Story Time!

This is another piece from my creative writing class. Its a tale about the time. . . well you'll get it once you start reading. Some of it is pieced together from multiple experiences and fabricated a smidge but that's where the creativity comes from.  Feedback is welcomed, Enjoy!

Working student Being a student is great, so you would think. Well, it was more of what we are lead to believe by college brochures promising study picnics with your diverse friends with lively smiles and a great wardrobe. Refusing to include candid shots of the long agonizing lines in the financial aid offices. “Don’t forget to fill out the FAFSA applications!” they said “its free money for your education.” School counselors and parents alike shouting tantalizing nothings at you. Let’s not forget the line wrapped around the school store to buy five two hundred dollar books only for the professor to tell you it’s not necessary. Or the irony of the fact that out of the whole semester if not quarter (which is shorter) we only read 17 pages of the two hundred dollar book that’s strategically used only for the current year. Then on the first day of class the professor has the audacity to say “Have your book(s) by next week” and you have to bite your tongue from challenging them with “Do you have, have your book(s) by next week, money?”. When you don’t qualify for grants and you don’t want to take out a large unnecessary loan for school you have to work for college tuition.

 I have a friend whose financial situation mirrored mine moons ago. She’s an energetic character who is absolutely fearless and confident. A 5’7” curvaceous beauty that partakes in the “shake life” occupation. Conveniently her name is Desire. That was the look that lingered in the eyes of men who were in her presence. The way she carried herself commanded attention. The way her hips swayed caused her derriere to jiggle and that alone had men in a trance. She was confident with her body because she worked very hard for it. In high school, which was just three years back, she had more of a round shape at two hundred pounds. Once Desire got into college she lost most of her weight retaining it in all the right places. On campus her new figure was accompanied by a whole new gravitational pull. She jumped at the opportunity to receive attention. If girls could collect attention and bottle it up in a Mason jar I’m pretty sure they would. Stripper money is easy to her, I mean all she had to do was take one step and her booty jiggled. The three hundred dollars in one night life is very tempting for anyone. Especially when you make that much every two weeks and have sleep for dinner. The life she lived already seemed tempting enough when you can turn on the radio and hear rappers reciting lyrics like “bounce that ass, shake that ass like the twerk team.” Glorifying exotic dancers. Seeing Amber Rose, Blac Chyna, and Kim Kardashian make millions solely based off their appearance. Can’t help but to think men are some of the most gullible creatures in the world. I’ve only been to two strip clubs in my life and I just so happen to know a handful of people in the industry. So I decided to have a ‘bring your friend to work day’ with Desire. I was so nervous following behind her like a child on a field trip. On the outside there are no windows and it has a mysterious aura to the location. Almost like it’s a secret society and you have to pay to be admitted. When you first walk into strip clubs there’s a foyer similar to the ticketing booth at the movie theatre. The anxiety builds up from the parking lot to the thick of the crowd on a busy night. Since she was dancing there we were some of the first people in the building. We tried to arrive early because the promoter told her that it was free tip out before ten. We were on colored people time and reached our destination at eleven thirty. So she had to pay the forty five dollar tip out. Tip out is a percentage of your profits from dancing split between the dj, managers, waitresses, including or excluding certain members of the staff. The splitting of tips is commonly used in waitressing at restaurants. Depending on the club you just pay forty five dollars at the door and that’s it while other clubs count up all the money made split it between workers then take their percentage out. Desire led the way into the foyer and as usually the man sitting behind the counter had his eyes glued to her. She stated her purpose, paid the tip out and we were granted permission into the secret establishment. It was much smaller than what I had imagined. To the left of the entrance was a mirrored wall with the stage attached to it. Directly across was chairs and tables for patrons to sit down and enjoy the show. Behind those chairs was a smaller circular stage. The club was barely open and men were sitting in the chairs drinking ready for any girl to come out and dance for them. On the right was the bar and further past that was the locker room. As we walked past the men sitting down she put me up on game who they were. They were regulars who visited every single day.

 In the locker room she undressed from her everyday persona and turned into a temptress who collected fees to be looked at. Even though she wore a bikini top that covered her breast she still had to put two pieces of tape over her nipples in the form of an “X”. It was a necessary precaution that all the girls had to take since it wasn’t a nude or topless club. Which I appreciated because I just don’t see how anyone can dance aggressively nude in front of people. When she started putting on her makeup another girl walked in. For a moment it was pure silence but the girl broke it by asking us a question about how old a person has to be to rent a car. She began to tell us how she moved all the way from Minnesota to Houston to be a stripper. She heard about the infamous VLIVE that Drake and other rappers talked about in songs. She was staying in a hotel and every night she took Ubers to the club. A piece of me wanted to know more about her life and help her. She was only 18 and moved across the country by herself. I was honestly worried that a man would see her vulnerability and use that as an opportunity to pimp her. She didn’t even know how to do pole tricks or walk in heels for that matter because she was stumbling all over the place. Eventually more girls came and repeated the same routine as Desire. There were girls of pretty much all sizes and proportions. One thing I did find interesting was the girls with implants. Girls as skinny as me with butt shots looked so weird and when they tried to twerk their butts didn’t budge. Some girls took sips of liquid courage while others popped pills to feel a little sexier. They looked like cheerleaders who were preparing for the pep rally before the big game. The club was packed and the girls had set time frames on who were on stage performing while the others worked the floor. I hung back by the bar to scope out the scene. Naturally I’m an observer and it was a lot to take in. Most of the girls didn’t know any pole tricks and if they did it wasn’t impressive. Majority of the girls stuck to shaking their butts and grinding on the men. The customers were so aggressive with the girls. They’d slap their butts and if she was light enough you’d see a red hand print on it. In the off chance that a girl knew what she was doing on the pole money would rain down on her. Seeing money regardless of its quantity thrown into the air then twirling down from the ceiling is the most hypnotizing site ever. Who wouldn’t be tempted to just scoop a little change up? Well if anyone dared to do that the girls would probably jump them. The girls walked around with bags or baskets filled with money holding them tight so no one would steal it. Throwing money in the club has a domino effect; after the initiator then follows a group of more men with more money. Sometimes it looked as if they just thrown money to compete with other men. Which was fine by the dancers it was less work for them.

 After a while I grew tired of holding up the wall and seeing all the money that wasn’t mine flying around like leaves in the fall. There were some girls in the dressing room counting their earnings from the night. One girl held a fan of money up to her face while the other girl recorded her Instagram video. It’s undeniable that strippers love flaunting their money on social media. I’m convinced they do it to plant the seed of envy in other people’s hearts and I’m here to say that it works. Every day that seed gross into a flower and that’s what led me there that night. If I had a body like Desire’s I would be out there making the money and not letting it make me. The life seemed very tempting but the cons outweigh the pros. I can’t walk around in heels all night dancing on men who sexually assaults me while degrading music plays in the background. Although this occurs while walking down the street bumping trap music the only details that are different is the setting and more attire. It takes a very strong woman to live that lifestyle and not get sucked into the evils of it. I just couldn’t make myself susceptible to those possibilities. Maybe financial aid will finally give me that grant for education. The books that I bought have to be profitable. Either scenario I’ll just continue to struggle paying for classes and missing out on those diverse friendships. Perhaps I’ll meet those friends in the long line that awaits me on campus.

Short Story

I'm currently taking a creative writing class and i just wanted to share my works with you guys. I was hoping to receive feedback or creative criticism.

Log-line: An insecure girl followers her alleged adulterous boyfriend and gets a rude awakening.

It was Friday, date night, and I always looked forward to the first Friday of every month. Usually my colleagues could see me sitting on the edge of my chair tucked in my cubicle smiling like a school girl. I can still hear them joking about my eagerness. That’s not the case this Friday because for weeks now Alex has been a tad bit distant. I’ve been trying to convince myself that he’s overworked and that’s why he’s so stressed out. I was thrilled to be having date night, it was just what we needed to restore our relationship.  Today I curled my hair and actually put on makeup. I ended my shift with high hopes of change.

Despite our rough patch he maintained his chivalry. I could irritate him to the point of no return and he would still treat me like a princess. That’s what I loved about him most, his forgiveness. While we waited for our meal to be served there was an awkward silence between us. The muteness made my mind race and I had to break it. He was sitting right across from me but I could tell his mind was somewhere else. In the midst of forcing casual conversation I had to try alternatives. I tried to look at him in the eyes a little harder. I stared as if the more intense I searched his eyes I could bring his mind back to me. My attempt failed just like the conversation.  After so many pauses in our minuscule verbal exchange we reached a mutual agreement. Once that understanding was grasped he picked up the phone. I usually don’t mind him on his phone but not at the dinner table. Throughout the rest of the evening he couldn’t keep his phone out of his hands. Naturally this attachment made me question his fidelity. Every notification he received sent vibrations that shook the ground we occupied like an earthquake.

“Who are you talking to?” An irritated inquiry expecting a direct answer without coaxing.

“No one really.” His cavalier attitude further frustrated me.

“Well what does that mean?”

“Nothing”

“Could you at least attempt to be more thrilled about having dinner with me tonight?” I plead in an effort to enjoy what was once my favorite time of the month.

He played with his phone for a couple more minutes taking breaks to look at me. I’m pretty sure he could feel how intensely I was staring at him. I grew so anxious for him to just acknowledge how much effort I put into my appearance and this night.

Occasionally during the drive home I would glance at him with disgust. Not only was he ignoring me he was also texting while driving or just at stop lights he says. “So what’s so intriguing about your phone Alex?” he quickly glared at me with a smirk and just before he could part his lips with a slick reply I intervened. “Your face irritates me shut up!”

Silently we performed our nightly routines and prepared for bed. His hand still wrapped around his phone that emitted a light brighter than the sun at its peak. Surely our neighbors could see this beam of a light and easily assume that we have opened up a portal to a parallel universe. As I rested beside him I caught him smiling at his phone like he was enjoying a conversation without me. I rolled over snatching the duvet from over his body. In an attempt to fight my curiosity I tucked the cover under my body forming a cocoon providing a shield for my eyes from the light. I just don’t understand why his phone needed so much attention, more attention than he has been giving me the whole day. I drifted in and out of sleep with full intentions of investigating this situation.

I was Nancy Drew following the trail of leads he carelessly poured into the newsfeeds of family, friends and even strangers. A combination of peculiar tweets he released into the cyber world were so conveniently accompanied by his exact location. He was more interactive in his social media presence than he was with real people. His obsession gave me an advantage on his actions and whereabouts. His friendliness on various internet sites fueled this whole investigation. How fortunate was I to notice which cafe he was at with a simple snap. Immediately I was in the bushes directly across from him daring any female to sit across from him as if this outing was a date. He was looking rather urbane dressed from head to toe in all black. He looked like he smelled good and that made me want to jump out of the bushes to strangle him. He looked down at his phone, stood up and started walking down the street. I leaped out of the bushes leaving fragments of my clothes tangled in the fingers of the shrubbery. For some reason I received the strangest looks after leaving my hiding space. I ignored their opinionated faces that didn’t faze me I was on a mission.

The luxurious Sunset drive was thick with tourist pedestrians aimlessly roaming around. They were making it hard for me to keep up with Alex. Blue shirts blending in with red blouses. What color was he wearing again? After following him for a while he ended his foot journey in the warehouse district. What is he doing at a warehouse? 4 black Mercedes sedans set parallel alongside the building. There was a fat man sitting by the loading dock with a clipboard. Alex walked up the dock and was easily granted entry. I waited from a far to figure out how to get past the doorman. Higher ground was the only way I would be able to see what was going on. I saw a ladder alongside the glass building. I found a spot right next to an open window. Every man in the transparent structure was dressed in all black like Alex. They all stood around a desk chatting.

“Did Antonio complete the drop?” A brown man with a thick Cuban accent asked.

“The cargo is at Dixie 7, senor.”

“I expect no mistakes this time.”

“Si senor no problema, lo siento.” Alex replied to the Cuban man. The drop, a cargo what the hell is going on here? When did Alex start speaking Spanish?

“La policia stopped Marco on the greyhound Monday. Como?”

“We are trying to find the leak sir.” A younger man replied.

The Cuban man seemed unimpressed. He raised up out of his chair and all 5 men paid close attention to him as if he was a teacher and they were students eager to learn. I scanned the room a little more and saw tables with white powder carelessly spread about the table. Behind the desk of the Cuban man rested two money counting machines. He made his way towards the tables and said “Ven a qui.” Young girls in nothing but panties flocked to him. He pointed to them like they were objects in a demonstration. “Does anyone know why they are naked?” They all stood there in silence. “They can’t wear wires. Only the people in this room knows where and when drops are made.” He paused for a long time and the uneasiness settled in. Hell I was scared for them. His head hung low as if someone had let him down and deceived him. Alex seemed awkwardly comfortable, like he knew it wasn’t him and he was immune to whatever consequence the Cuban man was going to unleash. The room was silent and everyone just stared at each other like their eyes could point out traitors.

I looked down by the loading dock and saw dread headed Haitians running into the warehouse. Pushing past the doorman leaving him on the ground paralyzed. The girls in the room all shrieked in fear tripping over one another. The men flipped the table throwing the cocaine into the air. For a second it reminded me of the first snowfall of the season making the concrete floor sparkle. They took cover behind it exchanging fire. It was just like a movie scene. Then all of a sudden I was in the room with them hiding next to the girls. All while being scared trying to hide from stray bullets I also wanted to see everything unfold. Bullets flying all over the place as if the men behind assault rifles had no training. A girl right beside me was hit from a ricochet bullet. She began to cry and I grew irritated with her whimpers. The bullet grazed her leaving a miniscule scratch on her shoulder. It was do or die at that moment and the bullets flying across the room had no direct targets. Once the bullets left the barrel they were like sperm whose whole purpose is to burrow into flesh. I could have easily been in that girls position with a war wound. At that moment I was determined to not become a victim of Alex’s trivial endeavors.

Mentally I had to pause the activities ensuing before me, scanning the room for Alex first. Where is he? I spotted him with his back against the steel table trying to reload his gun. Seeing him struggling to recoup put a fear in my heart for him. The girls and I were huddled next to a tall filing cabinet, I made my way to the door of the cabinet still ducked down trying not to be seen. I caught a glimpse of an Ak-47 rifle hanging in the cabinet so I swung the doors open and grabbed two pistols. Idiotically I ran towards Alex by the table I couldn’t just stand by and let him die. Throwing myself to the ground out of the path of gun fire I landed a few feet away from Alex.

“AL, here take this!” I yelled over the rhythm of the blast coming from the Haitians weapons. He looked back at me in utter surprise.

“What are you doing here Ashley?” He angrily asked me.

“I’m sorry babe, I followed you.”

The Cuban man looked at us with a what the fuck are you doing expression. I told Alex I’ll go get a car and the Cuban man threw a set of keys towards me. I kissed Alex as if I knew it was goodbye. I dashed for the side door of the warehouse and pressed the unlock button on the car remote. The chirp went off and what followed was an explosion that threw me back into the cold bricks of the warehouse. As the Haitians blasted their guns with no care to have any aim one of them hit a case of ether and the whole building went up into a vicious flame.