Wonderland

[CixWicked]

Wonderland

A Glass of darkest tint…

Alice never thought of herself as a stripper. Sure she stood on stage, and enticed horny men and women by removing her clothing and dancing seductively. And on most occasions, when her job was done well she would lure the ‘fortunate’ to higher grounds, for a bit of private attention. All these things classically defined the occupation of stripper, but in her mind, she was something all together different.

Not more or better… just different.

Most of the other women who worked in these places were bent solely upon the dollar signs. It was business, and each performance; each dance or even conversation, was simply a means to a monetary ends. But to young Alice Davenport – age 25, single, student of psychology, -- the job wasn’t quite so definitive.

Many nights were spent, after hours, or before her shift, talking to the other girls about their lives, and the lives of the ‘alter-boys’, as they called the men who frequented the ‘Exile Kiss’. She loved to talk, and learn about the things that made people tick, and the girls of the Kiss were at once the most fascinating, and depressing. Most of them took on one of two attitudes. They were either disgusted, and bitter at the whole of mankind, or they lost themselves in what they perceived as the deprivation of their experiences, and found themselves so far gone that nothing pierced the numbness of their souls.

Often Alice thought herself closer to the second group than the first. She enjoyed life to the fullest, and this was a standpoint she took in all things, but where most of them would fall into decadence, alcohol and drugs, she found her position there a release, and an escape.

Some would probably call her loose, or a slut, but what she found to be most important was what she thought of herself. She didn’t mind being called a slut… even the word itself gave her a kind of sinister, yet profound pleasure. Promiscuity had been her chosen addiction since the first time, back in 9th grade. But a whore she would never be… there was simply nothing flattering, in her mind, about prostitution. Sex should be a gift given freely, not a commodity to be exploited. While this seemed hypocritical in many peoples eyes, to her, it was a simple as the hands on a clock.

Sure, she found herself paired with more than a hand full of the ‘clientele’ in the clubs that she had worked, but she always remained quite careful in how it happened, and how she was perceived in it. While touching, and fondling might grow a little beyond ‘discretions hold’ at times, never would she allow her implication to be that she was touching… or being touched for the money.

In the event that she wanted more, a number discreetly passed, or a luring question was asked. An invitation for drinks, and ‘more’ after hours, or perhaps the request that the newfound friend return later, and what ever happened then, money was absolutely not exchanged.

So with these thoughts her mind and soul were laid to rest, and she worked, and loved the work that she did. But Stripper… in her mind, simply did –not- properly define herself, and whore was completely unacceptable.

So when the large man, who smelled of cigarettes, motor-oil and sweat reacted her rejection the way he did, she was more than hurt, and beyond angry. She was outraged.

“FUCKING STRIPPER WHORE!!!” He bellowed again, at the top of his lungs. “YOU’RE FUCKING WORTHLESS!!! I’LL GET SOME OTHER BITCH TO SUCK MY COCK!!!”

“NOT IF SHE’S GOT EYES, OR CAN SMELL, YOU DIRTY FUCK…” Alice screamed as she drew her clothing on. Tears threatened to well up in her eyes, but she fought them back. She wouldn’t give this bastard the satisfaction. She could hear commotion from the other side of the booth, and knew that Keith and Payton would be coming back as quickly as possible, but somehow that just didn’t seem fast enough. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE YOU FUCKING PIG!!!”

“I’LL KICK YOU’R FAT ASS…” he screamed, his face and demeanor changing again drastically. Her heart pounded, and she stepped away from the rising man, fist drawn back, as if to strike her. “WHORE!”

As she stepped back, she glanced into the next booth, where she saw Davisha, a young black woman who danced under the name ‘Sensual’, being shuffled urgently aside. The Alter-boy she was with was standing quickly, shoving his small companion aside.

The brutish bastard had gained his full stature by then he drew back a ham sized fist, with every bit of malice and intent in his eyes. The world took on a slow motion effects at the point, and as she lifted her arms in a feeble attempt to protect herself, she saw Sensual’s Alter-boy moving to intercede.

The small, brown skinned man moved with lightning speed, and an ferocity that she wouldn’t have believed were she not watching with her own eyes. He made small work of the bastard, although the man was nearly twice his size. In less than 2 seconds, the alter-boy had blocked the fat bastards angry attack, and with a few quick punches of his own, rendered him a sobbing, helpless heap on the floor.

Seconds later the world returned to normal, and Sensual moved to her side, the concern on her face still not letting her drop her stage name.

“Ivy, girl… are you alright…” She was saying shaking her, but Alice’s eyes were locked soundly on her Alter-boy rescuer. “Did he hit you… Ivy? Ivy?”

By then security and several other girls had come back to join the commotion. Keith eyed the Alter-boy suspiciously, but Payton moved over to the beaten man to check him out. Alice continued to stare at the Alter-boy, who pulled his long silver-white braids from his honey complexioned face, leaned against the dance pole, and watched the security guards work.

His features were like nothing she had ever seen. Some kind of strange mix of cultures, Asian from his beautiful, almond shaped eyes, African, or perhaps native American by skin complexion, and sharp, angular European features, and everything seemed… perfect all together.

As if finally feeling the weight of her gaze, he turned calm, strangely normal brown eyes on her, and smiled. As Keith and Payton urged the beaten man out, not-quite-so-gently, the alter-boy quietly he mouthed question to her well being. She managed a quiet smile, and whispered thank you.

“I’m sorry, Rabbit…” Davisha said, walking back to the Alter-boy. She sat him back down, and they began to talk again quietly, her showing attention to the tension he must now be feeling, boasting that her dance would calm things down.

Alice smiled, and gathered her things. Before walking to the door, she stopped and thanked the man called ‘Rabbit’ once more.

“My pleasure, Alice…” he said in a strange, and handsome accent, that made her temperature rise, and her sex moist. She walked away, not realizing that he had used her actual name, and not her stage one.