Half Your Earnings, Plus A Tip

Michael floundered, clearly vacillating between taking the upsell and sticking to the original plan. The situation had already been overwhelming for him to begin with, and Rat could tell that he was second guessing even making the decision to purchase a dance. Rat didn’t want him to slip from the end of their hook, so they stepped in.

“Let’s just start with a single and then see how we feel.” Rat said, gently rubbing Michael’s back.

Sometimes Rat was a seductress, sometimes Rat was a mother. Find a whore who can do both. Michael relaxed and handed Vegas the money.

“Alright, have fun y’all.” Vegas said with a smirk.

Rat led Michael to a corner booth.

“I’ll start with the next song.” Rat said, leaning against the side of the booth as Michael took a seat.

Rat liked to be fair. Strip club songs were only two and a half minutes long. If they started in the middle, they would be done as soon as they began. And customers already felt ripped off half the time to begin with. It was another trust building maneuver. A dubstep song began, signaling that Fantasy was on stage. Rat knew most of the dancers’ go-to stage music at this point, particularly dancers like Fantasy who knew how to work the stage. She was bombastic, with daring flips and one move that involved dangling from the pole with her legs split, exposing her vulva as she rubbed her clit to the beat of the music. Rat sat in Michael’s lap, facing away and leaned back against his chest as they slowly slid their hips back and forth over his lap. Rat grabbed his hands and placed them on their chest, indicating where he could touch. Michael’s hands shook as he held them in place. It was precious watching a man tremble with nervousness. Rat drew his hands across their body and felt his erection rise between their legs. Rat closed their legs together, squeezing their thighs around Michael’s bulge. A moan escaped Michael’s throat, as his lips brushed Rat’s neck.

Rat took him for a half hour suite. He’d been worried his friends would leave without him, but they stayed, wanting to enable their buddy. Michael was an intimacy client. He wanted to be close, to be held. He wanted to know all about Rat’s personal life--their dreams and aspirations, what they did when they weren’t seducing vulnerable men. While these clients were physically lower impact than the men looking to hump Rat until they creamed their pants, the mental toll was always higher. Rat was too much of an empath, and the men could sense that Rat’s care was genuine. They wanted to believe the care came from an erotic place, rather than one of skilled pity and opportunism. The additional half hour added enough to their total that Rat felt content going home.

“I need to check on my friends.” Michael announced, checking the time on his phone.

“Of course,” Rat replied, patting him on the shoulder.

“Will you come with me?” Michael asked.

If Rat wasn’t exhausted, they would have appreciated the gesture. It meant Michael likely wanted to purchase more time, and that was a difficult thing to turn down. The strip club was a boom/bust economy. Some nights you got lucky, others felt as though you were pulling blood from a stone. Rat knew they’d better ride out the generosity, regardless of their fatigue. There was no telling what the future might hold.

“Sure,” Rat said, nodding.

The pair returned downstairs to the significantly more wasted group of bros. The men cheered again as Michael and Ratt approached. Michael blushed a deep red as he wrapped his arm possessively around Rat’s waist.

“Looks like someone had a good time!” A friend said, nudging Michael suggestively.

“You found the prettiest one.” Another said, leering at Rat.

“About time, brothah!” A third said, raising his glass.

“Can I buy you another drink?” Michael asked, submissively.

“I could do another whiskey sour.” Rat replied.

Rat wasn’t normally a big drinker, but since the night was going so well, they decided they were allowed to cut loose a bit. The bartender set the drink in front of them, and before Rat knew it, they’d reached the bottom.

“She’s quite the drinker, isn’t she?” Noted the leering friend.

Michael nestled his nose in Rat’s wig, dotingly. Rat wasn’t sure if he was just trying to hold onto them as long as he could, smitten as he was at that point, or if he was still good to spend more money. The drink eased Rat’s impatient internal clock, pausing the constant tabulation of how much each minute of their time was worth. Michael wasn’t a bad customer. He’d tipped well enough. He could afford an intermittent splurge. He just needed to drink more.

“Let’s take shots!” Rat declared.

Rat was wavy, but not drunk. Rat wagered the best way to keep Michael around was to make sure his entire group was too sloshed to leave, and--Rat scanned the room and spotted Beverly, Baby, and Monica chatting together in a corner--to make sure they had adequate company to keep them distracted. Michael ordered a round of Patrón shots and Rat downed theirs in a single gulp.

“I’ll be right back.” Rat announced, steadying themself as they stood.

Rat made a beeline over to the group of dancers, deliberately focusing on their posture to avoid toppling over.

“Lilith! How did the ass-eater go?” Beverly asked, smiling mischievously.

“He was fine.” Rat said, wasting no time, “I have a group of guys who need some company. Would y’all be down to finesse them with me?”

“Which ones?” Monica asked, skeptically.

“The bros by the bar.” Rat replied, gesturing with a nod over to the group of men.

Michael had his eye on Rat, even as he pretended to be distracted. Rat could feel his gaze tickling the back of their neck.

“Let’s do it.” Baby said, straightening her lacy teddy.

The four strippers assumed an attack formation, ready to take the unwitting group of businessmen for every penny they had. Rat took the lead, followed closely by Baby--a fresh faced woman with shoulder length brown hair parted down the middle, the soft curves of her body peeking out from the thin ribbon ties binding the teddy together. Monica linked arms with Baby, her curly hair pulled into tight afro puffs, a slingshot bikini wedged deep between her cheeks and a sequin drawstring bag clutched in one fist. Beverly brought up the rear, a synthetic blonde ponytail clipped into her thin platinum hair. A subtle lazy eye, paired with her sexy schoolgirl outfit made her look like a knockoff Britney Spears, circa 1999. Rat sidled up to Michael, making clear he was Rat’s customer.

“These are my friends!” Rat announced with affected enthusiasm.

The three dancers intuitively paired off with Michael’s coworkers. There was always a chance one man would be dissatisfied with the stripper he ended up with, but as long as the majority of men in the group were occupied, Michael was Rat’s to fleece.

“How about another round?” Rat proposed, lifting their bra to flash the group.

Michael reached over to cover Rat’s tit’s with his hands. The rest of the group cheered, appreciative of Rat’s exhibitionist display.

“Hey! Save those for me.” Michael said, pulling Rat into his arms.

Rat did not understand the pseudo monogamy of the situation. Rat was a stripper. It was clear they were paid company. And it was clear Rat had been working all night, servicing a variety of men. However now they were with Matt-- not Matt, Michael. Rat winced internally at the mistake they nearly made.

“You wanna go have some more fun?” Rat asked, squeezing Michael’s hands covering their breasts.

Michael glanced over at his friends. Baby was bent over, twerking between two of the bros who tucked twenties into her thigh high stockings. Monica had already pulled one of them away for a dance. Rat pressed their hips against Michael’s, hoping to stimulate some movement and nudge him toward another half hour. Rat bit their lip and fluttered their eyelids. Seduction both made sense and made no sense. There was nothing about what Rat was doing that they found to be alluring in a personal sense, but of course, Rat was not a straight man. Rat liked women and femmes, but not in the way their customers liked them. Rat liked queer coding: femmes with body hair; who either wore no makeup or over the top makeup; who struggled to feign interest when men were speaking; who returned Rat’s parsing gaze with one of their own as they deciphered the smoke signals in search of real queers.

“I do…” Michael said, trailing off.

“But?” Rat raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing. Let’s do it.”

“Right answer.” Rat replied, pulling the still reluctant Michael behind them.

Michael tapped out after the second half hour. It wasn’t bad money, all things considered. Rat was emotionally drained from entertaining the needy man, but they got the sense that he had the potential to become a regular. They exchanged numbers under the guise of “meeting up sometime outside of the club,” which would likely never happen. Rat preferred to do business within the secure walls of the club with bouncers handy to shake down haggling customers and set price ranges for dances of different lengths. Michael pecked Rat on the cheek before stumbling back over to his friends. Rat decided this was as good a moment as any to call it a night. The club was slowing down. There was still an hour left before close, but Rat wanted to skip the line. Rat watched the group of bros cluster together and follow the slow trickle of customers making their exodus into the frosty winter night.

Rat retrieved their phone from their purse and checked the time. 5% battery, damn. Their phone was going to die. They turned down the brightness and began totalling up their receipts in preparation for checkout. The club owed them $680. They’d cleared a grand if they counted their tips, but the club didn’t need to know that. No doubt Ronnie, who was managing that night, would expect a larger tip if he knew. He might even shake Rat down for it, depending on his mood. Rat set aside $68 to be divided between Ronnie, Vegas, the DJ, and all the other bouncers floating around. Tipping ten percent seemed to be enough to keep management off their back. Admittedly, it pained them, tipping after splitting half the cost of each dance with the club. The club had already taken its share, and yet it expected more. It expected you to be grateful for the robbery. Gimme half your earnings, plus a tip for the trouble.

Rat stood in front of the dressing room mirror, inspecting their face. Their eyes were bloodshot. They could feel acne bumps rising on their cheeks. Rat rubbed their tongue under the area where one bump was developing and winced as a deep pain emanated from the spot. Rat unclipped their wig from their scalp and peeled it forward, revealing their flattened cornrows. Rat picked away at the glue still stuck to their forehead. They felt liberated, finally relieved of the heavy synthetic hairpiece. They folded the dirty wig into its wig cap and slid the bundle into a ziplock bag. Rat would need to clean the hair before they could wear it again. Rat shoved their stripper gear into a duffle and went downstairs to check out.