Confessions of a Wanton

8 Strippers?

🎶 Anxiety : Palaye Royale 🎶

I turn on the porch light after I get dressed. My hair braided back like Laura Croft. I'm wearing an old black tee with black cargo pants. Also old. Paint doesn't come out really well if it gets on clothing so I'd decided that these ones I could part with if needed.

My only visible tat is the tribal on my arm. Kind of wanted to make a good impression with Mabel, but also, kinda wanted her to know not to mess with me.

With other women it can go either way. They can love me, or just hate me. Arlene already in the latter category. I'll need some feminine backup to pull this off.

Heaven forbid if Arlene had already told her about me. Maybe they weren't friends? Roman hadn't seemed to like her. I'll just have to find out.

I lay the tarp down on the floor, taping it over the trim before adding an extra layer to make sure the lines wouldn't bleed. Looks awful when you eventually pull up tape just to realize that the paint had dripped through. I'd gotten fired for that before.

I'd quickly found another job in construction. I liked demolition much more than painting. Felt a lot more like I'd actually accomplished something, even if it was just utter deconstruction.

Also, the new company I'd worked for actually taught me how to paint properly among other things. I'd liked my bosses, even though I had been underage, they didn't bat an eye when I'd cuss or drink, after work with the latter. They didn't tolerate on the job drinking, OSHA standards and all.

They even started bringing sandwiches for the crew after they'd realized I didn't bring a lunch cause I couldn't afford one. Earned me brownie points with most of the crew. I'd screwed most the others to get them on my side. The rest, well, who cares. That's not my job anymore.

I suppose you could say sex is my biggest hunger.

The door bell rang.

I put the tape down, hurrying to the door. Most people would just yell for them to come in. I'm not most people though.

I'm usually the one on the other side of the door, gun toting and ready to kill. I don't trust that other people aren't like that. Hence the locked doors. I'd fixed the locks earlier, adding longer screws into the door panel. Harder for people to kick your door in when the screws are longer, stuck into the wood of the wall. They end up taking chunks of wall out too. Buying precious seconds to get a weapon ready.

I'd also added a chain lock, or two. Okay maybe three. The heavy-duty kind.

Paranoid?

Me?

Naw, I just usually wake up when the sound of the second chain hits the door. Sleep walking sucks.

I mean, that and I don't want people coming in. Prioritization.

I peeked through the curtain at the people on my doorstep, Roman, Damien and a very small but pretty lady stood there talking quietly, holding some boxes. Her petite frame looked delicate, her hair short and curly, the color of wood in the rain, glossy, framing her oval face. When she smiled pearly white teeth beamed out at something her husband had said.

Her eyes were a soft brown. Warm. Framed by dark lashes that I knew from personal experience didn't need mascara. So few women are lucky enough to have the genetics with nice long lashes. She and I had something in common.

Yippee.

I take a deep breath. Now or never.

I don't really care if they hear me unbolting the many chains or the deadlock. They'll see them as soon as I close the door anyways. Maybe they'd think me nuts. I think me prepared.