A pole dancer is born

Quisha looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was prettier than she realized and her skin was flawless. She stripped down to her thong and matching black bra, put on her stilettos and walked down the dark hall to the stage.

“Step up there and turn around for me,” Hank commanded and looked at her perfect body.

“Good,” he said. “Reggie, start the music.” Nine Inch Nails-Closer came on. Quisha had never heard that song before in her life, but she slowly gyrated and moved her hips to the tune—she allowed the music to move her body.

Apparently Hank liked her moves because before the interview was over, he told her to report to work that Friday night.

That gave her a boost in confidence. Before she went home, she stopped at an adult store and asked the store clerk to help her pick out a few outfits appropriate for her new job and two pairs of platform stilettos. Then she stopped and got her lashes and hair done.

When she got home, she stripped down to her bra and thong and practiced in front of the mirror—to see where her best angles and moves were. There was a knock at her bedroom door. Bridget opened the door without being asked.

“Damn, you can’t wait for an answer?” Quisha said and pulled a blanket in front of herself.

“Sorry; whoa, you look great,” Bridget said, taken aback. “I was just going to let you know I have a date tonight. The kids will be with a babysitter,” she said then turned to leave. “Oh, if you ever need some pointers on how to dance in a strip club let me know.

I’ll tell you what to do to get big tips.” she wiggled her hips then left.

* * *

Friday

Heavenlee Body, a long-time dancer practically had to push Quisha out of the dressing room and down the hall. When she got to the end of it, she stood behind the curtain and looked out at the crowd.

She started to tremble a little—but she gained her composure when the music came on, which cued her to walk out on stage. She’d never been on a pole in her life, so she danced around it. It garnered a lack-luster response from the men. But when she got suggestive with the pole, dollar bills started to float all around her. She let one man put a bill into her thong and she let him smack her ass.

That night she walked away with about three-hundred dollars. It was less than she expected, but, better than nothing. When her act was done, Heavenlee pulled her to the side and told her, “You have to practice your pole action. You did pretty good tonight, but come in here on an off night and practice,” she advised.

Quisha left and went home. It was close to two in the morning.

“What are you so happy about?” her cousin asked when she walked in the house. She didn’t know her cousin would be up watching TV that late.

“Oh, nothing,” Quisha said. “By the way, I have your money.” She took out two-hundred dollars and gave it to her cousin, who eyed her suspiciously.

“Where did you get this money?”

“I got the job. And you’re welcome,” Quisha said.

“Oh, that’s why you were dancing in front of the mirror,” it dawned on her. “Well, I thought at first that maybe you got caught up with some drug dealer or something,” her cousin said attempting to be funny.

“Really, Bridget,” Quisha said and rolled her eyes then she went to her room. She had decided after dealing with her cousin’s occasional funky attitude that she would have her own place within a month if she decided to keep the job.

“You know I’m kidding,” Bridget yelled down the hall as Quisha made her way to her room.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Bridget asked, following her.

“Nothing for now,” Quisha responded and pulled her top off.

“Let’s go out and celebrate your new job,” Bridget said.

“Ok,” Quisha agreed.

* * *

The next night at their new favorite haunt, Quisha and Bridget danced beside the bar waiting for a cute guy to notice them.

“Hey,” a drunken man said, and sauntered over to them. They ignored him.

“How about a dance?” the man asked Quisha, who politely told him no.

The man wouldn’t take no for an answer and started pulling on her arm.

“Let go,” she said and tried to yank free. The man’s gripped tightened.

“Turn her lose,” Bridget said and tried to step in and release Quisha.

“The lady said, no.” The familiar man who had bought them drinks weeks earlier addressed the drunken man in a commanding voice.

“Mind your own damn business,” the drunk man said.

“It is my business when I see a drunken ass messing with a woman who does not want to be bothered,” the stranger said.

The drunk released Quisha and took an ill-advised swing at the tall, handsome man. He missed and fell to the floor instead. A bouncer, plus the stranger pulled him off the floor and escorted him out into the night.

“Girl, let’s get out of here; that was too much for me,” Bridget said.

“Why did you rush me?” Quisha asked once they were in Bridget’s car. “I wanted to thank my hero,” she laughed.

“I’m just tired,” Bridget said the sighed. “Why does it seem like that guy keep singling you out?

“I don’t know.” Quisha said. She could tell her cousin was a little envious. She was intrigued by the stranger, but erased him from her mind.

* * *

Quisha took Heavenlee’s advice in stride and practiced on the pole. She didn’t want to go to Bridget. Dancing on a pole wasn’t as easy as it looked; lifting her body was a challenge at first. But as she learned control and the different movements and she felt inspired and ready to blow her customers away.

With her new found confidence, Quisha started to look the part of a sophisticated young woman. It took her about six weeks to get comfortable with her routine. After a while, Heavenlee suggested that she incorporate something different.

“All of us have a signature move that is unique to us,” Heavenlee said. “It helps get you tips as men ask for their favorite feature dancer.”

Two weeks later, with a couple of thousand dollars in her purse, Quisha went to Autumn Heights shopping mall. She chose clothes that were chic and moderately priced, but she was still frugal with her money at the same time.

She also went to second-hand stores that specialized in name-brand clothing at a fraction of the original price. She didn’t know how long she would be employed at the club. For the first time in her short life she had more money than she knew what to do with.

It was pennies for some, but for her it was the big time—not the big time she expected through finishing college and getting a nine-to-five however. She opened her first bank account with five-thousand dollars.

The teller looked at her and a subtle expression of judgment washed over her face. Quisha didn’t care; she knew she had earned that money honestly.

* * *

By the end of the month, Quisha kept her word. She got her own place—a loft in downtown Detroit overlooking the river. She could tell that her cousin was torn and a little envious of her new apartment.

The money Quisha made was a great help to her household, but she could also see that Bridget was glad to have her own place and privacy back—especially with her new boyfriend.

Quisha was also relieved. The first month at the club, she had to overcome her awkwardness and she became a favorite for the men because she managed to maintain a sweet innocence about herself yet command the stage as a vixen at the same time. It caused some jealousy from the women who’d worked there longer.

“You’re a natural,” Yvette ‘Chatte Galore’ Stevens, one of the dancers told Quisha when she came off the stage one night. “But I can tell you are still, um, a little apprehensive about really letting loose. You still have your guard up,” Chatte continued. “You know what I did?” She said.

“What?” Quisha asked anxious to leave for the night.

“I work under an alias,” Yvette said. “Do you know what Chatte means?” she asked.

“No, what does it mean?” Quisha asked.

“Pussy in French,” Chatte said laughing.

“Charming,” Quisha humored her, but she did take her advice to heart. “So, why did you change your name?” She asked Chatte.

Chatte thought a minute and shrugged her shoulders. “It gave me a sense of anonymity; it was a security blanket. I can be this vixen on stage, but keep who I really am private, if that makes sense.”

It made sense. Quisha still wasn’t one-hundred percent comfortable with what she was doing but it was serving its purpose. She already had her money saved up for her next semester of school and wasn’t that what it was all about? She thought.

That night in her apartment after she had prepared for bed, Quisha thought about a name that was the opposite of who she was in person, but also gave her a certain amount of mystery too. Carnelle Pleasur, she thought to herself and finally fell asleep.

* * *

“Hmm, you’ve become a real natural in such a short time,” Heavenlee told Quisha when she came off the stage one night.

“Thank you,” Quisha said and smiled.

“So, are you going out with Eric tonight?” Heavenlee asked.

Eric was a club regular who had sexually made his way through most of the dancers there except for Quisha.

“I told him no, maybe next time,”Quisha said.

“You know, Quish’, I like you, but you’re getting a reputation around here for being sadity,” Heavenlee said and looked at her new friend.

Quisha laughed.

“I’m not sadity—I just don’t want to go out with him.” She responded and called it a night. When she got home she went to take a shower. As she took off her expensive makeup in the bathroom mirror, she thought long and hard about her goals. She didn’t like the person she was becoming.

She had to be one way on stage and another way in person and it was wearing on her. The truth was, she didn’t want to go out with Eric because she’d heard the stories of women who got caught up with him—drugs, sex parties and quiet as it was kept, abuse. And if that made her sadity, then sadity she was.

* * *

Meanwhile

Fate in the form of Chadwick “Chad” Allencourt, who was about to formally introduce himself to Quisha was on its way. His mother Elizabeth and girlfriend Jessica had been nagging him about settling down, but with his money and good looks, he wasn’t looking to do that any time soon.

“When are you going to ask Jessica to marry you?” his mother would ask him every time they spoke.

Chad was an entrepreneur who had made a fortune creating a popular adult game app. He was worth over fifty million dollars and he wasn’t even thirty yet. And though his own parents were fairly well off, they had never matched what he made.

He enjoyed his freedom and the different women he could sample anytime he wanted. Going to strip clubs was also a favorite pastime that Jessica never knew about. Chad knew she wouldn’t have cared anyway. She was anxious to get the ring and was willing to be a silent trophy wife.

* * *

“Are you up?” She stretched and snuggled close to Chad.

“I am now,” he said and rolled over to face her. Jessica was a pretty slim blonde who had been his on-again-off-again girlfriend for two years. They’d met at a fundraiser and pretty soon they were the couple to watch. She looked good on paper, she looked good on his arm, but he wanted something different whenever he decided he would get married—which wasn’t anytime soon.

“Mom and Dad asked about you.” Jessica said. Her parents were pushing for them to marry, but Chad was dragging his feet and it often triggered an argument and Jessica not speaking to him for a few days.

“Oh?" He replied half-listening. His mind was on the pretty Black woman he kept running into when he went to party in Detroit.

“I’m not ready to get married,” he said matter-of-fact. It bothered Jessica, but she persevered and climbed on top of him.

“I’ll bet this will change your mind.” She said and blazed a trail of kisses from his neck, to his chest and down to his sculpted abs, before taking her hot moist kisses further down. Anytime he told her no to marriage, it always resulted in the best earth shaking sex ever.

His reluctance to make her his bride fueled her desire for him. Two weeks prior, Jessica had started looking at wedding dresses and gave him an ultimatum. With her friends getting married, she felt the pressure for him to make his move and make things official.

“I’m not waiting around for you forever,” she told him that particular evening.

“I never asked you to.” he responded without sensitivity. His uncaring tone stung. She left his house with those last words echoing over again in her mind.