Read Online Spent by Antonia Crane - Free Book Online Page B

stardust.
    Mom’s bright blue eyes darted around the mirrored stage. “It’s silly,” she said, chuckling bit. “And, it looks like fun.”
    She was right, and she was wrong.

16
    F rom our fishbowl, men’s faces wobbled and bobbed. Their blurry eyes darted in the darkness as they watched us dance behind the glass. When the money ran out, the black, rickety partitions slid down with a crash. Hot light bounced against the mirrored walls as I slid down the single brass pole one more time before stepping off the main stage.
    My knees creaked from bending over in seven-inch stilettos, and my thighs burned from lifting them above my hips and pushing my pussy against the glass.
    It was time for my shift in Private Pleasures. Through the satin red curtain was the bright white dressing room where I snatched my backpack out of my metal locker and filled it with dildos, lube, and a thin, black boa. I inhaled cum and bleach as I approached the cage, using a flashlight to guide me to the Private Pleasures booth. I dodged crumpled Kleenex scattered in corners of the hallway, but one caught on my shoe, and I scraped my heel across the floor to free it. The cage was near the front entrance to The Lusty Lady, where the shock of sunlight clobbered me the same way it would walking out of a matinee into daylight. I squinted and unlocked the employee entrance door, hung my turquoise robe on a gold hook, and crawled into the cage where it was always night. It wasn’t big enough to stand up, just big enough to wiggle around on all fours on scratchy red carpet.
    Inside Private Pleasures, I could speak with customers through a microphone from my side of the wall by pushing a silver button. They could talk too, but they had to feed the cash machine or else the wobbly window fell down, separating us by a thick wooden wall. I sprayed Windex on the windows until they were streak free. I arranged my three little dildos on the ledge from small to large and felt sorry for myself for having such an asshole for a girlfriend.
    That morning, Marya and I were sitting in her Pepto-Bismol-pink kitchen drinking tea when she saw me shove the dildos into my backpack for work, which meant I intended to use them for my Private Pleasures gig.
    â€œWhy ours?” Marya asked. The steam from her tea wilted her green Mohawk. It slid over to one side.
    â€œI make better tips if I show variety.” She lunged for a toasted poppy seed bagel, and her monkey tattoo bulged. She dipped a knife into the gob of fake butter between us. Our knees touched. Our dildo was a thick, bright dong with pin, marbled stripes—almost the same color as her greasy walls. What kind of person chooses that color for walls ?
    â€œIs it for Herbert?” she sneered.
    â€œNo. Herbert’s a Morning Missile.” Herbert was also known as Zucchini Man. He was slim and brown with luxurious black, wavy hair, and he always wore one silver feather earring that dripped gracefully down his neck. He liked to contort himself like Gumby in a corner booth and balance on his shoulders so he could suck his own dick. After applauding him, we dancers watched him lift a zucchini the size of a body builder’s forearm from a plastic bag and lower himself onto it. He showed up at 9:00 a.m. , right when The Lusty Lady opened; and the 9:00 a.m. clients were called Morning Missiles. I envied him for knowing exactly what he needed to feel desired and seen. His desire was a pure, direct arrow hitting my bisexual gut as I drifted from boys to women and back.
    â€œThrow it away,” Marya said. A collection of poppy seeds gathered in her big teeth. She wanted to keep me to herself—or at least the cocks she fucked me with—but, like the last stick of bubblegum in a pack, I always came back wrinkled and soggy.
    â€œWhat?” I munched the other half of her bagel.
    â€œI bought it. Toss it.”
    â€œI’ll replace it.” I stood to leave and was