The hot pink sign outside flashed a neon busty burlesque girl with shapely long legs. It read, Make It Rain Gentlemen’s Club and was located on a dead-end street of an older Fort Lauderdale business park.
It was a Wednesday night, the most popular night, and the parking lot was full. It was the night when the virgin amateur dancers would get their introductory exhibitionist chance. And Rebe would be one of them.
The place was speaker-bumping loud.
It was fantasy-mood dark.
And it was cigarette-burning smoky.
The main room was big and round with a circular stage. Three rows of padded stackable chairs surrounded it. Up against the walls were royal-blue velvet sofas with curvy dancers straddling the laps of hungry men, and hungry women, at twenty dollars a pop and more.
The music was funky and fast, soulful and trendy, talking about drop it, pop it, bend it, and make it clap. Fit females worked their moves, making love to the pole while their fans with penis-poles between their legs wished to be her sole focus of desire.
As pasties and rhinestone G-string wearing, six-foot-one Trixie Blue left the stage, Lil Wayne’s “Lollipop” began at full blast, and Rebe, aka Queenie, who’d been hired the week before, strutted on next, with her long, lean body adorned by a shimmering silver thong and thick clear platforms. Her mocha skin had a thin glossing of silver body glitter, and she wore a hint of an insecure gleam in her huge eyes, which were lined with royal blue and black, extreme false eyelashes.
Queenie stood tall at the very front of the stage. She fought to not drop her chin at the sight of the lustful twinkle in the eyes of those who took in her scantily clad vision. She shook it off by poking out her chest, shoulders back, while flinging her long braids from left to right, and then she turned her backside toward two suit-wearing businessmen sitting front and center. She had a mental moment with her old self. You can do this. You need to do this. It’s okay. It was her way of talking to the preacher’s kid inside of her, or as Rebe would call it, pseudo-preacher. It was her own personal self-esteem pep talk that she’d been doing for years whenever she needed to brace herself for what she was told would send her straight to hell.
She took a deep breath and bent over, sliding her thong down her hips, dropping it to her ankles, and kicking it off near the pole. The club’s policy was that it was sexier to not take it all off, so what she wore underneath was a skinny black G-string that was barely enough fabric to shield her fat, waxed, brownish-red pussy lips. She stood still for a moment, again taking in the full attention from all eyes on her, and forced a major breath through her nose along with a forced weak smile.
Though to her the word sinner buzzed in her head, her heart told her she was the woman. It actually pounded beats of excitement for her as though giving her two thumbs-up like it was enjoying the powerful adrenaline that was rushing through her veins. It hadn’t felt the feeling enough.
And her admirers agreed with her heart. Just as she accepted the odd feeling of her own thirst of the moment, their naughty faces spelled a matching hunger of approval for more. When they hooted and called with dollar bills in hand, she took three big, sultry steps to the golden pole that awaited her skills, and leaned back along it, immediately doing her mastered, martini spin move, sliding her limber body around and around, then lifting her legs higher and higher toward the top until she was upside down. Her braids hung and swayed and her scissor move exposed a tad bit of what she was working with, even her new, gold-studded clitoris peeked through and winked. She pulled her legs together and flipped to her feet, rubbing on herself with passion while she approached a young man on the side of the stage who was holding a crisp new twenty.
Queenie got down on her knees and crawled closer like a cautious feline, arching her back and poking her ass out as far as she could. She felt a sensation that made her flinch all over. The heated turn on was foreign but friendly.
She pressed her tits together and eyed him down while he examined her cleavage. His green-eyed gaze was locked. He had a face like he was barely old enough to drink, no facial hair whatsoever, and his hair was short and curly. His skin was so light, he was banana-beige. He wore chocolate diamond studs in his ears.
She admired the sight of him and moved in even closer.
He inhaled the smell of her skin, the scent of Escape, and folded the crisp bill, inserting it in and out between her breasts like a credit card, like the twenty was getting its own tittie fuck. He then placed the bill inside the string of her skimpy undies, just along her hip bone and said, “Damn. Umm, umm, umm.” He unglued his eyes and scooted them to her face. “If I could have you to myself, I swear I’d never set foot in here again.”
She grinded her hips and replied, “Oh, you wouldn’t, huh?”
He spoke low. “Never. And just so you know, there’s more where that came from. When are you on the floor?”
“Hang around and find out. I’ll find you,” she whispered.
“You do that, Queenie.” His sights shifted toward her pussy. “You got the right one there.” And then to her ass. “Your body is so sick. You are definitely the queen of this place.”
She blushed and blinked. “Thanks, Babyface.” Queenie slowly backed up her crawl and rose to her feet, pulling the twenty from her G-string, stepping to the pole where she placed it along the floor as she began rubbing her hands along her nearly forty-year-old flat stomach, making sure to glance back at him, giving him a look as if to say she could take him right there on the stage if he’d dare to try. Her eyes spoke the dirty actress dare only for a few moments, and then she looked away at the waves of men who gave lustful stares, men sure to use her visual image for their own sexual mind-rendezvous later. Some shook their heads like she was the goddess of their worlds, and some whistled like she should come to them and give them a whiff as well. There were even three women who sat in the second row with their legs crossed, saying nothing to each other, just admiring, one looking at Queenie’s tits, licking her lips.
A few of the men in the front row stood and all at once released their handfuls of cash onto the stage in front of her, literally making it rain. She watched the money fall to the floor and said inside her head, Damn. That was easy. She felt an odd sense of approval.
The song wound down and she ended her striptease with a money stroll, sexily picking up all the cash that was sprinkled along the floor of the stage.
The DJ spoke loudly from his booth by the door. “Let’s hear it for Queenie. Our newest dancer here at Make It Rain. She looks like a sexy pro if you ask me. No amateur there. And up next we have Loveliness, who sure is that. Give her a big hand of appreciation,” he yelled, as if the next contestant, who was a pretty, butch dancer, were coming out for an American Idol audition. He played “Seduction” by Usher. The ladies in the crowd, especially, stood tall, bills ready.
Rebe looked over at her baby-faced friend.
Her first-time admirer.
He gave a wink with his thick, long lashes.
She winked back.
And in one second she was backstage. “That shit made me hot,” she said to another dancer who was bent over in the mirror backward to check the correctness of the opening of her own vagina.
“Oh, you must be new,” the tall, tanned dancer—a mix of German and Sudanese—sounded totally amazed, almost disgusted.
Thirty minutes later, the champagne room was occupied by four other men, and Babyface. The men were getting private dances from their chosen ladies, at least for the current song, “Sexual Seduction,” by Snoop. And Queenie was Babyface’s choice.
He asked while sitting on an armless chair, scooted back, strategically wearing loose gray sweatpants without underwear, with his legs spread wide open, “So, where’ve you been?” in a low, slow voice to the curve of her long back as she did a reverse cowgirl, moving her shape in a dance of erotic, simulated intercourse.
“What do you mean? Like why haven’t you seen me here before? Is that what you’re asking?” She worked her ass cheeks along his crotch. His member was at full attention, and she could feel every inch of it. Queenie was wet.
He said while fidgeting as though battling himself to not put his hands along her slender waist to guide her X-rated grind, “Exactly. Newbie. This is amateur night.”
“Okay, so then why did you ask where I’ve been then?” She had a hint of a smart-ass tone to her words, like she’d been around.
“I meant all my life.” His vision stayed on her cheeks that pressed against his lap. He looked like he had imaginations of his dick deep inside her while he’d play lazy, letting her do all the aerobic work.
“I’ve been in my skin, how’s that?” She still spoke spunky, and raised her body inch-by-inch, enough to bring her leg around to straddle him, facing his torso. Her neck was right around the area of his mouth. He got ready to speak, but instead she said, “You talk too much.”
“No rule against talking. Makes it seem more like you’re my girl, for real.”
“Okay.” The tone of her reply hinted that his words were corny, but her body moved like he was a stud, saying all the right things. She readjusted herself so she could feel his total thickness between her legs. He smelled like manly mango. She breathed hard and exhaled soft. In her mind she said, Please song, don’t end yet.
“Yeah, you’re new all right.” He pumped back and rubbed back as she slid along his dick. The fabric of his sweats was moist, and not all from his seepage alone.
She talked near his ear, pressing her full breasts along his chest. “Well, I guess you’d know because I’m willing to bet you’re a regular.”
She could feel his breath along her collarbone as he spoke. “You could say that. Been coming here for years.”
She backed her chest away slightly and gave his virgin face a good once over. The full-grown occupant living below his waist didn’t match the puberty-like look above the neck. “Since you’re what, about twelve? ’Cause you certainly don’t look legal.”
He raised his bushy eyebrows, looking assured. “I’m old enough, believe me.”
She put her hands on her own thighs and raised her hips up and down, shoving her vagina to his dick, and moving it back, shoving it forward again. Her thighs flexed. “Just barely, I’ll bet.”
“Speak for yourself.” He looked at the definition in her legs. “Youngster.”
“Please. I’ve got bras older than you.” Queenie adjusted herself to turn around again and bent down to the floor with her hands grasping her ankles, making sure the exact point of her opening met his shaft.
He sucked his teeth and said, “Ooooo.” And then spoke after a sigh. “I doubt that. But even if you do, I’m down for what I see. I’d put a ring on this, no doubt.”
She giggled softly.
He groaned and let her do her thing, looking like he could simply explode in his pants.
She leaned her back against him, bringing her hands to the back of his neck, interlocking her fingers, with her long micro-braids draped behind the both of them.
He smiled and sniffed her again, and his dick pulsated. He said with his eyes closed, “You like me, don’t you?”
Her eyes were half-closed, “Feeling what’s in your pants, I’d say you’re the one who likes me.” She sat straight up just as the last beats of the song wound down. “But like I said, you talk too much. You’re done.” She stood and ran her fingers through her braids, readjusting her thong.
He reached into his Nike shirt pocket and pulled out a hundred with a Post-it stuck to it, folding the bill into quarters. “I’ll see you later.” He handed it to her. “Take this and make sure you keep the note. Queenie.”
She did, and kept it up in her hand. “Maybe so.”
He looked down at himself, shook out all three legs, and stood up, readjusting his placement.
She asked, eyes looking baby-girlish, “You aren’t leaving, are you?”
“Yes.”
She walked on and he followed. She knew it.
His eyes zoomed in on her orgasm-prompting behind. He simply watched, looking like he was taking a mental snapshot.
Rebe’s eyes said without blinking, Oh no, to him leaving, but Queenie simply said a carefree, “Bye.”