by RosesAtSunset on December 06, 2016
Her real name was Charm. Most people who knew her real name wondered why she bothered with a stage name. But she preferred to be called Charisma. It had more character than most stripper names and no matter how many people made fun of her real name, she couldn't bear to change it or use it for her work. Her mother had given her the name and she wouldn't let it be sullied by her life choices.
Her face was okay looking, framed with long, straw-coloured hair and centered with dark brown eyes. Nobody cared about her eyes though. Her body seemed to keep people's gaze below her neck. Most men spoke only to her chest. She supposed it was fair since she spoke only to their wallets. She had filled out at 13 and had always had some kind of boyfriend taking care of her and buying her whatever she needed. She had only started stripping recently when the last guy she moved in with had gotten violent with her after a night of drinking. She figured, at 25, she needed to make some of her own money, at least to buy a house of her own. She'd dropped out of school at 16 so her career options were dismal. Her car was still paid for by Beau, a long-standing casual lover. He liked to call her Charmaine, but other than that he was alright.
He was supposed to pick her up tonight, but so far she had stood shivering outside in her tight yellow tube dress for about half an hour. She could go inside and wait but Donny would try to make her work a couple more dances. "Come on, sweetheart, you didn't even break a sweat. Just one more dance for the nice man, be a doll." And so on and so forth.
A gleaming red mercedes, a newer kind, pulled up in front of the club and stopped in front of her. She immediately walked over to the door and opened it, not bothering to try to peer through the tinted glass. She started to complain about his lateness as she slid into the cream-coloured leather seats, but she stopped short when she noticed the handsome man with xray blue eyes and dark hair gazing at her with an amused expression on his face.
"You're not Beau," was all she could say to break the silence.
"A harsh thing to say to a Frenchman," he smiled. "But I'm sure I can change your mind," he said as he merged back into the busy traffic of the main street.
She could have stopped him, or even jumped out of the car at that point. But there was a deep curiousity that kept her from stopping the progressing events. She buckled her seatbelt and stared at him, but he looked only at the road ahead with a confident grin.
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