The Mike Black Saga Volume 3 Read online

  I thought back to earlier that day when I was cornered and felt up by Pervert Chuck because I didn’t have all the rent money. I felt disgusted with his hands all over me. If I really wanted to be honest about it, I let him do it. I didn’t scream or fight him off. I did very little in the way of protest. I allowed him to trap me in that corner and touch my body, because that’s what it took to cover the rest of the rent.

  I knew I’d be meeting the same type of pervert behind those walls. So, I had to ask myself what was the difference? What was the difference between me dancing naked in front of a bunch of men for money, and being felt up by one because I was short with my rent again?

  Although neither choice seemed too appealing, the answer was simple: It was all a matter of choice and what I was willing to do, and money. The truth was that there was no difference. It was all about the money.

  I fidgeted with my hair and applied more gloss before snapping the mirror shut. I took a deep breath and clutched the door handle. I hesitated and tried to think positive thoughts about what I was going to do, but the truth of the matter was that I was scared to death. So scared that my hands were shaking.

  “You can do this, Jada,” I told myself as I got out of the car. “It’s gonna be just like Diane said, I’ll be dancing for one guy,” I said as I walked slowly toward the building. “Just one guy.”

  As I walked I got a taste of what it was gonna be like, as I felt the eyes of every guy in the parking lot on me. Undressing me with their eyes and doing worse things in their thoughts.

  “You can do this, Jada,” I repeated.

  I was used to guys staring at me, but never like this. I felt like an object … a juicy steak on a platter that was about to get served up. Some of the guys were yelling’ at me, but I was too deep into what I was about to do to comprehend, much less care what they were saying. Truth be told, I was an object now; an object for their entertainment.

  At that moment, the club’s door swung open and I could hear booming music flooding into the parking lot. When the bouncer stopped me at the entrance, my skin started to crawl as his eyes wandered from my head down to my toes. “I’m looking for Bruce,” I said to him.

  “You new?” he asked in a voice so deep it startled me.

  “Um, yeah,” I nodded, clutching my thin jacket at the neck.

  “I know you ain’t shy. This ain’t no place for no shy ho’s,” he insisted.

  I started to say something, but no words came out.

  He laughed. “Let’s see what you working wit.” I jumped when I felt somebody’s hand palming my ass.

  “What the hell!” I turned to face the culprit. “Don’t touch me!” I screamed at this drunk who could barely hold himself up.

  “Aw, baby, you too cute to act all like that,” he slurred. “We friendly around here. If you gon’ make some money, you gots to be nice,” he added.

  “Just don’t touch me!” I said again.

  He stumbled toward me and I took a few steps back.

  “Here,” he said and shoved a crumbled five-dollar bill toward me. “Here’s something for you, cutie,” he continued before stumbling into the club.

  I turned my attention back to the bouncer.

  “That’s just Eddie. He don’t mean no harm,” he said. “But you definitely got to get used to mutha fucka’s grabbin’ at you. We try to keep that shit down, but it’s gonna happen. If you don’t want to be touched like that, you gotta figure out how you gonna keep niggas off you without it costin’ you money.”

  “I will.”

  “Come on. Why don’t you go in and walk through that first door to your right. That way you can get straight to the dressing room and bypass the crowd,” he offered.

  Although I was tempted to follow the bouncer’s instructions, a part of me was curious about what it was like inside the club. So, I stepped past him, bypassed the door and followed the sound of the music.

  The room was a pretty good size, but the mirrored walls made the place seem twice as big. The tables and chairs were lined up in sections that surrounded the stage. There were also two dark doorways toward the back of the room. The soft lighting gave off a dark enough hue over the entire room, and the place smelled like a mixture of cigarette smoke, crisp new money, and just a hint of weed.

  Several men stood huddled in a group surrounding a couple of dancers. They were both naked and dancing their asses off. There were other men posted up at the bar. A few of them had woman dancing in front of them.

  I stopped and looked around the room. A lot of the men that were sitting at the tables had women dancing for them too. Up until that moment, I was under the mistaken dilution that I would be doing a couple of sets onstage and that’s it. But as I continued to watch, I saw the men giving the dancers money when the song ended. The dancer would get the money, get dressed in what little outfit they were wearing, and move on to the next man.

  At that point, I knew that that was how they made their money. If I was gonna clock the kind of paper Diane was talking about, I was really gonna have to hustle. I remembered what my moms told me about what a woman gotta do.

  “You’re here to make money, Jada. It’s all about the money.”

  I started to get excited as the music pumped through the massive speakers. It was loud and contagious. Just as I prepared to turn and find the dressing room, I bumped into this completely naked woman.

  “Hi, you must be Jada,” she said, like she was fully clothed. I tried my best not to stare at her naked body, but I couldn’t help it.

  “Um, how … how’d you know me?”

  “Actually, I came out here to find you. I’m Crème. Diane just called me and said she’s running late, so she asked me to take care of you ’til she get here,” Crème said. She was cute, short hair, olive skin with an hourglass shape, firm breasts and shapely hips.

  I tried not to stare at her nipples, but they seemed to be pointed right at my eyes. Next to us, two other naked dancers were grinding their hips and shaking their breasts all in their customers’ faces.

  “Oh, okay,” I said, turning my attention back to Crème.

  I kept reminding myself that this was really no big deal. I pulled my gym bag close and followed Crème down a dark hallway.

  Before we turned I looked toward the stage; a couple of women were gyrating all over each other. One was wearing a pair of spiked heels and a garter around her beefy thigh. The other dancer, who was laying on the stage, had on white platform boots and a garter filled with bills. Spiked heels dropped it like it was hot and was bouncing up and down on the other dancers’ face. On the other side the stage, I noticed pink flesh when another dancer spread and held her legs up and opened wide, in mid air. I couldn’t hide my shock. But when I saw a group of men throwing bills onto the stage, I finally knew exactly where I was and was sure that I wanted to be there.

  “You can do this, Jada. It’s all about the money,” I repeated silently.

  “You comin’?” Crème asked over the music as she walked.

  “Yes.” I did a slow trot to catch up to Crème.

  We weren’t in the dressing room for a good thirty minutes before a big, burly man burst through the door. Most of the girls scattered or quickly busied themselves. I never did know what his real name was, but all the girls called him Bruce Bruce, because he was just as big as the famous comedian and he did kinda favor him.

  “Delicious just quit, I need somebody fresh!” he hollered. When he stepped close to me, Crème was standing next to me, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Oh, Jackie,” he said, removing the cigar from his lips, where spittle had gathered at the corners of his mouth.

  “Um, it’s Jada,” I corrected.

  “Whatever. You’re Delicious now. You need to be ready to shake that ass when I call for you.”

  Before I could protest, he spun around and headed back out the door as abruptly as he had come in.

  I glanced up in the mirror to see the other dancers in different stages
of closing down for the day, while others were getting ready to go make more money. My head started spinning and I felt myself get warm.

  “God, where’s Diane. I can’t do this,” I said, leaning up against a nearby counter.

  “What you mean you can’t do it? Much as Diane been braggin’ about your ass, you’d better get out there and do somethin’,” Crème insisted.

  But the more she talked, the more upset my stomach became. Soon, I felt the bile churning and threatening to erupt. I rushed to the closest trashcan and leaned over the top.

  The other girls were going about their business like nothing had happened. When I was done, Crème pulled me to the side.

  “Look, I got a little something for you. It’ll help you relax and get into it,” she said. She fumbled through her stuff for a second and came out with a small plastic bag. I knew what time it was. She stuck one of her long fingernails into the bag and held it in front of my face.

  I had tried cocaine a few times, but I never really got anything out of it.

  “Nah, that ain’t my thing,” I said and took a swallow of my Henny.

  “Okay,” Crème said and took the hit.

  By the time it was my turn to dance, Crème had me pumped, a little drunk, and feeling the music. When Bruce Bruce called for me, I was as ready as I’d ever be. Once I got onstage, I sprang to life, surprising even myself. Every time I went down to the floor, I’d shake my behind and spread my thighs. The men loved it. I’d gyrate my hips to the music, stripping off pieces of clothes as I moved around the stage. When I was down to my last stitch of clothing, which was a thong with fringes, I pulled it to one side and used my fingers to stretch my lips real wide. That one really surprised me. These two men stood at the stage feeding me money like they had an unlimited supply.

  Diane never came to the club that night and I didn’t see her at all for a few days, but by the time she came back, I was a pro. After three weeks into my new profession, the money was rolling in and I was ready to change my name. Delicious was okay, but this customer gave me an idea when he came stumbling up to the stage at the end of my performance one night.

  “I want to see my kitty,” he slurred.

  I was trying to clear my money off the stage before the next dancer came up, but he wouldn’t let up.

  “Miss Kitty!” he shouted. “I want to see her. I live for the part when you stroke that cat for me,” he said.

  “What?” I yelled over the music.

  “Them other bitches just dance. You put on a show for a nigga. Make him want you.”

  At first, I didn’t understand what he was saying. But the more I studied the other girls; I realized what he was talking about. They were just dancing. They were merely moving to music. Every so often they may rub a tit, but it was like: one, two, stop and turn; three, four, shake your ass; five, six, drop and spread; seven, eight, get back up. That’s when I realized just how different I was.

  When I was onstage, it was like I was in a trance, dancing in my very own world. I’d pick a man and stare at him, literally working him over with my eyes. When I danced, I moved seductively, and my hands wandered all over my body as if the customer himself was exploring me. I stroked, caressed, and massaged, trying to give them an idea of what it might be like if I’d actually let them touch me.

  With his simple request, my new persona was born. I became Miss Kitty. Now, I waltzed out onstage dressed in a short, tight leather miniskirt, with a garter belt and black fishnet stockings. I topped things off with a fishnet shirt, a black leather bra, and a long pair of black gloves. My final touch was a small, elegant silk mask. Within two months time, Miss Kitty had her own small-but-generous following. Their money spoke volumes … telling me without a doubt that they appreciated my well-calculated efforts to make them happy and to make me money.

  3

  I lay in bed one Saturday, thinking about how my life had changed. I’m not the same person I was when I walked through those doors. If you had told me when I was fifteen that in five years I’d be the premier dancer at a strip club, I woulda called you a liar and might have slapped your face. But every night, I am the queen at Ecstasy. The truth is; I’m enjoying this life that I’ve been living for the past eight months.

  But I had bigger plans for my life. I was gonna be big-time. I never really knew what I was gonna be big-time at, but I planned to make a lot of money doing it. At least that part of the plan was working. I was making mad money and was a superstar in my own right. Sure, the men came to see the other dancers, but when Miss Kitty sashayed out of the dressing room, it was like the room was mine.

  Nothing could touch the high I felt while onstage. That’s the part of all this that has surprised me the most: I’d never been the kind of person that was … you know … stuck on myself. I am by no means ugly, but at the same time, I am by no means the prettiest girl in the room. There are women with better bodies, and there are a bunch of women that can shake their asses off. What separates me from the rest is my presentation. I just worked harder than every other woman in there, because I wanted it more than they did.

  I tried to ease up out of bed, only to lie back down. My head was pounding in the worst way. When the phone rang, I would’ve paid someone to make it stop. I snatched it up before it could scream again.

  “Heeeeey, girl, I’m on my way to pick you up now. Nine West is having a fierce sale. I know you down, right?” Diane was hollering in my ear.

  I slapped my forehead. “Damn. Why are you callin’ here all early with this shit, Dee?”

  “Early?” she screeched.

  “Shit yeah. I’m a wreck.” I tried to reason.

  “Bitch, pull yourself together and let’s roll,” she said, sounding far too giddy to me.

  I turned to face the wall and caught a glimpse of the digital clock. “Damn, is it five o’clock for real?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I been trying to tell you, Miss Kitty,” she threw in somewhat sarcastically. “We hit Nine West, do the rest of the mall, grab some food, then get out to the club and make some cheddar,” she said.

  I rubbed my face and yawned. “Okay, how far are you?”

  “I’ll be there by the time you wash your ass and brush your teeth,” she said.

  Later that night at the club, I tripped off how easy it was for me to drop a grand on shoes during my shopping spree with Diane. I spent a lot more than Diane, but I used the grand to cop two pairs of Prada stilettos. Then we went to this boutique that sold Le Perla lingerie. Diane’s mouth dropped when I easily laid three grand on the counter to pay for a lace bra with a matching panty and garter set.

  “Are you crazy?” she had asked.

  “It’s for my show,” I said as the salesclerk picked up her pace, hoping Diane wouldn’t change my mind.

  “At the club?” she asked in bewilderment. “Hmmm! I wish like hell I’d spend that kind of paper to shake my ass for those losers,” Diane sucked her teeth.

  I didn’t respond right away, but in my mind, I pointed to that extra effort as to why I was so different from Diane and the rest of the dancers. Considering all I spent on the spree, I knew I’d go to work with a vengeance … no wallet was safe with me on the prowl.

  Halfway through my act, to my surprise when I went to the edge of the stage, there was a woman calling me with her eyes. She was all but drooling as she stared at me longingly. I slid to her on my knees, steadily working my hips like we were the only ones in the room. She was loving every moment of it. Each time I wiggled she stuffed a crisp, new twenty into my thong.

  “You sexy as fuck,” she said when I leaned over to shake my titties in her face. She stroked at me and I scooted beyond her reach. I loved playing with girls because it drove the niggas insane and made them drop major paper.

  I went to work another section of the stage before returning to my faithful fan. This time I turned around and spread my cheeks so she could stuff more twenties into my garter. She didn’t disappoint. When she reached up to rub my breasts, I
moved out of her way and rubbed them for her, squeezing my nipples for good measure.

  I had her hot and wet and I knew it.

  After I finished working the room, I made my way to the dressing room to change my outfit. When I came back out, I scanned the room, but my new girl toy was gone. As I walked toward the VIP room to see what was going down in there, this dude grabbed me by the arm.

  “Say, Miss Kitty, what’s up? You looked real good out there,” he confirmed.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed the show,” I said as I tried to move on. He tugged my arm again, pulling me back closer to his body. Liquor reeked from his pores.

  “What’s up? You get down like the others?”

  “Yeah, for five hundred dollars,” I said without blinking. That was my standard answer anytime somebody came at me like that. Once niggas heard that, they usually went on about their business with their heads hanging low. I was there for the money, not to give up any parts of this pussy.

  “Whaat? Five hundred dollars? Bitch, is you crazy? Baby, I can get some ass for a hundred and a half up in this bitch,” he yelled.

  I sucked my teeth. “One fifty?” I ran my hand along the length of my body. “What about this body says I’d even consider giving up any of this for a measly, hundred and fifty dollars?” I asked with all seriousness.

  “Damn, baby, that’s a grip though. You want too much.”

  “Nigga, please. Obviously, your paper ain’t heavy enough, so you need to move on to one of these average bitches around here.” Before he could tug me again, I snatched my arm from him and stormed into the VIP room.

  When the club was getting ready to close, I walked into the dressing room and everyone was giggling and acting like they’d gone in on a winning lottery ticket.

  “What’s up?” I asked one of the few somber-looking dancers in the room.

  She turned to look at the group that was celebrating, and then turned to me. “What’s up, Jada? They all excited and shit ’cause Bruce Bruce just came in and picked girls for Sunday night’s big private party,” she snarled. “I’m really surprised that Bruce Bruce didn’t pick you.”