Page 69 of Marcus-stiltskin

I laugh, “You’re the first.”

He shakes his head and wanders off.

I head upstairs to the empty room I claimed for all the things I haven’t found places for since moving in. In the furthest corner is the box of outfits I couldn’t part with. Maybe I was thinking I’d do just this, or maybe I was keeping it as a memory of a very different time in my life when splitting my time between witch lessons and donkey care wasn’t my main occupation.

I find a blue top and bottom set with a silky see-through mesh to pull over it and get dressed. I no longer have my collection of shoes–those I passed on to Shania when she left for the city, but I figure watching someone dance at eye level is a lot different from looking up. I won’t need six-inch heels to add to my silhouette.

I wrap up in a robe and slip my feet into slippers, so I won’t have to pad across the concrete bay in bare feet and make my way down to where Marcus is waiting.

He’s found a few space heaters and has them all plugged in around the edges of the small space. The pole is a little too close to the wall–I won’t be doing anything fancy, but I can still work with it.

“So,” he says, rubbing his hands together.

“So,” I smile back. “You got a chair?”

“Oh, shoot, do you need one?”

“I’d like you to be sitting, if you don’t mind.”

Confusion crosses his face, but as usual, he wanders off to comply with my random request.

He returns with one of the giant Adirondack chairs for two that serves as outdoor seating when the weather’s warm.

I snort as he takes his place smack in the middle of it and leans back. “Only you would bring a throne sized chair.”

He grins. “Does it not count?”

“It’ll work,” I tell him.

“Do you need music?” he asks.

“Doyouneed music?” I respond.

He shakes his head and chuckles. “I’m good if you are.”

He sits on the bench and waits as I kick my slippers off and drop my robe. I let my hair down from the messy bun it’s been in all day and step up to the pole.

A lot of people think that to get picked up as a stripper, you have to be able to do cool acrobatic stuff on the pole. In all honesty, most girls I’ve known don’t. The best dancers are the ones who aren’t afraid to make eye contact with the customers in the crowd. That’s what really gets men to open their wallets. It's eye contact.

I put my right hand to the pole and, resting my feet at the base, spin around it once, just to get a feel for it. It’s wider than a stripper pole, though I doubt I’m the first person to dance on it. One thing I’ve learned working at strip clubs–it doesn’t take much to talk a man into doing anything in front of his friends. I’m sure there’s been a firefighter or two who’s taken a turn on this pole. I swing around again once more and begin to slowly move my hips.

Marcus’s full attention is immediately on me. I see him out of the corner of my eye. I can feel him watching. Still, I don’t look at him, waiting for the right moment.

I swing around again and turn my back to the pole, stretching my arms high above my head as if I’m being forced against it. With my hands still high in the air, I grab the pole above my head and slowly begin to grind my hips. I meet his eyes for a moment, then look up at my hands, only to make eye contact again.

“Do they ever let you get closer?” he asks. I swing around the pole, stopping in front of him, and then lean back as far as I can, my hair brushing the ground.

“Closer? You want a private dance, like we do in the VIP room?”

“Yes.”

I swing around the pole once more before I move closer to him. His eyes are locked to mine. “Private dances cost a lot. Are you sure you’re willing to pay the price?”

He swallows. “I’d pay anything.”

I move closer to him, and he reaches out a hand. I step back with a smile as I shake my head. “Can’t touch the dancers. Only the dancers do the touching. House rules.”

He grins. “I think I can handle that.”

---