10 comments/ 38137 views/ 20 favorites 73 Things To Do Ch. 01 By: nineveritae She looked at herself in the mirror for a long time, sometimes turning this way, sometimes that. She smoothed her blouse down over her stomach, feeling only flat and hard-won muscle. Her breasts, finally healed from the surgery, defied gravity in a way that they hadn't since she was eighteen. A long time ago. They were still tender, unfamiliar. They made the woman feel like someone else. Her thighs flexed slightly under her expensive wool skirt, rubbing together, the sensation pleasant. She pulled up the skirt a little, taking some time to look carefully at her legs. They were long, strong, glorious. Easily her best feature. She drug her fingernails lightly up her thighs and shivered. She ran her hands along her lower back and down over the stretched gray fabric of her skirt; her ass was perhaps not as taut as it once was, but it was still acceptable. There might be someone yet, someone out in the world, that would like to interact with it. She hiked up her skirt and shimmied her panties off, pulled her skirt back down. The sensation was faintly dirty, a little delicious. She brought the crotch of the panties up to her mouth and nose, closed her eyes, inhaled. She hesitated, then dragged them along her neck, the tops of her breasts, her stomach. She unbuttoned one of the buttons on her silk blouse and lifted one of her new breasts, heavy and firm in her hand, rubbed the nipple with seam of fabric in her hand. Her eyes closed; a soft moan escaped her lips. Without opening her eyes, groping along the low dresser that fronted the mirror, her fingers touched on a long and thick-bladed kitchen knife that was still sticky with blood. She absently wiped the end of the hilt on her skirt and carefully slid the handle up between her legs until it rested, cold, against that little knot of sensation at the center of her. Her head fell back. She kneaded her breast, pinched the nipple. She moved the haft of the knife in small circular motions, getting blood on her inner thighs, but she ignored this. She gasped and shifted the knife down, careful not to cut herself. She adjusted her posture, rested the tip of the knife against the top of the dresser, and then slid herself, slowly, down onto the stainless steel handle of the knife. She slid it back out, then in again; once, twice, three times. It was cold inside her, shocking. It was something new. She brought her panties to her mouth again and licked them, then pushed her head through one of the legs. She wrapped her fist in the damp cloth and twisted, the white fabric biting into her neck, deep enough to draw white to the fine skin. She brought the knife up to her lips and licked the wetness, the taste of herself, from the handle. Her eyes fluttered; she twisted harder on the faintly damp cloth. She set the blade of the knife against the first button on her blouse and jerked it away. The button flew free, exposing slightly freckled and rounded skin. Slowly, she cut the rest of the buttons away, then worked the tip of the bloody knife under the side of her bra and sawed at it until it broke loose. Her breasts spilled out and the nipples hardened painfully in the air. She toyed with one with the point of the knife, pressing in until the pain made her gasp. She was breathing heavily now, her eyes squeezed shut, her teeth clenched. She carefully put the blade of the knife against her stomach and pushed slowly down, catching in her expensive skirt, and slipped the tip down until the flat of the blade lay against her lower lips, tangled in the shock of hair there. She turned it and jerked, savagely, parting the wool material and cascading it down that long fall of leg to land on the floor. She shrugged out of her blouse and remains of her bra, letting them fall as well. She slipped the cold blade of the knife up the side of her neck, working the tip under the shockingly white band of her panties, still drawn tight in her fist. She jerked the knife, and the panties fell away. She sucked in air, shuddered, and wiped the last of the blood on the blade across her stomach. She opened her eyes. She looked; studied herself in the mirror; dark hard nipples, a long and graceful neck, almost ridiculously large new breasts, the slim hips, a dark shock of pubic hair, her flat stomach, her disheveled hair, her half-mad eyes. She looked down at the knife, considering. She dragged her index finger up the length of her sex, then sucked the sweetness from her finger, studying herself critically in the mirror as she did it. She was still beautiful, and all of her scars were on the inside. Her intention had been to bring herself to climax, to come one glorious time, and then to place the barrel of the still-unused snub 38 under her chin and fire. But she hadn't climaxed, not quite. And she hadn't reached for the gun. She looked at the blood, shockingly red, smeared across her stomach. Surprisingly, she giggled. She looked back up into her eyes, reached down into the wet, hot place at the center of her. She took a deep breath, exhaled. Watched her body move and twist as she did it. Her eyes were hungry. "Okay." She said, whispered. She dropped the knife. She stepped over the body on the floor and went to a nightstand, rummaging around until she found a small leather-bound dream journal. She walked out of the bedroom and padded, naked, through the large and empty house. She sat at the kitchen table, the expensive hand-made wooden chair cold on her bottom, and sucked on the end of the pen thoughtfully, looking off into space for a while. Then she opened her eyes, looked down. She opened the journal, flipped to the first empty page. After a moment's thought, she wrote two neat little words across the top: 'Things That I Want To Do'. The 'Before I Die' was implied. After another moment of thinking, she put a neat '1', a period after it, and wrote a sentence in a tight, graceful hand. Then a '2'. By the time she was done writing the thing after '73', her hand was cramped from writing, many of the pages were filled, and it was morning. She took a shower, briskly. Her head felt very light, very clear. She had a lot to do. ONE I probably stood there for three or four minutes before the two people I was watching fuck in front of me realized I was there and jumped apart like two cockroaches under a beam of light. Wished I'd had my camera out to get a picture of their faces; I'd probably want to laugh about this later. Not now, but later. Maybe. The bass thump of the house system seemed to be groping my ass, pushing me through the doorway and into this ridiculous situation. A situation that I just didn't want to be involved in, or deal with, or even acknowledge. But here I was. "Did you," I said, in what I knew was a very deceptively calm voice, "even know I was working tonight?" Jazmalin was a cartoonishly voluptuous blonde that made the term 'Stripper' seem redundant. Her breasts were covered in my boyfriend's sweat. She had amazingly large dark nipples that the customers liked to drink champagne off of when the bouncers were feeling generous. She looked at my boyfriend for a second, then back at me, wide eyed. "Um, who y'all talking to, honey?" I laughed, with no humor in it. "You know what? Either one." "Baby," Derek was saying, scrambling to get his pants back on. "Listen..." "No, how about this: Fuck you." I said. Then I noticed something else and groaned, exasperated. "You son of a bitch, really? You didn't even use a fucking condom?" Jazmalin dropped her air of fake innocence and adopted one of fake outrage. "You told me..." "Oh, shut up." I said, exasperated. "Everyone knows you hate the fucking things. Oh, and you're supposed to be on stage. Rog is about to trade you up." She squeaked, such a 'blonde stripper' thing to do that it made me laugh in spite of the sight of my boyfriend's cock-sweat still drying on her thighs . She shimmied into her sequined dress-thing, stretching the fabric out over her too-large breasts. She gave me a woeful 'I'm sorry' look and I smacked her ass sharply as she left. It was all the punishment she would get from me, probably. Derek had managed to get his pants back on. He really was a good looking fucker, but with that expression he looked like what he was: An overgrown boy, caught stealing by his mom. "Baby..." He said. I cut him off with a sharp jerk of my head. "No." I said. "I'm working, this place is fucking crazy, we're not going to talk about this now. Go the fuck home and take a shower." "Baby it didn't mean nothing, she was just all over..." I threw up my hands and turned away, walking down the seedy black-painted hallway, long since overgrown with stickers and flyers for various acting gigs and other dancer paraphernalia. I grabbed my tray and order cards from where I'd left them, on the makeup table and checked the mirror. I was handling this thing surprisingly well, and I wanted to make sure I wasn't crying or anything without knowing it. Fucking Derek. And fucking Jazmalin... Funny shit was, I didn't even blame her. She was a slut and everybody knew it. Everybody including Derek; that was obvious now. It was my own fault, telling him all those funny fucked-up stories about her. Might as well put a steak in front of a bulldog. I sighed, looking in the mirror. I couldn't even summon up much anger to throw at Derek. It wasn't like it was the first time. You could make a case that it wasn't even Derek's fault; it was as much in his nature as it was in Jazmalin's. Fool me once, shame on you, etc. If there was blame to lay, it probably went to the leggy brunette in the cocktail waitress dress that I was looking at in the mirror, a girl who could easily be making five times the money a night if she wasn't too chickenshit to get naked in front of people. The problem was Catherine Ames, who was stupid enough to be dating someone like Derek in the first place. The problem was me, twenty-seven years old and watching her life slide through her hands like a rope she can't be bothered to grab hold of. Thanks, I'd like to be a writer someday. Writing is the province of the coward, right? I'll fit right in. "Cat, honey, you okay?" This was Trish, coming off of a stint on the big stage. A fine sheen of sweat covered her dark skin. I wondered how much some of our patrons would have paid just to lick that sweat off those long, shapely legs of hers. She was toweling her short, punk hair, sending a fine mist of sweat into the air. Trish was cool; she maybe had a little crush on me but wasn't obnoxious about it. I barked a quick laugh, more bitter than I thought it would be. Her eyebrows raised. "Men." I explained. She laughed. "I keep telling you." She gave me a wink and I smacked her with my receipt book, watching her go. Truth? Maybe I'd been keeping her in my back pocket in case I decided to do something crazy, like fuck a stripper. I bit my lip, thinking, then looked back at myself in the mirror. I sighed. As if. Cat the Coward. Cat of the unpaid loans for the degree she never got. Cat of the long string of Derek lookalikes. Cat of the Someday-Maybe's. Cat of the Never-Dreams. I made sure all my parts were where they were supposed to be- our 'tress outfits here wasn't nearly as showy as some, but I had some skin exposed- and put my game face on. It was going to be a long night, and I was already sick to death of it. The sad truth about strip clubs, bars, and amusement parks is this: They're fucking awful places to work. Sometimes I think there's an inverse square law in play, governing how much fun a place is to patronize versus how depressing it is to work at. I'm not sure why that is- just plain nihilism? Or perhaps it's to do with the relentless artifice of fantasy-lands. Whatever it is, it took a conscious effort for me to arch my back, paste a smile on my lips, fake a sparkle in my eye, and push out into the club. I wasn't up on the stage and nobody got to see me take my clothes off, but we 'tresses played a role just like the dancers. We were the facilitators, the smoothers, the procurers, the attainable- but not too attainable- girls next door. We were the class. We made shit happen. My club wasn't of the highest order, wasn't a Hustler or a Scores, wasn't a chain. But we were near the top, big, and we had a reputation for being a bit more relaxed about the letters of the laws than some clubs. The bouncers, the girls, the 'tresses; all had a complicated language of looks, gestures and signs that let us know what was on the table for a particular customer and what wasn't. Some days I called myself a glorified pimp and I wasn't much wrong, but I couldn't even muster up much outrage for that. It's not like anybody in this place had illusions about what we were selling. I emerged into the cacophony of bass, booze and pseudo-sex just wanting to go home and watch a good TV show, something about beautiful exiting people doing immensely important things in beautiful exiting places. I just wanted to go somewhere and not be me for a while. I felt like if even the slightest thing more went wrong, I'd scream. So of course immediately the other 'tress on shift, Mary, found me. "Cat," She said, "You gotta save me, honey." Mary was one of those energetic, bustling people who, no matter what the actual size of their workload, were always just about to collapse into a panicked breakdown from overwork. "What's up?" I said, groaning inside. "Table 6." She said. "Some kind of high-class or something, whatever. I got this table of douche that think they got a shot and they're pouring money into me, baby fucking pouring, but I gotta pay 'em some attention." I tried not to sigh. "It's no problem, hon. What's her drink and poison?" "Goose and tonic, no poison, she keeps turning down dances. Didn't have the time to find out. Thanks, C, I owe you like, six fingerbangs." She bounced off. I shook my head. Mary was as likely to fingerbang me as marry Ellen. A straighter young woman hath never existed than our Dear Mary; a fact that caused much despair with our more 'ladies-focused' workmates. I looked over to 6; saw a good-looking woman, early forties maybe. Put together. Money. Didn't get many of that type in a place like this, but it was hardly unheard of. I started the laborious process of apologizing to my tables, flirting, taking hints, and eventually grabbing a goose and T from the bar. On close inspection, the woman was even more out-of-the-ordinary than I'd thought. She had a piece of ice on her finger that would have bought a yacht and a dress that was worth more than I made in a month. She was pretty in a severe way, with coiffed blonde hair and tits that were too big for her frame. Fake, most likely, but good work. Long legs crossed under a dove-gray skirt; in shape the way these women usually were. A trophy wife just past her prime, this one. Probably watched a few old seasons of the L word and was looking for something dangerous. Husband who had a younger woman; she was curious and out to get a little of her own. I could play this game all day long. And I did; it was called my job. "Hiya," I said, summoning my best friendly smile, "I brought you a fresh drink. On the house." The woman quirked an eyebrow, smiled. She accepted the glass. "Thank you." She said. She had a rich voice, an audiobook reader voice, the kind that sent little trills down your spine. I felt like she was maybe a bit nervous, definitely out of place. Didn't know what to do or who to talk to. I could see why Mary had ignored her; this was the type that probably wouldn't tip very well unless you figured out how to pick that lock. But if you did... Anyways, I had a few minutes and I always liked a puzzle. I sat down across from her. "Now darlin'," Putting on my best Florida southern girl voice, "What brings a lady like yourself into a gin joint like this?" She shrugged, a half-embarrassed, half-it's-too-complicated-to-easily-explain gesture. Her lips pursed in a little smile. They were great lips, set around a wide mouth. She was actually quite beautiful, long necked and poised, with that hard-fought physique that I'd always thought was sexy on older people that took good care of themselves. "Just a whim." She said. I grinned. "A whim?" I said. "What kind of whim, if you don't mind me askin'?" "I don't mind." She said. When she looked at you, she had that direct gaze that cut right into your face- maybe she wasn't a trophy wife after all. Or not ONLY a trophy wife. She had something of the bearing of a CEO, a politician maybe. She looked around. "I've never been in... a place like this. I thought I'd try it." "You never came with your husband?" I said, cutting my eyes to the ring. "Ex-Husband." She said, softly. "Very recently so." "A tale as old as time." I said. "Sorry, darlin'." "Don't be." She said. "Okay," I said, grinning, "I won't. Listen, I have to run around again, but we've got another couple girls coming in soon so I'll be able to pay some real attention to you, if you stick around. Maybe we can have some fun. Okay?" "Okay." She said, and I flounced away, checking in one of the mirrors to see if she was watching me go- aaaaand she was. Had an eye for girls, then, but was used to hiding it. I was thinking either Trish or Danni; they'd both eat this one up. Which one she would like depends on if she liked boyish girls or girlie girls. I'm right in the middle, myself, so that doesn't help. I had a little bounce in my step as I went to grab the rest of my tables- virgins were always fun. Anything, really, to distract me from this dead-fucking-end job and my cocksucker boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend? Maybe. Maybe not. It depends on how much energy I had. He was good at backrubs, and I'd had worse in the sack. I've had better, too, though. This whole train of thought made me tired and I couldn't afford to be tired, not four hours into a twelve hour shift, so I applied myself to the slightly less wearying task of making strip-club patrons happy. Which is not as easy as you might think, being as how our entire business model is built around NOT giving them what they want. I fended off the usual advances from the usual guys who thought a 'tress in a place like this would be so overwhelmingly flattered to be paid attention to that she would immediately drag him in the back, find a handy closet, and fuck him silly. It was ridiculous, but then again, sometimes it worked. I suddenly remembered that I had met Derek that way. Oh my god- and the guy before him... I needed to get out of this fucking job. Rog and Mike did the usual goddamn cock-up thing they usually did, which is leave a nearly full club to two servers for half the night, and then panic and call in an extra girl on top of the two that were already coming in. So in the space of ten minutes or so I went from absolutely crushed to having hardly anything to do. Fucking typical- and with rent due this week. Well- back rent. I was considerably behind. Because Derek didn't fucking work. I forced myself not to think about money. Or about college loans. On a degree I did not have. In something I had no interest in doing. I took a ten minute break and just stood there in the break room, staring at the ceiling. They'd offered to cut me, once they realized they had too many 'tresses on the floor, but I had no interest in dealing with the Derek situation just yet. And besides, even if my tables just got quartered, money was still money. Suddenly I remembered the woman in 6 and swore softly to myself. Goddamn it, she was probably gone. I'd completely forgotten about her. I hurried upstairs and yep; sure enough, gone. Goddamn it. I was certain I could have gotten her cracked, and made myself a nice tip while I was at it. Oh, wait- no. Not gone. Just gone to the bathroom. I felt an absurd sense of relief. I caught her before her table. 73 Things To Do Ch. 01 "A drink." I said, "Anything you like, on me. I'm truly sorry." "That's not necessary." She said, that voice tickling me in the tickling places. "Oh, it is." I said. "Trust me. Please, let me make it up to you. Anything you like." She smiled slightly, that little enigmatic smile. She glanced at her coat, and I had the idea that she'd been planning on leaving as soon as she got back from the bathroom. She gave me a considering look. "Very well, on one condition." "Sure." I said. "Anything." "Get two of whatever you chose, and keep me company for a minute or two." I smiled. "That sounds like a perfect plan. I'll be right up." I went to the bar, breathing in relief. I hate disappointing customers, especially nice, non-obnoxious ones. Normally it would be frowned at to just hang out with one customer, but when there was enough help it was winked at, as long as we weren't keeping the dancers away. And that was definitely not my intention. My intention was to get this lady in a dark room with some very beautiful women and blow her mind. And hopefully she would be appropriately grateful. I took up two mind erasers, always my strong drink of choice, and set my tray down on the little table that the couch circled around. She lifted her eyebrow at the viscous pink liquid. I grinned. "Skullfucker." I said. She laughed, a low throbbing laugh. She just had the sexiest voice! I couldn't get over it. I always found my own shrill and flat, when I heard it recorded, but hers was lush and thick, like warm scotch or a clove cigarette. Or drowsy afternoon sex. "That sounds like something I could use." She said. "Right?" I said. I showed her how to do it, the straw-upside-down trick. Then sank into the cushions as the drink hit my system. Man, I DID need it. "That's... interesting." She said, grimacing slightly. "Bet you're probably more of a cocktail girl?" "Wine, usually. Under normal circumstances." She said, smiling slightly again. "But these aren't normal." I said, trying to twinkle my eyes. "No." She said. She leaned back herself, spreading her arms along the edges of the couch, lifting her breasts and confirming my suspicions that they were fake. Very good work; spectacular even, but you don't work long in a club without learning your way around a breast or two. Or a thousand. She crossed her legs, which were very definitely not fake, and very definitely spectacular. I felt a twinge of jealousy over my fatass little stumpers. I wonder how many thousands of miles those legs had put onto an elliptical to get that way. I'd seen a picture of an elliptical, once. She studied me; I let her. "You're very beautiful." She said. I blushed; a studied blush, sure, but that's how this game was played. We'd flirt, get her comfortable, get her some confidence, and I'd find out what she wanted. She didn't really want me; they never did. You want a girl like me, you join a dating site and try to be clever, or send me roses at work, or... I don't know. Whatever. You come into a strip club, you don't come in for the cocktail waitress. You come in for the girls on stage. You settle for the cocktail waitress, and that's something many a 'tress has forgotten, to her shame and peril. I've been in this game way too long to forget it. And Derek's recent little refresher course certainly helped with that. "Thank you." I said. "So are you." She blushed, a real one, and looked away. She was strange- she wasn't shy, I knew how to deal with shy. And I knew how to deal with direct and bold. But she was this curious mixture; like she wasn't shy by nature but she was struggling to overcome layers and years of caked on morality, or something. "So," I said, relaxing in the seat, "What's your name, darlin?" She bit her bottom lip, a really fetching gesture on her strong, aquiline features. A hint of softness in the sculpted planes of her face. She crossed her legs and I let myself check them out openly, knowing she would be flattered by it- and hopefully help her relax. "Amy." She said, finally. "Amy Anderson." This wasn't her real name, plainly, but I didn't raise an eyebrow. "Hi, Amy." I said, leaning forward and extending a hand. "I'm Catherine." She took my hand; strong fingers. "It's nice to meet you, Catherine." I had this weird quick little flash of vision: me pulling her hand close, turning it, and licking the inside of her wrist. It would taste like perfume and salt and expensive body powder, I bet. I'd feel her pulse against my tongue. I didn't do it, of course; I got those little flashes often. Always had; my mother had said it was the hallmark of an overactive imagination. And the sexual nature just meant that the good ol' Skullfucker must be kicking in. A lot of times alcohol just mellowed me out, but sometimes it made me horny as shit. Looks like I'd won the lottery! Which, if I kept going, would probably mean that Derek won the lottery too. Which just depressed the fuck out of me. I let her hand go and sat back. "Well, Ms. Anderson," I said, putting an emphasis on the 'Ms', "How can we make our shocking lack of customer care up to you?" She raised that eyebrow. "Make it up...?" "Ignoring you so long." I said, playfully. "We like to keep our patrons happy." She met my eyes- damn did she have some striking eyes. She seemed to be considering what to say. "I..." She was interrupted by none other than Mary, who was dropping off two more Skullfuckers and a couple of beers. "Thought y'all could use another drink." She said, giving me a wink. Good ol' Mary. Amy had settled back, watching Mary go. Mary was a short little pixie girl, with the kind of curves you could only get on girls under 5'5"; just the best little ass in the world. I waited until Amy's eyes shifted back, and smiled. "I'm sorry. Please continue." She waved this off; the moment was broken, dammit. "Well," I said, "How about a drink?" I had to get her back on her train of thought. "I'm afraid a beer will be fine for me." She said. "Another of those things and you'll have to get me up off the floor." "Party pooper." I said. "I tell you what." She said, reaching forward to take the beer, twisting her white blouse as her heavy aftermarket breasts tried to escape her expensive bra, "I'll tell you what I was going to say, if you do both of those drinks." I raised my eyebrow. "Trying to get me drunk, Ms. A?" She laughed, a low chuckle that made my spine do that trill thing. "As drunk as me." She said. "Even footing." I looked around; the crowd had thinned out a little and I had no tables. I looked at the drinks. Up at Amy. "Deal." I said. "But then you tell me what you want." Her lips pursed a little, then smiled. "That's a deal." I pulled the two glasses toward me, cracked my neck, and tossed them down. Alcohol never hits you immediately, the way it looks like it does in the movies, but these sure felt like they hit me right away. "Gah." I said. "Fuzzy." "Good." She said. She crossed those magnificent legs again. They were just absolutely spectacular- I'd put them, at let's say 42, up against a lot of the 23 year old legs that were wrapped around poles in this place. But these were strong, sure, tight. Like I said, I'd always found it sexy when older people took good care of themselves. "So." I said, fighting off a wave of blur that crept across my vision. "I believe we were talking about how we can keep you happy. Which is something we are very interested in doing." She looked at me for a while, long enough to take a swig or two of beer. She was relatively relaxed; whether it was the alcohol or just a friendly face, she was ready to let that guard down a little. "I would like," She said, toying with the rim of her beer with a long finger, "If this kind of thing is... allowed... to watch two women..." She hesitated, as if unsure if she needed to be clearer. She did not. "Ah." I said. For some reason I blushed, though I'd been certain that was the case. I smiled at her. "That can certainly be arranged." "Is that a..." She seemed to be groping for a word, "Normal sort of thing? In a place like this?" "Oh, honey," I said, laughing, "That's as normal as Budweiser and Apple Pie. A lot of the girls here, they love to put on a show. Especially with each other." "And how about the Cocktail Waitresses?" She said, meeting my eyes. "Do they ever put on shows?" I laughed and stood. "You're sweet. But when you meet Trish, you won't even remember that 'Cocktail Waitresses' exist, even ones as cute as me. Would you like to come along? You may be more comfortable in a private room." She studied me for a moment, her eyes dark. Then she took my proffered hand and I pulled her upright. She was surprisingly light; she had such an air of gravity about her it was surprising to find that she was shorter and smaller than me. "Lead on." She said, with a little smile. I pulled her along, still holding her hand, winding our way down through the tables toward the 'back'. I arched an eyebrow at Rog, he flashed a surreptitious '3' at me. I pulled Ms. Anderson down the dim hallway and into a very dark room lined with velvet so deeply red it looked black. I gave her a little grin. I was flirting maybe a little too much, but I was getting pretty fuzzy. And she didn't seem the type to mind, or report me to my boss. "You," I said, letting go of her hand, "Stay here. And make yourself comfortable. And I," I sketched a little bow, backing out of the room, "Will see you later." I gave her a wink and made my way down the hall. "High roller," I whispered to Rog. "No time limit and ignore the noise." He raised an eyebrow, but accepted it. I knew my job. I went to find me some makeout girls. Trish was finishing up at table dance and I gave her a jerk of my head. She met me back over at the bar. "You got fifteen?" I said. "Got a rich virgin who wants a show." "That one at table 6?" Trish said. "Yep." I said, smiling inwardly. I knew she would have noticed. "Yum yum." She said. "What kind of show?" I hesitated. "What kind of show are you in for?" She pursed her lips. "Rich?" "Yep." "Who's my partner?" "Dalla." "Hoping you were going to say you." She said, with a wicked smile. "But Dalla's fun. So... well, I'll play it by ear. I'd be up for some fun, if the price is right. Think she'll want to get involved?" I thought about this. "I dunno. Like I said, a virgin. Seems like she'd be open to a little fun, though. Took a couple passes at me already." "Well, who wouldn't?" Trish said, seeming to imply that a human person that didn't make several passes at me wasn't worth the blood that beat in their veins. I rolled my eyes. Trish would die flirting. I had one of those little flashes and for a second I had the crazy urge to grab Trish's ass, pull her close, and grind into her leg, just feel something soft and hard at the same time. For a strong second the urge was overwhelming. I blinked, a little unsteady. Jesus, I was horny. I wasn't used to it and it kept smacking me upside the head. "You okay?" She said. "Yeah," I said, "Just got buzzed. Whoosh." "Mmm." Trish said, slipping strong fingers into the waist of my skirt and tugging slightly. "Fun." I smacked her hand with my drinks book. "Get outta here. Go deflower a trophy wife, if you want to do me a favor. Room 3." She let go, gave me a saucy little smile, and turned on her heel. I sat down at the bar and put my head in my hands for a minute. The room was spinning, but not in a bad way. Suddenly I wanted to take a break, go find a remote bathroom stall, and just masturbate the living shit out of myself. I laughed at the thought- it had been years since I'd done that. In my early days, I'd done a lot more drinking and had a lot less in the way of steady boyfriends. It had been almost a safety mechanism around here. Good thing Trish didn't know me back then. How long had it been since I'd had a good, satisfying, screaming orgasm? Too fucking long. I only come hard when I give a shit, and I hadn't given a shit about much anything in a while. Definitely not Derek, even if he did have a fairly decent cock. I could go get a dildo that fit me better and not have to deal with the psychological warfare that he called dating. Plus the dildo would probably vibrate. Pluses all around. A hand on my back turned me around; I saw Trish. I frowned- what was she doing back? "She wants you in there." Trish said. "What?" I said. "She wants you in there." Trish said. "Moral support, or some shit." "Dude," I said, "I can't..." Trish fanned out her fingers. In them was a hundred-dollar bill, bank crisp. "That was just to ask the question." Trish said. I looked at it, dumbfounded. That was big money, even for high-end strippers like Trish. She nodded. "Yeah. So do a shot or something if you need to, but we don't play if you don't play, and this one is dying to spend." "Jesus." I said. "Yeah." Trish said. She took my hand and pulled me off the seat. She gestured to Mike behind the bar. "C's gonna be off the floor for a few." Mike nodded, uncaring. Trish met my eyes. Full on mischievous grin, but there was avarice and sex in there, too. "Come on, C. This is big girl money. Big girls don't turn down big girl money." Slowly, I nodded. I let her lead me through the crowd to room 3, just like I'd done with Amy. My mouth was dry and my heart was beating hard. Cat the Coward. Cat of the Cast-Down Eyes. Amy smiled as soon as I came in. I put my game face on. "Don't like going to the movies alone, huh?" I grinned at her and sat a few paces away on the large comfortable circular couch that ringed the padded duvan in the middle where Danni was sitting. "Do you mind?" She said. "Not at all." I lied. I crossed my legs and tried to formulate a plan, a way to respond if Ms. Anderson made a move. I faced the realization that I honestly did not know what I'd do. Or what to do. I was at fucking sea. I tried not to look like I was hyperventilating. Trish gave me a saucy little grin and caught Danni's hand, who led her around the circle of the duvan a few times, giving Amy a good view of her body moving beneath the barely-there dress. Trish was dark, half-black or Polynesian or something, with a narrow face and full lips that looked great with her short, punk haircut. She wasn't voluptuous; she was slim-waisted and thin-hipped, but she had lovely little b-cups and an ass that made you want to take up sodomy. It was a dancer's body, and she moved like a dancer- I don't mean dancer as in 'Exotic Dancer'. She moved like a ballerina, precise but sensual. I fancied I could see Amy's heart beating harder in the veins of her neck. I felt a little stab of something that almost felt like jealousy. Ha! I was drunk. She slipped onto the duvan behind Danni, who was almost the exact opposite of Trish. Pale, almost translucent skin and flowing dark hair, Danni was a pinup girl come to life. She had tattoos over her arms, neck, and down her back, and the black lingerie she wore barely held her curves together. She was soft, lush, voluptuous. Her breasts were amazing, probably something like E's- She'd gotten me to feel them up one time at a party and it was like sinking your fingers into some heavy firm cloud that just went on forever. Trish slipped her hand across Danni's collarbone, resting it possessively on her neck. I looked at Ms. Anderson; her eyes glowed like coals in the darkness. I shivered a little at the hunger I saw there. She liked this, yes. Trish took her time, her hands never leaving Danni, covering her neck and shoulders with small presses of lips and licks of tongue; a visual seduction that was... well, compelling. To say the least. Danni's breath came a little faster, those magnificent breasts heaving like a restless sea. Trish wound her fists in Danni's hair, slowly, twisting it until Danni's head was pulled all the way back, her throat exposed. Trish pulled until Danni was looking up at the ceiling, and Trish wound her tongue down into the pale girl's lush mouth, slipping her hands under her breasts and squeezing them through the thin fabric. I felt myself blush a little. That looked kind of fun. Danni took control and twisted in Trish's grip. She surged up into the kiss and pushed Trish back down onto the duvan, hand wrapped around her neck. I saw Amy's lips part; she adjusted her long legs. I smiled a little to myself while Danni made her slow way down Trish's body, licking and biting, touching everywhere. When her face reached the little mound of cloth that covered Trish's sex, she bit lightly at the fabric and Trish moaned. I watched Amy, now, as they climbed all over each other; it seemed to me that the older woman was getting incredibly aroused. With good reason, too; this was quite a show. I was already too fucking horny and my judgment was probably not all it should be. I needed a break, before I did something I knew I'd regret. I got up, slipped around the two girls who had gotten each other's bras off and were licking each other's breasts slowly but with a growing rhythm and urgency, made my way to Mrs. Anderson and only tripped a little. They really were fuckin' good at this. I crouched next to Amy. Her legs were slightly parted, her hand on her thigh. I got close to her ear. "I'm gonna go get us a couple of drinks, darlin'." I said, putting a little southern girl purr in there. I put my hand lightly on hers and pushed it a few inches up her inner thigh. "I think they'd be flattered if you had a little fun while you were watching." I slid her hand a few more inches, until it started to push her skirt up. She was looking at me with those burning eyes, and I smiled. Stood up and walked away, because for a moment I'd almost leaned in and kissed her, kept my hand where it was. It had felt pretty good, resting up against the hem of her skirt. And I really wanted... fuckin'... something. Something that wasn't Derek pawing me like a kitten with a ball of string and trying to talk me into anal. I tottered out into the club, feeling too dizzy even than the drinks I'd pounded. I went to the bar and got some drinks, for Amy and me, taking my time, giving the girls a chance to work their magic. These little sex flashes were getting alarming- but why should I be alarmed? What the fuck did it really matter, anyway? I'd just caught my live-in boyfriend fucking a stripper. And it wasn't like I'd never fucked a girl before- I just hadn't lately. Or, like... years. But why couldn't I let Trish take me home, re-enact that little scene on the duvan but with me as the star? What would be so wrong with that? I got the drinks, made my way back through the club, suddenly feeling tired and depressed. There was nothing wrong with that; not a thing. I could do it. I could totally do it. Not a thing in the world stopped me. But I wouldn't. I knew I wouldn't. Because I was a fucking coward. If anybody had sweaty hot licky hair-pulling sex with Trish or Amy tonight, it wouldn't be me. Cat the Coward, that's me. Know thyself, as the sages say. Even if the knowledge tastes of ash. When I came in, Trish and Danni were down to their panties, legs wrapped around each other and grinding slowly while their tongues tied knots. Amy's hand hadn't moved, but it also wasn't moving; she looked up at me with a hot little smile that made my stomach twist up. I handed her a drink, took a sip of mine, sat down. Maybe a bit nearer Mrs. A than I'd been. Who can tell these things. It was dark. God, Danni's breasts were just amazing. I just wanted to rub my face in them, an action that always seemed juvenile when boys wanted to do it to me, but... Totally got it, now. Trish broke off the kiss and looked at me; gave me a sort of sinister little wink. She detangled herself from Danni in a supremely graceful and erotic move that ended with both of them spanning the distance between the leather duvan and the couch. 73 Things To Do Ch. 01 "Um..." I said, as they grabbed my hands and pulled me up. In another supremely graceful move, in that I didn't quite realize what was happening until it had happened, I was sitting on the duvan, facing Ms. A, with two very beautiful and quite lesbian strippers pressed tight on either side of me. "Um..." I said, again. "Relax." Trish said in my ear. "The customer has a request." Danni breathed, licking the lobe of my ear as she said it. I jumped at the sensation. I looked up at Amy, who was looking at me with maybe the hungriest expression I'd ever seen on another person in my life. "Big girl money, darling." Trish whispered. "Big girls don't turn down big girl money." Her hand slipped over my stomach, making me jump. Danni's magnificent breasts brushed my arm and Trish licked my neck. Involuntarily, my eyes closed-. Right there, that's my trigger. Stuff starts to get slippery. I felt two sets of hands cup my breasts through my 'tress outfit; for a moment I was absurdly embarrassed that they'd be able to tell that my nipples were as hard as fucking rocks. "Um..." I said again, but my eyes were still closed and expert hands were travelling all over my body. I felt a hand tighten around my neck (another trigger) and boom: I was WET. Embarrassingly wet. But then the hand turned my head and I felt a long tongue part my lips and slide into my mouth at the same time a different set of expert hands pushed my legs apart and dragged fingernails up into my cunt. I gasped into Trish's mouth; her lips were soft but her tongue was hard and insistent. My dizziness overwhelmed me. Vaguely I felt them undo my dress, then my bra. My nipples felt other nipples press on them and drag across my skin, shocking in it's softness; traded Trish's hot darting tongue for Danni's soft mouth. She sucked my tongue into it powerfully, almost so much it hurt; I felt fingers touch me, remove clothing, touch me some more. It was maybe the most erotic thing I'd ever experienced. I can admit that, I'm a big girl. Even a coward can admit something like that to herself, can't she? I started to reach the point where I thought I might come, then reached the point where I didn't care if I did, then reached the point where I thought I'd go mad if I didn't. The need to experience that release grew and grew until everything else in the world seemed arbitrary and unimportant. I broke off the make-out with Danni and opened my eyes. I was mostly naked now, with just my underwear and stockings on, a tangle of arms and breast and leg and mouth and tongue. Amy was watching me, her eyes somehow dark and bright at the same time. She bit her bottom lip slightly; the first physical concession to arousal she'd shown, and that simple little gesture went through me like a cleaver through flesh. Suddenly, with no transition, I knew that I wanted to fuck this woman across from me, I wanted to fuck her more than I'd ever wanted to do anything in my life; I wanted to do shit to her I'd never even imagined. I felt like I'd do anything in the world to do it, and I felt like I might die if I didn't get to. It came from nowhere and slammed into me and broke me and made me anew; in an instant my whole life seemed paltry and dull in the face of this new, searing, overwhelming, lust. I broke free of the other girls, leaned forward, climbed across the gap like a cat, placed my weight on my hands that touched either side of her thighs and seemed to burn my skin, and kissed her. The world just kind of... went away, for a little while. And then strong fingers wrapped around my neck and Amy pushed me back, breaking the kiss with a soft sucking sound. I whimpered a little. She looked at me with hooded eyes for a second, then licked her lips. "Thank you, ladies." She said, in that thrilling low voice. The other two girls pulled me back; they could tell the show was over. She stood, tucking a fat roll of bills into the fold of the couch. She gave us a smile, adjusted her skirt, and left the room. There was silence for a moment. "Well that was fun." Trish said. Danni had already gotten over to the couch and was riffling the bills. She looked up at us, wide-eyed. "What?" Trish said. I was too battered and lost to even think about it. "There's three grand here." She said. "The fuck..." Trish said. She bounced over and counted it. I sat back on the duvan, feeling muzzy and stupid. That was... it? That was all there was? And now she was gone? I was as wet and hard and horny and frustrated as I'd ever been in my life, and now we just... went back to work? Trish bounced back with a bunch of large-denomination bills in her hand. She tucked the wad into the top of my panties. "Big girl money." She said, impishly. Danni was already putting on her skimpy dress, and Trish started to do the same. She looked at me, concerned. "You okay?" "Yeah," I said. I started hunting around in the dimness for my bra. "You were amazing." Danni said. "Join us anytime, darlin." She gave me a wink and Trish gave me a rather more salacious wink. Then they ducked out of the room and were gone. I sat in there for several long minutes, and then finally started putting my clothes back on. My heart was in my teeth as I walked around the stage and looked to see if Amy had left- for a desperate, terrible moment I saw an empty table but then I realized I was looking at 4, not 6. Ms. Anderson was sitting, legs crossed, as classy as anything, in number 6. I sighed a huge sigh of relief and looked around for my next item of business. I saw it and walked over. "Excuse me." I said to the balding guy that Trish was talking to. "I'll get her right back to you, honey." I grabbed Trish's hand and half-dragged her to one of the changing rooms, locked the door, and mauled her. She had no apparent problem with this; in five minutes she had me back on the couch with my skirt down around my knees, having one of the best orgasms of my life into her strong little mouth. When it was over I shuddered and jittered a little in that way that always embarrasses me but seems to turn other people on quite a bit. "Mmmm." Trish said, climbing up me and kissing me on the mouth. Her mouth was wet with my come, and it tasted strange and wonderful on her lips. She broke the kiss after a moment, before it could get too heated. "Your turn?" I asked, half fearful, half hopeful. Trish laughed and patted my cheek. "Not unless you want me following you around like a puppy dog." She grinned. "And that wouldn't be no fun for anybody." She paused for a moment at the door, wiping the corner of her mouth with one finger. "Just so you know," She said, "You're a bit of a squirter." I froze. The look on my face must have been enough. "Oh, it's no problem." She said, with a wicked little grin. "Quite the opposite. Just thought it's information a girl should have. Weapons at the disposal, and all that." She winked and closed the door behind her. I looked down and saw a significant wet spot on the couch, and blushed about as hard as I ever had. I had certainly never done that before. It made me feel strange, and strangely... Like anything might be possible, tonight. Or maybe I was just really drunk. Either way, Cat the Coward was going to go sit on Amy Anderson's lap and do whatever it took to get her in bed. I had that much courage, I thought. I had just that much. She was gone, of course. For a few minutes I just sat there where she'd been sitting, feeling like I was going to cry. I felt strangely bereft; as if I'd lost something precious just as I'd found it. I felt a hand on my back. "Hey, honey, you ok?" It was Mary, concern on her cute little round face. I felt absurdly grateful. She sat down next to me and patted my hand. "You look like, sad as shit, darlin'." "I'm okay." I said, hoping I looked okay. "Long night." She nodded sympathetically, then remembered something with a little moue of surprise. She reached into her apron and pulled out a sheaf of bills, folded in half. She handed it to me. "I dunno what you did with this one," She said, "But she was happy. That's all yours." I really did feel like I was going to cry now. I clutched the stupid money. "I'm fine." I said. "Really." "Okay, hon." Mary said. "Listen, why don't you get yourself cut? We have too many girls on the floor already, and it looks like you made some bank tonight. Go home and get a backrub from that fine man-meat of yours." I sighed. I squeezed her hand, forced a smile. "Yeah." I said. "I think I might. Thanks." She smiled and bounced off. Good old Mary. I laid back on the cushions, looking at the black-painted ceiling. The bass thrum of the music seemed watery, distant. I thought maybe I would take the rest of the night off. All the alcohol and sex were draining into something sterile, dry, shameful. I wanted to take a shower and sleep for a week. I remembered Derek was in my bed and wanted to cry again. Feeling like I weighed a thousand pounds, I dragged myself up off the couch, slipped the wad of money into my apron, and headed off to find Rog. It was cool outside, cool enough to make my nipples prickle and remind me of how fucking hard they'd been only a little while ago. It was already starting to feel like a hundred years ago, like a dream someone else had told me once. I walked through the parking lot, ignoring the car of drunk assholes who yelled unintelligible come-on's at me. I fumbled in my purse for my keys, feeling thick and slow. I stopped with the key halfway in the lock. Pulled it out and turned, looking up at the stars. God, I didn't want to go home. I didn't want to go home to my shoddy apartment and my unfinished degree and my dying plants. I had been on the cusp of... something. I wanted something more, but I felt it slipping away. I wondered if I would remember that overwhelming feeling I'd felt in that private room, looking at Amy. Already it felt unreal. How long until I convinced myself it had just been the alcohol? The stars had no answers for me. I wished I still felt that heat, wished I had the desire and fortitude to go home with Trish, even just to sleep on her couch. But no, I'd go home to my own bed. And know thyself, right? Just to have some comfort I'd probably let Derek sleep in it. And the inevitable wheel of history would grind on. And tomorrow I'd wake up and get ready for another shift as Catherine the Cocktail Waitress. Cat the timid, Cat the fake. Cat the Coward. Always. "HEY!" I jerked and looked up. I saw Mary running comically in her heels across the parking lot. I frowned; had she given me too much money? Had they got a late rush in there? She tottered up, breathing heavily. She wore an outlandishly sorrowful expression. "Darlin'," She said, "I swear to god I'm the stupidest idiot you ever met." "What's wrong?" I caught her arm to keep her from falling over. She expelled a huge sigh and handed a slip of paper over. "Completely forgot that lady left this for you." She said. "It was with the money but must have fallen off. I just found it in my bag." I looked at the paper. I have a proposition. Then there was a telephone number written next to it in that same neat, precise hand. I looked up at Mary, eyes wide. She blinked. "Is that good?" She said. I hugged her. "I love you." I said. I reached into my bag, got the wad of bills, grabbed a bunch of them and shoved them in Mary's hand. Now it was her turn to do the wide eyes thing. "Cat," She said, "This is..." "Shut up and get your fine ass out of here." I said. "I gotta make a phone call." She looked at me, at whatever she saw on my face. "Ho boy." She said, sighing. "That bad, huh?" I grinned, helplessly. I nodded. She kissed me on the cheek. "Then good luck, darlin'." She tottered away, but I didn't watch her go. I was too busy digging for my phone. "Hello?" It was her voice. That thick, creamy, delicious voice. I felt like I'd been waiting my entire life to hear it. "Hi." I said. "This is Cat." "Catherine." She said. "I was worried you wouldn't call." I bit my lip and leaned against my car. My whole body felt like a plucked string, vibrating to some new harmonic. "I called." I said, rolling my eyes at my inability to use the English language in any coherent way. "I have a proposition for you." Amy said. My heart thumped. "Okay." I said. "I'd like to hire you to find someone for me." She said. "Find someone?" I said. What the fuck? "I'm looking for someone to... spend a few weeks with." Amy said. "I'm going on something of a road trip, and I'd like some company. But this needs to be... well, a special kind of person. Frankly I wasn't going to ask, but..." "I can help." I said, strange weird chills and hot flashes chasing themselves around my body. "I'm looking for someone who's good at procuring things." Amy said. "At making things happen." "An assistant." I said. I could hear Amy smile, somehow. "An assistant." She said. "But an assistant who would be willing to... engage in a variety of recreational activities. A wide variety." I closed my eyes. There was a small pause. "Do I need to be clearer, Cat?" She said. She was still smiling, I could tell. "Oh, no." I said. "That's perfectly clear." "I am, of course, willing to compensate this person for their time." She said. "If it's the right person." "Of course." I said, stupidly. "The terms," She went on, as if I'd not said anything, "Will be fifty thousand up front, to take the trip. And if, when we get to California and go our separate ways, I am completely satisfied... there will be an additional fifty thousand. Including all travel costs and incidentals." "That seems reasonable." I said, as if from far, far away and underwater. "Do you think you could find someone like that for me, Catherine?" She said. "Yeah," I said. "I'm pretty sure I know the perfect girl." "Oh?" She said, sounding surprised. "Yeah." I said, my voice somehow calm. "Me." Now there was a silence on her end. "Hmm." Was all she said. I just waited, feeling like my heart was going to jump up out of my chest. I felt like I had just leaped off a cliff without thinking about it or looking at what lay below, and now I was hanging there, curious, waiting for gravity to grab me. "I'm not sure that you would be... up... for some of the things I have in mind." She said, finally. "I was thinking of someone who was perhaps a little less beautiful and a little more... experienced." My eyes were still closed. "I learn quickly." I said, hoarsely. There was another silence. When she broke it she sounded brisk, businesslike. "Okay, Catherine. How about this. I propose an audition; If you pass the audition, then we'll enter into this deal on a provisional basis. Do you understand what that means?" "I think so." I croaked. "It means I will give you ten thousand up front, providing you ace your audition." She said. "And then further payment depending upon how happy I am with your services. If at any time I am displeased, I will put you on a plane back home. If you make it all the way to California, the balance of the hundred thousand will be yours." I couldn't think of a thing to say. "Still interested, Cat?" She said. God, I wanted to fuck her voice. I wanted to fuck it raw. "I'm interested." I said. "On one condition." Hesitation. "Go on." She said. "That you tell me your real name." I held my breath. I could hear her smile again. "It's Rebecca." She said. I sighed, feeling weak. "That's a lovely name." "Thank you, Catherine." She said. "Now, about your audition." I hung up the phone and looked at it. "Fuck." I said, softly. I looked up at the stars for a while. And then, before this burst of madness could abate, I moved. I slipped Jenna a hundred dollar bill and gave Trish my phone, showing her how to work it. Jenna asked me if I was sure; we both knew I'd probably get fired if I did this. I said I was. I was not. From backstage, I saw Trish get the video on my camera running and point it. I took a deep breath. A song started, something wild and rough from the eighties. I pushed through the curtain and out onto the stage, into the lights and in front of hundreds of hungry staring eyes. The first part was actually fine; I mean I work in a strip club and wear fuck-me clothes professionally. I know how to put the smile on and put the sway into the hips. I even know how to twirl around the pole a little. If it had just been that, there would be no problems, but this was of course not that. Amy had known, somehow. Known what the hardest thing would be. The dancers lined up around the stage, eyes wide; Mike was leaning on the bar, Trish was staring at me, fascinated. Everyone seemed to know something special was happening. One of the cocktail waitresses was on the big pole. I started to hear catcalls, many of them from the girls I work with. Cat the Coward. It wasn't too late; I could walk off the stage and apologize and probably keep both my dignity and my job. Go home to my boyfriend. Water my plants. Get ready for tomorrow's shift. I looked down into the eye of the camera, where Rebecca was watching from her hotel room. I smiled at her, and started taking off my clothes.