◍ ⊱ 90's Imagines. [ ON HOLD. ]

❝006. ─ Private Dancer.

"Dior! Is there any reason you not out there shaking ass?" My manager Rich asked, I exhaled deeply before I closed my anatomy book and I placed it on my vanity, standing up and looking in the mirror at my scantily clad body. Since the day I turned eighteen I was told by men that I had the body of a stripper. I use to turn my nose up in disgust at the thought. I was the first to judge women that took their clothes off only to be thrown chump change by men who couldn't afford to be in the club half of the time. Being objectified really wasn't my thing, but God always has a way of humbling you. The moment my mother fell ill and I became the legal guardian of my two younger brothers, my retail job wasn't cutting it anymore. I know not only had the responsibility of paying for my own education and necessities, I had four mouths to feed. Over the months, I became immune to the feeling of shame and embarrassment and I even found some enjoyment in dancing at times. The reactions of the men when you do the most basic move, or the way they were willing to trick on you just for breathing their air in a private room. I was supposed to be the entertainer, but I get more laughs out of these clowns that frequent this place every night.

My eyebrow bent upward as the entire dressing room lit up with green lights instead of red, that only meant one thing. Somebody with too much money had entered the building. I watched as girls stampeded out the the dressing room like wild pack of wildebeests. I wasn't about to fight these catty ass girls over a buck, I was however, gonna take their regulars while they fawned over some rich nigga who will only come in once in a blue moon.

 "Girl! Nas 'nem are here! You know, Nas! The rappa'!" She yelled as she reaches over and shook my shoulder, who did she say was here? Nasir Jones? My breathing hitched up at the thought. Not because he was famous, but because I knew him personally. At one point we were very close. But of course, fame has a way of changing people, as he rose in stardom we lost contact. There was one thing I couldn't deny, I fell in love with that man. Only another reason to stay low key on the floor.

"Come on! It's money out there, forreal forreal." She emphasized, causing me to take a step back away from her. "Don't put your hands on me. It ain't that deep." I pushed her hand off my shoulder, these girls were getting entirely too friendly with me. And I wasn't with it. I had friends, I didn't need any work buddies or partners. "Bitch, I'm just tryna be nice. If you don't want no money, that's on you. Broke ass..." she whispered the last because she knew better. I had no problem snatching these girls up by their corner store, glued in weaves.

My 6-inch, clear colored heels clicked against the cheap linoleum floors as I finally emerged from the dressing room. The entire floor was empty, there wasn't a dancer in sight because most of them had migrated to the VIP section where Nas and his crew were gathered. While they fought for a coin, I was about to rake it all up. Most of the men had gathered around the stage where the one lone stripper was performing a routine. It was tired. It was old. And it was sloppy, but given it was the only thing the poor fools had to look at, they threw money at her like she was pussy popping on a one-handed handstand. "Dior?" I heard behind me, I knew the voice. It was meek and almost inaudible. My favorite regular, Quincy. He was always so sweet, he wasn't a horny dog like the men that came in. He actually only came on a dare one night and he met me and ever since then he came to see me at least twice a week. He would pay just to sit and talk about different things. Our love for anime and different styles of music.