Each Friday RnB magazine will do something different for readers. Now, we know a lot of you all don’t like to go out on Fridays. Many are homebodies, and it ain’t nothing wrong with that. We want to provide our readers with something to look forward to every Friday. Whether it be a short story or advice on love, sex, and all of the above, we are here to keep your Friday nights entertained. Below you will find a short story, Stripper Obsession, written by Simone Grant, a writer for RnB magazine. This short story is something you can sit back, relax, grab a glass of wine, and read, but be prepared for your eyes to be filled with tears for laughing so hard. Find out what Chanel does when she figures out her husband’s secret obsession. We hope you enjoy and make sure you come back every Friday for more.
Chocolate Ecstasy, two hundred dollars. Mocha dream, a hundred dollars. Creamy Delight, fifty dollars. Vanilla Swirl, twenty-five dollars. Are my eyes deceiving me or has my husband lost his damn mind? No, these aren’t deluxe drinks at your favorite coffee shop. These are names of exotic dancers, also known as strippers. Or as men like to call them, “every man’s fantasy.” So what does strippers and these crisp dollar bills have anything to do with me (Chanel), other than aiding in the occasional retail therapy, nail therapy, and hair slayage? This money, which was supposed to be used to pay our past due electricity and gas bill, would soon be between the ass cheeks of some chick named Chocolate Ecstasy.
Derrick and I have been married for three years. Yes, married. He isn’t just a temporary boyfriend or a guy I’ve been sexing whenever I need to get it in. He’s supposed to be my life partner, my confidant, and best friend. Funny thing is, we met at a strip club. Hilarious right? I used to work at Club Thickums for a couple months and no I wasn’t a stripper. I was a hostess and damn was I a good one. I never had the courage to hop on stage and shake my ass for dollars from drunk working class men or the occasional baller that came through when he was in time. I was good at hustlin’ but stripper just wasn’t for me. I would get mistaken for one of the dancers because of how slutty we had to dress. That was part of the job description. Hostesses were somewhat like strippers. We didn’t have to get on stage and twerk, but we did have to parade around virtually naked to get a few tips from sliding some lawyer a beer.
It was a Sunday night which was one of our most popular. It was the night the club’s money making strippers came to work. These were the dancers who came with their best outfits and their best tricks. It was obvious these girls had plenty practice. One in particular was Destiny, who was D-Rain once she hit that stage and the music came on. She used to end her performance with fire and ice. To this day, I don’t know how she managed to keep her weave from catching fire. So I’m making my rounds, doing the occasional flirting and I see Derrick sitting with a group of prominent business men in the Atlanta area. Atlanta is the “stripping capital” by the way and when I tell you these men are in love with these dancers, let’s just say they spend millions on them. Any who, I know these established men brought their checkbook out tonight, so I made my way over to their table.
“Are you guys enjoying yourself tonight?” I asked as sexy as I could.
“Even better now that I see the strippers ain’t the only fine ass women in here,” one of Derrick’s cheesy friends replied.
“What can I get for you gentleman tonight?”
“A beer,” one said.
“I’ll have your strongest vodka,” another replied.
I listened to all seven of these creeps tell me what they wanted to drink to make them come out of their pockets. Each had spoken, except for Derrick. I asked him what he wanted and he replied to my dismay-
“Just a soda for me thanks.”
After a few chuckles and calling him the biggest lame they’ve ever hung out with, I walked away smiling. That’s what attracted me to Derrick. Yes he was in the strip club with his asshole friends, but he was different. He didn’t have a lame ass pick up line to feed me and he didn’t get drunk as hell blowing his money.
Derrick came back to the club a couple times with those guys. Sometimes alone. It struck me as odd, but I didn’t really care. He was sexy as hell. Tall, chocolate, and straight white teeth. Just my type of guy. After hustling my way to work his table each time he came in, he finally asked me for my number. We went out to dinner a couple days later. It wasn’t a five-star restaurant either. It was a burger joint on Atlanta’s east end. It was then where I found out Derrick did not work with those business men. He worked for them. He was not a prominent lawyer or anything like that. He was a security guard for a law firm. It did turn me off at first, but I’m not a materialistic person-anymore.
We dated for six months before he asked me to marry him. I instantly said yes, because I fell in love with the man he was and not how much money he had. He stopped going to the strip clubs the moment he asked me to be his girlfriend, so I knew he really cared about me. Just like any marriage, we have our shares of ups and downs. Money being number one of our problems. I’m not a hostess at a strip club anymore. Now, I’m a beautician. Derrick works at a car dealership as one of the top salesman. He does bring in a nice paycheck, but with all these bills stacked on top of each other, that nice ‘ol check is gone.
I guess my hubby is back to his old ways. Am I not woman enough for him he has to seek pleasure elsewhere? Our sex life is phenomenal, at least in my opinion. But that explains why he insists I wear a G-string and call myself kitty titty before and while we’re having sex. He even bought a stripper pole to put in our bedroom. I used to dance for him every night when he came home from work, but I insisted I stopped. It was getting weird.
Now here I am staring at what was supposed to be bill money. Hilarious right? What’s really funny is Derrick is supposed to be going to “dinner and drinks” with some of his co-workers. Before I could think another mean thought or call him a “lying idiot,” he walked in. I hurried out our bedroom where he tried to hide the money and into the living room where he stood untying his tie and taking off his work shoes.
“Long day babe?” I asked rushing over to give him a kiss.
“Long enough,” he replied giving me a soft kiss.
“Want something to snack on before you go to dinner with the guys?”
“No thanks babe, I want to save my appetite.”
“Where are you guys going to eat?
“Thick..I mean this chicken spot.”
I got him! Of course his sneaky ass would slip up and tell me where he’s really going. Damn. I didn’t know he still went there. I thought he would have at least switched spots. Isn’t he tired of seeing the same faces? Guess not. I can’t believe he would go back to the place I used to work at. I’m so embarrassed. Everyone knows me and him are married. No wonder when I saw Velvet in the store she gave me funny looks. Velvet still strips there and I heard she’s one of the most paid. She probably takes all of Derrick’s pay check for all I know.
“Sounds like fun,” I said trying not to make it obvious I heard what he really said.
“Yeah I’m about to take a quick shower then head out.”
And just like that, Derrick was in the shower playing his favorite music. Derrick had a routine. Whenever he was taking a shower, getting ready for a night out, he’d play slow, sex, baby makin’ music. Whenever he was in the car on his way to wherever he was going he would play trap music-you know that ghetto shit about selling dope or pimpin? In his head, he thought he was really one of those dudes who just sold his first kilo or something. Weird I know.
As he was getting dressed, I kept thinking about different ways I could bust his ass. I could go to the strip club, walk up on him, surprise his ass, and drag him by his big ass ears all the way to the car. How about if I follow him all the way there and once he gets out his car, I pop up on his ass? Or I can wait for him until he’s finished throwing our bill money at some stripper’s coochie and as soon as he makes it back to his car, I slap the stupid off. No, that’s too perfect. He would expect that from me. I had to get him back. Make him realize that what he’s doing is disrespectful to our marriage and downright irresponsible. But the question is, what can I do to get him back?
—
Derrick sat at the VIP table, which was located on the side of the stage, with two of his friends. Jason Jones, a twenty-nine-year-old contractor, and Dee, who only went by the name “Dee” and had money, but no “job.” All three are dressed like they are at a rapper’s video shoot rocking their best fits. They’re vibing, drinking, and checking out the ladies, well strippers and waitresses, that paraded around naked and half naked. The music is loud and money is being tossed around like salad.
“Damn it’s poppin’ up in here bro,” Jason said picking up a shot glass.
“Everyone looking extra thick tonight,” Dee said. “Ayo D, you straight bro?”
“Yeah I’m good,” Derrick said drinking his shot of alcohol and chasing it down quickly with juice.
“How’s everything with the Mrs.?”
“We’re good,” he began. “Just going through what couples go through you know?”
“Uh D?” Jason began. “You way past the couple stage bro.”
“Yeah man once you’ve seen her without makeup and her hair tied in a scarf or a durag, you officially in there.”
Derrick poured another shot and chugged it like a pro, or a “G” as the streets would say. The music was loud and the women were doing what they did best, but Derrick couldn’t get his wife out of his head. Yes, he and Chanel were way past the honeymoon, lovey dovey stage, but that wasn’t what was weighing heavy on his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about how he was spending his bill money to buy some weave for big booty vixens. If his wife found out, she would kill him, beat his ass, than kill him again. Work was stressful and selling those cars were tedious. Chanel always nagged at him for not working hard enough and bringing in more money, but he was doing the best he could. Coming to the strip club was therapeutic for him. For once he didn’t have to hear a nagging wife in his ear about how she needed this and needed that. He could sit back and enjoy his chocolate, vanilla, and mocha fantasies in peace. She wouldn’t find out. She couldn’t find out.
The music got lower and the sounds of the Dj quickly hit the microphone. The men went insane. They knew what time it was. Time to get the big bucks out. After amateur hour, it was time for the “premier girls” to make their way to the stage. Their name is self-explanatory. These are the girls who are first in rank, meaning they bring in the most money. Big smiles overcame Dee and Jason’s faces as they poured shots of liquor. Derrick took out the money he had stashed in his sock. His face was full of guilt.
“Coming to the stage is the one, the only, the thickest, ASS-entric,” the Dj yells in the microphone.
“I’m ready,” Jason said waving his money in the air.
And just like that, one by one, dancers entered and exited the stage. After their set, each dancer had a “helper” (a thirsty guy) to help them collect their earnings for the night. Where did they find these guys? Let’s just say what guy, who isn’t all that attractive, wouldn’t want to help a sexy ass stripper collect her money. They didn’t care all they got in return was a couple bucks and a hug. It was the closest they would get to these women, and they couldn’t be more satisfied.
It was time for “Freaky Fresh Fridays.” This was where the club would bring out a surprise guest dancer. Although some of the “surprise guests” were not that surprising. A forty-three-year-old math teacher and a stay at home mom who came out in diapers with a pacifier in her mouth wasn’t exactly what men were looking forward to spending their cash on. There were a few times when stay at home mom wanted to channel her inner freak or the occasional good girl turnt bad, but it was rare. Guests usually head to the bar for shots or take bathroom breaks. But this night was different.
“Fellas I suggest you grab those drinks and head back over to your seats because we’re in for a treat tonight,” the Dj said slurring his words. “A Thickums alumni is in the building and is ready to show her ass off tonight.”
Jason, Dee, and Derrick gave each other the “wow” look. They were regulars at Thickums and if any of the three couldn’t make the popular nights, one would be sure to report updates. For the past six months, they have made nearly every Monday, Friday, and Sunday nights. They had seen fights between security and guests. Fights between strippers and their audience. Fights between strippers and the audience’s wives and girlfriends. Yes, shit gets real. Apparently many women are offended by their husband’s habitual strip club visits. So whatever or whoever was going to come out on that stage, they were ready for it.
“Making her way to the stage is a friend and former waitress of Thickums,” the dj started. “Introducing Cha-nasty.”
“Damn bro,” Derrick said to Jason. “I call my wife Cha-nasty every time we…”
Before Derrick could tell Jason his wild sex-capades with his wife, Dee was taping him on his shoulder. Derrick turned to his friend-who was on the other side of him- and said “What” really loud. Dee had his finger pointed towards the stage. In an instant, Derrick’s mouth was so far open you could see the back of his tonsils.
—
I told you I was going to get his ass back. The look on his face is priceless. His wife of three years stood in front of him with the lingerie he bought for his eyes only. Now the sexy thong and bra set would be flaunted and gawked over the many men in the club. Payback is a bitch and well…I’m making it my bitch tonight. I was about to make this stage mine in a matter of seconds.
I slowly walked my way to the pole. I twirled around it a couple times trying to play it off that I wasn’t nervous as shit and my inner thighs were sweating. I took a couple pole dancing classes with friends, but I wasn’t a pro like the girls at Thickums. But fuck it. I wasn’t here for any of these fuckers except my sneaky ass husband. As I twirled around the pole a couple times and did a twerk or two, I couldn’t help but notice my husband’s face. His caramel skin oozed sweat from his forehead. He looked disgusted, embarrassed, and hurt at the same time. He tried to cover his face with a napkin, but his perverted friend snatched it and smiled pointing at me. It made me angry Derrick just sat there letting me dance in front of these horny men-so upset I started dancing even harder. I shook my ass so hard I could feel the fat of my butt on my back. I stared at Derrick right in his eyes. So focused on him, I barely noticed the money being thrown my way. Twenties and hundred dollar bills flew across my face. I couldn’t stop smiling.
Before I knew it, money was flooding the stage. For a second I completely forgot about my husband. I noticed his friends in the audience waving money and dancing. Derrick still did not say or do anything. He just sat there staring at me. Some husband I’ve got, right? If he wanted to play games, I got a match he isn’t ready for. I walked straight to Derrick and his friends feeling my body and licking my lips. Derrick stood up and folded his arms. I danced as hard as I could and the crowd loved it.
When my set was over, I had one of the security guards I got acquainted with before I hit the stage. He calmed me down when I was nervous and had a little dro to help. I went backstage and the hate was definitely real. A new-comer had come in and took over the club. What little money they made that night didn’t compare to what was in my bag.
After counting a thousand dollars-yes a thousand dollars-I paid the generous security fifty bucks and chatted with the club owner for a bit. Tommy, the owner of Thickums, said I was amazing and apparently the hornier those men got, the more drinks they bought so the bar made hella money. He wanted me to come back and make me a regular. This meant I would perform on the club’s popular nights. Damn is it possible for me to make this much money every night I perform? I would have enough money to pay bills and hit the mall a couple times a week. I told Tommy I would get back to him because I didn’t want to say no just yet, but I had to get home to my husband.
I pulled up to our house and to my surprise, Derrick’s car was in front. Whew! I was certain he was going to stay out all night after that. I fiddled in my purse to find my keys, dropping them two times before actually opening my front door. I guess I was more nervous than I thought. To my surprise, it was actually quiet when I walked in. I was sure Derrick would be cussing me out or my clothes would be thrown all over the house, but nothing.
I walked upstairs and into the room. I just knew I was about to walk in and see Derrick crying his eyes out on the bed, maybe even packing his clothes to stay at a hotel for the night, but no. He wasn’t crying at all. In fact, the only sound he was making was that pig noise he made when he was asleep. My so-called husband was fucking sleep.
Tune in next week to see what happens
Photo found on publicdomainfiles
