i used to rule the world

In my line of work you can't give a fuck.

But the thing is, I do. I do give a fuck. In fact I think I give three.

I am a stripper and in this supposedly disgusting occupation you're not allowed to fall for the punters. They come to you for your ass and you leave with their cash. It's an age-old tradition that has only ever been fucked over by giving a fuck.

Excuse my mouth, Mother, I know you probably find that worse than the fact I let strangers stare at my tits for five hours, five days a week. You screwed up bitch.

A lot of his type come in with stag parties. Occasionally they're the stag. They only come in for a laugh. For a laugh at me, shaking my ass in their face, each of them secretly willing the groom to take it one step further. Whether it's for blackmail material or just to seem someone fuck up their lives in some kind of sick fascination I don't know. Either way I know it makes them happy.

This time round he was the husband to be. He was off his face and dressed in some ridiculous nappy with a lollipop hanging around his neck. They persuaded him into the side room with me and he had the gall to look nervous as he sat on one of the plush velvet sofas. I didn't wait around for small talk, it had been a long night and I was looking forward to getting home to that apartment I worked for and snuggling with my beautiful dog.

He'd tried to talk to me, Jesus Christ he wouldn't shut up. As I slipped off my bra he'd even looked away. I had to push the rejection deep into that pit of my stomach where I put things I don't like. I think you made that, Mother dearest, with all your vile hate.

"You really are beautiful, aren't you?" He'd muttered as I pushed my breasts closer to his face. I could feel his eyes on my face but I couldn't meet them like I should have. I should have clasped him by the chin and whispered the sexy words I'd been taught to- but I couldn't.

Is your fiancée, beautiful? I ached to whisper against his ear. I needed to cause him pain, to make him regret the way he admired my body rotating in front of him.

He was a broad man, with a slight paunch at his stomach. His face was rounded and caked in stubble, his hair almost as dark as my wig was light. He was tall even sitting, and towered over my slender frame. "What is your name?"

"Melrose." I whispered seductively without a second thought.

He didn't believe me, I could see it written as plain as day across his rugged face.

"What makes you happy, Melrose?"

"You." I murmured the age-old lie, rolling my fingers to the hem on my underwear. "Do I make you happy?"

"Yes." He replied softly, but again he was trying to stare into my eyes.

His fingers danced around my cheekbone.

"No touching the merchandise, cheeky." No touching because it's setting me on fire.

I didn't think he was ready to see me burn, Mum.

"Sorry, Mel." I only nodded, continuing my erotic movements upon his lap. "I love my girl."

"I know you do." I replied comfortingly, although the pain was sinking deep into my gut and tearing at my limbs piece by piece. I wanted that. I needed to be looked at like that. I needed a good man, too.

"Bet that sounds weird coming from an overgrown baby." I couldn't help but smile at his remark.

"You're not the worst dressed I've seen."

"You haven't seen my hat." He searched around in his pocket and pulled out a neon pink shower cap, pulling it on his head.

I laughed at the ridiculous look. He made me laugh more than most I'd ever danced for.

His eyes were soft again, "You have a nice smile."

I paused in my movements, only nodding and standing. "Your time is up."

He said nothing, only glancing down at his palms.

Oh mum, he looked so funny. Sat there like a broken little kid in his get up. But it wasn't making me smile. It was breaking me.

"Thank you, Mel."

"Your welcome-"


"Don't. Don't tell me your name." Because in five seconds you'll walk out and disappear, you're just another nameless face and I'm just another whore who told you everything you needed to hear. Don't make this anymore difficult for me.

I begged him in my mind, I begged him so hard.

The heavy curtains shut against his back, leaving a slither of light into the club. I moved to one side, watching him leave toward his group of friends, who were quick to mock him. He was smiling but refused to take part in their banter.

He looked back over his shoulder and I thought his eyes caught mine, my entire breath hitching.

Then he was gone.

Don't think of me any less because I didn't chase him, Mum. Because you think he might have been my way out. He wouldn't have. His type come and go and when they go it always hurts but I chose this. In the morning he'll remember the dance, he might even remember my name. But he will never remember me.

Oh you'd have loved the next one, Mother.

Of course, you'd never have thought his type would end up in a seedy place like this because you tend to imagine the light shining out of the ass of anyone who grows up surrounded by dirty cash.

"I've seen you here before." He said. He grinned at me as I closed those curtains behind him.

"I bet you have." His smirk is almost infectious but I already hated him.

I hated the way his face is so perfect, the way his blonde hair fell without effort. I hated the stench of wealth dripping from every lovely pore on his bastard face. I hated the way his eyes appreciated me as I moved in front of him.

"What is your name?" He asked, his eyes drawn to the arcs of my breasts.

"Chloë." I whimpered, biting on my bottom lip, running my fingers down the front of his crisp white shirt.

"That is a very sexy name, Chloë." The way it curdled from his mouth made me wet, so I showed him, bending to touch my toes. I felt his breath on my ass cheek.

As I turned he took my hand, pulling me toward him. I didn't resist, passion pumping through my brain.

I knew this was coming. I had already arranged the thick curtain in a way that let the staff know what was going on. Let them know it wasn't a dance to be interrupted.

He set me alight, palming my butt cheeks with large, soft hands.

We fucked, Mum. He fucked me hard and I loved it. His touch was rough, it was glorious and I was panting, my body weak when we finished.

"You are incredible." He breathed. Yeah, that's because I've learnt how to be.

"Thank you." I told him, dropping to shrug on my underwear.

His fingers clenched my wrist, his pretty face coming eye level with mine, "You're not listening, Chloë. I want you."

"You just had me." I smiled soothingly, patting his cheek ever so softly. I knew what was coming and I knew what I'd reply and it was already shit.

"Come with me." There was a desperate glint in his eye.

This was the alcohol talking. This was the come down after the best sex he's had in years. I knew he was slightly older, and I knew he's dying for some young girl to make his. He's gorgeous and wonderful and... And he's used me in the worst way. A way I wanted to happen. A way I get paid for.

"I can't come with you, silly." A forced giggle hurdled out of my lips. "I'm working."

"You won't have to work." He was attempting to claw away at my mask but it just hardened with his words. Does he know how many times I have heard those lines? From those uglier, more desperate. From those richer. They each said it and they each meant it with every part of their shallow heart.

He was moving toward the curtain as I stepped back.

I could almost hear his soul crushing under his own delusion.

"I'll come back for you."

"I know." I lied and I couldn't watch him leave.

The last was a regular.

He wasn't the average punter- not over fifty, nor balding, nor married with kids. Nothing like Daddy was.

Every time he comes I know he'll want me so I'm already waiting. He always draws the curtains on his own and sits down. He liked my clothes to come off slowly.

"How have you been, Rose?" He questioned that night, his head tilting to one side.

Tall and lanky, I have guessed before that he's barely over legal age. His body has grown too tall for weight to keep up with so he is presented as this gangly slip of a man. His hair flips lazily beside his cheeks, sometimes his t-shirts have band logos, other times they sport clever quips. He may be handsome when he is older, but now he is far from.

His arrogance has always been strangely... addictive.

"I've been good, thanks, you?" I murmured politely.

"Coping, despite my ma' being the epitome of the word cunt." His hand peeled away from the couch he was on in disgust. "This place is a veritable petri dish of STD."

"Ma'?" I questioned. He rarely used slang.

"I am speaking in more colloquial ways these days because I'm told it makes me seem less autistic. I also use smiley faces now." He dug out his phone to show me texts to some girl called Danielle, his replies dripping with sarcastically used emoticons.

"Watching Mean Girls with eight of your closest gal' pals could not even make you seem less autistic." It's only with him I could make remarks as such, so I took the chance.

He frowned, glancing down at his phone before showing me the screen. He had typed in a sad face, "This is a face to show that I do have feelings other than lust and contempt."

"I prefer lust and contempt on you."

"Fine, but you should know that they usually occur simultaneously." He put the phone away. "What have you been doing this week? I've watched the Danish version of The Killing. And the American version. You should watch both."

"I've learnt to blow smoke rings."

"That's fucking disgusting." He sneers. "Your breath might smell, but at least it's good exercise for your lungs."

"I also got asked on a date by a murderer last Monday." I recalled the event with a grimace. Some psycho the bouncers let in without realising who he was.

This intrigued him. "Did you accept? It's probably the only way to avoid a grisly end. Who did he kill? How old is he? Was he convicted of murder or a lesser charge? Are you calling him a murderer to impress people? Women love bad boys, which is why I illegally download pirate games for the nintendo."

"Nah, the lad he got was a druggie I think, owed him money."

"'Got' is a very American term for murder, popular among the denizens of inner city Baltimore. Why did you refuse?" His face conveyed he was much less interested than his voice let on, his gaze still scrutinising my body.

I only smiled at him, knowing the conversation was over.

"I am sickly too." He muttered minutes later.

"You mean you're sick? Maybe you don't see the sun enough."

He shook his head, "No. I think it's being out in the sun, surrounded by bastards with their germs that has made me this way. HEY, I am graduating with a first, yay me etcetera." His expression remained uncaring, his voice showing no emotion.

"That's fantastic." It almost seemed like I was more excited than him. He shot me a look that silenced me. I resumed dancing.


"Who's Danielle?" The words came out a little bitter and although surprising myself, I watched his eyebrow rise on one side.

"Some insolent bitch that keeps following me around. Get this, I showed her a photo of a man with saline in his balls and she didn't even squirm."

"What the fuck do you Google to find these pictures?"

He snorted, "I'm not an amateur, I know where to find things."

"Times up." I told him, standing straight.

"Already? I think I'm going to have a word with your manager. I barely saw any naked flesh. You scoundrel." I knew he wouldn't.

"I'm sorry to disappoint."

He shrugged his jacket back on, changing the subject, "I'm having a can of cold tomato soup with chicken tikka drowning in it, tonight."

My nose shrivels, "Sounds delicious."

"It does, doesn't it?" He pauses at the exit. "Oh and next time, wash his 'load' from your thigh, although it does it for me I doubt another man will appreciate it. Toodles."

I glanced down, grimacing.

I danced the three nights that followed, each as uneventful as the last.

By the time Monday came and I finished work every inch of my body was draped in a layer of sweat, each bone tinged with a painful ache that I still wasn't used to.

Not one of them had left my mind.

The Groom, the wonderfully sweet man that had looked at me like I could actually mean his beautiful words that creeped around my windpipe and squeezed till my heart was beating so fast I could feel sick in my mouth.

And no matter how hard I tried, no matter how used I felt I couldn't shake the pretty boy from my skull.

The clever, insolent little fucktard that had filled the sweaty air with disgusting remarks and bitchy comments had been in my thoughts since the day I met him. There was a strange pull to the unattractive dweeb that I'd never been able to understand, nor let go of.

And images of all three flooded my throbbing cranium when I fished my phone from the bottom of my bag.

'I can't be without you any longer. Meet me, please.'

And 'boom' goes the dynamite, mum.

My heart was racing so fast it was whipping air from my lungs, my stomach convulsing, hollow. I was shaking, my palms damp. I felt shit, utterly appalling, yet so hopeful it hurt. So needy it stung.

'Where' is the only reply I can fathom.

I was suddenly drenched with the feeling that I've become the whore I am paid to be. I don't know which man is waiting for me but right then I don't care. Any of them, all of them. The desperation is spine chilling.

'By the bridge.'

I knew who it was.

My pulse was running and my feet joined in the race. I was whipping through streets, my hair was slapping my face but fuck me if I cared. I might have even slammed into someone but the adrenaline clogged my ears, hiding the cries from those I accidentally hit. I couldn't care right then, mum, I was finally going to get something that made me happy and Jesus Christ I deserved it, don't you think?

But it was empty.

The fucking bridge was so desolate the river had stopped running momentarily, to cry silently with me, to mercilessly mock the fact I belonged just as alone as it did. And I couldn't stop the tears. I couldn't stop the hurt pouring out of my mouth in sobs I didn't have the energy to really meet.

Then it happened.

His footsteps were the sweetest thing I'd heard in a long time, Mother.

They were glorious.

I turned slowly, my eyes lifting from the grubby tarmac. Happiness began bursting through my body in a hot white light, flooding my bones. I was crying again, but the tears were those of ultimate relief. I couldn't drag my eyes away from him, my stomach flipping at his smile.

I'd never felt such perfection as I did that moment as my heart burst through my mouth and hurtled toward him.

Oh mum, I could taste my happily ever after.

I smiled, "I knew you'd come for me."

my first and last one shot won skows prompt challenge, i am a happy gurly

hookers are people too. just naked people.