Excerpt from Daddy?!:
Hey, how are you? I’m Samantha, or Sam, if you like. My mother says when I was a girl, I used to insist that I was a boy and that everyone should call me Sam. I got the impression as I was growing up that she was worried I was going to turn out to be a lesbian or a transgender person or something like that. I think she was ‘relieved’ when I turned out to be a tall, sexy, confident young woman, with a healthy appetite in men. But given what has happened recently, maybe she might wish I was a lesbian after all. She would certainly have less to worry about!
But I’ll get into that soon. As it happens, I do remember being kind of boyish. But that changed, almost overnight, about the age of 15, when I looked in the mirror and saw a gorgeous young woman staring back at me. It was quite a revelation. I mean, I’d always assumed I was ugly – that’s what our society gets young girls thinking – if you’re not a princess, you’re ugly. I knew I wasn’t a princess because I liked baseball and rude jokes and climbing trees.
Yet when I looked in that mirror, I realized that, actually, I was pretty. More than pretty. I was hot. I had options. And I didn’t waste any time exploring them.
I kind of went off the rails at that time. I had boyfriends, I went to parties, I tried drugs; nothing heavy, and they didn’t stick, fortunately. I had a fantastic time. I also blew any chance I had of going to college. So at the age of eighteen, my mom had that conversation with me: the one about getting a job. I preferred that one to the conversation about finding a good husband or the talk that ended with her recommending I start acting more ‘ladylike’ whatever the fuck that was.
So I did what she asked. I got a job. I got a job as a stripper at Angels, a club in the city. I told her I was a waitress, which she thought was bad enough. I remember her look, when I told her I was waitressing. For about the one-thousandth time in my life, she gave me that disappointed look. It was that look, more than anything else, that made me determined to see the job through.
Next evening I caught a cab into the city and my career as a stripper began. If I had been the good little girl my mom wanted me to be, I would have been shocked at what I saw there. It was kind of strange to see so many men cheering and lusting after half-naked women, but the way I rationalized things, it wasn’t so different from a normal night out, only this time the desperate men had to pay a lot more for the privilege of spending time with us.
The money was good too, even if the hours were a bit crazy. On a few Sundays I was just getting back to our house, walking in half-asleep, wearing a long jacket and not much else, just as my mom was heading out to church. I was usually too tired to listen to her lectures, and just crashed on my bed. I wasn’t worried that she would find out. For one thing, my mom kept herself to herself. We didn’t have a wide circle of family or friends. And for another, I wore a wig, a red one, while I was dancing, and went by the name of Cassie.
The dancing was easy. I mean, I’ve been dancing and performing since I was young: ballet, tap dancing, cheerleading. Once I got past the initial nerves, I felt free and natural up on stage, and I picked up some tips from the other girls. I was only a stage dancer to begin with. Roxie, who ran the club, asked me several times if I was ready to do private dances, but I always said no. That was where the real money was made though, so eventually I gave in.
I wasn’t planning to, but I had just come off stage, when Helen grabbed me and told me that some guy wanted a private dance. I told her I was too tired, but then she said he had been pretty insistent, and that he was kind of cute for an older guy.
An older guy. Older guys are my weakness. I have never been with an older guy, in fact, for all my partying, I’m still kind of inexperienced and one of the reasons is I’ve yet to find the right guy. That right guy is probably in his fifties, fit, tanned, looks after himself, and maybe has a touch of grey in his hair, but a big smile, and a strong body. He is wise, and kind, and tough. And for the first time in my life, I had finally met someone who fitted exactly that description.
Helen pointed him out to me as we peeped round the stage door. I almost melted right there. I could feel my whole body tingling as I looked at him.
“Okay. Yes. Yes, I’ll do it,” I said
“Great,” said Helen. “Go tell him.”
I looked at her desperately, and she smiled, tapped me on the shoulder and told me that I looked hot and there was nothing to worry about.
That’s not how I felt as I stepped out of the door and headed over to him. Putting on my sweetest smile, I tried not to show how nervous I was.
“Would…would you like a private dance?”
He smiled back, a wide, generous, wonderful smile and I nearly melted all over again.
“Sure. I would be delighted,” he replied, in a gravely, sexy voice. Still a little shaky, I led the way to the private booths. I was wearing a little plaid skirt and a white crop top and I could sense him checking out my ass as I walked, but that didn’t gross me out. In fact it turned me on a hell of a lot, so much so that I gave an extra little wiggle as I walked, just for him.
He took a seat and loosened his tie as I closed the door behind us. The booth was kind of small, but it was big enough for me to perform in, and the intimacy was kind of hot.
“What’s your name?” he asked
“Cassie,” I replied, starting to sway to the music.
“Why don’t you show me your real hair, Cassie,” he said. I hesitated and then I thought, hell, why not. So I took off my red wig and shook out my blonde hair.
“Stunning!” he said, then smiled. I smiled back and the chemistry between us was instant. I put on my very best show for him. I started by stripping slowly, untying my cropped top, slipping out of my skirt, all the time turning, showing him every part of me. I could tell that he was getting into it, his lips were slightly parted, and he was clearly getting stiff. Throwing off my top I lifted up my leg and planted my foot on the arm of his chair. Then I straddled him, feeling his bulge against me. I was so close, he must have felt my heat, my dampness. If he’d grabbed me right then I would have let him fuck me. But he didn’t of course, he was a perfect gentleman.
Later I asked the other girls if it was normal to get turned on doing a private dance, at least, the first time. Helen laughed and Donna said that had never, ever happened. That didn’t help. I wandered out of the club and into my bed that night as though I had met the man I was meant to be with and fallen in love. It was foolish, I kept telling myself, but I couldn’t help it.
The man showed up three more times. Every dance I did for him was as hot as the last one. The third time we were practically fucking in his lap. The dance overran by ten minutes and I was so lost in it that I didn’t realize until security started banging on the door, asking if I was okay.
I finished early that night and wandered home in a daze. I knew how I was feeling was crazy. I mean, I didn’t even know his name. But I was lost in love or lust or passion; I didn’t know what to call it, all I knew was that I wanted him, wanted him more than anyone.