I'm in love with a stripper

Ch.1

"Girl, it's just one night! You need to get out the damn house." Madison, my best and most annoying friend of 15 years exclaimed dramatically. Even if she was right and I did need to get out of the house, I didn't want to.
"Ok Madison, is that why you came knocking on my door like you lost your damn mind?" I sighed and stepped to the side so Madison didn't have to squeeze by me. As close as we were, we were polar opposites. I was more than 3 inches shorter than her and she weighed almost twice my body weight. Either I was a small 29 year old or she was a big 30 year old woman.
"But foreal, it's been time for you to move on. How many years has it been since you and Lawrence broke up?" She sat dramatically on my couch and flipped her bright blonde weave over her shoulders. Madison didn't give me a chance to answer her question but I should have been used to it.
"3 years and that's 2 years too many. You need some dick and you gon' get some tonight."
"You're seriously annoying as fuck. Me not going to the club with you has nothing to do with your goddamn cousin." I snapped and twisted the cap off of my water bottle. In 5 seconds, maybe less, the bottle of water was empty. My throat was still dry though.
"I'm just sayin'. Come out with me." She begged. "Let's just have fun. I know you've never been to the strip joint before so let's make it happen."
"The strip club?!" I gasped with wide light brown eyes.
The strip clubhouse was not my scene, at all and she was 100% right. I had never been to the strip club. Just the thought of naked women made me feel embarrassed. I felt myself blush.
"Oh no thank you." I declined with my nose up. As hard as I tried not to judge anybody, I couldn't help but feel disgusted by those kind of women. I didn't understand the kind of woman that willingly used her body to make money. The last thing I wanted to do on my Friday night was go to a goddamn strip club.
"I already brought your outfit." Madison smirked because she knew that was the only way to get me to say yes. She was a fashion designer who always wanted to dress me up. The more clients she brought in, the more she would ask me to be her model. As flattering as it was, I knew it was only because she couldn't model her own clothes. She made clothes for smaller girls with thick thighs and petite waistlines. It didn't make sense to me.
"Fine. Whatever."