I wrote this story some time ago but struggled to find a market for it. It sits somewhere in the shadows between erotica, comedy and drama. Still, I’m very fond of the story, and wanted to share it with you all. Regards, Sparkly.
With an audible ‘pop’ Charlotte’s nipple pastie left her breast and flew through the air. It landed on the old man’s lap. Before she could reach it, the old man at her stage reached down and grabbed it. Charlotte was surprised but didn’t show it. The man was at least ninety, if a day. Before letting it go the cheeky chap licked it. Still, she took the heart-shaped pastie from his hand and stuck it back on her nipple.
“Thanks,” she said, as she blew him a kiss. He grinned so wide she could see the bright pink plastic gums of his dentures.
For the next hour she wiggled her way around the pole. Business was fairly slow. Two guys she hadn’t seen before sat at the stage. Totally absorbed, they talked business and only spared her an occasional glance. It didn’t matter. As her butt jived to ‘Body Talk’ her head was in the grocery store planning dinner for her little boy.
“Back in a mo,” said the older man who headed to the bathroom. The younger man turned to watch the show. His eyes roamed freely over her body, and as Charlotte now had his full attention, she danced a little more suggestively. She swooped low down the pole, and then swung round, flashing her backside just a few inches from his face. She turned round to face him again, jiggling her boobs with gusto, recognizing a potential big tipper by his expensive shirt and suit.
The young man watched appreciatively, and then jumped as something went ‘plonk’ into his drink. He cursed loudly as his Bloody Mary splashed over his white shirt.
“What the …?” He frantically rubbed at the stain. Charlotte climbed off the stage for the second time that evening.
Frankie the floor manager walked over to see what was going on. He arrived just as Charlotte fished out the pastie from the man’s glass. He shook his head and beckoned to one of the waitresses. “Get this gentleman a refill.”
“I’m so sorry,” shouted Charlotte over the loud music. She grabbed a napkin off the table to help him clean. He brushed her away, clearly not interested in her apologies. “Just buzz off will ya!” he spat. “Bloody tart!”
His friend returned from the bathroom. When he saw the stain on his companion’s shirt, the younger man nodded to Charlotte. The older man glared at Charlotte as if she was a piece of dirt.
At a nod from Frankie, Charlotte headed back to the stripper’s changing room. There was a note on the door. It read: Charlotte – See Clive.
She sighed. She could guess what he wanted. One of the new girls got caught doing a little side business with some of the clients. The house rule was clear on this. No prostitution; especially with members of the club.
She opened a drawer by the dresser mirror and pulled two fresh gold star pasties from a plastic jar. With the pasties securely in place, she was just re-touching the glitter she used on her upper body when Clive himself walked in.
“Ow’s my favorite gal?” he asked, opening his arms in greeting, Mafia style. Charlotte glanced at him sideways. Here it comes, she thought. “I need a l’il favor,” he grinned, and gave her his most charming East-End smile. “Sorry babes, I ‘ad to let go one of me gals. Would you do the next shift for me, pleeeeze?”
“Gee I dunno Charlie; them guys seemed pretty upset with me.”
“Don’t worry about those oiks, I’ll make sure they don’t bother you.”
Charlotte agreed. “Cost you an extra tenner, Charlie. I’ll have to call the baby-sitter, ask her to stay late.”
“All right, all right. You drive a hard bargain, gal.” He gave her a friendly pat on the backside and watched as she walked to the pay phone in the hallway.
After a double shift, Charlotte woke up exhausted. But it had been worth it, she’d pulled in more tips than she’d seen in a long time. She showered and dressed in her favorite jeans and Lady Gaga tee, headed to the cafe next door.
“Hello Charlotte,” Liz said, smiling and already fixing Charlotte’s latte. She was a stout woman, probably in her late fifties, and the two women often stopped for a good natter.
“How’s business?” Charlotte asked, as she looked around the empty cafe.
“Bloody slow, luv,” the other woman complained.
The door behind her opened, and Charlotte looked back to see a well-dressed woman pushing a baby in a small buggy. She was in a foul mood. A man squeezed by, trying to be helpful, and held the door open for her. The woman barged passed him, in no mood to be placated.
“You must think I’m an idiot. Bloody working all night my arse! I know a Bloody Mary stain when I see one, and you reek of alcohol!”
Embarrassed, the man looked about the place to see who, if anyone was listening. His gaze met Charlotte’s, and she recognized him as the man from the club. In that same second he recognized her. Embarrassed, he looked away.
Charlotte listened as his partner screamed insult after insult at him, and wondered at his change in demeanor. He wasn’t the cocky, arrogant dickhead from the night before. She walked to the door, where he still stood. Patiently, she waited for him to open the door.
Charlotte smiled. The young man looked dismayed, clearly afraid she would tell his wife he’d been in a men’s club to watch tarts wiggle their arses. Awkwardly, he made a lunge for the handle, and stood back to allow her to pass.
She wanted to say hello, nice to see you again, to add a little extra zing to his already bad morning. It might have made her laugh, but really, what was the point?
She walked out with her head held high, and went home to see her son.