CHAPTER FIVE
Karlie
“Come on,” said Jenny. “It’ll be fun, we have to see.”
“Um, I don’t know Jen,” I said hesitantly. “It seems kinda seedy.”
We were standing outside a nightclub in New York City, the sidewalk chilly, the wind whipping through our hair. It’d been a long bus ride up, but Jenny had convinced me to come along and I’d agreed out of desperation more than anything else.
Because Colt and Cain have been ignoring me. After that first night, I was sure there’d be more, after all the encounter had been so steamy, so unexpected, that I stayed awake most nights replaying it in my head. And the twins felt the same, right?
But to my surprise and disappointment, it was like they’d completely forgotten about me.
“Hey,” said Colt absentmindedly when we crossed paths at school. I had a camera slung around my neck and was dressed in baggy black, the standard photographer’s uniform.
“Hey yourself,” I said, stopping to chat, hoping that he’d give some secret sign, some recognition of having once tongued my butt gently.
But I was cut off by two meatheads who high-fived my brother, their baseball hats backwards, wearing letter jackets with huge stenciled “XMs.”
“Yo bro, great move at practice the other day, you ready for Friday night?”
And Colt, ever the big man on campus, let out a dazzling smile.
“You know it, those fuckers gonna get pounded.”
And the trio strode down the hall, girls looking at them with admiring glances while scrawnier boys scrambled to get out of the way.
So yeah, my brothers barely acknowledge me now. It was almost like they’d never kissed me, my imagination playing tricks, leaving me to masturbate at night in my single bed, replaying that night over and over in my head.
So when Jenny had asked if I wanted to play hooky, I’d nodded vehemently. My life had become too pathetic, some excitement was desperately needed.
“We’ll go to this place called the Donkey Club,” she said. “I heard it’s fun, everyone goes there.”
“Really?” I asked. “I guess so, I could sneak out. What should we wear?”
I wasn’t great with the clothes department and could really use some guidance.
“Oh you know, club attire,” Jenny replied breezily. “Something sassy, something short, something fun.”
That night, I’d flipped through my closet for twenty minutes, frustration building in my head like a kettle about to shrill. I just didn’t have anything appropriate until my hand seized upon some purple fabric, the rip in back fastidiously repaired, still as scandalous as ever.
No. I couldn’t. Look at the trouble this dress had gotten me into in the past. But I was so sick of my life, of being unseen, that I’d squeezed into it, pulling down the hem, my boobs almost overflowing. Oh well. After all, I had nothing else and who knew? Maybe it’d be the juju for something exciting tonight.
And now, after a long bus ride up to New York City, I wondered if we’d made a mistake. There was no sign for the Donkey, just a shabby metal door, the paint already falling off, its hinges creaky.
“Doesn’t really look like our type of place,” I said doubtfully, yanking the tie of my trench tighter around my waist. “How did you find this place again?”
But Jenny wasn’t deterred.
“Come on, it’ll be fine,” she said, pulling on my elbow. Turning to the bouncer, a big Samoan guy with an earpiece, she chirped, “Two please,” flashing him a flirtatious smile.
The Samoan didn’t even react. I expected him to ask for our IDs, or even to turn us away. But after standing stock still listening to his Bluetooth, he suddenly whipped the door open and we found ourselves in the joint.
Blinking blindly, the darkness was overwhelming at first, almost overpowering. But then a spotlight of gold flicked on in the center of the room and I gasped.
Because a girl was dancing, totally nude. She was lithe and sinuous, wriggling her hips while prancing around, titties bouncing, cunny on full display for men to see. I watched, my mouth hanging open as she spread her legs, then coyly reached two fingers down to part her nether lips, letting men see straight up her channel.
And customers were eating it up. The dudes in the front row whooped and yelled, pushing each other out of the way to take their turn looking up at that pink flesh, and these were not cultured, classy guys. Instead, they were practically farm boys, one guy in overalls, another with a huge ten-gallon hat that slid off his head as he clambered to get a look.
“Come on,” I hissed, alarmed, grabbing Jenny’s arm. “We’re in the wrong place, this isn’t a dance club, this is a strip club.”
“Oh I know,” she said breezily, resisting my pulls. “I meant for us to come.”
“What do you mean you meant for us to come?” I hissed right into her ear. “Come on, let’s go!” I tugged insistently.
But Jenny couldn’t be stopped. Instead of leaving, she actually undid her jacket, letting it pool to the floor. That’s when I realized something was up.
Because Jenny wasn’t dressed in club attire … or at least not dance club attire. She was wearing a teeny bikini, hot pink that let her assets hang out. And believe me, Jenny is not a small girl. Her boobs must have been H’s at least, the sides and bottoms on display under tiny triangles of fabric, a wisp of material at her waist covering her lips.
“Jenny!” I gasped, “What the hell?” She might as well be naked, there was nothing left to the imagination.
But I didn’t have a chance to ask more because suddenly the spotlight swung on us.
“Oh yeah,” sang an announcer’s voice. “It’s Amateur Night tonight and I see our girls have just shown. Let’s give it up for Jenny and Karlie!”
My mouth literally fell open. How did they know who we were? How had they known our names? Don’t people use fake names to get into clubs?
But my friend was like the Energizer bunny gone wild. She pranced up to the stage, waving and blowing kisses like Miss America, and goddamn if I didn’t see some male hands slapping her behind as she made her way there, wriggling her hips with every step.
When she got up there, she began dancing, twisting and turning like a pro, rubbing the pole between her breasts, between her legs, even licking it with her tongue suggestively.
I was scandalized but I could see bills starting to rain onto the floor. And my friend danced like an expert, prancing over to collect them, stash them into the string of her bikini while continuing to wriggle, letting guys enjoy her assets.
I was literally frozen stiff, my hands still on the tie of my trench coat when the spotlight swung on me again, the glare unnaturally warm, almost blinding me, before the announcer’s voice boomed.
“Come on Karlie! We know you want it! You can do it baby girl, win that thousand dollar prize!”
I was still wide-eyed and dazed, like a rabbit caught in the headlights, unable to move when suddenly I remembered my lack of a sex life. I wanted my steps so badly, and yet I was an ant to them. Less than an ant in fact, just a complete zero, and the realization drove me forward.
I wanted to be someone, I wanted to be noticed, for the world to see me as desirable, even if it was men whose names I’d never know, faces I’d never see again. In fact, that was ideal, given that I was about to take it all off.
Besides, I could see that it was literally starting to rain money on Jenny, and she looked like she was having a good time. So I’d wanted to break the mold, right? Boring old Karlie, photographer Karlie always behind the shutter. This would be my opportunity to get out, get wild, be someone else temporarily.
So I too, dropped my trench, and began shimmying.
It was a little hard at first, after all, I had the lavender dress on and that thing is tight. But standing with my legs in a vee, I slowly ran my hand up my thighs, pulling the dress up with it. And sure enough, another spotlight swung over to me and I closed my eyes, letting myself bask in the warmth of the light’s glare, the men’s eyes heating me up.
Slowly, oh so slowly, I pulled the dress up, going inch by inch over my thighs until the bottom of my cunny was revealed. I pulled a little higher and the hem was lifted again, the fabric scrunching up around my midsection so that my whole pussy was on display, pink and quivering for the crowd to ogle.
Because I hadn’t worn underwear. That’s right, I’d wanted to be adventurous, take on a secret identity, and while I hadn’t expected to be stripping, what’s more wild than letting some wind blow between your thighs, enjoying the breeze in your hair … especially if it was your pubic hair?
So with sly smile, I began to dance, swaying my hips, unzipping the lavender dress until finally, I slipped it over my head, dressed in nothing but purple high heels.
The roar from the crowd was thunderous, music to my ears. Men were whooping and hollering, stomping their feet, yelling things like “Get em, little lady!” Okay, so it was a little country, but whatevs. The attention felt so good, like liquid warmth bathing my skin, exactly what I needed after Colt and Cain’s cold shoulder.
But I imagined them in my head as I danced. I felt their lips caress my ass as I leaned over, pulling my butt cheeks apart so that my pussy was revealed. I felt their breath on my clit as I held myself open, stretching my little labia so that my hole could get some air, my warm, moist insides hot pink and dying for male attention.
And I moaned “Colt, Cain” as I slipped a finger into that wet tunnel, fingering myself for customers to see, stirring my female juices, feeling up my g-spot from deep inside.
It was too much. I rubbed, rubbed and rubbed some more, stimulating my secret space within full view of Donkey patrons, starting to cream, my cunt clenching down on my finger, pussy juice running like goo from the pleasure, dripping down my thighs, coating my hand in honey.
And the crowd loved it. Guys had their dicks out, beating them hard, sperm jetting into the air as they sat back in their chairs and released, their eyes glued to my twat, their baby batter the ultimate sign of validation. But even more, money was raining all around me, dollar bills landing in my hair, fluttering across my back like butterfly kisses, snowing on me in a blizzard.
And I loved it. I loved every second of it, the green making me feel appreciated, wanted, desirable … and yes, even loved.