Tales from the Pole – Reese

Chapter One

My hands gripped on to his as I led him down the hall, and around the corner to one of the private rooms. The walk wasn’t long, but I always drew it out, prolonging the evitable on my part, while driving him crazy with anticipation of what was to come. There was something about my ass jiggling that incited even the shyest customers I encountered. He was no different when I approached his table ready to run game.

I watched him as I made my rounds covering the room, getting free drinks and giving lap dances along the way. I was popular among the regulars–a favorite for a few. Satisfying them kept the money rolling, especially on slow nights when gullible newbies failed to cross the threshold. I knew none of the girls would approach him. He gave off the scent of a cop and appeared like an undercover rookie. Unlike the others, I didn’t do the illegal shit in the back. I might’ve been a dancer in a seedy strip club, but I wasn’t a hoe–pussy for sale.

“Hey Harry,” I said, walking to the bar. “What’s table eight drinking?”

He looked towards the guy I was preparing to attack. “The cop?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Rum and coke,” he answered.

“Do me a favor and make me one of those.” I looked at my mark, contemplating the perfect approach.

“I don’t know, Reese. The last thing we need is to get busted.”

I looked into his eyes. “Trust me.”

“Okay.” He grabbed a glass. “As long as you know what you’re doing.”

I did with me in the club, outside was a different story.

“Thanks,” I said, picking up the drink.

I turned around and headed towards table eight. Amidst my walk to him, my stride slowed, the bounce in my step lessened and the toughness a stripper had to possess–softened.

“You look like you could use another one,” I said, placing the glass next to a half-empty drink. “You know. To loosen up. Stop looking like a cop. He looked himself over. “That’s why no one’s approaching you.”

“You did.” He picked up his drink and took a sip.

“I’m not afraid of cops.” I sat down next to him. “Besides, I know when I see a first timer.”

His eyes flashed down and back up at me. “Is it that obvious?”

I nodded. “But no worries. Nothing to be ashamed about. Strip clubs are not for everyone.” I smiled and extended my hand. “I’m Reese.”

“Ryan,” he replied, shaking my hand.

I learned early on how space, boundaries and a understanding voice was all I needed to get whatever I wanted from hesitant customers.

“So Ryan…would you like a dance?” I asked.

He looked around the club seeing girls on stage and on laps, and customers enjoying both. “No, thanks.”

I leaned back, resting my back against the cushion. “Are you sure?” His eyes fells on my body as I crossed my legs. “We can always go to a private room.”

His attention remained on my legs longer for what it usually took to close a deal before raising up. “How much?”

I placed my hand on his thigh. “Oh I’m sure you can afford it.”

A strip club was no place for a naïve 20-something Caucasian man. I assumed he was in town for a convention and staying at the hotel down the street. We saw many of those types, ready to spend their money and have the black girl experience before returning to their suburban lives. Usually, they came in groups, conservatively dressed and wide-eyed white boy rowdy. They were easy marks where we doubled what the average man would pay for the same services. With all their book smarts, they were too ignorant for the streets.

This one came into the club alone, sat at a table and nursed a single drink for an hour and half.