“Alright, tell me what you want!” he said.

“I want your cum. Give me your cum,” I kept repeating. And then a giant load of semen spewed from his cock directly onto the lollipop. I took the lollipop and stuck the whole thing in my mouth, sucking it eagerly. His jizz mixed with sugar was such a tasty snack.

He breathlessly patted me on the head. “Good girl,” he said.

“Yeah, I know!” I giggled. He zipped his pants back up, and then there was a knock on the door, and Tony entered.

“Hello! Sir, are you interested in getting another half hour?” Tony asked, barely sparing a glance for me on the floor.

“No that’s all I’ll be getting today! Thank you,” he replied politely. Rob really was the ultimate classy gentleman when it came to the process of getting extras from a stranger.

“How did she do?” Tony said to Rob, as if I wasn’t sitting right there, naked with a jizz covered lollipop in my mouth.

“Great! She’s great.” Rob smiled at me, and then Tony gave me a thumbs up.

“Alright, you guys take a few minutes to collect yourselves, then, get the fuck out,” Tony said, laughing at his own joke, which wasn’t really a joke.

I swallowed. “Got it!” I said.

Rob winked at me and said, “Your money is on the table.” Something I certainly never thought I’d hear from someone I was madly in love with.

I attempted to count my money in the cab ride home from work. I stopped after $1,800, and there were still stray singles that needed to be counted. After my VIP room stint with Rob, it was like the customers could smell my happiness, and the requests for private dances kept coming in. My stage shows were a nonstop barrage of dollar bills, payment for my slick and seductive moves, and my witty, campy interactions with all the customers by the stage. I pulled people’s ties, I deep throated their root beer bottles, and at one point, I took off a man’s eyeglasses and rubbed them on my pussy. It’s fascinating how different the same room feels, depending on how many people reject you.

I had been on a high, and I slowly came down in the leather back seat of a black car. I told Rob to meet me at my apartment for one last goodbye. Were we going to address what had happened? Or would that ruin the fantasy? Perhaps I could keep it going . . . by one day, in a moment of suspicion, going through his credit card statements and seeing that he spent his last day before leaving for a tour in a VIP room at a strip club. I could start a whole fight about it, and scream at him about his excessive spending and infidelity with a stripper.

I got home, and Rob was there waiting for me on my doorstep, smoking a joint in his ripped black jeans and a flannel cuffed up to his elbow. His hair was back to its greasy, free-flowing form, and his tattoos were fully visible through the opened buttons on his chest and the lower part of his arm. It was bittersweet to see him sitting there, so handsome. Happy to see him, but devastated that this would be the last time I saw that sexy, stoned man on my doorstep for the next few months.

I got out of the car, and he took my duffel bag stuffed with stripper clothes and cash, which had mostly come from him. He finished his joint and we went inside. We sat on my couch in silence and loaded up my roommate’s bong with more marijuana. He sucked a giant hit, coughed, and then we began to talk.

“I don’t really want to say some epic goodbye. I don’t want to cry and shit. Let’s just go grab a beer and hang out like it’s any other night, and I’ll say goodbye when you leave,” I suggested.

“Well, I had an idea,” he said, exhaling another large puff of smoke. I wasn’t sure where this was going. Since he was getting stoned, I assumed the idea would have something to do with getting ice cream instead of a beer.

“Okay. Hear me out. I think . . . you should come with me!” he said.

“Um . . . what? Come with you on tour?” I replied.

“Yeah!” he said. I was stunned. I did want to jump in his arms and say yes, but logic and logistics quickly entered my brain.

“Rob, I don’t have time to find someone to sublet my apartment in the next few hours . . . I mean, I did make a decent amount of money today, but it’s not enough to cover me and bills and rent and everything for the next three months!” I was trying to do the math in my head of how much I had and how much I would need, and I was coming up with an impossible answer.

“No, hear me out. When I was at the club today, I snuck in a few minutes of filming your stage show,” he said.

“Wait, YOU were at the club today? I had no idea!”

He rolled his eyes and continued. “Yes, yes I was. I was way in the back, by the bar, when you were on stage, and I filmed some of it on my phone. I got in touch with a few of the club owners I know across the country . . . I sent them your video and . . . they all said they’d have you dance there when you’re in their city.”

“Wait . . . really?” I replied. I shifted my position on the couch so I could face him. We sat in a moment of absolute silence, which says a lot, because it was never silent in this apartment. His eyes were shifting around the room, his hands fidgeting in his lap. It was like he’d just proposed to me, but instead of crying and jumping in his arms, I’d hesitated.

“Really,” he said, breaking the silence. “You’d be on your own tour while I’m on tour. And your tour sounds like a lot more fun. Maybe I’ll ditch my tour and hop on yours, you know, if you need a bass player while you strip. Ha!” He laughed at his own joke and exhaled clouds of smoke. And then I laughed at the image in my head— me stripping and him playing bass behind me, naked of course. Could I really do this? Follow him across the country?

To see what happens if Naomi decides to go on tour, turn to page 303.

To see what happens if Naomi decides not to go on tour, turn to page 306.