Striptease- The First Book in the Alaskan Barbie Saga

Preface

I've always been a little bit odder than most children. Losing a mother didn't help. And like Dad would ever let that slip his mind when I would come home from school, asking for a new pencil case or a binder that had broken over the years.

That was the thing with Dad. Frugal as hell. Would never buy me new clothes unless I couldn't even pull the shirt over my head, the pants over my legs. Even then, Dad would make up some pathetic excuse on money and how it was slim. But that was a lie. We were doing quite well. Dad made at least $100,000 a year but never spent it on his daughter, food or mortgage. Always strictly beer. 

By the time I was twelve, I realized most families didn't work that way and it confused me to God's end. I knew Dad was a cheapskate and I was just his disgrace of daughter getting in his way. 

Dad liked to bring up the fact that I "murdered" Mom. I'm not saying, I don't agree with it. She should've stayed and I should be the one in the ground, letting my carcass decompose into the soil. 

Dad was a happy and bright man before she died. Or at least everyone tells me. I guess, I also murdered him in a way. I killed his happiness.

Bullying didn't stop at home. Of course not. It was at school too. 

It seemed even teachers believed that I was a misfit even though I never got sent to the office, missed a day of homework, or talked snappy to them. I was actually quite bright. Was, as the key term. 

Right now, I'm anything but bright. Sitting in a dirty old leather chair in an even grosser building where I strip day and night for men who watch the sad eyes of a misshaped daughter. 

Men. 

I chuckle to myself while I think of them. Men... watch you with blank eyes while you scramble for a happy life... but money isn't a problem for me. 

Men always tell me I'm, 'The prettiest of the bunch,' and this doesn't go over well with the rest of the women here. It's like I'm back in grade school sometimes with their catty insults and constant ranting over me. Men will slip me hundreds sometimes when I'm dancing for them, and it grosses me out but I never say a word. If they learned I'm only seventeen, I would be kicked out and be forced to return to him.

God, that would be the worst case scenario. 

"Hey, Sugar! Come 'ere." Oh yeah, that's my name. Sugar. Well it's really Alaska but Sugar is for work... my vile workplace.

I do as I'm told and walk up to the middle-aged bartender that always seems to hit on me even in my worst situations. Some may say it's flattering, I say it's gross. 

"Hi, Sal. What's up?" I ask the man who smiles a toothy grin at me. Well, more my chest. 

"Sugar, go up to the nice gentlemen over there and ask them if they'd like a drink. They don't seem to be enjoying the scenery... in other words, go get your sweet ass over there and please them." I scrunch my nose up but nod and follow Sal's orders. 

I walk slowly over to the men in the classier area of the club where I'm wearing my skimpy little outfit that make my B cup breasts fall out of it. I look at their appearances and notice that they resemble lawyers, and like all stereotypical wealthy men, they're attractive. 

Hot even. 

One had blond messy hair that was in curls with a tan complexion reminding me of a beach volleyball player or an athletic trainer and seemed to be smirking at something one of them said. He looked to be the most muscular one out of the group.

Another was the opposite with fair skin and dark raven hair that looked almost straightened. I could tell he was the one who cared more about his appearance than any of them since he was touching his hair almost every second and it looked as if he was already thinning.