I hated stripping. I believed I was lower than low, a second- or even a third-rate citizen. With no high school diploma, having dropped out in the eleventh grade, I had no real skills. I couldn't type, nor was I familiar with computer programs. My customer skills were limited; in fact, most of the time I couldn't stand people. Especially ones who act up in stores. I couldn't cook or clean, so I did what I assumed was my only option. I used my body.

Dancing was fine. Stripping down to almost nothing as guys ogled my body was degrading. If I could just dance, any other type of dancing would be fine. I tried going to a few auditions, but I received excuse after excuse. My body wasn't the right type. My style wasn't what they were looking for. My look was all wrong.

I thought about a breast reduction and possibly getting some of my ass removed also. Being a shorter woman at 5 feet 6 inches, my bust and behind were significant. A 34D chest, a 28 waist, and a 36 hip and ass area weren't made for ballet. Or tap. One guy told me I would look good in music videos. I knew what he meant. Not like there were music producers around my neck of the world. I didn't want to be that girl anyways.

I kept stripping, thinking I could put money away, and as I got older, that maybe something good would come my way, a new opportunity, anything. Until then, I got my ass out on the stage, danced for dollars, and tried to make enough to pay my bills.

Tonight, Friday night, was dollar drafts until 10 o'clock. We would get the college crowd and the cheap older men, and making money would be crap. I was scheduled to start in a few minutes, but my ass didn't want to get up. We were busy, of course.

Tonight, I decided on a demi-cup red bra with a matching thong. They both have fake crystals hanging off, giving an ambience of diamonds as I swirl around the pole. I topped it with a black leather skirt and a black snap shirt. Red thigh-high boots completed the ensemble. Red lipstick and dark eyes finished me off.

I always left my red hair down, making it easier to run my hands through it. My pale skin, with a splattering of freckles, and green eyes got a lot of male attention. Tonight, I wanted to look hot, to look irresistible, to look powerful.

The DJ called me out, Kiss by Rihanna thumping out. It was a seductive number, one of my favorite songs to get my night going. I sashayed out, my body automatically swaying and dancing to the sultry voice. I used the pole to maintain a distance from the seated men. I rocked along, removing my shirt and then my skirt. If I could ignore the background noises, the other songs around the room, and the men and women talking, I could picture myself anywhere else.

My song ended, so I collected the money and went back to the dressing room. I hadn't made much, most of the bills being ones. Stuffing what I did make into my locker, I walked back out to the main room, looked around, and sighed. I knew from the looks that tonight would be a long night.

Plastering my smile, I walked to a group of men, about four of them, in business attire, with beers in front of them. I touched them, either running my ass or tits upon each one, asking who wants to go into the backroom with me. They snickered, their hands touching me. One guy slipped a five between my tits, causing them all to laugh. This is why I hated stripping. One of them stood up, taking my hand and walking into the back with me.

He was older, probably in his 60s, with a beer gut, stained shirt, and bad breath. He smiled a lot, his fat hands trying to grab at me. I playfully swatted them away, sitting him in a chair in the middle of the room. I went to the wall, pushed the button for music, and selected Pour Some Sugar On Me. It was a fast-paced song, one that wouldn't last long either. The bass hit, spurring me into action.

I danced around him, touching him as my body worked. I couldn't keep his hands down, but since he paid the twenty already, I just tried to keep his meaty hands around my waist. I started to grind on him, his pants barely tenting from his small cock.

Thankful the song ended, I tried to pull away, but he held onto me tightly. "Why don't you get on your knees and suck me off? I got a fiver for you." He chuckled as he tried to undo his pants. I grabbed his hand, taking his finger and bending it back until I heard the pop.

He released me, jumping up and slapping me with his free hand. I fell but crawled to the wall to push the help button. Within seconds, Jerry the bouncer was there. He could see my face, see the man's pants almost falling off, and see him holding his hand, and Jerry grabbed him, throwing him out. He did the same to his friends, but not before getting me some extra cash.

I walked into the dressing room, sitting down and icing my poor cheek. We get guys like that. Cheap beer, hot women, and horny out-of-control men. Our boss, Ricky, walked up to me, examined my face, and told me I would be fine. "Get back to work," he said, his back to me as he left the room.

I did as directed. Ricky would charge us if we took time off for even a bathroom break. I went back out there, dancing a few more songs, taking on a few lap dances for the college kids. But there was something nagging me. I could sense something, a feeling of being watched.

It was hard to tell, the club being dark. I looked around, trying to pinpoint who or what I was sensing. My eyes finally narrowed in on him. A man, sitting by himself, in the back of the room, dark and brooding. I couldn't really see him; the lighting sucked in this place. But whoever he was, my body became hyper aware of him. A sense of knowing washed over me.

I looked away, my cheeks becoming redder as I realized I was staring at him. I got another lap dance from a nice-enough-looking man and took him to a room. I dance, not as well as I normally perform, my mind still on the mystery man. I gave the guy a little extra time, my body not wanting to go back out there. The man gave me a fifty, thanked me, and left the room.

I decided to get a break, sitting at my dressing room desk. I couldn't see anything about the man, nothing that told me I knew him. But my body said otherwise.

I had been on my feet over eight hours, and now I was sore. The club was damn near empty, the doors closing in a few more minutes. I thought about stopping, getting dressed, and leaving. I undressed, sliding a robe on and taking off my shoes, when Ricky showed up.

"Tiff, you are slacking. If I had to guess, you probably made the least amount tonight." I knew I made at least five hundred, which isn't as much as I normally would make, but damn.

"Ricky, I got attacked. Your cheap beer night brings in the losers, and no one wants to pay for a lap dance. Or if they do, they want more."

"Then give them more. I know that mouth works fucking beautifully, so use it." I sneered at him, hating that he throws that in my face. I was short one week, and I allowed him to use me to make more money. I also knew that some of the other dancers gave blow jobs for extra cash. I wasn't going to stoop that low.

"No. I told you before, I won't."

"I think maybe you might need to find another place to dance at. After my cut, you won't have shit to pay your bills." Asshole. He knew the other clubs were trashy, the dancers at them turning tricks. That I wouldn't do that.

"Ricky, give me a break," I pleaded.

"I don't know, Tiff. It's hard out here; bills are rising, and younger females are more than willing to make the extra money." Younger? He said younger. I was twenty-six, my body still in excellent shape. "Why don't you take a week off and see if things change your mind? Be here next Friday, normal time, and we can talk." Ricky left, his shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

I was pissed. I was seeing red and wanted to hit him. He knew I needed this job and needed the money I was bringing home. I grabbed a dress that I had hanging up, a small red bodycon, threw it on with a pair of heels, and walked out. Ricky took most of my money, leaving me with around $200. I couldn't pay all my rent this month and would barely have food.

I stormed out, forgetting to call for an Uber. I got to the bus stop before sitting down and crying. I was screwed. Angel, my seven-year-old daughter, was at my mom's and would be staying the night. I was glad she watched her and helped me take care of her. But I couldn't ask her for money, knowing that she wanted to take custody and raise my child since I was struggling.

I was so into my own head that I hadn't heard footsteps approach. "Don't turn around," a voice spoke. I did the opposite but couldn't see the person talking. He stood back, the light from the street not shining, so I couldn't see his face. "Do you ever do what you are told to do?"

"No." I spoke up, my voice trying to sound full of confidence. I was scared, not gonna lie, but not as scared as I should have been. There was something about this man, a knowing sense about him. I realized he was the same man at the club, the one in the dark corner. I still couldn't tell anything about him.

"I see that. And I see that you don't think about yourself either. It would be so easy for someone to attack you, grab you, and go. Or if your friend was still hanging around, he and his friends would have fun with you." I looked around at his mention of the guy from earlier.

"Don't worry, I encouraged them to go somewhere else. It's just me." His voice was strong and sure of himself. I felt at ease, my body pulling closer to him.

"I guess I owe you," I said, not actually applying or insinuating anything in particular.

"Turn around and stare straight ahead." His order came out harsh but not threatening. I did, waiting with bated breath. I heard him move closer, yet only towards my back. He wanted to stay hidden, to be a faceless person. His hands touched my shoulders, holding me still. A thrill surged through me, one of danger and excitement. His right hand moved, but I held my breath.

An envelope was placed next to me, but I didn't reach for it. Instead, I kept straight, wondering what he had planned next. His other hand left my shoulder, but I still stayed frozen. After a while, the bus pulled up. I looked behind me; the man was gone, and the envelope was still there. Quickly grabbing it, I ran to the bus and sat in the back.

I tried to look for him as the bus passed by, but there was nothing there except total darkness. My hands shook, making it hard to open it. A letter, typewritten, was inside. I read it, then read it again. The paper fell to the floor, my mouth ajar. I couldn't believe what it said. My body was a mess, tingling and heated, frustrated yet turned on.

Once the bus pulled up to my apartment, I ran inside, locking the door behind me, and falling to the floor. Someone somewhere found out my secret. The secret I have kept quiet since high school. Now, the weight of that revelation pressed heavily on my chest, filling me with a mix of dread and exhilaration. I needed to figure out who had uncovered the truth and why they had chosen to expose me now. Someone knew who Angel's father was and was blackmailing me. My world crashed around me.