Racks (3) – or My Stint as a Michgian Stripper


An electric blue thong is wadded up near the sink, near the powdery eye shadows and tubes of lipstick.  A cigarette burns in a tin tray, but no one is here to claim it.  The ash grows long and slender, the paper near the filter browning and fading.  Mandy smashes it out.

“God damn it, Destiny! She’s gonna burn this place down!” Mandy stomps around and throws me a pair of shiny shorts and a black bra.  She pulls out a black studded thong from her purse.  “They are called T-bars, and this one is clean.  Don’t look at me like that.  Put it on.”

I hold the panties in my hand, unsure of where or how to situate them on my body.  They look like a wad of string, skinny and shiny.  I peek around the corner, trying to find some privacy so I can experiment with the thong.

Mandy laughs this annoying laugh, a mature laugh that says how trite and juvenile I am.  “Jesus.  Just flop off your clothes here.  Back there is Destiny’s room.  She might not be the favorite anymore, but you still don’t want to piss her off.” Mandy whips off her top, bearing her small, perfect breasts. She walks out onto the stage.

I see her through the doorway, watch her strut topless past the deer head, past the pole that isn’t really a stripper pole but a crude metal support beam covered in flecks of glitter and pink paint. She shifts her weight from one leg to the other, her heels clicking on the mustard colored linoleum that looks like my grandma’s kitchen floor. She languidly struts over to the bar and leans towards the bartender, a stout and balding man.  Her back is arched, and I can count all her vertebrae that fall like little studs in a perfect line down the center of her back. Her breasts scarcely grace the bar, and she throws her head back weirdly when she laughs. She gestures towards the deer head, towards me.  The stout man nods.

Mandy runs back, breasts bouncing. “You dressed yet?  You gotta get out there!  Red is waiting,” she says pointing to the bartender.  I look at her mouth, all painted and puckered like a little doll.  It doesn’t fit with the rest of her body, smooth and long and naked.  She pulls at the tiny buttons on my shirt.


2 Responses to “Racks (3) – or My Stint as a Michgian Stripper”

  1. Your writing is absolutely stellar. Even a subject that wouldn’t normally grab my interest has been made addictive with your clear writing and perfect descriptions. Great work!

    • Thanks for the awesome feedback. I wasn’t sure if I was going to post this piece, primarily because I wasn’t sure how it would go over. I’m glad I took the risk.

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