11. Kase Madoxx
Kase Madoxx
W ork would drain the life outta you if you let it, so me and the homies decided to shake off the stress and get turnt up watching ass, but I was on some bullshit again.
While the crew hyped each other up in the sprinter, talkin’ about their favorite dancers and how they were gon' make it rain, I was sittin’ in the back Googling how much glitter exposure it takes to cause long-term skin irritation.
“Yo, what the hell are you doin’?” Vernon leaned over, squintin’ at my screen.
“Just wonderin’ if the glitter they use is biodegradable,” I said, dead serious, like I had a TED Talk scheduled at a strip club.
Vernon frowned, “Nigga… what?!”
“Ah, hell. How much Henny you drink?” Paul asked, holdin’ the bottle up like it lied to him.
Jace smirked. “You good, bro?”
I slapped my phone down like it said somethin’ disrespectful. “Yeah. Never mind. I was trippin’.”
What the hell is wrong with me? Since when did I give a damn about stripper glitter and the ozone layer? I needed to lock in. There was ass in my immediate future.
We pulled up and hopped out like royalty, chains swingin’, fits clean, birthday energy on full disrespect. The smell inside hit me like a spiritual slap: Henny, baby oil, and seasoned booty.
The bouncer dapped us up. Inside was full chaos, bass thumpin’, cheeks clappin’, strobe lights flashin’ like somebody pulled a fire drill on lust. Usually, the DJ go crazy. Tonight, the music sounded like a Roomba caught in a mosh pit.
“Damn, this my joint!” Vernon yelled, hittin’ a two-step like he just got cleared for a refund check.
I muttered, “This frequency finna mess up my circadian rhythm.”
The crew looked at me straightly before they kept walking.
We slid into our regular spot, close enough to catch vibes, but far enough not to catch glitter in the eye.
Three dancers popped up in our section like we ordered bottle service and bad decisions.
One had on sparkly thigh-highs, lookin’ like she stepped straight outta a fever dream.
Another had curls for days and a G-string that was fightin’ for its damn life.
But the last chick? Man… she had so much glitter on her, it looked like she wrestled a unicorn, snapped its horn, and wore the sparkle as war paint.
Ms. Glitter didn’t say a word, just climbed into my lap like her shift started on me.Normally, I’d already have her laughin’, legs in my lap, hand on her thigh, game plan in motion.But tonight? I was actin’ awkward as hell, like all my game packed up and left me on read.
I looked up and said, “Wow… your balance is impressive.”
Kase. Shut the fuck up.
She smiled, startin’ to wind her hips all slow and hypnotic.
“Do your knees hurt?” I asked. ‘That’s a lot of tension on the patella. You got tendon strength like a damn Olympic diver.”
Her eyes got big like I asked if she was tax-exempt. She kept dancin’, probably hopin’ I’d shut up, but I didn’t.
“Your core strength is elite. Pilates? Pole fitness? You got posture like a ballet assassin.”
She cut me off, clearly tired of the Yelp review. “Baby, you tryna throw money or diagnose me?”
I reached for my clip, lowkey embarrassed. “Nah, I got you, I just respect biomechanics.”
“What?” Vernon spat his drink out.
Paul turned around from tossing dollars. “My nigga… what the hell are you talkin’ about?”
Jace leaned in. “Is this a side effect from the booster shot or somethin’?”
Even I was confused. Nigga, what are you sayin’?
I leaned in more, like I had wisdom to offer. “You got rhythm and symmetry. That’s rare. Like... functional art.”
She slid off my lap like I coughed COVID.“Yeah, I’m not doin’ this with you.”
“No, wait, what’s your zodiac sign?” I blurted. “You givin’ Sagittarius. Grounded. Sensual. You glitterin’ from the soul .”
She turned like she was bout to call security and the ancestors.“My name is Diamond. And you… weird.”
She walked off, leavin’ a glitter trail and emotional debris.
Jace slapped the table. “Did this man say symmetry?!”
I shrugged. “She had symmetry.”
Paul was wheezin’. “This nigga actin’ like Bill Nye the Booty Guy!”
Before I could collect myself, another dancer stepped up, glowin’ like she just got baptized in glitter.
She smelled good as hell and started bouncin’ on my lap like she clocked in.
I let her do her thing, but then I opened my damn mouth and said some more wild shit. A nigga was clearly losin’ his mind.
“You ever worry about microplastics?” I asked.
“Huh?” she got confused.
“I’m just sayin’... that’s a lot of sparkle. That eco-glitter or we killin’ dolphins tonight?”
Shawty smiled and dipped, leavin’ my dumb ass lookin’ crazy while Jace, Vernon, and Paul laughed like I just bombed at Def Comedy Jam.
Next thing I know, instead of gettin’ turnt, I had three strippers sittin’ next to me like we were on a damn sponsored panel discussion.
One of ’em was lowkey emotional, dabbing her eyes with a dollar bill like it was a silk handkerchief.
“I just gotta ask…” I leaned in, dead serious. “Do your mama know you clap your butt cheeks for money?”
Nigga.You want the pussy, not their path to healing.
Paul had his phone out, dying. “YOOOO!!! This man got three strippers in a healing circle!”
Jace couldn’t breathe. “He got ‘em talkin’ chakras and childhood wounds like it’s Red Table Twerk! ”
Then Vernon jumped in, wheezing. “Man, this nigga out here tryna be DoctorForAintShit.com! Talkin’ ‘bout ‘y’all need to understand and respect these booty-shakin’ queens.’ Like, nigga, DO YOUR MAMA KNOW?!”
The first one, Shay Shay, wiped her face with the dollar and sniffled. “My mama do know. She wired me $40 for Uber last week and said, ‘Make it clap, baby. Rent don’t pay itself.’”
The second one, Peaches, popped her gum. “Please. My grandma the one who taught me how to twerk. She used to shake it for Luther at the cabaret.”
Then Diamond leaned in, thick thighs, heavy glitter, and pure attitude. “You gon’ ask about my mama, but you sittin’ here smellin’ like cocoa butter and codependency.”
I frowned. “Damn. That was personal. I was tryna help you.”
She patted my cheek. “It was. 'Cause if you wanna help, help me with some racks, nigga. I don’t need no healing. Call me a rat, 'cause I like the cheese.”
Then Peaches held my hand, like we were about to pray. “We attract broken men 'cause we natural-born healers and we want that paper.”
Paul wheezed again. “Ain’t no way this man got strippers out here talkin’ like they at a group therapy session!”
“I just feel like y’all deserve better,” I said, committed now. “Like dental plans. And paid time off.”
Peaches tilted her head. “Boy, what is this? The Thong Union? ”
Nigga, focus.You sittin’ in a strip club tryna gentrify the game.
But I was too far gone. “I just wanna be a gentleman…”
Nigga, you a dog. Act like it.
Diamond clapped once, loud and sharp, like her glitter echoed. “Sir. This is Onyx, not Oprah. ”
She strutted off, all hips, sparkle, and shining with judgment, leavin’ me sittin’ there like a spiritual accident.
Jace slid in next to me, tears in his eyes. “Bro… you just got emotionally ghosted by three strippers.”
I took the slowest sip of my drink like I was in a Ne-Yo music video.
Then came the final blow.The bouncer walked up, big dude, forehead glistening, lookin’ like security and disappointment wrapped in a tight black tee.
“Yo,” he said, arms crossed. “We gon’ have to ask you and your… uh… healing circle to bounce.”
My eyes got big. “Wait, what? Why?”
He pointed at the girls, deadpan. “Ain’t nobody shook ass in fifteen minutes. One of ‘em was cryin’. The DJ was about to play Back That Azz Up, and she asked him to switch it to India Arie.”
Paul damn near fell out of his chair. “I TOLD YOU THIS NIGGA WAS TURNIN’ THE CLUB INTO A SAFE SPACE!”
The bouncer kept going. “This Onyx, not a damn TED Talk. You got glitter, tears, and trauma in VIP. Y’all gotta go.”
Before I could accept my walk of shame, I broke free and RAN to the DJ booth like a man on a mission. The music screeched to a stop. I grabbed the mic like someone else had full control over my body. Like my soul got possessed by an overzealous guidance counselor.
“ LADIES—before I go… ”
The lights dimmed as every stripper turned toward me in slow motion, confused, sparkling like a disco ball, and halfway insulted.
“I just want y’all to know… y’all are more than ass.
Y’all are art. Every cheek clap is a revolution.
Everybody roll? A protest against patriarchy.
You don't just dance, you defy gravity. Y’all are the Beyoncé of balance, the Serena Williams of seduction, the Oprah Winfrey of upper thigh strength?—”
“ GET HIM OFF THE DAMN MIC!! ” the DJ shouted.
Security came flyin’ in like they were trained by SWAT.
They tackled me mid-sentence, snatched the mic, and dragged me out like I stole chicken wings and body shimmer.
Paul was screaming with laughter. Vernon pumped his fist like I just won an NAACP Award.
Jace collapsed against the wall like he physically couldn’t take it anymore.
As they dragged me out, I was still yellin.
“ STRIPPER LIVES MATTER!”
Diamond rolled her eyes with expert precision. “Boy, if you don’t take your TED Talkin’, vibranium-thong fantasizin’, cocoa butter-scented ass home ? — ”
Then the doors flew open, and I was literally tossed onto the sidewalk. My people didn’t help. They just stood there laughing.
“ Nigga… what is WRONG with you? ” Vernon asked, wiping tears. “You out here givin’ speeches like you on P-Valley: The Healing Edition. ”
I laid there, starin’ up at the streetlight, confused and emotionally glitter-bombed.
Three hours later, I was home, mad as hell. I couldn’t believe I didn’t bring a stripper home and got my ass kicked out. Me. Kase Madoxx. I always left with somebody, but I was too focused on giving them hoes healing.
I laid back on my bed, shirt off, remote in hand, starin’ at the TV but not watchin’ a damn thing. My mind just kept echoing the same words on loop like some cursed voicemail.
“You weird.”
Damn, Diamond really said that with her whole chest, too. Shit, I didn’t know what the hell was going on ‘cause I was acting off. My swag was down a hundred.
I stared up at the ceiling, still mad at the air, when my phone lit up, FaceTime. It was Blyss.
I squinted at the screen. Why the hell is she callin’ me right now? Ain’t it her bedtime? Don’t she got a lizard to feed or a NASA podcast to binge?
I hovered over decline , but curiosity and maybe the leftover stripper glitter in my brain, got the best of me.
I answered, proppin’ the phone on my pillow. “What?”
Her big brown eyes and goofy-ass smile filled the screen like she was shootin’ a toothpaste commercial. “Hey, Kase.”
I sighed. “What’s up?”
That awkward lil snort-laugh crept out her nose before she said, “Sooo I heard... you got kicked out the strip club for startin’ a glitter-themed healing circle.”
I blinked slow. “Man. Jace tellin’ my business to Tuesday again.”
Right on cue, I heard Tuesday’s loud-ass voice in the background:
“HE SAID THE STRIPPER HAD SYMMETRY! GIRL, HE WAS OUT THERE TALKIN’ BOUT SPIRITUAL KNEECAPS! ”
Blyss tried to hold it together, brows wiggling like she was innocent. “I mean… it’s a valid point. Balance is important in dance.”
“Y’all play too much,” I frowned,
She leaned in, dead serious. “Want me to send you a few links? Most commercial glitter is made from a combination of aluminum and plastic. It starts as big sheets, then it’s cut down super small using high-precision blades. It’s kinda fascinating.”
I sat up slow, squintin’. “...Are you trolling me right now?”
Her face stayed soft and sweet like she ain’t just hit me with stripper glitter science. “Nope. I just figured after your… environmental meltdown, you might wanna be informed. It’s important to be eco-conscious, Kase.”
I stared at the screen, unamused.
From the background, Tuesday kept goin’, loud and reckless: “TELL HIM WE GOT BIODEGRADABLE STRIPPERS OVER HERE AT TUESDAY’S LOUNGE! NO HEALING, JUST HUMPIN’!”
“Tuesday! SHUT. UP!” Blyss shouted off camera, face red with laughter.
I shook my head, tryin’ to hold back my smirk. “You got way too much time on your hands.”
She giggled. “Maybe. Or maybe you just needed someone to talk to after getting emotionally ghosted by three sparkly women.”
“You think this funny, huh?”
“Maybe,” Blyss laughed, covering her mouth.
But Tuesday wasn’t done. She came stormin’ back into the frame with her bonnet hangin’ off and a bag of hot chips. “ What happened to the player, player?! Huh?! You out here holdin’ hands and cryin’ with strippers? You lost your game, fam!”
Just when I thought the roast session was over,Jace’s voice cut in from the background, clear as day:“This nigga was out here healin’ hearts and didn’t toss a single bill. Not one! ”
Blyss damn near dropped the phone from laughing. Tuesday wheezed, gaspin’ for air like she ran a lap.
I groaned. “Y’all are fuckin’ the worst.”
Tuesday yelled, “ And YOU the first nigga to ever get a standing ovation for emotional depth at Onyx! ”
Then Jace added, chill and petty, “Nah… he the first nigga to pull strippers into a circle and open with, ‘Let’s unpack that.’ ”
Tuesday couldn’t breathe. “ Not the Booty Support Group! Nigga runnin’ Twerk and Talk Tuesdays! ”
Blyss was howlin’ at this point, fully laid out somewhere, laughing off-screen. I just laid back, arm over my face. “I hate this group.”
She finally caught her breath. “Night, Kase.”
“Fuck y’all.” I hung up.
Then I just laid there. Staring at the ceiling like it owed me answers.
How the hell did I go from bottle service and bad bitches to being everybody’s emotional support mascot?
I was supposed to be wildin’ tonight. I had on my good cologne.
Instead, I got roasted by a girl with big ass glasses, a bonnet warrior with hot chips, and my own damn brother.