Walking out of that coffee shop was the hardest thing I’ve done in a while. What a bunch of dumb luck it is that I run into her. If it weren’t my grandma needing a ride to the doctor I’d still be sleeping.

“Fuck,” I exclaim as I walk to my car.

“Anytime,” the woman I pass says.

Normally I’d wink at her, but not today; I keep walking. I’m late picking up my grandma, I have no coffee, and I left without getting Kennedy’s number, which means I’ll be camping out here at the coffee shop until I see her again. We can just add crazy ass stalker to my list of jobs. What the hell is wrong with me?

The drive to Gram’s is easy since she doesn’t live that far from me. Ever the gentleman, I go to her door so I can help her down the front porch stairs.

“There’s my favorite boy,” she says, opening the door. She tries to give me a kiss, but I shy away. The last thing I need is for her to ask what I had for breakfast. A nice plate of pussy might not go over too well with her.

“I think I’m getting a cold, Grandma. Best not to get too close to me.”

“Oh no, maybe you should see the doctor, too. I’ll see if they can fit you in.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine, I promise. We need to concentrate on you getting better.” I help her down to my car and open the passenger side door. It kills me that no one else in the family gives a damn about her to take her to the doctor. I’m all she has left … and she’s all I have, too. After my parents died when I was three, my grandmother was the one who took me in and raised me. I have a couple of aunts and uncles but they’re too self-involved to give a shit about anyone other than themselves.

We start on our way to the doctor’s office and she sighs. “When are you going to find a nice young lady to settle down with?”

Kennedy comes to mind and I smile. “I don’t think I’m ready. Besides, I’m far too cute to be tied down to one woman. What will all the ladies at your bridge club think if I’m off the market?”

She chuckles. “They’d all have a heart attack. They love fantasizing about my good-looking grandson.”

I want to add that they’d have a heart attack if they knew what I did for a living. Who knows, they’d likely book me for their next club event under the guise that they’re playing cards. Old women can be sneaky as shit. They’re also some of the kinkiest people I’ve met.

We arrive at the doctor’s office and my grandmother clasps onto my arm as we walk inside. Luckily, they call her back as soon as she signs in. Usually I don’t mind waiting because the receptionist is hot, but today I don’t pay her any mind and can feel her eyes shooting me with daggers. Each time I look up from my phone, she’s glaring at me. She doesn’t know that I’m Googling the shit out of every female within a hundred-mile radius named Kennedy.

As soon as we’re done, we go to lunch. It’s a nice little bistro that I like to treat my grandma to every now and again. She likes to brag to her friends on how I treat her. I also send her flowers. She’s the only parent I have so I take care of her.

We have the same conversation weekly and nothing really changes. I hope that some day I’m sitting here and can tell her that I met a lovely woman, but that’s not likely until I stop stripping. People view stripping as a step above prostitution. I can see why, but at Society X, we’re all about helping the masses realize their sexual prowess. For example, the other night with Kennedy—I can easily bet she’s never fucked in a car, and yet she rode my dick like a fucking champion bull rider. Today when I saw her, she was ashamed of what she did because of what I do for work. If I were some guy she met at a bar, or her husband, she’d probably feel liberated, instead of dirty.

I know what Kennedy thinks of me. Her words were laced with ignorance when she reminded me that I’m a stripper. That’s how she sees me. Thing is, I don’t care. I just want a chance to prove her wrong and to show her that I’m a stand-up guy who takes care of his priorities.

I also know she’s perfect for me. There are things I’ve never experienced before that I have with her. I’ve grown immune while performing and a master at keeping my dick under control … until I met Kennedy.

After lunch is over, I drop my grandmother back off at her house and promise to be here early on Sunday for church. I always fear that when I walk in the place is going to burn down or someone from the congregation is going to recognize me. It’s these churchgoers that you have to watch out for.

Driving across the bridge to work, I beat the city traffic. The parking lot is starting to fill up and it’s only late afternoon. Inside, Donnie is getting oiled down and he’s flexing his muscles while he does it.

“Who’s on tonight?” I ask, picking up the call sheet. Every few days we get newbies who come in and try this out. Some stay, most go. It takes a lot of self-confidence to get up on stage and take your clothes off so women can judge you. If you’re not well-endowed that could affect your tips. If you can’t dance, women get bored. You really have to have a lot of charisma and charm to work the stage.

G Money comes strolling in and picks up the call sheet. He’s booked for a private party tonight, along with a few other dancers. Those pay big money and are something I’m striving for.

Donnie comes over and mock hugs me. “What time you going in?” I ask.

Taking the sheet from my hand, he reads it over. “Looks like I have an hour. It’s a fucking threesome.”

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.”

He shrugs. “Fantasy play. I’ve been doing this for a month or so, repeat clients.” He sets the sheet down and starts working out, making his abs look good for when he hits the stage. After changing into my “work” jeans and underwear, I decide to hit the floor and entice a few women into some lap dances—it’s something I need to do to earn a living. However, Kennedy’s voice is in my head reminding me that she’s too good for me because I’m a stripper.

The Monday evening crowd is fairly dense and probably not big spenders. There are a few ladies in the corner who likely spent the day shopping downtown and are now unwinding.

“Enjoying the view?” I ask, trying my best to get into the mood. It’s hard when I don’t give a shit.

Two of them ignore me, keeping their eyes on the on the stage, and the other two smile like they’re about to get lucky.

“We are now,” the blonde says.

“Great, anyone care for a lap dance?”

They both giggle and the blonde tells me she does. I take her chair and pull it away from the table so I have some space to move.

“There aren’t many rules, but there is an important one. I can touch you, but you can’t touch me.”

She sticks her lower lip out in a pout and while I used to find it cute, I don’t. I’d rather see green lustful eyes staring back at me, watching me as I show her how much she turns me on. Instead, I’m shimming my hips for a woman who is probably looking to get lucky.

My hands move my pants down while I dance, underwear next, but never past my thighs. When she sees my dick, she licks her lips.

You wish, sunshine. I stroke my dick for her, bringing it close to her face before backing away and giving her a nice view of my ass.

The second I feel the slap, I stop and pull up my pants. I turn and glare at her, but before I can even say anything, she’s being hauled up out of her chair, throwing slurs in my direction and saying it’s my fault. Fucking wonderful.

Her friends are riled up; yelling and screaming as if it’s my fault she can’t keep her hands to herself. The rules are simple—don’t touch. The only time it’s allowed is if you’re in our exclusive rooms and those aren’t for everyone.

Heading backstage, I throw my step box against the pile of them in the corner.

“What happened?” G Money asks as he comes off stage.

“Fucking bitch slapped my ass, and then her friends got all up in my shit because they got tossed.”

“You should’ve farted on her.”

“Jesus Christ, Gary. I’d like to keep my job. I have a feeling management won’t take too kindly to the dancers shitting on the patrons.” Even though it’d be funny as hell, I can’t take the risk. I need my job.

“I used to do it if they didn’t tip enough. The lap dances are cheap and they tip a fucking dollar. Goddamn Las Vegas and the entire dollar titty bars are giving exclusive clubs like this one a bad name. Bitches need to be giving up the cash. Can’t get laid at home so they come here for some action and you know damn well they’re rubbing their clits in the bathroom.”

G Money seems to have reached his pinnacle as an adult performer. Maybe he should try straight up porn from now on. Women conserve money. I get it. Dollar tips suck, but if you have the tools to turn them on, they’ll start throwing money at you.

My night doesn’t get a whole lot better and I find myself watching the door for a familiar redhead. Deep down I knew it’d be dumb luck for her to show up again, but I had hoped. I count my tips at the end of the night, change, and head to my car, still with the slight hope that Kennedy is in the parking lot. I need to change my train of thought and get the fuck over her. Unless something changes, or I’m the right place at the right time, I’m probably never going to see her again.

I drive across the bridge, returning to my dull little existence away from the big city lights of downtown Portland, and think about the changes I could make to be the right kind of guy for someone like Kennedy. Thing is, if it’s not her, why the fuck should I change?