Prologue
Stripper poles, dark lap dance rooms, different types of men, and women are all I’ve ever known from the time I was young as fifteen to now. The flashing white, pink, yellow, green, and purple lights, beaming on me as I danced in front of the people sitting down below in front of the stage. Becoming a stripper was never what I thought I’d be when I was little. It wasn’t planned, but I knew it had to be done for the sake of taking care of my aunt and sister.
I never really knew my dad, he decided to leave my mom, my sister, and me when I was only nine years old. It didn’t give us a whole lot of time with having a father figure. He never gave us a good enough reason as to why he was quitting being a dad. After he was no longer in the picture, my mom found herself beginning to use drugs. Anything and everything to get her one and only true love out of her head. Her daughter’s hugs, laughter, and smiles weren’t enough to get her to stay. Only three years of being addicted, with no stage of intervention, she unfortunately overdosed. My sister and I were coming home from school, and there she laid on the floor in the living room, not breathing. It broke my younger sister’s heart because she and my mom were close. I could never have a solid mother/daughter relationship with her because of her being baked all the time. It disgusted me greatly that she chose every last one of those drugs over us, and she knew one day it was going to be the thing that killed her. Yet she didn’t stop. It was like after my dad left, she didn’t care about life. She didn’t care about us. Social services became involved after the funeral and placed my sister and me in a home with my aunt Devyn.
Aunt Devyn was a stripper at the time. It wasn’t her first pick of a career, but it was what she had to do and honestly something she thought she was good at. She was a beautiful woman, and men were inseparable from her at all times. Flirting with her, buying her drinks, this was the norm for her, and she loved the attention. Men were her motivation, her drive.
We lived with her for several years, and once I turned fifteen years old, she took me with her sometimes up to her work, which happened to be a superb popular strip club. It’s not normal for a person to start so young learning such a career in that type of field, but she showed me the ropes anyways, or shall I say poles during the day while no one was there. Some time passed, and I started going every day once I turned the age of eighteen, intrigued by how guys were staring at me in my tight pants I would wear, showing off my curved ass and my low-cut tube tops letting others catch a glimpse of my large perky C cups I was blessed with. These men and women at the club were obsessed with my body, and it made me feel extremely confident in myself which was something I lacked in my younger years.
Aunt Devyn was an alcoholic her whole life, especially after working for hours upon hours straight. She ended up falling profoundly sick, and it was then when we found out at the specialist, she was diagnosed with cancer of the liver. This would put a toll on me leading me to drop out of high school and make stripping a full-time job just to make ends meet with bills on one income. I didn’t want Avery to have to get a job too, so I demanded her to stay in school, graduate, and do something with her life.
It was all about learning the techniques of how to work the pole, to dance seductively, and, most importantly, make whoever comes in the club love what you do to make you lots of money. Looking in the mirror after a show seeing all the money on me, without fail, had me addicted and wanting more, so I kept coming back to it. Don’t get me wrong I like my job, but it wasn’t my dream job. Then again, I guess I never really had any guidance to find a “good” one in the first place. I never blamed anyone for that, though.
Everyone calls me Silver. When my dad left us, my mom only called me by my last name. I believe it reminded her too much of my dad, his little nicknames for me with my first, and that broke her, so she never mentioned my first name again. I learned to love it and eventually didn’t want to be called anything else.
