Part A of this chapter is HERE

She stared, her brow furrowing in these cute little lines that just made me weep for mankind. “We still haven’t worked out where you get all this money from,” she insisted. "Instead, you just asked me about smoking dope.”

“I didn’t say smoking dope, ‘Candy.’ And by the by, do I have to keep calling you ‘Candy’? I know it’s not your name, honey. It’s a great stripper name for you, but it’s not really your name, is it?” Plus saying Candy was reminding me of what I wasn’t currently sniffing into my nasal cavity. I was pushing it a little here, asking her to break another one of the club’s rules. Rico had a real bug up his ass about the clientele getting to know girls outside of the club, and went house on any chick caught fraternizing, as he called it. I called him a dumbass for that and numerous other reasons, but giving girls fake names was stupid. Even worse, in Rico’s mind, nobody’d want to fuck a waitress or a bartender when they could have a dancer, so they used their own names. Like I said, stupid.

“How do you know Candy isn’t my real name, hmm? It’s not so far-fetched, it’s not like ‘Diamond’ or ‘Amber The Living Dream’” – I groaned, I knew that girl, she wasn’t as advertised – “you don’t know, ‘Candy’ could be my real name.” She leaned back and her boobs leaned with her. In my mind I was skiing those slopes already, snorting fat lines off those fat tits until dawn. But I got the feeling that if I pushed this too far too fast, I’d lose it. Better to reel this one in. Isn’t it funny, how I talk about it like I had any semblance of control?

I waited for her to speak again, then finally she did. “It’s not, tho,” she laughed. “It’s Jennifer.”

Bingo. I bowed my head in gratitude. “Thank you, Jennifer!” I was sincerely appreciative; if there’s one thing I’d grown to hate about this job, other than my daily STD preventative pill, it’s stripper names. Hated that pill. Tasted awful. Better than the clap but still, tasted awful.

“Wait, back up,” she mumbled, putting it together. “What did you say about getting high?”

“I didn’t, dear,” I murmured. “You said you got high and let Jamie Fingernipple have a feel of these, these,” I lost my ability at conscious thought, and she grinned.

“My boobs,” she laughed.”You’re confusing me. Answer the question. Or, did you? Wait, see, you are confusing me,” she laughed again. I really liked her laugh, not just because it made her titflesh wiggle pleasingly, but it was an honest, I-don’t-give-a-fuck-who’s-listening laugh. Big fan.

“Alright, I’ll answer the question.” I took a breath. It was rare I had to explain myself like this, but, I was feeling my age with this young, beautiful creature gazing at me. I’d seen schmoes get stripperitis before, and laughed at ‘em. Now who’s the schmoe?

“The reason I asked about getting high is because that’s my business. I help folks get high.” The look she gave back, I had trouble interpreting: was it interest, or disgust? I was taking a risk, but still I was imagining what it would be like to have this girl’s chest as my coke tray. I couldn’t shake the image.

“Mitzi” materialized almost on cue, shifting on her feet and looking at me nervously. She's one that had more trouble stripping sober than others; her asking me for a bump to get her in the mood wasn't weird. She usually knew better than hassling me when I'm with somebody though, and I considered making her understand her error. Then I realized I had an opportunity. “Yes, ‘Mitzi,’ how may I help you?”

The skinny, nervous stripper pushed a lock of dishwater blonde hair behind an ear. “Hey, Sir, I was wondering, uh…” She looked down. “Wondering if I can get a little, uh,” glancing at Jennifer, who was eyeing us intently sipping her drink. “Stuff to make my shift easier, like before, you know I can bring you some money after I work an hour or two…”

I watched her carefully, trying to determine if “Mitzi” was becoming a problem I'd have to solve. Rico liked it when I “pre-loaded” his girls every once in a while, since it made ‘em get a little fresher with the schmoes. But “Mitzi” had That Look that the ones with a problem all started to get, a base ugly need. I usually saw it on the ones that were about to get shitcanned, free to go try their luck at The Rooster.

But that was for later. For now, after watching the scrawny dancer twist in the wind a little bit, I pulled a small bottle from my pocket, watching relief wash over “Mitzi” like a cool breeze. From the jar I tapped out a little white girl onto the back of my hand, then held it out for her inspection. In a flash the needy spinner was snorting it up, then licked my skin clean for good measure. She leaned back and squinched her eyes shut as the rush hit, then smiled, need finally fulfilled. Her eyes reopened, then darted between me and Jennifer, the light dawning. “Thanks,” she whispered, and walked away slowly. Yeah, she may be a problem.

I turned my attention back to my voluptuous booth mate, who was still sipping her drink, inscrutably tapping one finger against the glass, like she was trying to make a decision. The bottle was still in my hand, so I gave myself a little tasty treat as well. I considered offering Jennifer one also, but she was nodding as if she'd figured out the puzzle, instead of having the answer painted high and wide in front of her. I capped the bottle, slurped some of my drink, and resumed the exposition.

“So that's what I do. I help people get high. I'm good at my job,” I added, trying again to read her expression.

Jennifer was quiet a good while, staring at me through narrowed eyes, tapping her finger again. “That's another thing,” she blurted. “Everybody calls you sir, or mister, or that bearded guy –” I frowned, and she stopped. “What, you don’t wanna be called ‘that bearded guy’?”

“I mean, there’s worse things,” I shrugged. “I prefer the first two.”

There’s that brow again. “The first two? You mean ‘Sir’” – she held up air quotes – “or ‘Mister’?”

I smiled, nodding. “Yup.”

“You don’t tell anybody a name at all, just Sir or Mister?”

“Nope,” I leaned back into the cushion, getting comfortable.

“That’s weird.” She took a big gulp of her drink.

“Normal is boring.”

She chuckled. “Okay, got me there.” She set her drink down. “Alrighty then, let’s check off what we’ve learned so far.” Counting off her points on her fingers, her arms framed her cleavage such that I had trouble focusing on her big brown eyes behind her eyeglasses. But I struggled mightily. “One, you throw big money at women you like. Or is that just me?”

“... Just you. Unless I was drunk and can’t remember, don’t hold me to it, but yeah. You.”

“Huh. And I should believe you right now because… No, let’s move on.” She looked down at her hands as she counted. “Two, you want everybody to call you Mister. Like you’re what, a ‘domme’ or something?”

I heard her trying to pretend she knew what a “domme” really was. “Consider it a security measure,” I proffered.

“Nah, I think you like it. I think it turns you on, having these naked girls call you Sir alla time.” She too leaned back into the cushion, knowing she was right.

I shrugged. “Maybe. What’s three?”

Her voice dropped many decibels. “Three, you deal cocaine. Use it, too, which I thought you weren’t supposed to get high on your own supply?”

“You heard that in a rap song, didn’t you?”

Pause. “Yeah, but is it not true?”

I looked her in the eye, ready to tell some truth. “Nope. I take steps. I’m not addicted. It’d suck for a few days if I stopped, but if I wanted to, I’d put it down. I have before. I will again. I fuckin’ love it. It’s great stuff,” I grinned.

She bit her lip. “But… you don’t look like a scumbag…”

“Oh gee, thank you.”

“No! I mean,” and she picked up her drink. “I guess everyone has their vices,” she said with a short nervous laugh.

“True that. Powder’s a fun one, though. Ever tried it?”

“Never,” she shook her head emphatically, but she was smiling just a little bit. I bet tonight was the first she’d ever seen it in person. “I uh, I must admit, I am a little curious about drugs.” She said the word just like they did in middle school health class. “I mean, I've heard stories and seen things on TV, but I've never really experienced it firsthand. What's it like? Is it dangerous? Can you get addicted? These are some of the questions running through my mind right now, y’know?”

I nodded, once again trying to vice-clamp my gaze to her eyes away from her massive mammaries as she rambled. I wanted to respect her, before I ravished her.

“At the same time, I don’t wanna fuck this up. Right now, this right here,” she tapped the little white clutch with her cash, ”is my safety net, so thanks for making that bit a little easier. At the same time, I know that indulging in, uh, that…” she waved a little exasperatedly at my hand, the one “Mitzi”’d slobbered on, “could potentially ruin everything – including my life. I can’t fuck this up.”

Whether or not she was faking the whole oh-gee-Mister-you-are-so-nice bit, this was the real Jennifer, I was pretty sure. She was, at the same time, relatively screwed-on-straight for eighteen; and very naive about things like drugs and strip joints. It was endearing, and Rico was gonna eat her alive if she wasn’t careful. I resolved immediately that I didn’t want that to happen. Because if anybody was gonna eat her alive, it was gonna be fuckin’ me.

“And keeping my body healthy and strong is important for my job here, isn’t it?”

“Who you trying to convince,” I chuckled, “Me or you?” Just then Fuckin’ Todd’s skeezy voice informed us that the vision of loveliness before me was due on stage shortly.

“Alright, sweetness, decision time. Stay here, talk to the most interesting, well traveled, extravagantly tipping guy in the room. Or, go do another set. But it’s getting late,” I lied, “and without you here nearby, I might think of leaving.”

She looked at me a while, her face still. “One more question, then I decide.” She downed the healthy remainder of her drink, took a deep breath, and barrelled forward. “Let’s say I got up and walked away from here, said thanks a lot for the money sucker, imma go get a straight job at seven-eleven down the road.” She was talking a bit faster now, getting animated. It was neat. “Because thanks to you, I could do that now, if I wanted. But let’s say I want nothing more to do with some guy with a chin beard and a coke fetish who can’t stop staring at my tits. Yeah, I’m not that dumb,” she tilted her head, like she expected me to feel guilty. I didn’t. “Now you tell me, Sir, you gonna leave me alone if I do that?”

I didn’t say anything for a minute, and looked at the ice in my drink. Then I looked her in the eye again. “Yeah. Yeah, I would, and here’s why.” My words were slow and deliberate. “I ain’t into the unwilling. I want not just consent, I want enthusiastic consent. If you don’t wanna be in my bed, I don’t want you there, plain and simple. I don’t chase, because I don’t have to. I ask nicely. I hear no, I move on. Like you said,” I waved at the rest of the club’s denizens, “everybody likes me. It ain’t just because I dispense a little zook to these idiots. I don’t go where I ain’t wanted, and ain’t nobody in this room’ll tell you different.”

I could see her rocking back and forth just a little bit, like she was trying to make up her mind. Then a big smile erupted on that pretty face.

“Okay okay! I wanna talk to you but I wanna go dance too, I mean I was kind of excited to be on stage and having guys drool over me a little bit. Look, let me go dance and I promise as soon as I’m done I’ll come back to talk to you, no other dances for the schmoes.” She grinned, then whispered, “Please say yes.” She had this smile that said both “please say yes” and “I know you’re gonna say yes.”

“Yes. Sure. Don’t spin on the pole.”

She squealed, swooped in and kissed my cheek. “Don’t move,” she whispered in my ear, and reached down and squeezed my dick through my jeans. Then she was practically running toward the door to backstage.

The words “I was not expecting that” don’t exactly convey the shock I was going through. But let’s move on. I waved to Lisa, but she was already approaching with my next drink.

“You gonna ruin another one?” she hissed at me. Yeah, she’d been talking to Cassandra again. Dammit.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said evenly. My eyes were on the stage, where “Mitzi” spun on the wobbly pole, but kept Lisa solid in my peripheral. For a long minute she looked like she didn’t know whether to serve me the drink, or make me wear it; but then chose wisely, and just shook her head in exasperation as she stomped away again. I looked over and watched her walk away, remembering the way her pelvis hit me all wrong when my cock was up her ass last week. Time to add a bullet point to the agenda for my next catch up with Rico.

Chatper 2 tomorrow!