I’m a stripper. It’s a job. It’s not who I am.

And like any job, we’re here to work, make the most money we can, and go home to live our lives. We wear skimpy clothes, we dance to titillate and excite the customers, but none of us are in here with the first thoughts in our mind being anything but: let’s make some cash and get home.

And I like my job. I’m good at it. I get to dress in sexy outfits, I work hard, and I come home at the end of the night exhausted and able to pay all my bills.

Sure, every now and then, I get to see handsome men. Even dance for them. And dancing for a handsome man is nice, of course. It’s fun to dance for a handsome man over a grungy, smelly one. But all the girls in here would much rather dance for a generous man than a handsome one.

I’m not here to meet guys, after all. If I wanted that, I’d just head to a regular bar, soak up free drinks and compliments, and let the guys try to sweep me off my feet. Instead, I have to hustle and convince as many people as possible that having me dance for them is worth $20 for three and a half minutes of non-happy-ending pleasure.

I’m not looking for love in this place.

But even I can admit that the guy I spot in the audience is a hunk.

He has that natural boyish charm, but sanded and chiseled just enough to make him rugged. He’s broad in the shoulder, and he wears a nice, stylish shirt with the cuffs rolled up a bit. Though I can tell he probably bought it before he buffed up, because it clings to his bulging biceps and pecs, outlining just how beefy he really is.

That’s my first clue of who this mystery hottie might be.

From my vantage point on the stage, perched in my 6” heels, I watch him as he grabs a drink.

I love being on stage. Not only does it allow me a chance to scope the room, but it gives me a thrill to know how many men are watching me in my skimpy bikini. Wanting to give me money for my time.

I’m in the zone up here, and my chosen music thrums through me. I move to the rhythm of the song, letting all the room’s good energy flood into me, but all the while my eyes are on him. I smile at him coyly as he turns to face me, and I lick my lower lip tantalizingly.

Whenever I flip my blonde hair, or touch my tanned skin, it’s titillating, to me and the crowd.

I guess that’s why I’m so good at my job. I treat it like a business, like an investment in my future, and I take it seriously, but I still have a hell of a lot of fun. I meet interesting people, I buy as many cute outfits as my budget allows, and yea, I’m a bit of an exhibitionist. I love being watched. To feel like I’m being a little bit bad, and there’s a thrill of never knowing who I might meet.

The mystery hunk leaves the bar and comes to the stage, shirking the other dancers that approach him for private dances.

His eyes belong to me.

That’s a powerful feeling, I’ll admit. When I’ve got a man in my tractor beam, pulling him in as I dance upon the stage. I love knowing how entranced he is by me showing everything I’ve got under the dark lights. I have nowhere to hide. But why would I want to?

Most guys are cheap, and that goes doubly so for guys who come up to ‘pervert’s row’, the lineup of seating along the stage. After paying for cover and drinks, a lot of them just want to sit back and look. But this guy, with his broad jaw, his handsome smile, and crew cut hair holds out a twenty.

Make that the second clue as to who he really is.

I don’t often see twenties up on stage. A good tip is typically a five, maybe a ten if I’m lucky. After all, it’s the cost of a private dance, just for watching me do what I was going to do anyways on stage. A twenty means he really wants my attention, and I’m only too happy to oblige him.

I lick my lips as I kick my legs out, swinging around the pole before gracefully landing on my knees, right in front of him. My legs are spread, and though I’m still in my holographic bikini, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination. My heart is pounding to the rhythm of the music as I grin at him seductively.

“Baby,” I breathe out as my hand reaches for his jawline, caressing it smoothly. “Is this your way of asking me on a date upstairs?” I ask, motioning to the VIP lounge.

“Oh yeah,” he says in a deep, husky voice that speaks of raw masculinity. It’s the kind of voice you imagine has no trouble getting the attention of a room when raised: raw, hard, and a bit gravelly. And that moment up close as I stroke his jawline, I see the tell-tale little scars. They’re not disfiguring, in fact on a guy like him, they only add to his rugged appeal.

But that’s the third and final clue I need as he watches me, entranced by my show. This guy’s definitely a vet. We get our fair share in Vegas. After all, the city was originally developed to be an entertainment centre for men coming and going to the wars overseas. Our troops needed entertainment and relaxation, and a place to spend their cheques, and modern Vegas was the place to be.

I’ve danced for military guys before, lots of them. Most of them come in with uniform on; they love the extra attention it gets them. But the sexy man at the stage tries to hide it. He tries to blend in and look like a regular, handsome dude in a nice, stylish shirt. But I can tell. I’ve learned to watch people in here.

“Hope that’s enough to break the ice,” he says, his chin with an attractive cleft, his cheeks dimpled just a bit as he smiles at me.

I smile, biting on the corner of my lip seductively as my fingers go between my breasts. I grab at the string that holds my bikini together as I lean in towards him, whispering in his ear.

“What do you think?” I ask, just before I pull back and tug on my bikini string, letting the elastic fiber bounce away from my breasts, exposing myself — and my hard little nipples — to a man I don’t even know. It’s enough to send a shiver of excitement down my spine.

He’s captivated, and though he’s not the only guy at the edge of the stage tipping, he’s the one tipping far more than any other. That makes him worth my time business-wise, even if I’m frankly just enjoying looking at this tall man’s handsome face. He’s the kind of guy I’d definitely want to hit on me in a regular bar, so I might be feeling a little generous too.

“I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he husks out in a deep voice that’s all conviction and truth. He’s not bullshitting me. Not that he has any reason to, dishing out twenty buck stage tips. He’s got that VIP dance on lockdown already.

No, it’s the way he says it, the way his emerald eyes sparkle as he eyes my every movement and appreciates my body. This man is smitten. “I’d follow you to hell and back. So bring on the VIP section,” he declares with a wry, uneven smile that only makes him all the more appealing.

I gotta admit, my stone-cold business attitude is fading the more I look at him. The more I listen to him.

It’s not just the tips.

He’s so hot that I’d be too shy to approach him outside of the club. In here, it’s my sanctuary. I am my persona. I am Aphrodite, blonde bombshell with the extensions and fake lashes and an easy smile.

Outside these walls, I’m a much more simple Alice, who spends her time mostly with her Kindle and her rescue cat that has six toes.

My stage name, my elaborate outfits and makeup, they’re like my superhero mask I pull on, and once I pull them off, no one knows who I am. I prefer it this way, most of the time.

Until I see a gorgeous guy and wish I’d met him outside the club, because holy hell I would love to wake up next to him.

I nuzzle his cheek and give him another smile. “You got it, baby. Just let me finish this song, and I am all yours,” I say sweetly, dragging on the words.

“I’ll do my best to sit politely by and wait. But no promises,” he says with a bright grin and a wink. He’s a charmer. Big, bulky, all muscle, his shirt red but the cuffs and collar a lovely accented piece that’s got curious patterns. Most guys in Vegas look like uncaring tourists or guys who don’t feel compelled to compete with uncaring tourists.

Though honestly, he could be in a sweat suit and I’d still be into him. Somehow, I know he’d still rock the look.

I walk towards the pole again and grab it in my hand, pulling myself up as I begin to spin. As I said, I like to feel like a superhero, and performing elaborate pole tricks is one of my powers. I always feel rejuvenated and powerful as I contort my body, letting people stare at my long legs and ample curves.

I keep it slow and sensual as the sounds of whistling fill the air. More cash fills the stage, and my mystery hunk is captivated as I invert my body, holding myself in the air before letting myself plummet back to the stage gracefully. I stop my descent just inches before my head would’ve hit the ground, and I strike a pose to much applause.

It’s such a rush, and knowing I already have a dance lined up helps motivate me to give a better stage show. I always feel more confident knowing I’m not going to have to be approaching a dozen guys hoping one will say yes to my offer.

With my mystery man throwing out generous tips, it gets the other guys going as well. They’re competing with him for my attention, and it’s delicious. The one thing that turns me on in this place is money.

Well... the one thing that turned me on before he walked in. I fuck him with my eyes, letting them go heavy and lidded as I seductively lick my lips. I’m turning myself on with my fingers, touching over my soft skin, thinking about how much I couldn’t wait to feel his hands on me. I pretend they’re his, and my nipples stiffen until they almost ache.

I picture his tongue running along my nipple, tugging it into his mouth and suckling on it. I can’t help but moan as my fingers go between my thighs, and graze along my bikini bottoms. My clit throbs with the sensation, and I bite my lower lip to suppress another sigh of pleasure.

And all the while, I stare at him with desire. I don’t have to fake my arousal, not this time. I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve danced for hot guys before, but they tend to be cheap. They just come to strip clubs for the novelty, and don’t like paying for something they think they can get for free.

But a hot man paying big money for me to dance for him? That’s enough to make my knees quiver and my body to tense with desire and anticipation.

The song finally winds down, breaking me from my stupor, and the DJ announces, “That was the beautiful Aphrodite! Don’t forget, you can get $20 dances on the floor, or take one of these luscious ladies up to the VIP for some real fun for just a little bit more!”

I grab my top and the bills around the stage, stuffing them in my purse before going to the only man that matters in my life right now: Military stud. It was the most lucrative stage show I’ve had in weeks, and by the time I reach him, I’m practically giddy with excitement.

He even offers me his arm like a gentleman, that thick forearm of his bulging with muscle and protruding veins, more than happy to escort me on up the stairs to the VIP room.

“I can’t believe there’s women like you in the world, in or out of the club,” he says to me with that deep, appreciative voice of his. He has a way with making me feel like the only woman in the world that matters. “You must work at it 24/7 or been blessed by God above to look half as good as you do.”

I laugh, trying to play cool, but already a flush is rising to my cheeks. Oh, he’s a charmer alright. And maybe it’s just the fact that he’s so damned hot that his compliments are getting to me like they are. It’s not like I haven’t heard every line in the book, but usually it’s from someone that is either twice my age, or just not my type.

“Hi Tom. This gentleman and I are going back for...” I say to the VIP host before looking at Military stud, waiting for him to answer.

“Until my wallet runs dry, if I’m being honest with my estimate,” the stud says, forking over several bills. “Put me down for at least a half hour, huh?” he remarks, flashing me a look from the corner of my eyes.

“I’m not one for strip clubs, but… now I wish I’d stumbled in here sooner, just to meet you.”

“Well it’s my lucky night,” I say, and yes, I’m being honest. Making money is why I’m here, but enjoying making money? That makes me very, very lucky.

I pull open the purple curtain, revealing the rounded bench with velvety fabric and a small drink table in the middle. I close it behind us, and a new song comes on, some softer rock music than the techno and heavier stuff downstairs. I like the VIP room. It’s private, comfortable, and pays my rent.

“When was the last time you were in a club?” I ask as we both settle in.

“It’s been four years,” he says without missing a beat, and if I needed another clue, that was it. That’s the maximum tour length for military guys, and I guess that makes me his first stop back. “Been away working, needed a reminder of what it’s like to look at beautiful women. Wasn’t counting on an overdose though, so be prepared to call for assistance carting me out,” he jokes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you,” I say as I straddle his lap.

But for a second, I forget where I am. It’s almost like a skip in time, and I’m staring at this gorgeous man, feeling his body against mine, wrapping my arms around his neck, and it all just feels right.

Like it’s fate. Like it’s meant to be.

I know it sounds cheesy. I’m not really one to believe in signs, or at least, I never did until now.

I shake my head to try to chase away the strange shock, but I’m still staring at the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, and I gotta be honest.

It feels a little like love.

I know it’s not. I don’t even know him, but if love at first sight exists, this has to be what it feels like.

“I never got your name,” I say softly, still stunned by the weird experience. I must be losing my touch. Or maybe my mind. The VIP section is supposed to be for the client’s fantasies, not my own. But what harm is there in indulging in my own lurid fantasies about what I want to do with him?

“Viktor,” he says. He doesn’t mind in the least that I’m not really dancing for him. His two big, rough hands rest on my hips, not groping where he shouldn’t but squeezing me ever so slightly. “My dad was a Ukrainian immigrant, that’s where the name comes from. Just so you know I’m not the creator of Frankenstein,” he says, his nostrils flaring, taking in my scent as he stares. Soaks me in.

That makes me genuinely, earnestly laugh. I never expected him to have a bit of literary humor in him, and I have to cover my mouth as my eyes still sparkle at him.

Why couldn’t I have met him out of the club? Things could be so delicious.

“That’s terrible. But I’m Aphrodite. And I really am the Goddess of lust and romance.”

“Knew it without you saying a thing, and don’t doubt it for a second,” he says without missing a beat, and again, I know he means it. Not the least of which because I can feel the real results of his desire beneath me as I sit in his lap. A hefty bulge right there in my perch. “From the moment I walked in the door, I knew I was in the presence of divinity. If I was a smarter man maybe I would’ve hightailed it out before you could turn me into your newest and greatest worshipper.”

“Greatest, mmm?” I purr in his ear as I begin to lightly grind in his lap, my hand stroking through his wheat-blonde hair. “And what will make you my absolute greatest worshipper, Viktor?”

I get a low groan from him, a satisfied husky sound that’s delightful on the ear. But the way I bring this mighty, mountain of muscle to a quiver is the best part. He wants me so bad, and I want him too.

“I don’t wanna say and spoil the moment,” he says, his voice deeper, more gravely as he wraps those arms around me and holds me tight, letting his palms rest just at the edge of my ass below.

My skin prickles with desire, and I twitch my ass muscles a little, grinding against him as I do so.

“You can touch lower,” I whisper, biting my own lip to hide my excitement.

I’m already soaking my little bikini bottoms, and I’m almost nervous he’s going to notice soon. I’ve never felt like this, dancing for a client. It’s like the rest of the world has simply fallen away, leaving us in its wake.

He’s a gentleman, doesn’t touch where he’s not supposed to, but he’s no fool. And the moment I give him go ahead, those big strong hands sink down, cupping my ass cheeks, sinking his powerful fingers into them as he gives a delighted, rough groan.

“I don’t wanna be that sucker client that oversteps his bounds and makes shit weird. I don’t wanna say anything that’ll send you running,” he tells me, letting his eyes nearly shut as he looks me over, enjoys the sensation of our bodies together while the music plays. “I’d love to ask you on a date, but instead I’ll just say I hope this night never ends.”

My heart is beating faster in my chest, and I’m trying to remain professional, but I can hardly believe this hottie wants to go out with me. I know the stereotype is that strippers are all full of themselves, but most of us are as self-conscious as other women, we just hide it better.

“You’re hoping time stands still?” I ask seductively, but my mind is going back to when I first touched him and how it felt as though time did exactly that.

“Up here with you? Absolutely.”

I let out a soft moan, and I grind into him again before I feel a shiver go through me, and I know if I keep going, I’m going to come in his lap.

I’ve never came in a client’s lap.

But those big strong hands of his knead my ass cheeks, those thick, muscular forearms bulge and squeeze in against me on either side, egging me on, grinding me atop his lap and that impressive bulge. He’s turning me into everything I’m not. Everything I never thought I could be.

Those handsome looks, that natural charm, the rugged experience from a hard life serving, it all makes him hard to resist. And then, to top it all off, he leans in and murmurs in my ear. That rough, low voice of his like a verbal vibrator, stimulating my brain to climax.

“If I met you anywhere else, I’d make it my life’s mission to win you over and make you my girl,” he says, wetting his lips slowly as he gives a low moan from the lap dance. “I’m just glad I never met you four years ago, or I’d have gone AWOL to chase you like a dog in heat.”

A jolt of electricity goes through me, and even though I want to hold back and suppress this exquisite pleasure from going through me, there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I can’t hold back the tide of pleasure any longer.

I’m grinding him more aggressively as I come in his lap, my breathing peppered with moans against his ear as I ride out the explosive high.

It’s an overwhelming sensation, and I know he’s noticed. Those big, muscular arms keeping me rocking even after my mind has long since lost control of my body. His chiseled jaw, just lightly stubbled, brushing my cheek as he helps guide me through the earth-shattering climax.

“Fuck you look even more gorgeous when you come,” he breathes into my ear, his first time crossing that boundary from client to something more. And he didn’t do it unprovoked. Nobody could accuse him of being inappropriate. It was me who had lost my cool and did something I shouldn’t have.

“Oh my god,” I whisper, embarrassment suddenly taking over me. This is so unprofessional. How did I get so carried away? But I pull back and look at him, and I’m smitten all over again. I can’t bear to look at him and I duck my face away. “Oh god, I’m so... I shouldn’t have... I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s okay,” he assures me, his grip relaxing, no longer holding me into that tight, delightfully carnal embrace. “Don’t worry. I don’t presume nothin’. Trust me, it was a show worth more than what I have in my bank account,” he says with a charming smile. “Besides, if I’m being honest, I’m just relieved it wasn’t me who popped his load from this. You’ve got me on edge, babe.”

“I’ve never, ever...” I swear, but I can’t actually bring myself to say it. He’s completely torn down my walls, my Aphrodite personae slipped away. I’m just simple Alice in his lap, even with the fake ‘lashes and six-inch stilettos. I’m naked often in the club and with clients, but he’s the first one that ever made me feel exposed.

I bite in on my lower lip, gnawing it for a second as I stare at him.

“It’s alright,” he says in that thick, assuring voice of his. And though he’s still rock solid hard beneath me, he just gently caresses my sides. He has self-control in spades. “Fuck, trust me, it did nothing but assure your place as the Goddess of romance and lust in my mind,” he says with that disarming charm of his again.

“Did you mean what you said about wanting to ask me out?”

I’ve managed to stun the handsome Viktor, making him hesitate a moment. And though I worry, he wipes that all away fast.

“I would fight every man in this club for the simple shot at asking you out,” he says, his deep emerald eyes sparkling as he gazes at me, so full of desire and a tenderness not common to big, muscular brutes like him. “Will you go out with me?” he asks.

We’ve been back here for so long that the VIP host pulls aside the curtain before I can answer. “You guys still going?”

It’s been a half hour, and I haven’t moved from his lap. I’m still wearing my bikini, and I just had one of the most intense orgasms of my life.

“Ah, I think Viktor has to go. We’re just finishing up, Tom. Thanks for checking,” I say.

“Ah shit,” Viktor says, reaching for his wallet in his pants pocket. “Lost track of time with you. Feels like it’s only been a minute,” he says, pulling out a fat wad of twenties. “What do I owe you? Fuck it, this is probably enough, right?” he says, forking over way more than enough to cover it.

I nod and hand Tom his tip, and he leaves us alone once more.

“It’s late enough that I can leave now. If you’re ready for that date.”

He looks taken aback. He must’ve been thinking I was dismissing him, because his stunned look slowly transforms to one of pure excitement.

“Fuck yeah, I am,” he says. He stands, lifting me as effortlessly as when I grab my purse. Well… more accurately, he lifts me as effortlessly as I lift the coin purse inside it. “I can take you to a nice restaurant, well… might be too late for a lot of those, but we could find something.”

“It’s Vegas, honey. There’s always something open,” I say with a small roll of my eyes. “Or we could head back to my hotel for room service. It’s nothing flashy,” I warn him.

What am I saying? What am I doing? Inviting him back to my room! The Alice part of me recoils in horror.

“I’ll do ya one better,” he says with a playful boastfulness. “You can come to my hotel. I splurged for one fancy ass room; you’ll love it,” he says, squeezing my thighs as he holds me up in his arms. “Figured I’d make the most of my time in the city. Suddenly glad I did.”

“How can I say no to that?”