05

The nightclub did not have a defined repertoire, the songs were always the ones that most attracted people to the track, and that was all. However, that night we were with a different DJ and she seemed determined to remix all the best known songs regardless of the genre. I realized this when I heard Kurt Cobain's voice sounding faster than usual in an almost robotic version of Smells like a Teen Spirit. I didn't contain my fan instinct and started singing the song while dancing and spinning my vodka bottle over my fingers.

While the music followed its low and engaging tone and then started again with the strongest beat, I turned the bottle in my hands with an agility that seemed impossible to have looking from a distance.

I ended up remembering my first days of work, when I was still in training and literally cut all my fingers trying to find a position between them that would support the bottle and allow me to rotate it and throw it into the air as many times as necessary. Everything would have become easier from the first month. When my clear eyes got used to the sensitivity caused by the flash of the colored lights, and my steps followed the movements made by my hands. It was like working in a circus, and I had fun with the thought that if one day the nightclub closed its doors, at least I would have a guaranteed job as a juggler on tightropes.

“We need a double dose, Mila”, warned Henry gently, pushing my hair away from the heat to murmur in my ear. The loud music required physical contact or shouting, and, at the moment, I was happy that the tattoo boy chose the first option.

“All Right.”

Double dose was the code that meant only one thing: Climb on the counter and attract more customers using the minimum of nudity that will not cause embarrassment.

Not that my friend wasn't good enough to stay focused on her curvy body, but some customers used to be too smart to just watch and go back to the dance floor, without consuming, without falling into the vicious cycle and contributing to the nightclub's monetary system. That's when I acted. Knowing how to dance or not, my function changed to agile with my fingers, to professional dancer in seconds. For this, I had the few steps that Kendall taught me, and my vague skill in Just Dance, the rest fell to the fertile and dirty imagination of men while my blouse was slowly opened.

Still dancing, I turned the bottles in my hands and left them on the lowest counter, where the drinks were prepared. I needed the help of the tattooed boy to be able to climb the glass counter, and I did not fail to notice how his rigid muscles shaved deliciously against the outside of my thighs.

Without knowing it, he was automatically already joining the list of guys who would one day get the privilege of fucking me. Maybe, if he wasn't gay and lived up to the bad boy pose, he would like to know the indecent storm that hovered over my head when he noticed the hoop piercing that adorned his appetizing lips.

I turned and shook, taking care of the counter boundary, where few customers rested their glasses of drinks. I unbuttoned my silk vest, highlighting the white and tight cropped against my swollen breasts. I raised my arms, sliding my hands gently along the length of my torso. The looks didn't take long to find me, and that was the stimulus I needed to go down and climb against the metal support that supported the bar, like a slippery pole dance. I tilted one leg against the cold object, sliding vertically down. My hair slipped in cascade, touching lightly on the colored counter. I raised my hands in a suggestive way, casting a look at no one in particular.

I felt the way my back burned, as if I was being stripped by male desire. I didn't look back, but I was sure of whoever owned that inspection, it wouldn't just be the house that would make a profit that night.

I followed the remixed beat, jumping lightly so that my weight did not cause any cracks on the tempered glass. I turned and imitated Kendall's steps, without the drop of resemblance, but playing the role I was instructed to play. I was good at it. For someone who could fake several orgasms, pretending that he knew how to dance was as easy as breathing.

“Hey!” Kendall approached, leaning one of her arms above my shoulders. “I found the guy with the five hundred silvers.”

Maybe my eyes shone, because his expression had become even more malicious. Kendall looked away at my back, and turned me around, as if I was still dancing. I went back near the metal support, where I had felt the heat that rose in my spine and lodged inside my flesh.

My eyes followed a crooked line until I reached a boy in a leather jacket, the eyes in a heterochromatic effect because of the flashing lights, the hair that camouflaged itself with the various colors in a stripped hairstyle, and able to attract the attention of any woman. I still felt the intensity of the look on my body, but somehow it didn't seem to come from it.

I cast a dubious look at Kendall, trying to make sure that he was really the man of the night, but she was busy jumping shamelessly over the glass counter, excited about the music that started. With no other alternative, I rehearsed a smile and gave the right look to the unknown man.

I was once told that I could conquer anyone by giving him what he was most looking for. Authoritarian men liked naivety, slow men liked strong women, men who did not care about any of these aspects and just wanted a body to satisfy the horniness, they just needed a malicious look, adorned with a singing smile and a slight rubbing of the tongue against the half-open lips. For me it made no difference which man was hooked by my natural cynicism, as long as he was good at what I needed.