“Alright, I guess I’ll just go home,” I said.

“Trust me. I know what I’m talking about. If you stick around and beat a dead horse, it’ll fuck with your head, and then you’ll never make money here again. It will curse this place!” she said.

“Alright! Alright!” I replied. “I’m going.” I started walking away.

“Call me later, let me know you’re alright?” she called after me.

“Well, what if I’m not alright?” I said.

“Well, call me anyways.” She blew me a kiss, then she perked up her breasts and walked away.

I left the strip club feeling like a boxer who’d just lost a match. I gathered my things and walked through Times Square toward the subway, sweating profusely from the humidity. I certainly didn’t deserve a Lyft, and I didn’t even deserve a yellow cab today. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I deserved the subway. Perhaps I should just walk forty blocks, eight avenues, and over a bridge to suffer for being a failed stripper today.

I’d flunked a math course in college, and at the time I’d found that quite humorous. I’d also failed my driving test three times when I went to get my license, and I’d thought that was hysterical. But there was nothing funny about today. There was no silver glitter lining on this stripper cloud, and it made it worse that I couldn’t go home and vent about it, because no one knew about this aspect of my life.

Perhaps today should be the day I told Rob the truth. I wondered if there was a way I could fast forward this confession, and say, “Hi, I’m a stripper. I have been for a few months now. I like it . . . usually . . . but today was a bad day. Now, please give me a massage and maybe some slow and sensual oral sex and make me feel better.”

I sat on the subway and watched my fellow passengers, who were bopping along to music on their headphones, reading on their Kindles, or casually engaging in small talk. All I could think was, no one else on this train failed as a stripper today. I mean, I didn’t think anyone on this train was a stripper at all, but it was safe to say that if anyone was, they probably didn’t fail at it. My parents would have considered me a failure if they knew I was a stripper, but what would they have said if they knew I’d failed at being a failure?

My emotions were all over the place. Between the hangover, the rejection from strangers who stared at my ass, this up and down rollercoaster with Rob, the lying, and a bizarre little side crush on Melody, I felt like I just wanted to melt into a puddle of sequins and body spray.

I got off the train and walked to my apartment. Regardless of the financial logistics, I was happy that Rob would be there when I got back. I could use some familiarity, some affection, and . . . some Gatorade. While Rob never offered to pay for much, he always went and got Gatorade for me at the bodega across the street when I was hungover. Which, lately, was just about every day.

I walked into my apartment and . . . Rob was in his boxers playing Xbox with the other guys I didn’t know. The other guys were thankfully not in boxers. This situation was somehow more offensive, and more confusing, than me walking in on him with another girl. One guy was lanky and pale white, wearing bootcut pants and rocking a shaggy blond haircut. He seemed like he came straight out of the ’70s. The other guy was extremely attractive, with black and gray tattoos that looked subtle against his dark complexion, including tattoos on his neck and hands. He had a gray skull cap on and a red and gray T-shirt, baggy pants, and some impeccably shiny and clean silver Air Jordans with a gold chain dangling from the laces. It seemed silly to wear such expensive shoes inside my railroad apartment just to sit on a couch next to a guy with no pants.

“Hello?” I said. The three of them hadn’t noticed when I walked inside. They were in a heated argument about what kind of potions and plants to get in some virtual bodega. In the past month, I’d learned to occasionally enjoy indulging in the Xbox. I will admit, I sometimes found pleasure in pretending to be a sexy samurai swords-woman, running through fields and slashing people’s heads off. I loathed this particular game, which never seemed to have a beginning or end, just a whole lot of walking around as an anthropomorphic lizard person collecting weird items for a battle that never seemed to happen.

I was still completely invisible. I’d spent the morning being ignored by men while I was naked, and now I was being ignored in my own apartment, wearing clothes. I was starting to doubt my own physical existence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was likely about one minute, Rob acknowledged me.

“Oh, hey babe! What are you doing home?” he said. Did I really need to answer that question? Did I need to explain why I was in my own damn apartment?

“I . . . left work early.” I wasn’t lying. I still technically hadn’t really lied to him since that first morning—I’d just left out a whole lot of information. The two other guys on the couch gave me a half-smile, half-wave kinda thing. I will admit, while I wasn’t entirely pleased with strangers making themselves comfortable on my couch, they were handsome strangers. So I supposed it could have been worse. In the club, dancing would boost my serotonin levels so high, I could be attracted to anyone. But at the moment, I found myself incredibly attracted to these men who were definitely more excited about a virtual ogre speaking in talk bubbles than they were about me. I forgot that I actually do have a type. And all three men on this couch were it.

“This is Sean, and this is Digger,” Rob said, pointing at each of them respectively. Digger was the shaggy blond one, and Sean was the guy in the skull cap with the tattoos. Ah. I knew these names—they were the other guys in his band. Sean was the singer, Digger was the drummer. There was another guy in the band (a guitar player named Jackson), but I guess he didn’t hear about this gathering on my couch, or maybe he was coming later.

“It’s nice to meet you guys!” I said. They both smiled back at me and said hello. I was still standing by my door, like I was waiting for a proper invitation to my own couch. I took my bag of makeup, heels, and sparkly clothing off my shoulder and threw it underneath my kitchen table . . . as if that was a way to hide my evidence.

“We just finished up a little band meeting. We had to go over some stuff for the tour!” he said, with such confidence. He definitely wanted me to be proud about the fact that today he got up before noon and, um, “went to a meeting,” I guess. I wondered if the other band members cared that he didn’t bother to put pants on for the meeting. Or was it just an understood rule that whoever’s house the meeting is at doesn’t have to wear any pants? Not that this was his house. But that’s beside the point.

“I’m about to slay this fucking dragon, babe! Come sit down, you gotta see this!” I had no desire to watch him slay a dragon, and I also knew that with this goddamn boring game, he wasn’t going to be slaying any dragons, or any anything at all, anytime soon.

It was apparent that today I was not going to get a massage, oral sex, or even a Gatorade. I barely got an invitation to sit on my own couch. I was sweaty, dehydrated, and defeated. And I felt like the shower was the most sensical place to solve the bulk of these issues.

“I’m gonna shower. Save some dragon slaying for me after I freshen up.”

“Alright!” he said, grinning. He shifted his position on the couch, and I could see his balls spill out from his boxers as he took a giant bong hit. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to put them in my mouth. He sucked the smoke out of that bong the same way he sucked on my clit, with so much force and determination to get every ounce of goodness into his mouth. That stupid lucky bong was getting all the attention.

I walked in the opposite direction of the “meeting” on my couch, through my kitchen, and into my bathroom (yes, my bathroom was off the kitchen). I closed the door. Today I wore a green checkered summer romper, which I peeled off my body. I stood in my bathroom naked, scrutinizing myself. My legs and arms had developed some new muscles I’d never noticed. My stomach was by no means a six-pack but it was like . . . a one-pack. I felt taller—walking around in high heels and being forced to thrust my small chest out all the time had retrained me to have great posture. I wondered whether my mother would be proud—she always used to yell at me for slouching. Perhaps that would be a good way for me to justify my stripping job to her if I ever decided to tell her. People always seem to villainize stripping as some sort of last resort job, taken only when times are desperate, but I could simply explain that it was the only option I had to improve my posture.

I stepped into my shower. It was mildly glamorous for a Brooklyn apartment. I think the landlord at some point attempted to remodel the shower, but stopped and gave up halfway through. The tiles on the wall were an ugly shade of brown, and several of them were missing. However, the shower had a sleek brass nozzle, AND a removable shower attachment, to boot. The tub was porcelain white, and I guess compared to the tile, it looked pretty modern. Any appliance in a New York apartment that worked and was purchased after 1940 can be classified as “modern” on Craigslist.

I turned the water temperature up. Even on a really hot day, I loved a good hot shower. I took a tube of Tahitian vanilla-scented liquid soap I’d stolen from the fancy hotel Rob and I stayed at. The smell alone transported me from my railroad apartment to an exotic beach. I squeezed the soap all over my body, and I let the liquid run all over my skin. It was creamy white, like the texture of jizz, but a vanilla-scented jizz. I rubbed the soap all over my nipples and down my new and exciting one-pack stomach. The soap suds dripped down my pussy, and I loved the visual of the thick cream running all over my lips. It looked dirty, but in a good way. I never used to get excited by the sight of my own body, but now I was so much more in tune with it.

Sitting with all the guys in their lap dances who unabashedly told me their sexual fantasies, ranging from unique and kinky to straight-up disturbing and illegal, had really helped me unleash my own. Much like these guys in the club, I didn’t get to act on most of these fantasies, but hearing them be so forward about them had unlocked a part of me. And while I didn’t have anyone to sit and listen to the details of my fantasies (unless they were specifically about Rob, then they would get transcribed into text messages to him), the fantasies were now at least free to roam around my brain and get me excited. I had a little Rolodex of filthy images in my brain that helped me get aroused during lap dances . . . and sometimes made subway rides a little more exciting.

Right now, a new one came into my brain, inspired by the Tahitian jizz running down my thighs. I re-enacted a much filthier version of the terribly mundane situation that had just occurred in my living room. In my fantasy, I walked in the door and told Rob that I had a really bad day, and he told me that to cheer me up, he was going to gangbang me with his other bandmates. In this version of the story, none of them had pants on, and there was certainly no Xbox. In this version of the story, I walked straight to the couch, and the three of them tore off my romper and had their way with me.

Rob threw me down and licked my pussy, while the other two guys stood beside me with their giant cocks near my face, and I stroked them with my hands. Rob took a break from licking and aggressively grabbed onto my clit. “See guys, that’s her clit. When you get in there, just run on it like this, and she’ll go crazy.”

It was so kind of him to show his bandmates the way around my pussy. I stroked the bandmates’ cocks, one in each hand. They were so hard, and I could see the vulnerability in their faces, the same way I saw it in the guys I gave lap dances to. Only here they didn’t have to keep their hands behind their backs or their cocks inside of their pants. Rob lifted my legs up and inched his cock into my pussy slowly.

I slid my fingers inside of myself, thinking of his cock sliding inside me, while the guy who went by Digger started fucking my face. Sean assisted by rubbing my clit, just as Rob had instructed him to do.

My fantasy went to a place I didn’t expect it to. Rob pulled his cock out of my pussy, and then Sean took Rob’s thick cock and put it in HIS mouth. Sean put his hands behind his back and grunted with pleasure as he eased Rob’s cock down his throat. I sat there mesmerized by this sandwich of sexual testosterone that I wanted to bite into. Their connection was so carnal—the image of these two stallions eagerly feeding each other made me want to sacrifice my body to them in some very dangerous ways. Rob rolled his eyes into the back of his head and curled his lip as his cock was swallowed. Sean sucked Rob’s cock better than I did, I had to admit. They had spent a significant amount of time together on the road, so it made sense.

Panting from Sean’s blow job, Rob eventually stepped aside, and gave Sean a nod. Sean got in between my legs. He slid his length inside me, while making out with Rob and stroking Rob’s cock. Digger was still fucking my face, and my saliva was running all the way down my body. “Come on, fuck her,” Rob instructed, and Sean thrust himself deeper inside of me. I felt like a guest of honor in this house of gorgeous men.

Digger took his dick out of my mouth, and then he pushed Sean aside, interrupting him mid-stroke. Digger picked me up and put me on all fours on my couch. Then he slid in behind me and pounded me, doggy-style. He slapped my ass. Rob was standing next to me getting his dick sucked by Sean, and I could hear him groaning over the sound of Digger’s body slapping against my pussy.

Sean took Rob’s dick out of his mouth and got on all fours on the other end of the couch, where Rob started fucking his ass. It was a doggy-style fucking party, all on my couch, and in this fantasy, my couch was a lot bigger and could actually hold two different sets of people fucking at the same time. Rob kept pushing himself into Sean, and I kept getting railed by Digger, as his shaggy blond hair shook back and forth. Rob pulled his dick out of Sean’s ass, who was groaning and moaning with pleasure, and he stuck it in my mouth. I could taste Sean in my mouth, along with the delightful taste of Rob’s cock. I could also taste drops of pre-cum dripping out of Rob’s cock, and felt spoiled by the snack. It was like an appetizer of jizz before my giant entrée to come later.

Rob pulled me forward so that I slid off of Digger’s cock, and he lay down on the couch. He told me to sit on his dick. He pulled me toward his muscular chest and whispered in my ear, “Be a good whore for me,” and instantly I gushed all over his cock.

At this point, in reality, I was sitting down in my tub, using my removable shower nozzle, hitting my clit with the scalding hot water, with my pussy gyrating in the water as hard as it could. My body was still covered in sudsy soap, and my hair was dripping down my face. I was pinching my nipples and shoving my fingers down my own throat. I guess I was . . . gangbanging myself in whatever way I possibly could.

In my fantasy, as I lay against Rob’s lithe chest, I felt the head of his dick searching for my entrance, finally finding it and slipping in easily to the base. Digger then crawled up behind me and slid into my asshole, while Rob was still inside of my pussy. Sean, wanting in on the action, went around and dipped his cock into my parted mouth. I was air-tight with cock. Every opening filled. All the men were looking at each other, but also all focused on me. It was a fantasy, so anything was possible. I was being double-penetrated, cocks were stretching open all my holes. I was sliding back and forth on the two cocks, trying to soak in all the sensation. Digger pulled out of my ass, and Sean and he switched places. Rob stayed deep inside my pussy, pounding away as his bandmates took turns in my ass. It was like my pussy belonged to him, but my mouth and ass were up for grabs. It was romantic, and I liked it.

My pussy pulsated, in both reality and fantasy. The stream of water was pressed hard against my insides, and I stuck a finger in my ass. This was actually the first time I’d stuck anything in my ass while masturbating, but it was also my first time in a bisexual gangbang. Although, since that was only happening in my brain, I wasn’t sure if that counted.

As the tension built, and the fantasy cocks pushed harder into every hole, I started cumming. I felt such a strong release inside of me—my pelvis was arched out, fucking the air and the water, while my finger remained in my ass. I was soaking wet with my own orgasm, the shower water, and the milky white soap.

In my fantasy, I came so hard on the two cocks inside of me. As the first wave of orgasm peaked, I crawled off of Rob, got on my knees, and watched as Rob jerked off Sean, Sean jerked off Digger, and Digger jerked off Rob. I was inside a circle jerk, as they all got each other to the point of completion. And then, I was showered in all of their loads, at the exact same time. I would imagine if this actually ever happened (which it never would), the guys wouldn’t be able to coordinate quite that well, but since this was my fantasy, perfectly synchronized jizz was completely possible.

I was covered in their cum, aka the white, scented soap. They all patted me on the head and told me I was a good slut. I lay in my “modern” tub, with my body feeling like goo. I’d successfully masturbated away my hangover and my anger, and I felt re-energized and revitalized. I washed the soap off and grabbed a towel, which felt decadently soft against my sensitive skin.

I left the bathroom and walked back to my living room, freshly showered and wearing only my towel. Just as I suspected, Rob, Digger, and Sean were deliberating over which weapon to trade in as Rob’s anthropomorphic lizard character argued with the town elf. There wasn’t going to be any dragon slaying, and there also wasn’t going to be a gangbang, so there wasn’t much for me to stick around for. I walked past the couch and continued into my bedroom, deciding the best thing to do right then was to sink into my IKEA bed frame and take a nap.

To go back and see what happens if Naomi stays at the club, turn to page 184.

To continue with Naomi in this fantasy, turn to page 195.