Stripped (standard:drama, 4809 words)
Author: The Munny	Added: Jun 24 2002	Views/Reads: 3367/2557	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A young stripper finds out that she is losing more than her garments as she indulges herself in her new found profession.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

elderly men that stood at one of the card tables.  She whispered into 
his ear then started laughing and joking around with him, at the same 
time rubbing him and hanging herself affectionately around his neck.  
At first he laughed with her. Then the tall, brown-skinned gentleman 
looked over at me, and the smile from his face instantaneously erased. 

He pointed at me and his voice snapped with seriousness at my mother.
"Joyce why the hell you drag that baby all the way down here to this 
damn gamblin' house?  You know she ain't possed' to be up in here." 

His remark caught the attention of the card-dealing guy that wore the
three-piece suit and the hat.  "Get that damn child outta here rat' 
now!" he yelled at my mama.  "And you can take yo' whorish-ass on 
somewhere if you ain't come to gamble or fuck!" 

My mama's laugh turned into what looked like a heart-broken grimace. 
She looked down at me and shouted in what appeared to me as a 
showing-off for the spectating men. "Shalida Lashae Jackson!"  When she 
called out my entire name and enunciated every syllable precisely, I 
knew that big black woman meant business.  "Child, get your lil' 
skinny-ass outta this house fore' I beat the shit outta you! 

I walked out of the house with my head low and my hungry stomach still
churning, and to this day I really do believe that my mama didn't want 
to talk to me that way, but she had to make a good show for the crowd, 
unfortunately at my expense. So I slowly ambled my way outside and when 
I made it to the steps where the teenagers were gathered, two narrow 
streams of unchecked tears had managed to escape free from the corners 
of my tiny eyes, partly because of the way my mother had hollered at 
me, and mostly because of the growing hunger pains that consumed my 
belly. 

One of the boys on the steps looked at me strangely as I parted my way
through their group, trying to make my way to the bottom.  He reached 
out and grabbed my arm as I was passing and I got a strong whiff of his 
alcohol rented breath when he asked me why I was crying. 

"You got some money so I can get some food, please?"  That was the only
response that my famished tummy would let me speak, and the only words 
my mouth would voluntarily form. 

The whole group burst out into an outrageously drunken laughter that
made the streams of tears coming from my eyes flow more freely.  I 
tried to break free from the boy's grasp and get away from them, but I 
then realized that his hold was a bit too firm and I was too feeble to 
try and fight him off. 

"Don't try and go nowhere lil' gal.  If you hungry I know a way that you
can get yourself something to eat," he said, with a devilish smirk on 
his face.  I also caught him winking his eye at one of the other boys 
that sat on the step as he continued to clench my arm much harder than 
the strength people usually used on a child. 

"You damn sho' is skinny," he just thoughtfully had to add, after he
realized the bone with the thin layer of brown skin that he held in his 
hand. 

But I didn't care about anything else, when his conversation had steered
in the direction of me getting some food, my face lit up and my ears 
were perked with interest, his other comments were irrelevant to me. 

"How you know where I can get some food at, tell me now, c'mon please
tell me," I pleaded. 

My cries only seemed to make the group laugh harder.  I was sure I had
missed the punch line, because I didn't find anything funny when it 
came down to my belly. 

The boy that had my arm managed to ask me a question in between his
eruption of laughter.  "Hey little girl, do you believe in magic? he 
said, with a halfway sober look about his eyes. 

With my red, teary eyes I looked up at the boy and had a strange feeling
about what he was asking me, but I nodded my head in agreeance anyway.  
It made me feel even more awkward that the boy was now pulling me 
closer to him in an affectionate kind of way, placing my bottom down 
onto his lap.  He even went as far as putting his 40 bottle down on the 
steps and wrapping both his arms around me.  I won't lie because I do 
remember the affection feeling good, and I do remember that it felt 
pretty decent sitting in his lap even though his breath was horrendous. 


Even before this incident, I can remember that I favored a male's lap
over a female's lap, it just felt better.  I can't remember exactly how 
it felt better, but nowadays I have a pretty good idea.  But I was 
always running up to most of the men that Joyce brought home and 
jumping into their laps, just to get that good feeling that I liked.  
There was nothing bad about it, at least not at the time it wasn't.  
Some of the men even went as far as to rubbing their large, rough hands 
up and down my frail thighs, and sometimes as high as my private area.  
Of course it was done underneath the shield of my loose Sunday dresses 
where no wandering eyes could see, but even this was O.K. with me, as 
long as it didn't hurt.  I really did appreciate the attention that men 
gave me when I was in their laps, it was much needed attention that 
Joyce didn't care to give me or that my real father didn't stick around 
to give either of us.  It was harmless at the time, but that was 
probably because I didn't take the time out to gauge if there would be 
any danger involved. 

But sitting in that boy's lap felt odd, but it still felt good;
actually, if it weren't for his breath it might have been downright 
enjoyable.  And just like those other men Joyce brought around had 
done, he put his hand up under my skirt and started rubbing my thigh. 
By now though, it was just a gesture I was used to by males, something 
customary to their kind.  Only his touch was a tadbit rougher than the 
way the other men had rubbed.  The others started at my lower thigh and 
gradually and sensually eased their way up. But this guy didn't waste 
any time, he began at my upper thigh and immediately started grabbing 
at my private area, unsmoothly and obviously unconcerned with how I 
felt about it. 

The other youngsters looked up at him in complete silence now. Their
smiles had faded away and looks of trepidation were plastered onto 
their faces. 

I smeared away the moisture from my tear-soaked cheeks and looked at him
with all the innocence I could gather into my countenance. "Please 
don't hurt me, please," I begged. 

"Oh I'm not gonna hurt you lil' gal, just relax," he responded.  At the
same time I could feel his fingers fumbling carelessly through my 
panties, and he was breathing on my neck heavily. 

I instantaneously sprang from his lap when it felt like one of his
fingers had cut me or something.  At the time I didn't know it, but the 
bastard had popped my cherry with his nasty-ass fingers, and it hurt 
like hell. 

"Ouuuuccchhhh! I screamed. "That didn't feel too nice-" 

"Oh-oh I'm so sorry lil' gal, I didn't mean to hurt you," he stammered
quickly.  "I promise you it won't happen again," he said as he was 
reaching out to pull me back to his lap. 

One of the other adolescents on the steps spoke up and knocked his arms
down from getting to me.  "Man you need to cut that shit out," the boy 
protested.  "It was kinda funny at first but you getting a little too 
serious about this foolishness" 

"Damn right I'm gettin' serious," he said, knocking down the other boy's
barrier and proceeding towards me. 

I had already jumped down off of the steps and the only reason that I
didn't strike-out and run home was because I remembered that the boy 
did mention something about some food, and my belly just wasn't ready 
to give up that easily. 

Before he could collect me into his arms again, I held him off long
enough to make my inquiry. 

"Where the hell my food at anyway?" I asked him.  The question halted
his efforts for a minute, and he looked at me with a bizarre, cattish 
look about his eyes. 

"O.K. then lil' gal', O.K.  The person I know with the food is right
around the back of the skin house here and all we have to do now is go 
back here and get it" 

"That's it!" I responded quickly, with a gleeful cheer restored back to
my face.  The boy's good news was literally music to my ears. 

"That's it," he replied. But then he caught me by my arm as I had
already begun heading toward the back of the house to retrieve the 
food.  I looked back at him curiously, wondering why the hell was he 
stopping me. I snatched my arm fiercely, this time with enough strength 
to free myself from his hold. 

"Ease up jitty-bug," he said as if he were getting irritated with me. 
"All I was gonna tell your lil' ass was that you have to really believe 
in magic when you get back here.  Aiight?" 

"O.K.," I responded naively, and followed the boy to the back of the
house. 

Now do I really have to go into details about what happened back there,
behind the dark shadows of the ole' skin house and up under the dense 
roofing of an enormous oak tree, at night.  It was O.K. I guess at the 
time because I really didn't know what the hell I was doing, but later 
on in life, like now, I really do regret that my hunger made me so 
gullible. 

But I say to myself now, I was only eight years old at the time, I
didn't know any better and didn't have a stable enough parent to teach 
me any better, and so far that's been my little internal way of 
justifying that event. 

As time went on, Joyce got more and more out of control and my family
made her commit to some type of rehab program; therefore, that left me 
to be looked after by my good ole' grandma that I still love dearly, 
bless her heart. 

Then in August school started, my grandma enrolled me in Carver Middle
School, which was less than a quarter-mile away from her house in the 
Richmond Heights housing projects. 

Carver turned out to be a life-altering experience all in itself, but it
was the place where I met my first boyfriend, Gerald.  I don't think 
I've ever been so in love before in my life.  I loved that dumb-ass boy 
with everything I had in my small 5"1 body, I even gave up my virginity 
to him.  But to show his heartfelt appreciation to me, all he wanted to 
do was pass me around to his thuggish friends so they could get some 
too. 

And so, I did it.  I don't care what anybody thinks about it, I've
always been a fool for a man.  That's probably why I'm in the situation 
I'm in now. 

I later on graduated from Carver Middle as a straight A student.  Even
though Joyce was still away in her rehab program, she called me to let 
me know how proud she was of me, and she offered a few apologies about 
some of the stuff she had done in the past.  It felt peculiarly good. 

I also had an entourage of other family members that were rallying
behind me and gave me support in the utmost way.  I had 7 aunties and 4 
uncles that were constantly showering me with everything I thought I 
wanted.  For the first time in my life, they made me feel like I was 
special; more complete in a way. 

Along with that, every time I walked into a room of people, it seemed
like everyone was delighted by my presence, like I was the golden-child 
or something.  My grandma's face seemed to thoroughly illuminate every 
time I came around her, her attitude more vibrant. 

Now everything has reduced to this. 

After a prolific high school career I managed to land an assortment of
different scholarships to some pretty prestigious universities, but 
like I said before I've always been a fool for a man, and that caused 
me to tag-along behind my beloved boyfriend at the time, Leonard Green, 
and take a band scholarship to Bethune Cookman College over in Daytona 
Beach. 

My freshman year there was crude if anything.  I joined the 14kt. dance
team that danced while with the marching band while they played the 
tunes.  I danced most of my time away intensely with them, with all the 
passion and zeal that my small body could generate.  And Leonard, he 
got there and I guess he got awestruck by everything that could manage 
to wear a skirt, and didn't give two shits about the past two years we 
had spent together.  And how could I blame him, because by time I had 
made it to my sophomore year in high school I my body had developed 
into something supermodel-like and I attracted much attention from 
nearly every male that laid eyes on me.  Accordingly, I had transformed 
into full-fledged dick junkie.  I don't know what it was about it, but 
I just had to have it, if it was Leonard or not.  But he didn't know 
anything about it, or at least I thought he didn't at the time, so that 
gave him no reason to treat me the way he did, did it? 

And then there was the most common problem of every college freshman,
money.  But I think I was extraordinarily broke.  Leonard obviously 
didn't give me any help, and my beloved family that had showered me 
with virtually everything had abandoned me for some reason that I still 
haven't figured out.  But I was always hungry, always was in need of 
some type of school supply, and in serious need of clothes and hygiene 
products. 

I had even gotten to the point where I had started stealing different
little odds and ends from the other girls that stayed in my housing 
dorm, but that was something I had to stop quickly.  Aside from the 
girls catching on to me, it just wasn't my thing, it just didn't feel 
right. 

Therefore, I felt I had no choice but to resort back to the lesson I
learned behind the ole' skin house with that disgusting teenage boy.  I 
started fucking some of the guys on the football team for a few dollars 
here and there. I had to do what I had to do to survive, but even that 
didn't produce the doe I needed. 

I hated that I had to lower myself to that level to get the bare
necessities that I felt my so-called beloved family should have been 
able to provide me with, but just like I learned earlier in my life, I 
had to hustle to survive. 

Later on when that summer rolled around I left college and opted to stay
with a friend instead of going home to my family.  I felt it was the 
best thing to do since I held such a deep grudge against them for what 
I thought was their abandonment of me. 

My friend introduced me to this guy named Kay-Kay that was supposed to
be some kind of part-time drug dealer, and full-time pimp.  I won't 
lie, even though I knew what he was about, I began to totally adore 
that little short, fine man. Only problem was that Kay-Kay was a very 
shrewd businessman that rarely intertwined pleasure into his various 
business ventures; and when he came across me that's all he saw: A 
business venture. 

Just like any seasoned pimp he took me out and showed me good time the
first few times around.  He even made what I thought was passionate 
love to me, but little did I know all that was to him was just 
"investing," so he later told me. 

I guess he figured out pretty quick that I was a complete fool for a
man, much quicker than the other guys that took advantage of me did.  
It only took him a week to put his woo down on me and have me stripping 
for him in one of the most prominent black strip clubs in Orlando. 

At first I thought it was just going to be an extremely high-paying
summer job that I would temporarily work and accumilate enough cash to 
take care of myself with the next semester, but it worked out to be 
much more than that.  Stripping quickly grew on me, it was downright 
infectious, and it soon became a way of life for me. 

I cherished and saturated myself into all the attention and prestige
that seemed to revolve around me while I was at the club, and the money 
made it just that much better.  Most nights I would bring in $300 or 
$400, and on the weekends $500 or better.  Not to mention that I had 
started putting in a little overtime by making what my customer's 
dreamed of me in the club a reality.  That was more money than I had 
ever made in my life, and quite naturally it went straight to my head. 

The first thing I did was bought me a ride.  I was just starting out and
I didn't have much credit, so the best thing I could get into was a 
small Ford Aspire that I cruised around in proudly like a big-body 
Benz.  Along with that, I started buying myself many new clothes from 
different little mom-and-pop stores, and that really made me feel like 
I was something special.  I now had more outfits with matching shoes 
that I could stand myself.  I felt like a beauty queen. 

Soon after, I met yet another guy that I was thoroughly obsessed with,
this guy was named Travon.  He was a sporty, stylish fellow that I had 
gone to high school with and he had somehow amicably wandered into the 
strip club and bumped into me.  He was doing pretty well for himself at 
the time, and I thought he was just what I needed in my life at the 
time. 

I really do hate to keep mentioning it, but it must be known that I am a
complete fool for a man.  Accordingly, my brand new Casanova and me had 
moved in with each other only after a week of going out; at my expense 
of course. 

It took my dumb ass a few months to realize that he was using me; after
he quit his job and started lying around the house all the time, the 
signs eventually started adding up.  But I didn't really care, I was 
making so much money that it really didn't matter if he was working or 
not; besides, he had some of the best cock I've ever rode on in my 
life, and to me that was his half of the bills.  And just like all the 
other men that I came into contact with, I fell deeply in love with 
him. 

In the meantime, my family (including Joyce) had caught wind of my new
career and it had caused quite a stir among them.  A few of my aunties 
even went as far as saying they wanted to kick my ass, and the others 
tried to offer me all types of help that could maneuver me away from my 
new found career (it was a career now because college was definitely 
out of the question by this time).  But by now, I was all the way gone. 
 I had a career where I could dance all night, meet new and exciting 
men, drink all the Hennessey my stomach could hold, and get drunk every 
night of the week.   I was too far into myself and happier than I had 
ever been in my life, without them.  There was no way I was going to 
stop doing the thing that brought me this much joy, and there was no 
way that I was going to try and build another relationship with my 
family after the way they did me.  But now I wish I had. 

Things turned out that my beloved boyfriend Travon had somehow stumbled
across the information of me putting in a little extra overtime with 
some of my favorite customers.  This enraged him intensely, and did I 
forget to say that in those few months that I lived with him I came to 
find out that he was utterly a crazed hooligan, but very intelligent in 
a criminally insane kind of way. 

So one night I was making it home after working, and then working a
little more with one of my female customers, and I was getting out of 
my car in the dark parking lot of my secluded apartment complex when a 
dark figure approached me, pulled a pistol, and shot me four times; two 
in each knee.  I managed to let out a shrieking scream before I fell to 
the hard asphalt and ultimately into the comforts of unconsciousness. 

I later woke up in a hospital room alone; and little did I know that
that would be an ominous foreshadowing of things to come. 

Travon was the only person I knew that had the motive, and the
intelligence of pulling of such a horrific deed that there wasn't any 
doubt in my mind of who my aggressor was.  He knew that actually 
killing me wouldn't do him any justice, he wanted me to suffer. As a 
result, he shot me in the knees so that he could strip me of all the 
joy I had in my life; thus, he knew that I would never be able to dance 
or work in the strip club again. 

And strip me is what he did. 

Now as I lay here in my empty apartment (that I'm about to get evicted
from tomorrow) and I have absolutely nothing.  All the furniture that I 
had was rental furniture, so the rental guys had no problem stripping 
me of it when I couldn't make any more payments.  My car got stripped 
from me because of the same reason, and the thoughtful Travon didn't 
forget to strip me of all the clothing and jewelry that I treasured so 
much. 

And my family, yea my now beloved family.  They're all gone away now,
mostly because the worldly possessions that I became so besotted with 
caused me to strip them away from my life. 

And my friends; damn how I miss my friends.  I stripped all of them away
because I thought that they weren't on my level anymore.  I only liked 
to hangout with the other dancers from the club, people in my same tax 
bracket. 

And I completely gave up on school because I became so entrenched in the
fast-cash that stripping brought that I felt it had became a barrier 
between me and my darling career. I never thought that one day all 
those one-dollar bills would stop flowing and that I would need 
something to fall back on. 

And basically, I'm stripped of my life.  I have no family.  I have no
friends.  I have no money.  Shit, I can't even walk. 

And now I lay here on the floor with an old rusty cosmetic razorblade
that I used to arch my eyebrows with, wondering whether or not I should 
give it a more significant use.  I think I probably will. 

All I did in my life was remain true to the lesson I learned from
childhood:  That I must hustle to survive. 

So I hustled, and hustled well.  Now, my hustle has turned sour and
twisted around to strip me of the life it once gave me.  What more can 
these days of my life strip away from me? 

Honestly, I don't care to know.


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