Page 7 of Climbing Everest
“You have a VIP request. Room two.”
With a heavy sigh, I nod. I detour into the locker room where I stash the loose cash in my locker and pull free a fresh outfit. I barely have time to wipe away the sweat, freshen up my makeup and deodorant, and spritz myself with some body spray before I’m sauntering down the dimly lit hallway toward the VIP area.
After another sigh, I plaster the same fucking smile on my face I wear every day in this place and push open the door.
And freeze dead in my tracks.
The man sitting on the couch…
For the briefest of moments, I swore Kato was sitting there. Coal black hair, warm, olive skin, broad shoulders. But as I move closer, I see his eyes are a darker brown, not the icy blue I’d looked into thousands and thousands of times through the years.
“What kind of dance would you like?” I ask as I saunter closer. No way will I ever come out and ask if any of myclients are looking to bust a nut. Great way to get locked up for prostitution and possibly get this club put under investigation.
“I just want to watch.”
“You want to see all of me?” I ask, trailing a red painted fingernail down my cleavage, careful not to scrape away the concealer.
“No. I want to watch you dance. Wearing that,” he says with a nod toward me.
His arms are stretched along the back of the couch, his knees spread.
“And I want a picture or video,” he says.
I’m shaking my head before he finishes his request. More like demand since his tone left very little room for negotiation.
“No. No pictures. No videos.”
The client leans forward, reaches into his pocket, and removes a large wad of Benjamins. And fuck…I need that money.
I’m doing everything in my power to get into a better, safer apartment complex, but I swear every time I think I might have enough for the down payment, something else breaks on my car or some tweaker breaks in and tracks down where I’m hiding my money.
Pressing my painted lips together, I eye the money in his hand, finally nodding. “Fine. But you better not sell that shit on some porn site.”
It’s one thing for the dude to use the pic or video for his personal spank bank for later, but a whole different animal for him to make money offmybody.
He smirks and stretches out his arm, waiting for me to take the money. I then cross the room and start the music. He’s only paid for one song and a picture – or video. If he wants more than that, he’ll have to pay. I won’t let the fat roll of hundreds convince me otherwise.
My luck, I’ll get back to the locker room and find a single hundred wrapped around a stack of ones.
As the beat fills the space, I begin to sway my hips, my back still to him as I slide my hands up and into my hair, lifting it as I turn and let it drift back down.
There is no stage back here, nothing to separate us. But there are cameras and a panic button in case the client – or multiple clients – get out of control or too rowdy.
It almost feels weird to dance without the objective of removing my clothes, but he’s the customer. He’s paying for this. Who knows? Maybe this is his fantasy or fetish. Not my business.
I move closer until I’m practically standing between his knees, but he holds up a hand and tells me to back up.
With a frown, I do so, still dancing, but…something feels off. He lifts his phone and aims it at me, the flash making me blink a few times as it goes off three times. He doesn’t lower it, so I assume he’s now taking a video.
So…I stare right into the lens and pretend the camera is the one being seduced instead of the attractive dude sitting on the couch watching me through the screen on his phone.
This could always be one of those voyeurism kinks, like he feels as though he’s spying by watching through his phone instead of locking eyes with me, and I sure as hell am not one to kink shame. The things I’ve done to survive over the past four years would make the eighteen-year-old Everest damn near clutch her pearls.
By the end of the song, I’m barely breathing heavier and not nearly as sweaty as I would have been had I either had to put on the full show or fucked this dude on the couch.
Oh, and I’m taking home a wad of cash.
Win-win, baby.
