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Friday, December 10, 2010

Flasher #4



Damn, these shoes are killing my feet! If Johnny didn't pay so much damn money for this I'd have quit when I got that job at the bank. Of course he pays me way too much for me to give up these private performances. I wait at the bar while he finishes counting up the nights deposits and check my make-up. Once upon a time Johnny ran a dance club, and I was his star performer. Then I got a "real" job and Johnny took a job here at The Tap Room as the manager. We both made better money, but I did miss dancing. Johnny must have missed it too, because he called me a month after I'd left asking me to come dance for him when he closed up that night. I laughed it off and told him no, but he begged. Promised to 'tip' me and buy me dinner. Thinking it was his way of asking me out I went.

He never asked me out though, and six months later, he hasn't made a move. I come here every Thursday night after closing. I get to put more effort into my costumes, hair and make-up because he pays me so well. Because I'm dancing out of choice now, not necessity, I actually enjoy it. Every night is the same. I look up and Johnny is walking out of the back room. He smiles and lifts a hand in welcome. I pull a chair out for my routine and toss my coat aside while he steps over to turn on the music. I start to move my hips in time with the music as he pulls up a chair. I close my eyes and let the music glide over me. Moving with the beat, running my hands across my body.

Johnny has always treated me like a dancer, not a stripper. He's never laid a hand on me, or been inappropriate in any way. I imagine that it's his hands on my body as I dance. When the song is over I open my eyes to find him smilling in appreciation. Every week I hold my breath and wish that he would get up and take me in his arms when I'm done, but each time he only smiles while he thanks me and puts a small white envelope in my hands filled with cash. Johnny finishes gathering his things as I wrap myself in my coat and don my gloves and then he walks me to the parking lot.

Wet with arousal and anticipation of something that will never happen I go home alone. Johnny doesn't want to date me. He pays me to entertain him. What man can love a woman he pays for?

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