I'm in Love with a Stripper
almostfrances
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, I do not profit from posting this story. Simply borrowing the characters.
Author Note: Hello all, and welcome to the wonderful world of Stripperella and Sleazward. I hope you're ready for the naughtiness about to take place, and I hope you all enjoy. I'm planning on updating at least once-twice a week, and am hoping to keep it around ten-twenty chapters. Canon couples, AU/AH. Please leave me love, and I truly appreciate it and constructive criticism always makes for better chapters! And maybe even faster updates :] Twitter is frankienopants - please follow for story updates and randomness from my life. Thank you!
Chapter One
Cause I just set them up, just set them, just set them up to knock them down.
I think I should know how to make love to something innocent without leaving my fingerprints out.
L-o-v-e is just another word I never learned to pronounce.
- "Starstrukk," 3OH!3
The only thing that makes this job tolerable is Alice, and she hands me my trusty styrofoam cup filled with whatever tasty, alcoholic concoction she's trying to invent this evening. "This one should make you want to dance," she says in a scientific way, looking as serious as any girl can in a pair of gold-satin tap shorts and matching bikini top, all topped off with torn a ripped up fish net bodysuit and six-inch stiletto heels. I've never understood why bartenders at Eclipse had to wear heels - running around fixing drinks and opening beers on the tacky black tile floor seemed dangerous.
Says the girl who can't walk four feet in Chucks. But get me in a pair of stripper heels, under the hot bright lights, and I manage to transform into the graceful bird of my last name. Swan. Isabella Swan. It sounds like a stripper name, and I would know. Maybe my mother was going through a psychic phase when she was pregnant. Either way, I couldn't use my real name when taking my clothes off in front of strangers - it was Alice that came up with the stripper name, which was quite uncommon. It was Mora - it means sweet little berry. She said that guys would go wild when they heard the meaning.
"Thanks," I say, taking a sip through the straw. It's weak, but tastes nice, fruity and fizzy. Exactly what I need to get through the night. I lean against the bar, surveying the customers so far tonight. It's only ten-thirty, early enough, and a few gentlemen are lining the bar. A group of younger guys in Tap Out apparel sit around the rim of the stage, where the big pole - the one with the bell at the top, where ambitious and athletic dancers climb up and ring for attention or tips or whatever, is located. On stage, a pretty thin girl with practically no ass but huge fake breasts slithers around, already down to her hot pink G-string. There is a lot of blonde hair tossing and lip licking, but Missy is new. She'll learn soon enough - never get down to the panties until your last song. And if there is a bunch of guys sitting around the stage, you should probably not avoid them... For the most part, they won't bite. The guys watch, but no one is reaching for their wallets.
"You know," Alice says, "I was at the university library earlier..."
"What were you doing in a library?" I ask, genuinely surprised.
"Hey, I read!" I give her a look that clearly says I don't believe her. "Ok, the internet went out and I had to check my Facespace -"
"You are an addict," I say, shaking my head. Her big brown eyes turned puppy dog, and I shook my head. When we first met, in a psychology class during our freshmen year of school, it might have worked. Alice is very good at the guilt trip, the pouting, the girly spoiled princess thing. But now that we were older, and roommates, I had grown immune to it. "Anyway, you're at the library..."
"Right, and I saw that they're doing a production of 'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,' which I know you love," Alice explains, ignoring our manager, who was glaring at her from the DJ booth above the floor. Laurent is a grumpy ass, though he does love us - he just hates when we stand around chatting instead of working over the clients or stocking the bar or kissing his ass or whatever. He was pointing at her, and she waved him off with a dismissive, manicured hand. "Auditions are on Saturday afternoon."
"And...?" I knew she was trying to encourage my deepest, most secret dream. I really really appreciated that she loved me so much, that she wanted me to meet my goals and live a fulfilling life of fast cars, pretty clothes, boat loads of money and general success. But having her throw opportunities I couldn't take advantage of in my face only made me feel worse instead of better, or hopeful or whatever.
"And you should go for it!" She bounces, making her tiny chest jiggle in her top. Her dark, short hair was pin-curled and the little springy spirals bounced too. "Come on, Bells -"
"Hey, its Mora here," I cut her off. "And besides, there's no way I can do it - how am I supposed to juggle the part if I get it, and work? Come on, Alice. Be real." I sigh, take another long pull from my drink, and Alice frowns. I'm definitely the realist of our friendship - but breaking her little heart does nothing for mine.
"All right," she says, shrugging. She spots a suit glancing around with cash in his hand at the rail of the bar, and slinks off, totally in her persona. That is what makes Alice and I such a good team - it might be hard, but we were getting by. She can turn on her flirty bartender personality like a light switch, going from bubbly little doll to sex kitten in the blink of an eye. On the other hand, I had to have a cocktail, take long deep breaths, and repeat in my head over and over, "It's worth it. You can do this. Money. Money."
Sometimes it even works.
"This is pitiful," Jasper Hale is saying, dragging his feet as we cross the parking lot. He's been a bummer all night long, practically crying into his micro-brew at the last bar we were at. Emmett and I exchange looks over the top of his hang-dog blonde head and roll our eyes. Breaking up is hard to do - especially when the dumpee is a certified genius, who can't turn off that big brain of his no matter how much alcohol we pump him with. "Half-naked women gyrating to awful music is supposed to cheer me up how?"
"Are you gay?" Emmett asks, stopping dead in his tracks. "Seriously dude, listen to that last sentence. Half naked women should always put you in a good mood. Hello." He shakes his head and chuckles, and we're heading back up the big steps up to the club. Eclipse is located in a seedy part of Seattle, but it was the highest end strip club in the state. Inside it was all cool modern lines, little tables with black linens and dim glowing lights strategically placed around for anonymity and mystery. The stage was big, with a few dispersed poles and a wall of mirrors. A little runway jutted out beside the bar, and the private rooms were reportedly very lovely. I had never had the pleasure of making it back there, but Emmett promised it was worth the five hundred bucks.
"I just think that the way to get over Charlotte isn't by watching other naked girls," Jasper says, even as we're getting ID'd at the door and forking over our cover charge. There is a small Asian girl contorting in a truly magical way on the big pole on the runway, defying physics, gravity, and Emmett's brain as he gawks at her openly. Loud, classic rock pumps through the speakers, and there are people everywhere.
"Let's get a drink," I say, clapping Jasper on the back. He nods, glancing around as though he's hiding from his mother, and we head up to the bar. It's nearly one AM, and the club is in full swing. We aren't standing for five seconds when a slinky little redhead saunters over, wearing a black corset that pushes up her ample breasts in the most delightful way.
"Hey," she purs, and Jasper turns and his blue eyes widen considerably at the sight of her. "You guys interested in a dance?"
"We can't commit to anything yet," I say, winking at her. Her glossy pink lips quirk up into a smile and she nods. "Find us later."
"Promise to," she murmurs, before sashaying off. Her legs are long and white and I can't help but watch as she leaves.
"What in the sweet merciful fuck was that?" Jasper all but screams, grabbing me by my coat lapels. "Why did you bring me here?!"
"Calm down," I say, brushing him off and leaning against the bar. "You're acting like you've never seen tits before, Hale. Haven't I told you about keeping your cool?"
"I'm not cool," Jasper says, exasperated. "I'm one of the smartest guys in the entire Free World, and you bring me to a strip club where I'm assaulted by beautiful women? I can hardly talk to Siri on my phone, and Charlotte had to ask me out like five times before I could even mutter a positive reply. What. The. Fuck. Masen?"
"Sorry," I say with a shrug. "It's for your own good." Really, I might seem a big callous, but Jasper could be a cool guy if he wanted. He's good-looking, with messy blonde hair and big blue eyes and the kind of intelligence that NASA and the government have been after for years. If only he could transform his nervous energy into something constructive...
"Hey guys, what can I get you?" A thin, dark-haired girl with the biggest eyes asks, smiling at us in a polite, but can-you-hurry-the-fuck-up-I'm-busy way.
"What do you have on draft?" I ask, leaning on my elbows against the sleep black bar. In the mirror behind the stage, I can make out my reflection. Jasper is looking frazzled and keeps running his hand through his blonde curls and staring at his shoes, which truly are not that interesting. I look good - a little disheveled, but in a sexy way. I had on black slacks and a white button down Oxford beneath a gray blazer. I look like I have money, which I do. The big Rolex on my left wrist can speak to that, if my Armani loafers don't. We had gone out straight from the office, so it wasn't like I had a change of casual clothes. But my copper-bronze hair was messy, and the scruff on my face made me look rugged. I look like I had stepped out of GQ.
"Bud, Budlight, Coors Light, Miller Light, Blue Moon, Newcastle, Sam Adams..." She rattled off quickly.
"Three tall Blue Moons," I say, "and could I start a tab?" I toss my black AmEx on the bar and her eyebrows nearly disappear under her bangs.
"Sure thing," she says, squinting at the name on the card, "Mr. Masen."
"Thanks, doll." I wink and she does too, before spinning around the fix our drinks.
"Where did Emmett go?" Jasper asks, suddenly worried.
"Calm down," I say, and quickly find him standing at the edge of the stage. He's placing a few bills in this stripper's G-string, grinning up at her like she was Santa Claus, live in the flesh, and he was six years old. Ok, maybe thinking about kids in the strip club wasn't a good thing. She smiled down at him, flicking around her golden blonde curls, before spinning her back to him and bending over, rubbing her ass all over his big, muscular chest. He closed his eyes blissfully. "He's right over there."
"Where?" Jasper asks, before spotting him. His jaw immediately drops open, and the look he gave the redheaded dancer before seems like a mega-watt grin. "Holy fuck." Then he's off, stalking across the club like a man on a mission.
Great, apparently Emmett's about to get an earful about STD's or something, thanks to Jasper's preoccupation with illnesses and diseases. He's not a hypochondriac, really - he just finds the molecular level interesting or whatever. I'm not the genius, really - I'm just the one with the billion dollar ideas. Jasper is the one that puts them into practice.
"Hey man!" I call, starting after him. I grab the edge of his sweater but he pushes me off with strength I didn't know he had, and I nearly stumble and fall on my ass. Glaring now, I follow him over to our friend, who looks like he's died and gone to stripper heaven.
"Hey -" Emmett starts, but before he can finish his greeting, he's assaulted by Jasper's flying right hook, which lands directly on his cheek. Emmett is a big guy, but like most guys, he's a big baby too. He grabs his face, doubling over in surprise and pain. "What the fuck, Hale?"
"Rosalie," Jasper says, and he's breathing hard and his face is flushed. I've never seen him look so upset, and I have to admit that its entertaining - but surely scary if ever directed at me. He turns to the stage, where the blonde is fumbling to cover her exposed breasts - quite nice, if they're real. "Get down this instant."
"You're not my dad," the blonde, Rosalie, says, sounding like a petulant child.
"I don't give a fuck who I am. Get off this stage and put your clothes on." Jasper is firm, not taking no for an answer.
"Do you know this girl?" I ask, shocked as hell that Jasper, my genius, socially awkward, innocent best pal actually knows a stripper. I feel bad for the girl, as apparently he's taken it upon himself to make sure she doesn't disrespect herself or whatever... Always wanting to be Prince Charming and save the damsels in distress...
"Yes," Jasper says, turning his icy gaze on me. "That's my sister."