Behind The Mask

My hips sensually sway as I stride in my stilettos toward a client- a well-dressed one in dark attire, sharp and crisp from head to toe, from what I can see.

He’s leaned back on the red suede couch, face obscured from the lack of lighting above, and gripping a glass cup in his exposed hand, lifting it to his shadowed lips.

My eyes release the silhouette of a man as I grab onto the aerial silk with two hands and partially put my weight on it, spinning on one foot.

The other extends behind me, off the floor, swinging around for momentum.

Gracefully pulling myself up, I let my body rotate with my knees bent, one toward the ceiling and the other pointing down for a few beats. Then, I flip upside down, and my legs briefly cross at the ankles as they spread apart at an obtuse angle.

My head tilts back to eye the dark figure as my body arches, only freeing my gaze when my body spins away.

Switching it up, I wrap my leg in the sturdy material, letting it hug my thigh tight. I then pull myself up to a sitting position, subsequently grabbing the fabric and tossing it over both my legs. It dangles to the floor.

While still gripping the silk above my head, I pull away, rolling my shoulders and head clockwise before flipping my body between the fabric.

I release my hands as the material holds me up and use them to unclasp my bra. Before removing the thin layer of clothing, my eyes meet the dark silhouette that has watched and mesmerized me in utter silence two times a week for the past four months.

I slowly remove my bra, and my tits bounce free and perk up as I lift my hands, tangling them in my hair. I glide them down my neck and breasts and over the thin strings of my thong to the curve of my bare and plump melanated ass cheeks. They spread apart as I rub them in circular motions.

I give my ass a smack that the men love and can’t help but express their excitement, letting it jiggle.

I’ve been doing these private dances for a few years.

Fresh out of high school, I waitressed at the club and picked up the skill of silk acrobatics from one of the few women who performed these enthralling dances.

The potential earnings lured me in. I figured it couldn’t be worse than getting slapped on the ass for the bare minimum as a waitress, and to be fair, it wasn’t.

I started Sunday through Wednesday during the day with slow traffic coming in and out of the club. It was more so practice and getting comfortable on the stage.

The hours weren’t ideal once I had enrolled in architecture school, and the money wasn’t as great as performing at night, but I made it work. Plus, I was less likely to run into classmates or anyone I knew outside the club world in the daytime. I didn’t fear it, per se, but I’m a whole other me in this place, unrecognizable to some. Even myself sometimes.

When I transitioned to private dances, I performed late nights, concealing my identity behind a mask after the owner gave me the okay.

Knowing no one would discover the new profession I’ve added to my resume, figuratively speaking, if I didn’t want them to, was the icing.

I should fully own being a stripper like I own every room I perform in, but the stigma that comes with the title isn’t a good one. Besides, the men love the mystery in the mask.

Most who came to see me desired the usual lap dance. The closer, the better, and some like a bit of razzle-dazzle, a show to remember without all the hooting and hollering outside these walls.

On occasion, I’d get guys who, instead of wanting me to put on a show, confide in me, a stripper and total stranger.

But, hey, I was getting paid to listen to the poor guys, and it isn’t always unbearable, though I prefer doing my strip tease.

My alter ego, Enchantress-Tress for short, the name I go by, was born here at Teasers Strip Club, and she loves to put on a show and entertain her fantasies.

In this cozy den, she pulls men in, puts them in a trance with her immaculate curves and moves, and vacuums out their pockets, having them circling back for more.

She attains and quenches the thirst she has for a sense of pleasure, thrill, and sexual gratification in this room.

She is a mystery to these men and alluring to their eyes as she exudes seduction, arousing them.

The nightlife excites her the way she does the men in her sanctuary, a little too much sometimes. So, leaving to start my internship in LA will be good for me.

Pursuing two separate lives is exhausting, but at least in this one, I ooze confidence in my sexuality and receive intense satisfaction. I’ll miss that feeling immensely.

Arousal engulfs me, drawing me deeper into a sizzling reverie as I feel all over my body and gracefully spiral into and out of various positions on the silk fabric.

I spread my legs apart into the splits mid-air, jut out my tongue, and then lick the palm of my hand to the tips of my fingers, guiding it down my smooth torso, feeling the heat between my legs.

My eyes land on the dark figure across from me; until now, he hasn’t moved an inch as I let him indulge in a visual feast of my half-naked frame.

Unlike my regulars, who jump out of their seats at the continuous tease, this man only shuffles, repositioning himself by crossing one leg over the other.

I slowly lower my body while spinning from the silk, tilting my head back and locking my eyes on him until my feet safely touch the floor.

The only response I received from this client when finished was a flick of his wrist as he tossed a thick envelope towards me. It swishes across the floor, colliding with my stiletto.

I bend to pick it up, then turn on my heels as I stand, facing away from the dark, still figure. After retrieving my bra, I sashay to the exit with my head held high without bothering to check my earnings.

The thickness of the envelope I gripped in my hand was always enough proof that I’d made more than my asking price, a lot more.

The man is mute but outstandingly generous with his money.

I look back at him and only glimpse his silhouette as it slips out of the door that opens to the back of the club. It slowly shuts, locking from the inside.

As I enter the dressing room, I drape my robe over my body and walk past other dancers standing tall in their stained stilettos, getting ready for a set while chatting with the next girl. The smell of their cheap perfumes heavily dominates the fresh air we breathe.

I retrieved my bag from the locker and sat on the bench with the envelope burning a hole in my hand. Curiosity always prompts me to flip the flap open, and after a brief scan around the room for watchful eyes, I peek inside.

What is this guy? A millionaire? Billionaire? It doesn’t even matter, I guess. He pays me well.

“You better put that shit away before one of these jealous broads cop it.”

Carmella, my coworker and the woman I loved dearly, spoke. This beautiful woman taught me how to be sexy, but most importantly, how to be aware of this cruel world.

I face and nudge her, and her body sways to the left. “Hey, girl,” I said, leaning forward to stuff the envelope in my pack and zipping it closed.

“How’s your night been?”

“Same old horny, feral men, but I love it.”

Not only is it my last performance, but also Carmella’s, as her unexplained sickness recently was diagnosed with a rare Cancer. I was sad and still am. Very much so. As well as angry and confused.

But even in her darkest hour, she reminded me that this instant is why I should keep going in the direction I’m heading. She encourages it and has always wanted the best for me, took me in at my lowest, and elevated me. I continuously thank her for being in my corner since I met her.

“Aren’t you glad Tripp sent you this client?” She asked.

Tripp owns this establishment; he’s a money-hungry, perverted little man, and I know all he saw were dollar signs before giving me this client.

But I can’t complain; the funds have helped me tremendously.

I shrugged and answered, “Yeah.”

Then I looked around at a few of the women I’ve gotten to know and love. “I’m going to miss this place,” I said.

“It’s good you’re getting out of here because you don’t belong here, Amara. Now, it’s time you pursue the career and live the life you’ve always wanted. Get out of here, and don’t turn back.”

Carmella has been clear that we are not the same. She chose this life of being an exotic dancer and relished in it enough to never leave it behind. It paid the bills and kept a roof over her and her children’s heads, even mine, after the foreclosure of my childhood home.

Sometimes, I think she lived in her purpose. She cared for her family, showed endless love to everyone, whether a good or bad day and stood in her faith. Outside looking in and inside out, she was always happy, gracious beyond trials and tribulations, and humble.

I admired her so much and even lived by her words.

I don’t live above my means. I leave my heart open to love no matter how hurt I’ve been. And give. Give a helping hand and an ear to lend without judgment. Be independent but not stupid. Save where I can, all I can, but have fun. Live.

Most recently, while I sat at her bedside, she reminded me to be thankful because most don’t know what a blessing tomorrow is until it’s the last. To be grateful for what’s in front of me and stop focusing on the things out of my control, meaning my dad.

Carmella knew my background all too well and what I’d been through with my dad after my mom left him. She witnessed how much I tried to help my dad and knows how much I still want to. But my dad is lost. He’s so far gone that I’m not sure he’ll ever be the same again, and I can’t let him or anyone else hold me back from the life I want.

Now, thinking of things I’ve lost, I look at the person I’m losing and grab her hand. “I’ll miss you so much, Cici.”

“It’s still Rainbow tonight, Tress.” She stated our stage names.

The corner of my lips rose into a smile, and I leaned in to hug her.

It’s a bittersweet night, but this is life’s script. We live, and we die. And one of my closest friends is dying.

This woman provided me safety, safety from the world and these girls sometimes. She brought out the confidence I didn’t know I could acquire, turning me into the dancer and person I am today. She guided and comforted me like a second mother and, like a best friend, always told me the truth.

A teardrop falls down my cheek, and Carmella pats my leg.

“Alright, alright, not in here.”

I lift my head from her shoulder, wiping the tear away. She hasn’t disclosed her diagnosis to anyone other than Tripp and myself, keeping what privacy she has.

After changing our clothes, Carmella and I tipped the house mom, bouncer, DJ, and hostesses and paid the house fee. We said our goodbyes and stepped outside after conversing with Tripp.

I look up at the neon green and pink sign that reads Teasers out front and instantly remember the night I spotted the illuminating symbol, discovering this spot.

I was scouring the area that night on foot, looking for my dad, and the air was as cold and crisp as tonight. More than ready to warm up, and having just turned eighteen, I was happy to step into the building and see all that transpired inside Teasers.

“I’ll see you later, Sweets. My cab is here,” Carmella’s apparent New York accent brought me back to the present.

I faced her.

“Give me a hug.” She opened her arms, her hands motioning me in.

I practically leap into them, gripping her small frame tight. Then, I pull back and stare at her, tears welling in my eyes.

Without saying a word, Carmella knew my heart.

“I know,” she said and stroked my cheek. “But we’ll meet again.”

“I’ll try to come back and see you before...” My words trailed off, unable to form due to sadness. The timing sucked.

“Don’t fret if you can’t.”

I squeeze her again, smelling her sweet rose fragrance, which was as prominent as her faith, and watch her enter the cab. My eyes stare at its rear as it pulls away from the curb and remains until it turns the corner, disappearing.

Looking back at the bright sign, I mentally say goodbye to the nightlife and the euphoria I felt dancing in the air. I was as light as a feather, flying free.

I’ll miss how I owned, accepted, and loved my body while engulfed in fantasies that sent me to wonderous heights in that den. And I wonder if I’ll ever find such a thrill again.

Inhaling, I cover my head with my hoodie, stuff my hands in the coat pockets, and stroll to my car.

As I’m several feet away, a man’s voice calling my name from behind halts my steps. I turn around, and my eyes widen, my heart racing. I fumble with my keys and follow one definitive piece of advice that Carmella gave me long ago.

If anything feels unnatural, don’t walk away from the situation, place, or thing; run. And so I did.