365 Days Of Pleasure: Please Me!

It’s another night. Another night to be fucking humiliated behind a pole I dread nearing so much if not for the demands of the job. And every damn time I ask myself how did I end up here but then there’s the answer so stark in my face that there’s no denying how necessary this is.

It’s cruel and I don’t deserve it. It’s unbearable how deceitful I’ve become for the sake of my situation. People even take advantage of it. Being the face of the nightclub, Midnight Dreams, I’m not so desirable by many. Or should I say by my colleagues.

Mischief has become my constant companion on set. I've grown accustomed to finding cat fur tangled in my wig, nail polish remover replacing the original contents of my nail polish container, and sand lurking in my foundation.

It is all in a night’s work. But as long as the paycheck clears, and Sandy's needs are met, I grit my teeth and tolerate the antics.

The scowls and yells are just for show. Deep down, I know I'd put up with far worse for the sake of that steady income.

I push through the doors, running a few minutes behind time. But to my luck, the club is still yet to open up to customers. The night looks promising although the lights are dim and the music's on low,

I maneuver my way through the packed room, around the staff members scattered around, prepping for the busy night ahead. I steal a glance at the bar, eyes searching for a particularly enthusiastic face, only to be met with an empty space.

Not to worry though, I might see her later after my performances are done and dusted. But I dare not ignore the dread that creeps into my guts, imagining having to face that green face, stuck up boss of mine, Rachel Crown. I’m not exactly her favorite person, not that anyone ever is. She only cares about her money.

However, throughout my walk to the dressing rooms, there’s no sign of her. Her mere presence sucks the joy out of everything and I've learned to steer clear whenever possible.

I breathe a silent thank you that I've dodged her toxic glare – at least for now.

You'd think that being the club's star dancer would earn me some favor with Rachel, the owner of the club.

But nope, she's always breathing down my neck, making sure I give the customers exactly what they paid for.

I do have to credit her for one thing, though. She’s respected my boundary of not getting intimate with the clientele. Those creepy masks they wear during the VIP sessions might conceal their faces, but I'm determined to keep my personal boundaries intact as well. A.k.a my hymen.

As I step into the room, I'm immediately greeted by the familiar venomous stares of Gigi and her sidekick, Taylor.

It's a tired routine we've all perfected from how often we’ve gone over it. They shoot me daggers, I ignore them with practiced indifference, and they whisper to each other, punctuating their hushed conversation with an exaggerated kiss of their teeth.

The drama is as predictable as it is exhausting. And I couldn’t care less about what they think of me.

But what does get under my skin is when they escalate from dirty looks to vicious pranks.

Those "harmless" jokes have left me battered more times than I can count. Yet, Rachel turns a blind eye, refusing to take action against Gigi and Taylor, no matter how far they go.

“It happens.”, she’d say.

I toss my bag onto the worn, springy couch in the corner and collapse into my seat in front of the makeup mirror with a weary grunt.

The reflection staring back at me is a tired one. Fuck, I’d need more makeup to cover the bags fr under my eyes. They have ballooned to alarming proportions in just a few short hours.

I hadn’t had enough sleep, having spent the night with Sandy, my sister.

It’s only after sinking into the seat without thinking, that my mistake belatedly hits me. I haven't checked for any booby traps. My relief is short-lived and panic sets in as I spin around, frantically scanning the chair for any signs of Gigi and Taylor’s handiwork.

Mentally kicking myself for letting my guard down, I ease into the seat once again. This place has a way of making you paranoid, and I should know better.

At least I've dodged one bullet. There’s no sticky glob of chewed gum awaiting me. But, as I glance around, gaze falling on the two girl’s’ mischievous grins, I realize that the challenge is only just beginning. After all, the night is young.

As I'm dusting powder across my face, my gaze falls upon my nails – or rather, the uneven, chipped mess that used to be a flawless coat.

“What the f…”, I whisper, eyes squinted, brows drawn together.

I hastily grab my nail polish, intent on touching up the damaged side with a quick swipe.

I apply the first coat, expecting a flawless finish. But instead, I'm shocked to discover that the nail polish has been tampered with. It is actually a slow-dry glue.

And thinking it was quick-dry nail polish, I'd already run my hands through my hair. Now, I'm questioning my sanity. The view isn’t too pleasant.

“Seriously, how stupid can you be?", I mentally berate myself.

I feel a wave of frustration washing over me as I gaze at the tangled, sticky disaster that is my hair, fused to my fingers in a gluey mess. It's a classic Gigi and Taylor prank, and I've fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

I hastily grab my scissors, blazing eyes staring right at the sneering duo seated opposite me. For some reason, they’re not hiding their true colors behind their innocent masks anymore, meeting my glare with smirks.

“Which one of you fuckers did this?!”, I exclaim, snipping off the chunk of hair that’s sticking to my nail.

“I’ve had enough of you two.”, I snap, pointing an accusing finger at them.

“Suck it up, sweethearts. If you aren’t killing it on stage, maybe it’s because you’re just not sexy enough. Face it! None of you is prettier than I am”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be in a nightclub, showing your hoo-haa to rich men for a cheap change if you’re so better than us”, Taylor bites back, turning back to her mirror.

She’s right! I’m better than them. So what am I doing here?! Why the fuck do I entertain men to earn a living? Why not get a decent job and live in a better house in a better condition?

Oh right, Sandy. And basically because there are no jobs. Taylor's words cut deep, but I refuse to let her see the hurt on my face.

I take a deep breath, standing firm against the sting of her comment. With a defiant huff, I snatch up my nail file on my makeup desk and begin to aggressively file away at the gluey mess on my finger, the scraping sounds muffling the thumping of my heart.

If it weren’t for our parents’ demise, their abandonment. If not, what would I be doing here? If not for my ill fate, and Sandy’s battle against death, why would I be here?

With each depressing thought, the filing only grows increasingly fierce, the motion growing more frantic. And as my pent-up rage gets the better of me, the file slips, leaving a small gash into my thumb in its wake. A tiny droplet of blood wells up, a painful reminder of my carelessness.

“Fuck!”, I hiss, eyes glued on the crimson red gushing out of the small wound.

I let out a defeated sigh, dropping the file as I slump back into my chair.

I’m not gonna cry right now, am I? Because if it’s tears I feel creeping behind the hood of my eyes, they better go back to where they came from.

But with my thoughts, my eyes begin to prick, and the unwelcome sting of tears becomes more obvious.

No, no, no. I refuse to cry. Not now, not here, not in front of them. I force myself to take a deep breath, willing the tears to finally retreat, to disappear back into the depths of my frustration.

In the nick of time, Rachel bursts into the dressing room, heralding her arrival with a loud clap of her hands, making me jolt in my seat.

“Alright, ladies! Showtime! We've got a packed house tonight, and I expect nothing but perfection!"

“Mm-mm, and they’re loaded”, hearing those words, make Taylor and Gigi giggle in excitement.

Then, Rachel’s gaze sweeps the room, her eyes lingering on me.

“And Stella, darling, you might want to rethink that 'no hookups' policy of yours tonight. You're looking particularly stunning, and I have a feeling you might just catch someone's eye."

She blows me a flirtatious kiss, her smile sparkling with mischief.