There is so much power in those words. “Good girl.” You breath the words in my ear and I’m instantly powerless. My knees buckle slightly, my face and body flush, my heartbeat quickens, and I am momentarily lost in a wash of sensation. I do my best to conceal it. I convince myself you don’t notice. But you do. How did you know? We were just friends. I looked to you like I might an older brother. You looked out for me. You made sure my naive suburban roots didn’t get me in any kind of real trouble in the big city. For years this was our dynamic. I sought your approval of everything from my work to my boyfriends. I sought your advice on how to give a proper blowjob once I began exploring my sexuality. Your very decidedly critical opinion mattered to me. Perhaps the change occurred due to a shift in your perception of me. Perhaps my signature innocence had been lost in your eyes requiring a shift in how we relate. You went from seeing me as something precious to be protected to something tainted requiring management. 

It all started with a phone call after I moved back. I had been up visiting in the summers for the last few years and stripping on the weekends to earn money. I loved sharing my exploits with you - and from the sound of it you seemed interested. I felt safe discussing my endeavors with you because of our history of you looking out for me. Truth be told, I always had a crush on you but felt as though you were out of reach. You always dated high maintenance women that drove you nuts with their demands and expectations. And I was as low maintenance as they come. I never made enough money to justify paying money in excess for hair, lashes, nails, or expensive clothes. My money went toward necessities and there was hardly ever anything left. I never even put on makeup in excess, because the good stuff was expensive, and everything else left my overly sensitive skin in a perpetual state of irritation. I was also athletic while your conquests were the opposite and always naturally tiny. And then one day you threw me a curveball.

“Have you ever done private parties?” you asked.

I had.  In fact I had been to the homes of people with wealth I could never have imagined. One, in particular, had an original Picasso on the wall.

“I have, why do you ask?”

You began to lay out the details of your “boy’s” bachelor party. 

I hesitated. My insecurity was telling me this could be weird. I was afraid of losing your friendship if I failed to live up to your expectations.

“Well?” You ask again.  “You interested?”

I agreed and you proceeded to enlighten me with all of the details of when, where, why, what was expected and what the preferences were.

I was suddenly very self conscious. We had never even been on a date and now I was going to be the entertainment for a party for one of your friends. You had achieved a great amount of success since college as opposed to me.  You were advancing quickly in your field. I finished undergrad after 6 years; and now I was stripping to make money.

Before I knew it the day arrived. To ensure your buddy was getting the top shelf experience you arranged for me to have my lashes, nails, and hair done.  I showed up to the hotel an hour early already partially dressed but covered in a trench coat to avoid public exposure. When you greeted me at the door I was certain I caught the briefest expression of approval wash over your face before it was quickly replaced with your trademark stoicism. You handed me a box, “Wear this tonight.”  I don’t know why, but your orders left me a little unbalanced.

I carefully prepared my visage and attire as I prepared for the show. As I opened the carefully wrapped box you handed me, I uncovered a white chiffon teddy encrusted with rhinestones. As I put it on, I marveled at how delicate it made me appear. The chiffon was transparent, and white velvet covered the nipples and crotch. Small, elegant rhinestones decorated the shape that covered like a collared bathing suit. It zipped in the back, and the sleeves ended in bejeweled gloves that hooked around my middle finger. My long, golden hair was arranged in a high and full ponytail and my clear, bejeweled stilettos adorned my feet. I felt like Leia. I could hear people trickling in, and with each arrival my stage persona became more prominent. This was the personality developed after years of capitalizing on sex for money that kept my emotional and mental landscape safe. Before these types of events I had a ritual to call her to attention and mask the version of me that existed in the real world. She was essential for creating the fantasy, both for myself and those I danced for.

Show time. My persona exited the dressing room and greeted her charge. She brought the party. The bachelor had top shelf focused attention and engagement the entire evening. As per usual, she held all guests in rapt attention with her unique combination of innocence, fierce sexuality, and powerful ease.  All guests except you. You remained at the edge of the room. I couldn’t seem to find that familiar connection I had come to expect over the years. You felt distant, controlled, and dangerous. But your eyes never left me. Even when you engaged with others, your eyes held me.

At the end of the evening, I was convinced we would part ways permanently.  I was alone in the room once again. I began the slow process of packing my things when I heard the door behind me gently open and close. “Don’t turn around” you command. Recognizing your voice, and irritated that you had left me to my own devices the entire evening I began to move and instantly you were behind me, left hand firmly gripping my left wrist and the right dropping something on the bed. And then you stood there, your body lightly pressed against mine. Now that my false height had been removed, you towered over me. A gasp caught in my throat and I froze. This was unprecedented. I didn’t know what to do. As I stood in my freeze response, unsure of what to do next, you whispered in my ear, “good girl.”

Several moments passed before the hysteria in my mind settled. Those words. Those two words left me helpless. Once I came to my senses I turned around and you had gone. The money I had earned was on the bed, with a note. It was simply an address, a date and time, and expectations of what I should wear.

To be continued…