music dictate my dance moves. This is when I’m at my best, my purest, freest self, when I can allow the music to take over and dictate how I move.
Just before the music switches up to the female rapper’s solo, I “hit dem folks” and sashay into a salsa, swiping my hair back from my eyes.
When the lyrics, Well, my name is Susie and Gucci think I love him. That sucka think I'm loyal, but I fucks with all the hustlers, plays, I spin around again, popping my hips and slide into a half split with one leg pulled partially behind me.
Sliding up onto my knees, I crawl in a tight circle before collapsing onto my right hip, folding my left heel in towards my right thigh, and then kicking my right leg high into the air.
Of course, the men go crazy as I spread before them. My black thong with the silver studs that match my shoes slides further into my slit, exposing my lower lips.
Shaking my right leg in the air as the female rapper sings, Nigga, you don't love me, I make my pussy pulse to their delight. Rolling onto my back, I spread my legs apart, tossing my arms between my legs before pushing up onto my knees.
I roll my hips several times before jumping effortlessly from my knees into a low crouch as I let the music control every movement my body ushers out.
By the time my performance is finished, the outside area is packed.
“Kevin wants to see you,” the other dancer says no sooner than I step from the stage.
I nod and follow her, not bothering to return to the table with Sonja to grab my short knit dress.
