The Student : PJM

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I took her hand, pulled her over to the couch, sitting and pulling her down beside me. "Sorry for what? That I've found out where you work?"

She nodded, "That you had to find out like this."

"I'm not sure how else I would have found out. It would have been either like this or from students or others talking about how they'd seen you here, I guess. I suppose this explains the school look?" I queried, "The constant oversized sweatshirt; the studious co-ed that never dates, never hangs around school?" Her nod confirmed my assumption.

"Did you tell them?" she asked. Something in the tone of her voice said that for some reason it was a really important question. 

"Tell who?" I asked in return, not at first understanding, and then it dawned on me -- had I told my fellow partiers that I knew that Grace was really Y/n. 

"No. They don't know that I know the real you." I was about to end it there, when I realized the probable importance of it. "Your secret's safe, I'm not going to go back and start bragging about meeting a student in a strip bar."

The sudden relaxation of the strain in her face that I hadn't even realized was there, confirmed that I'd hit the nail on the head. "No one's ever found out before?" I questioned. 

Her head shook no. "There have been guys two or three times that I've seen around school, but nobody outright recognized me like you did. When I see guys that might know me, I always just make sure I work the opposite side of the room from them, just don't let them get close. I can't ignore them on stage, but I've never had anyone indicate in my private life that they thought I was 'Grace'".

I thought it interesting that she spoke of her working name as another person.

"You don't want people to know you're a stripper?" I questioned, knowing full well the stigma that our society puts on strippers. Any woman that displays her body, performs sexual services without the safety of a wedding certificate, is looked down on. That movie starlets do the same thing regularly where everyone can see for all eternity, and maybe make millions at the same time, is acceptable. Let's face it - it's a well-known fact that many of the simulated sex scenes on the big screen aren't so simulated. But, let a lesser known individual do the same thing on stage in a room full of randy guys, or individually in private booths in the back, and they're considered the dregs of society.

"If you do this long enough, you're bound to eventually meet someone else that recognizes you," I offered.

"I'm not going to do this forever. I'm going to be a doctor. I'm going to graduate the University, hopefully with straight A's, and I'm going to go to Johns-Hopkins."

That was the girl that I knew from school, the determined, hard-working individual. There was no "I want to be," no hedging about "if everything goes my way," this was de-facto. The instant she said that, I had no doubt that I had not misjudged, that I'd done the right thing in sliding the grade scale for her benefit. 

"I haven't done everything right in my life, but every mistake comes with its own benefits," she slowly began explaining herself. "I thought I was in love, but when I got pregnant -- my boyfriend not only dumped me, but left town. It wasn't that I was just stupid, but like they say, birth control is 99% effective. I guess I'm just a part of the 1 percent. I was devastated when I first found out; I had plans, and medical school didn't include having a baby. But my boyfriend seemed supportive, and I thought we were going to get married, and then one day I came home and he'd left. He left me a note that said, 'I'm sorry Y/n, I just can't do this,' and that was it. I've never heard from him again. I think he may have had contact with a few of his old friends, but nobody ever says anything."

"Guys can be bastards," I offered, suddenly realizing I was still holding her hand. I looked down at it as I squeezed it. Sympathy? No, more just understanding.

"Not all," she said. I looked back up at her face; she was looking right into my eyes. "Sometimes when you least expect it, you'll find a really decent human being." 

"Were you a stripper when you were with him?"

"Oh no, that was later. I was working as a receptionist for a contractor making minimum wage and trying to go to school. Then when my little girl was born... I just couldn't make ends meet. I couldn't go to school and feed my daughter and put a roof over her head. When a girlfriend told me how much she was making...." Her voice just drifted off.

"You did what you had to do," I finished for her. She just looked at me.

"Mr. Park, I um, I really don't want this to get out."

"I'm not going to tell anyone Y/n."

"Shh. It's Grace," she whispered. She glanced over her shoulder at the empty hall. "I don't like my real name used, somebody might hear."

"Grace," I repeated. "I'll try to remember."

"Mr. Park?" she paused, I looked at her in response. "This is kind of awkward, but um, I have to share the take with the house."

It took me a second to realize what she was saying. "Oh yeah, of course." I responded when I caught on to what she was saying. "What will I owe you?"

"It depends on what you want. Lap Dances are 3 for $60 dollars, or half an hour for a hundred fifty."

"How much does the house get?"

"Twenty percent." I didn't think that sounded excessive until I realized that there had to be a dozen girls working. No wonder strip bars make money.

"How about I pay for half an hour and you just sit and tell me about you and your daughter?" 

She laughed, a quiet laugh designed not to carry too far. "You aren't one of those kinky guys that wants me to get naked and then is interested in my daughter are you?"

"Heavens no." I answered, shaking my head. "I was suggesting that you keep your clothes on and we just sit and talk." 

She looked at me impishly. "What's the matter, you don't want to see me naked?" For once, I didn't have a come-back. Hell yes, I wanted to see her naked. Actually, I'll admit, she'd been a masturbation fantasy girl more than a few times. Truthfully, just about my only fantasy girl, ever since the day she'd pulled her sweatshirt off revealing the luscious body she normally kept from view in class.

"Y/..." I caught myself. "Grace, of all the women that have been through my classes, I'll admit, I've never been attracted to anyone as much as you."

She began to rise out of the seat. "And I thought it was only the other way." Sliding her hand up my arm, pivoting her body around to in front of me, she began moving to the music. A shadow appeared through the curtains, moving into sight momentarily then disappearing. I glanced up at the male figure.

"Got to keep up the pretenses," she whispered seductively in my ear, having bent her head down next to mine.

"What's that?" I asked, absently rubbing my hands on her arms, not even thinking about whether it was allowed or not.

"House rules. He'll be back after three songs; we won't be disturbed before then. They want to be able to say they were checking on us and saw that nothing was happening that wasn't supposed to be. We're not allowed to do certain thing and we're supposed to be dancing when they see us, but three songs is a long time when you want to do something else." It didn't take a genius to figure out what something else might be.

"Some of the other girls do, um, other things?" Pushing my shoulder, I found myself sitting back, and she slid back into the seat beside me. 

"Some do. Some will do anything for a price." 

"But you don't?" From what Beom Seok had said earlier, I thought not. Truthfully I was hoping not.

"I'm a dancer, not a whore."

"I don't think you are a whore." It was awkward for a moment. "So what other rules are there for dancers?"

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