Chapter 7 Alma
Alma
Curtis Anderson
I’m waiting in the confession room. Don’t be late.
Alma
And the documents?
Curtis Anderson
I gave them to Claudi.
Don’t back out now baby.
Ithrow the phone onto the vanity to find a small gift I know is from Claudi. He knows a vague version of my story and why I’m entertaining Curtis Anderson. I pick up the two benzos and swallow them with the tequila shot he left next to them.
Claudi is one of the best bosses I’ve worked for. When I was training, he was patient and encouraging. More experienced dancers told me this wasn’t the norm in this industry.
I finish shoving the last of the one dollar bills from my stage performance into my duffle bag, the night far from over.
After weeks of silence, I finally saw a glimpse of Curtis from the stage.
He was still in his scrubs, coming after his emergency room shift, his badge clipped to his pocket, dark circles around his eyes, and that hideous scar standing out on his chin where gray scruff was growing.
He always looks out of place when he shows up in his uniform. Like he should be at some high end club closer to the city, but La Cuevita holds men’s secrets like his well.
I take a deep breath and roll my neck.
Twenty more minutes and the benzos will kick in.
Tonight is the night. Curtis needs more than my mouth around his cock, and I need more than the tiny clues he’s giving me.
Information on my mother is the bait he’s dangled in front of me, and I’ve played the game, but it’s gone on too long for both of us.
Last week, he offered to compile all Missy’s medical records.
Records he claimed would give me everything I needed.
All he wanted in return was all of me. All of me willing to submit to his rough desires.
I lean over the vanity and run the makeup remover wipe underneath my eyes, wiping the smudges clean.
My reflection looks softer now. Less dangerous.
Less her. It doesn’t matter though. I’ll be wearing a blindfold.
It was my one condition to our arrangement—that I didn’t have to look him in the face.
Blotting the sweat from between my breasts with a paper towel, I take one last look in the mirror.
I may not have been Missy’s biological daughter, but tonight, I look just like her.
Her demons are staring back at me like I inherited her sins.
Slowly, I walk down the long hallway to El Confesionario room. Taking in a deep breath, I feel my hands shake as I pull the blindfold up to my face. I knock gently as my hand trembles. There’s no going back now. No time for regrets.
Knock
Knock
Knock.
The door opens, and a warm hand finds mine. Music is already playing in the background, likely something Claudi set up ahead of time. He wouldn’t let me do this if Curtis hadn’t held up his end of the deal.
Of all the rooms I’ve worked after hours, El Confesionario is the one room I can recognize even blindfolded. I hear the click of the door behind me and can’t help but feel unease as I look around the room. Through the sheer blindfold, light filters in, blurring the room into a hazy outline.
I look around and make out the familiar shapes of the room, the red velvet sofa, the large mirror accent on the wall, the candelabra on the side table, and if I look up, I know exactly where the chandelier will be.
I watch as Curtis takes his place on the sofa. I can’t exactly see the details, just the blurred outline of him sitting. He’s usually more vocal than this, but I’m too anxious to question his silence.
The song shifts to a lighter melody, Nadie by Tito Double P, and I begin to move my body the way I know he likes. We’ve done this before. I’ve stripped in front of him plenty of times, my bare breasts and pussy on full display for him.
My heels click on the floor beneath me as I make my way toward him. I turn and lower my ass to his lap, grinding on his—slacks?
I swear he’d been wearing scrubs earlier.
Maybe the benzos are fucking with me. Slowly, I let my ass rub against him, and his hands grip my hips tightly.
Through the thick material, I can feel his cock hardening.
I reach back and untie the halter top of my bodysuit, then grab his hands, moving them to my breasts.
There’s something different about him tonight.
His touch is lighter, his fingers circling my nipples delicately.
The stimulation actually feels good. My pussy throbs as he pinches my nipples.
I don’t want to be aroused like this, not for this man.
Quickly, I move his hands back down the front of my torso.
Then I stand, still facing the wall as I walk back to the pole in the center of the room.
Holding it for balance, I remove the body suit over my knee-high boots.
Laid out bare in front of him, I can feel his piercing stare on my backside. The sound of his zipper lowering causes a shudder through my body.
Am I really going to do this?
What other option do I have?
I’ve already come this far. Slowly, I turn, the heels of my boots sliding with me as I face the blurred figure in front of me. There’s something different about him tonight, something that makes my heart beat out of my chest.
The desire building deep in my belly isn’t normal.
I’m no virgin, but sex is becoming less frequent the more disappointed I feel after a casual hook-up.
I’ve resorted to only having something transactional going forward.
I’d let men slide their penis through my thighs during these private dances, and a few would pump their fingers in my pussy, or I’d moan around a mouthful of their cock.
I do it for money. There’s never been this type of arousal involved, at least not from my end.
I drop to my hands and crawl forward. My pussy is soaking as I place one hand in front of the other.
When I reach him, he does something he’s never done before.
He lifts my chin and turns my face. His knuckles graze my jaw and then my lips.
I tremble at the touch. My hands wander up his thighs.
They’re much more muscular than I remember.
My hand slides to the base of his cock and drags up his length. It’s much thicker, bigger, and my breath stutters when I graze the cold metal rings. Then it hits me.
This isn’t Curtis Anderson.
I start to reach for my blindfold, but stop dead at the sound of a gun cocking and steel kissing my forehead.