Hennessy

The music blasting loud in the background, applying the bright red lipstick on my thick lips, folding my lips, allowing it spread evenly. Starring at my reflection through the mirror. My black Brazilian wavy wig coming down my butt. My makeup set on my caramel complexion, the beauty mark on the right side of my cheek apparent even through the makeup. My eyes wide, staring down the black latex lingerie that hug my body like a glove. I consider myself black because my mother was a beautiful black woman, with a beautiful deep rich tone. Though I remember very little about her, I can never forget how she always looked like a supermodel, with her beautiful curls and wide brown eyes.

However, my features said otherwise, my entire life growing up I was told my father is Puerto Rican, but I never bothered to look for him.
Critically looking down my breast, the latex material hugging my full C Cups, exposing my snatched waist, my belly ring glistening in the light. Turning to properly observe the lingerie, my ass cheeks completely out as I stood tall in the black platform heels. If there's one thing I definitely did take from my mother, is her beautiful curves.
Growing up, right up until now I've always been told how beautiful I am; but what many didn't know is that I'm everything you don't want your child growing up to be. I'm the prime example of how a girl child will turn out if they don't listen to their parents, except, I don't have them. "Henny!" Giselle calls out, snapping me out of my trance, turning to face her, "you up girl!" She smiles walking past me before smacking my butt.

Quickly pouring down the powder on my hands before rubbing it down my thighs. Adrenaline pumping through me as I leave the dressing room.
Feeling exposed to the hungry eyes, walking up the stage, the sound of men's whistles and animalistic screams fill my ears. Walking towards the pole, 'Promise' by Ciara booms in the club as the red light eliminate, the men hungrily staring down my body as I began slowly swaying my hips to the  music. My brain slowly but surely shutting down my surroundings, teasingly lowering myself down the pole, their eyes in awe, slowly yet roughly grinding my hips before slowly coming up, letting the music guide me as I lost myself to the euphoria. Hooking my leg around the pole, slowly turning giving them the perfect view of my butt, the sound of whistles fills my ears, feeling the dollar bills hitting my body, teasingly bending over, swaying my hips, before turning to face them.
When it comes to stripping, somehow when I did it, I was there but I wasn't there, it's like my brain chooses to switch itself off. I become a completely different person with a different mindset.
Biting my lower lip, squatting down, Pour it up by Rihanna rang in my ears. A mischievous smile making its way to my face, getting down to my knees as I twerked to the beat. The noise in the room getting louder, flipping my hair, I make brief eye contact with the lust filled men, each of the men's eyes holding their own aura. Mostly lust, but many emptiness, sadness and some coldness. Dollar bills covered my stage at this point as I allowed my body to move to the music. Going up the pole as I continued to twerk In the air, the men getting riled up as I lost myself in my own little world. A smile on my face at what one would call an 'accomplishment', but is it really. Slowly lowering myself in a spilt position, the men whistling and screaming as I smiled down at the bills on the floor.

"Thank you Anthony" I say handing him his fee, "I know today wasn't ideal, just wait until end of the month, you know it will get better" he says. Anthony is one of the many managers that own one of the clubs I work for. He truly is a nice guy, but really I'm living hand to mouth, with the amount of bills I have to cover, I hardly make anything by the end of the month. Many would disagree that as a stripper, I should be making more; but really, with the responsibilities I have, it seems nothing is ever enough. Making my way out, grabbing a cigarette from the box, placing it on the corner of my mouth. Lighting it up, deeply inhaling the smoke; Staring down the few 100 dollars in my hand, tears making their way to my eyes, blinking them away before puffing out the smoke, I rush over to my beat down Honda.

My name is Henrietta Jones, but they call me Hennessy. I am 24 years old, and have a 6 year old son, Noah. My reason for breathing, the centre of my world; from the moment I got pregnant with him at the tender age of 16, it has always been just me and him against the world.
To give one a brief picture of my life; I lost my mother to drug addiction when I was just 5 years old, my entire life I lived from foster home to foster home, until they literally begged my aunt to take me in. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful, however it never changed the fact that her husband abused me every chance he got, mostly sexually , and she would accuse me of wanting her husband when I was just 9 years old. She kept a roof over my head, made sure I was clothed and fed just enough, that's something I guess. When I finally made it to high school, I don't think I understood human emotions, I became the person that I am now, closed off, and kept to myself. At 16, I did the worst thing every 16 year old can imagine, I got pregnant. My aunt kicked me out of the house, not that what I did was right, she had every right to be angry, but a part of me feels like she was glad because she finally had a reason to kick me out. Every family member from then onwards did not want anything to do with me, as poor as my grandmother was, she had me move in with her here in New York. She was only able to take care of Noah for 2 years of his life; she was then diagnosed with a lung disease that requires her to always carry an oxygen tank around, surprise surprise, I still choose to smoke. Maybe a part of me hopes I die sooner, I really don't know; but that's not the point.
Since then, I have had to take care of her because she can't do anything on her own, and have then later had to teach Noah how to care of her. I literally live to cover her medical bills, make sure that my son and her never go to bed hungry.

Getting to the apartment building. Tiredly walking in the tiny apartment space that consisted of a tiny kitchen with an open plan, a two seater couch, an old, beat down wooden floor and just two bedrooms. One for my grandmother , and one that I share with my son. "Noah!" I call out, hearing the little loud footsteps, appearing before me, a smile playing on his handsome face making his dimples stick out. "Hi baby" I smile engulfing him in a tight hug before pecking his right cheek, "you did everything I asked you to" I question, "yes!" He happily says nodding his head, "Help Nicole clean up?" , "yeah" he nods. Nicole is our neighbour who comes over to help with my grandmother, she makes sure that her and Noah are fed always. Noah, the smartest kid I know, I guess most parents say that about their kids, but he is for me. His wide eyes, lips in a thin line, and his dimples, he definitely is his father's twin. I try my best to ensure he only took after the looks, and nothing else. A smile making its way to my face.
Reaching in my purse, "that's why I brought you this!" I say excitedly holding up the candy bars, grabbing them from me, "you finally got the caramel!" , "yeah" I smile, "but it's late, you can have it tomorrow okay" , nodding his head, "thank you mom!" He says hugging me making me hug him back. He is literally my only source of 'happiness' I guess, the only person who makes me genuinely smile. Many boys his age have much more than he does, but I've never heard him once complain about what he didn't have, instead he was so appreciative of every little thing I provided. Everyday he proved why he is such a blessing in my life, the only good thing I truly have going. Quietly making my way to one of the bedrooms, 'Henrietta' my grandmother calls out as I stood by the door. Her oxygen mask covering her face, 'hi grandma' I smile sadly, "how....how was work, were the kids well behaved today?" She questions breathlessly. Walking towards her, giving her a soft smile, "they were well behaved grandma, Noah didn't give you any trouble did he", "you know he's a good kid" she smiles tiredly.
I couldn't exactly tell her I couldn't find a job at 19 , that the only thing I could get at the time was stripping, and it actually payed most of our bills, thus I've been doing it since then. So I did the only logical thing I could think of at the time, I told her I babysit rich white people's kid up in the suburbs. According to Noah, that's what I do as well, however with how fast he's growing, I wonder up until when will he believe it, and when he finds out what his really mother does, will he be embarrassed, disgusted? How would he feel.

Getting in the shower, letting the water run down my body, cleaning myself of all the filth. My muscles relaxing into the hot shower as I washed my body and was done in 20 minutes before I went to bed.