SHUT DOWN | JENLISA

1

Jennie

You'd think that after dancing these past few years, I would have gotten used to the arrogant flashing lights of purple, pink, red, and blue. But somehow, it only made me loathe them more. Lights blinding me aside, they never talk about the stench of stale beer and sweat in strip clubs.

I mean, being a stripper seemed to be trending nowadays because most of the girls that danced in this club were barely over eighteen. The sore feet and ankles, the dirty heels, and the groping men were all just a fucking, cheery shit-ass bonus too.

Men thought 'no' meant 'yes' and 'don't' meant 'don't stop'. It didn't help that our manager was a fucking bastard and did nothing to protect us or the other girls dancing.

We had a few security guards assigned around the club, but they didn't do anything unless they absolutely had to. Some girls would get held down, with bruises marking all over their bodies, some would get raped in the alleyways when their shift was over, and others... well the others were just struggling to survive.

The strip club was rundown and located on a highway that connects to the airport. The pop and sensual music loomed behind me like a dark cloud, and I looked over to see a few of my friends working the three poles on the three podiums.

Other girls were working the crowd, the tables, and the drunken men who came for their bachelor parties or to blow off steam because their wife was pregnant and had gotten fat. Whatever story it was, repulsing and degrading, I've heard it all.

The person looking back at me in the mirror was strong enough to endure everything life ever threw at her, but what was underneath all the glitter and fake lashes? The fake multi-colour wigs that I wore every day to hide my own personality only did so much for the creeps out there adamant about knowing everything about me.

My natural hair colour was beautiful, black like night, and as soft as silk, and when let down, my bangs framed my soft features ever so well. I looked like my mother. It was something I held close to my heart, knowing that I was the spitting image of her. I added more blush to my cheeks and swallowed down the sob that lodged itself in my throat at the memory of her.

I couldn't have my makeup smearing; it took me forever to perfect my eye-look and find colours to make my simple brown eyes shine. The purple glitter and the thick obsidian black liner gave me that seductive look, yet almost sensual, and that had men coming back.

Over the years, I had formed my own regular customers. They weren't clients as this wasn't a sophisticated joint, but I had repetitive customers, and I was sure that it wasn't just because of my body.

I had beauty, brains, and a killer body. My worn-out heels clicked boisterously loud on the floors as I walked out of the locker rooms and down the hallway to the private room area. It wasn't VIP or anything flashy.

They were six rooms with curtains instead of doors. Three on each side and smaller than the apartment that I was rotting in. I hated private dances more than I hated winding my body and legs around a stripper pole. It was supposed to be something temporary.

I guess temporary meant years, and I guess that I had somehow forgotten how I'd even gotten here. I am twenty-two years old and have been working here since I was nineteen. It wasn't as long as the other girls, but time didn't really feel like something to boast about with this occupation of mine.