Santa's Vice

By Mark Verve © 2010

I immediately waved to the bouncer as a line had been crossed. He was busy watching the new Thai dancer. Studying her was more like it. Probably filling his RAM with skippy whipping material for later I thought. He saw me after the second or third wave. As expected he casually moved over in my direction. As a rule the VIP room bouncers are told to be discreet. Wouldn't want to disrupt the atmosphere by causing a commotion right? This bouncer had worked the room for the past three weeks. He looked like an MMA wanna be and had a snake tat crawling out of his collar towards his left ear. I met him in the middle of the room and shouted to be heard over the music: "That FREAK just exposed himself."

"OK, I'll handle it. Go back downstairs," he replied.

I started toward the stairs. I knew what handle it meant. He'll ask the customer if he'd like to invite another dancer to join him. Chances are she'll be more relaxed about his needs. I should have known it was too good to be true. I mean, thirty minutes into my shift on Christmas Eve and I get a VIP request? As I passed by the bar I noticed the guy dressed in a full Santa outfit. He'd been in the night before and said he enjoyed the dance I gave him. I laughed to myself and wondered where Mrs. Claus thought he was tonight. If this was his only vice the kids were safe. He motioned me over and I signaled that I'd be right back. I headed to the locker room to check my make up. The door swung open and Riley appeared.

"Back so soon?" she asked.

I gave her a one word reply: "Freak."

"Sorry baby," she said as she adjusted her tube top and headed back into the smoke and noise.

The locker room was full of the usual drama. Lost jewelry, lost clothing, crying, an argument in the corner...whatever. I tried to ignore it and moved quickly to the nearest mirror. Just as I'd thought, the Freak had had smudged my rouge when he cradled my face as I was straddling him.

"Stacy," he said with a Russian accent, "Are you the adventurous type?"

Adventurous seems to be the new code word for good to go. At the time I just laughed it off and hoped he had just stumbled upon the word. Nope, ten minutes later he shared his definition and I was back downstairs. I knew him as a regular with a taste for blondes. Why he picked me I'll probably never know.

The bright lights of the locker room reveal the shocking physical truths about dancers. Stretch marks, dark circles, surgery scars, regrettable tattoos, burns, cheese, bruises.....you name it we've got it. Customers only see us in the dimly lit rooms outside. In this case ignorance is bliss. I'm convinced a dark club turns any five into a nine and makes her profitable for the night. It reminded of the time I returned to the club in the late morning for a meeting. They were replacing some of the couches that line the walls. The old ones were in the alley when I arrived. The crushed red velor was torn, soiled, and stained with spilled drinks and god knows what other types of fluids. No one would ever consider sitting on them if they knew.

My day had started hours earlier with some last minute Christmas shopping with my friend Colleen. We'd met at the club and became quick friends. I was attracted to her kind heart and unaffected attitude. She's a red headed stunner with alabaster skin but seldom used her power. Sometimes it seemed she was truly unaware of it. She was most comfortable off duty as a tomboy. Customers loved her and enjoyed seeing two of her three pink parts. I fantasized about being with her but had never told her so. Probably never will. She was outwardly more feminine than I could ever be but I wanted her to be my butch. I arrived at her condo on the west side about noon. She had just finished a phone conversation with her latest boyfriend now turned loser and was upset. Colleen is unable to tell the difference between sex and love so she regularly fell victim to men that could. I tried to explain that she'd never have trouble finding sex but love was a completely different animal. She may never understand.

We made our way to the local mall and joined the masses. She calmed down on the way over and we decided to have a drink and quick lunch at Ricardo's. We sat on the rail in the patio area surrounded by mall traffic. It was great for people watching but we had to swat the flies that gathered. Red heads are like a beacon. I should have known better as this had happened before. They try to make a play despite the fly rings we both were wearing. It used to be funny but lately it was just an annoyance. Even the waitress seemed interested with a little too much small talk that turned personal.

Some of our conversation involved the club and the recent arrests of three dancers for lewd behavior. It seems that the local vice squad had sent undercover cops to harass us again.

"I heard that they took Cheyenne out two nights ago," said Colleen. "Sky said she was crying hysterically and almost had to be carried out of the office."

I could not get a third citation as that would mean a mandatory ninety day suspension not to mention the fine. With a kid and a mortgage it would be a disaster. I'd gotten two warning citations six months ago for no reason but fighting them was nearly impossible. It was their word against mine.

"Just be real careful with contact and play it straight for a while," I said.

Easier said than done it thought. We agreed to have breakfast after our shifts that night.

After finishing my makeup I returned to the bar area and walked up to Santa. He greeted me with a reserved smile. I suggested we move to a booth and he agreed bringing his Evian with him. He wasn't much for small talk and asked for a lap dance. We sat in awkward silence for a minute until a new song started. He didn't get touchy or ask me to sit next to him while we waited. He just sat there with his hands folded in his lap. Everything was just like last night. When the music started I moved in front of him and took off my top. He never stopped looking into my eyes. I moved to straddle him and just then my left heel strap broke. I almost fell into his lap but held myself up. I felt the inside of my right breast brush his fake beard and nose. It felt like stiff cotton candy. He didn't react at all....not even a flinch. I laughed nervously, took off my other shoe and continued. When the song finished he paid me and I left to make repairs.

Back in the locker room I was putting on my back up heels when I saw Samantha approaching out of the corner of my eye. She's the House Mother for the club. A kind of counselor, friend, and know-it-all for the dancers. Got a problem or an issue? Ask Sam. Need your thong repaired or forget a tampon? Sam's the one. I try to steer clear except when I tip her out. She loves drama and is more trouble than she's worth.

"Stacy, Turk wants to see you in his office." She almost said it with glee in her voice.

"What about?" I asked. "Didn't say, just that he wants to see you now."

Emphasis on now. I went to my locker and got out my red jacket. It was as business like as I could look in my school girl outfit.

Turk's office is on the other side of the club by the liquor storage room. The cheap bastard likes to keep an eye on that door. He's a smarmy chubby thirty-something with the beginnings of a comb over. I think of him as George Costanza with an bad attitude. I'd been in there twice before. Once when I was hired and again a week later when he called me in to discuss my "future" at the club. He'd picked up on my vibe that I knew the score and laid off. Girls that don't know any better probably fall for that ruse when Turk makes his play. I'm sure he gets several a month with that tired bullshit.

When I entered the room there were two uniforms standing in front of Turk's desk. Turk looked at me and then the floor. The female told me their names and explained that they were doing a lewdness investigation. Lewdness? I couldn't believe it. I started to panic inside as a suspension would be a disaster. There must be a mistake. I had only given one dance in the main room since I'd arrived. I doubted that the Russian would have reported anything and besides nothing happened up there. That left Santa. Other than my heel strap breaking nothing had happened there either.

"What's the problem?"

"We have a witness that claims lewd contact during a lap dance," she explained.

"But I've only given one dance tonight and that was for the guy in the Santa suit," I protested.

The female cop seemed sympathetic. She looked up from her paperwork and said, "Sorry honey, Santa's vice."


Mark Verve lives in Las Vegas, Nevada and writes for relaxation. He trades the stock markets for a living and plays poker for aggravation.