I'm a stripper, doesn't mean I'm a slut

How I got there

I didn't wake up one day and decide "Hey, I want to be a stripper when I grow up. Won't that be fun?"

I don't think anyone really aspires to have a job in the sex business really.

It just happens.

It's sort of an unspoken rule here at the Stargirls (club where I work) - don't ask your fellow colleagues how they ended up working at a strip joint.

Besides, in the end, after you get to know them, you sort of get the gist of why people work here anyway.

No one really knows why Marie works here though - but sometimes we catch her crying in the bathroom. When she comes out, her mascara running and her eyes red rimmed, we say nothing. It's not that we don't care, it's just that it's best not to make any attachments working at a place like this - it's a temporary job.

After all, who would want to get caught working in a place where you flash for cash? It's embarrasing. But I gotta eat. And if I gotta eat I gotta work. That's the maths equation of my life.

Yeah, so basically I'm not really close with any of the girls here, I mean I know some of their stories and why they're here, but we all get along in a sarcastic, non-emotional kind a way. It's a sort of an unspoken "I won't talk my shit if you don't talk your shit." deal.

The only girl I'm really friendly with here is Lois, and that's only 'cos I crash at her place sometimes. Well actually all the time, really because I live there. Basically she owns a small two bedroom apartment with one bathroom/laundry and one lounge/dining/kitchen type room and 'cos she can't afford to pay the rent on it, I chip in granted I get to stay there too.

It's really cramped though, because her three year old son, Freddie lives there too and kids take up loads of space (because of all the moving they do, and the special food and clothes and toys and equipment etc.) but I don't mind because he's just so dang adorable.

He calls me mummy sometimes. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, like when you take that first sip of hot chocolate on a frostbitten day. He calls Lois, well, Lois 'cos apparently she doesn't want to seem old. Girl, you're twenty-three. Last time I checked you weren't in the geriatrics department.

Yeah so that's my life. Living in a cramped apartment by day, flashing perverts my boobs by night. I'm like some kind of twisted version of batman. But with fewer clothes.

At this point, I should probably mention the fact that technically what I'm doing is illegal. You have to be at eighteen if you want to be in the business that I'm in. Well I'm seventeen. Seventeen and three and a half months if you want to be specific.

Yeah so you must be wondering "Gosh, why are you so unorganised? Running away from home before you turn eighteen? That's unheard of!" Yeah, well the thing is I didn't exactly plan to run away just like how I didn't plan I'd move to another state, by myself I might add (well except for Ollie - my cat - of course).

I didn't plan to slowly run out of food and money and sleep in the damp alleyways between cafés and department stores. Or Lois finding me sleeping outside her complex in a cardboard box, Ollie sitting protectively over my butt (I was sleeping on my stomach).

I didn't plan on staying with Lois for the night, or meeting her kid, falling head over heels for her kid, or her offering to ask her employer for a job.

Then there was me accepting without knowing what type of work it was, me freaking out when I found out what type of work it was and Lois convincing me to work in exchange for staying with her (I refused to stay unless I helped out so I pay half the rent and baby sit for her when she's on shifts), and finally me saying fuck it I'll do it, I'll strip for easy money.

With the whole job/income thing sorted, Lois insisted I get a proper education and enrolled me at the local highschool, pretending to be my guardian by wearing heavy eyeliner to appear older (she did not in fact appear older, just appeared more like a MILF).

So that's about it, I'm at highschool on weekdays working my butt off to get good grades so one day I can finally dump this gig at the strip joint, and for certain hours on weeknights and weekends stripping for the cash.

There's the basic summary of my life in the span of a couple of paragraphs. So I may have skimmed over a few minor details, but you get the gist. My life in a nutshell.

It was on a Monday night when it happened. I had finished school for the day, gone home, done my homework like a good girl and played with Freddie for awhile. Then I ate a microwavable meal with Lois 'cos I'm just that healthy (fed Freddie too), grabbed my bag and kissed Freddie and Lois goodbye.

Lois' shift was in two hours, we try to get different times so that Freddie is alone for the shortest time possible, then we just dump him at the ancient chinese lady who lives alone in the flat next to us - she always gives him these strange tasting lollies wrapped in clear plastic decorated with intricate golden stencils of dragons and swirls of clouds.

I took Lois' battered old car in dire need of a paint job and head off to work.

So there I was, degrading myself as a strong, confident woman for food (well, the money for food) when he walked in.

Of course, it had to be him. I mean, really, who else would karma send to crap up my already crapped upon life?

And so, James Adam Cooper steps into the club. And my bra is half way off.

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You know what to do.

Vote. Comment. Fan. Please, I am actually desperate :O

Do you like my writing style for this story - because I usually don't write so offhandedly/casual. Ooh, what's gonna happen next? Find out, next time on IASDMIAS (long title, I know. Working on it, any suggestions?)