It was a paradox. Jersey didn’t hate her job, but she looked forward to a life beyond taking her clothes off for the enjoyment of strangers. At the same time, the money was good and a fair chunk of it financed her tattoos, which patrons couldn’t get enough of.

Standing at five feet, seven inches and weighing just over a hundred and twenty-five pounds, she was running out of space to ink. Sure, her face hadn’t been touched, but she’d keep it that way. She had her limits.

 

The Topaz Gentlemen’s Lounge was a decent place to work. In fact, it was one of the most respectable and elegant nude clubs in Las Vegas, sacrificing some dancing space for a steakhouse customers could patronize when not taking in the female form. While plenty of looking and touching was allowed, management showed no tolerance for anyone who slipped over the line. A few creeps had tried to get more and Jersey only had to whimper for a bouncer to take care of it. One man now sat in the High Desert State Prison for trying to put his fingers inside her. Matt, Jersey’s favorite bouncer, had tuned him up a bit while the club’s owner let her give a statement to the police in his office. As far as performing, undressing, and giving lap dances went, it could be worse … a lot worse.

 

* * *

 

“Got a special request,” a waitress reported as Jersey came off stage, her sarong, seashell bra, G-string, and tips in her hand. “Guy looks like a high-roller. Might be an athlete.”

 

She made a subtle gesture towards a table near the stage, where half a dozen men were sitting.

 

“Which one?” Jersey queried.

 

“The one with the shaved head,” the waitress replied.

 

Jersey saw him. He was tall and muscular, though still lean. The club’s lighting made it impossible to recognize any further distinguishing features. The table’s position so close to the stage made it clear he or one of his friends had money. You had to pay a lot for such an unobstructed view of the dancers.

 

“He already bought you your first drink,” the waitress added.

 

That did sweeten the deal.

 

“Tell him I’ll be right over,” Jersey replied. “I just want to freshen up. And get me a Bay Breeze.”

 

With that, the terms of the encounter were finalized and final touches would be completed within minutes.

 

Jersey had practiced walking naked in high heels for three weeks in her apartment before feeling comfortable doing so on a stage in front of gawking strangers. Now, people noticed her struts for all the right reasons.

 

The tall, muscular man with the shaved head noticed her when she was six feet from the table. His friends followed suit, their eyes starting at her brunette hair with golden highlights to her pink, strappy, heeled sandals. Jersey was sure he was the leader and he had the money. Now getting a closer look, Jersey also realized who he was.

 

Garner Wallace was a center for the Denver Nuggets. Jersey had never met him before, but that didn’t mean anything. It didn’t really mean anything now either, except for her having a topic for a new blog entry.

 

Another reason to work at The Topaz Gentlemen’s Lounge was the high-class clientele. Not only were people inclined to behave in order to keep things discreet, the tips could be excellent on a slow day. Having entertained her fair share of athletes, Jersey knew one of the most popular NBA players in the country was considered “only slightly above average” in a place like this. She’d also danced for actors, CEOs, politicians, and all the relations therein. She definitely could write a book someday … maybe she would. People seemed to Like Jersey’s World … maybe that could be the title.

 

“Hey there,” she said to this VIP, employing her best sultry tone.

 

Garner Wallace smiled and waved towards the empty seat next to him.

 

“We like what you do up there,” he said. “Please, get off your feet for a while.”

 

Though she would never admit it to a patron, Jersey’s legs and feet were sore. Dancing for even a three-minute song while disrobing would accomplish that. Alongside many other skills related to undressing, she’d mastered the art of not revealing her discomfort. She slid onto the seat as though her limbs didn’t sigh in relief as soon as she took her weight off them.

 

“You gentlemen having a good time?” she asked, crossing her long, bare legs to draw attention to the new rose tattoo on her thigh.

 

Their attention was definitely on her. Six pairs of eyes roamed up and down her body, recording her athletic figure for posterity while admiring the art across her physique. Jersey had lightly-tanned skin and her tattoos contrasted well against this canvas, further enticing people who looked at her.

 

Some in this group had moved so Jersey was now surrounded. She remained relaxed. None of these men would dare to try anything here. Even if they weren’t top NBA players, or even basketball players themselves, they wouldn’t try anything, they still had plenty to lose based on whom they were accompanying. They wouldn’t want the publicity of an arrest for misconduct at a strip club. Garner Wallace had already endured a nasty and expensive divorce after his affair with the gymnast. Rumors suggested his more recent relationship with a Hollywood starlet were getting serious and he was trying to move to the Clippers. He had a lot to lose if he or his friends got fresh.

 

“You look familiar,” Jersey said to the basketball star as the waitress came with her Bay Breeze. “I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

 

Predictably, the basketball player grinned as she pressed the tip of her finger against the center of her pouted lip, making a show of trying to remember this vital information.

 

* * *

 

Sitting in front of the mirror in the dressing room, Jersey cleaned the makeup off her face and pulled off the brunette Whig. Her long, honey-colored hair tumbled down over her shoulders, now covered by an olive-green t-shirt. She grabbed a brush and began straightening out her natural tresses.

 

Her name was Paige Miller. She’d graduated from the University of Nevada in Reno the previous year with her Master’s in Journalism. She’d started as a waitress at a club up there three years ago and gained the confidence to begin stripping six months later. While she was still looking for a profession in her chosen field, she received an offer to relocate to Las Vegas and perform at The Topaz Gentlemen’s Lounge for a guarantee of triple the earnings in exchange for being completely naked … except for her shoes, if she so chose to keep those on. So far, the club had come through. Though Paige’s apartment was small, non-descript, and sparsely furnished, her student loan debt was dropping faster than she could have ever envisioned. She probably couldn’t have afforded all her tattoos back in Reno. The tips definitely grew even more once those began making their appearance.

 

When pressed to do so, Paige described her body art as “tasteful.” Her skin was indeed a canvas and it was her duty to direct the paintbrush. Everything she selected to be put on her was carefully researched. When she’d requested the phrase “It’s Better to Make Slow Progress Than No Progress at All” to be applied to her shin in Chinese characters, she surprised her tattoo artist with an exact translation of the proverb. She sometimes still wondered what he might have planned to put there as a form of personal amusement.

 

Most of the tattoos were now hidden by her slacks and top. The river running down her right forearm and the images of autumn leaves and colorful balloons on her left arm were still there for all to see. When she finally began working in an office, she’d be wearing the appropriate attire to hide the majority of her emblems. No one would be able to make a stink about them.

 

Paige was proud of her art. Any man she’d consider having a serious relationship with would need to appreciate this as well. As she grabbed her purse, she considered what else could still fit. Maybe a hummingbird on her hip. She might be running out of space, but she wasn’t short on ideas.

 

* * *

 

Paige did not adhere to a strict diet to keep the slim figure the patrons adored. Instead, she made reasonable food choices and supplemented these with plenty of hours at the gym … too bad The Los Vegas Athletic Club didn’t have some kind of mileage rewards program.

 

It was 3:00 in the morning and dinner was Italian Wedding Soup by Progresso. Paige slid the bowl into the microwave and opened her laptop while the appliance handled the meal preparations. She called up Jersey’s World and entered her admin. credentials. Out of curiosity, she checked the hit counter. But the blog had been holding steady at just over two-hundred-thousand daily hits for the past seven months. Today, no surprise, was consistent. The cover photo of her tattooed torso, with her forearm serving as a tasteful drape over her breasts, was sure to still have something to do with that. Smiling, Paige opened a textbox for a new blog entry and began typing …

 

 

Hello Beautiful Readers,

 

Another fine day on stage. Spent time with an NBA player today but can’t tell you whom. Want to keep this good thing going. You’ll have to use your imagination. ð???

 

Still thinking about a new tattoo. A humming bird is the current contender, but your suggestions are welcome. Use that comments section.

 

Until later. TTFN - Jersey

 

 

Her blog posts were not long, but they got the attention she desired. People learned about what she was willing to do and flocked to the Topaz Gentlemen’s Lounge. With procedures in place to weed out the super-weirdos, the club didn’t mind the publicity, provided she never disclosed actual identifying information about their VIP patrons. And, of course, photos always helped. Grinning, Paige turned her attention to her soup. A quick dinner, followed by a long, hot shower, and she was off to bed.