Summer, 2013

The alarm clock sounded louder than someone standing a foot behind her pounding drum symbols. Her head didn't hurt as much as it felt detatched from her body, if that made any sense. All she knew was that she had to stop partying so hard if she wanted to be productive at all during the day.

Eh, who needed to be productive during the day? She was a girl of the night, always had been. The girls at work said she must be part vampire. She liked that reference. Sometimes she felt like it--not just because she was up at night all the time but also because she bled men dry of their money.

And goddamn did she hate the morning sun.

"I need to get curtains" she moaned to herself, rolling over.

She would need to get up soon to get water. She didn't remember everything about last night, as she blocks a lot of memories of that place out if she can help it. But she did remember a specific thing, an incident that took place towards the end of the night and some people seem to think is her fault.

Fuck them.

Apparently she had gotten some dude in trouble, a good amount of trouble, and based on what she remembered, she really didn't care. She was finally free of the men who had abused her for nearly her entire adolescent life, and she was going to live it up now. No more caring what other people thought, she was in this for herself. Life was being discovered now, finally, and she was going to make damn sure he had fun doing it.

Being a stripper and go go dancer in Vegas, you can make good money but you can't be afraid to do a little, "extra." And they pay well, usually, anyway.

As far as she knew, and referenced by the stacks sitting on the nightstand across from her bed, this particular gentleman had paid very well. As the warm Vegas sun made being under the covers increasingly more uncomfortable, she kicked off the blanket and sound the cold side of the pillow.


The Night Before

The music was loud, bordering on too loud, and the lights made the inside of this already small building look like a rave party--just without the glow sticks. Glow sticks are so tacky. You needed to go to Burning Man in the desert to see that shit.

Standing about 5'6 with her heels on, Myst walked around the floor of the club, looking for another man to take money from, but before her search could conclude, one found her.

She only knew about it because of a warm feeling of a palm, with 5 long fingers, on her barely-covered ass. She felt the fingers squeeze. Turning around she saw a man standing there, most likely in his mid 30's, well shaven and tall. He was dressed well---all designer. His watch was Movado.

"Baby you may be the hottest one in here", he grinned, "and that is saying a lot. Good talent in here."

"Well, thanks, I guess. Do you want a dance?"

"No, I want to stand here and make conversation," he said.

"You don't gotta be a dick about it....." she led him by the hand to one of the empty booths. When they got there, she sat him down and plopped onto his lap.

"No, for real, I want to talk to you. I haven't seen a girl like you in here in a while. I want to get to you know a little, you could be my regular."

Something about the way he said regular made her a bit uneasy.

"Ohh.....you don't want to know about me. I am nothing special."

"Oh, I disagree"

She began to grind her ass on him, doing her job. She was here to make money, not here to be on Dr. Phil.

She was a bit taken aback when he grabbed her hips, and stopped her.

"No....babe, not out here. If we do this, I want to do it in the back room. VIP style. But I want to know more about you first, doesn't seem right otherwise. You're not just a piece of meat."

He had a creepy smile on his face. She wasn't sure if he was just really nice, or was really strange. Maybe he was on something. A lot of the girls walked by and saw her and the man talking. They smiled and waved, or winked--some looking jealous that she was going to have to do minimal work and still get paid. Some girls looked like they recognized the guy.

"Okay, well, what do you want to know?" If she was going to get any money out of this guy, she was going to have to play his stupid game.

"So what do you want to know?"

"Well, what is your name."

"Myst."

"Your real name."

"I don't give that out."

"Then I don't open my wallet."

Oh hardball huh? Well, she needed the money. She said it quietly so no club staff overheard, she could lose her job for something so small.

"Jennifer" she said.

He sniffed her shoulder and hair. "Mmmm.....you look like a Jennifer."

Okay, what the fuck is up with this guy?

"Yeah, what else?"

"How old are you, Jennifer?" His voice was calm, collected. He had done this before.

"19" she said without hesitation.

"Mmmmmm, 19." His entire attitude changed. The sweet guy was gone. Now, yes, he hadn't hurt her or given her any indication of such, but he was getting creepier by the second. How does a guy with his looks and apparent bank account need to frequent a place like this?

"So, can we go for a dance now?"

He seemingly ignored her request.

"Jennifer....why are you doing this? Why is a girl who looks like you reduced to this?"

Ummmm?

"Reduced to this? Sir....you're here too. You are 'reducing' to it, too."

"Fair enough.....and one last question, dear Jennifer........"

He put his hand rather strongly on her thigh.

"What can we do, 'back there'?"

Her response was delayed. Was he talking about sex? Did he have a condom?

"Well?"

"I need the money up front," she said, "all of it."

He grinned, reaching for his wallet.

Quick thinking. She had been beaten, raped, kidnapped and kept as a sex slave by the mob for the last three years, she was not going to fuck this guy.

There was no way in hell.

"It is 40 per song. However many songs you want. Then the tip is the price of the song----"

He cut her off.

"I know how it works, Jennifer. How much for the 'extra'"?

"I am taking a big risk here......"

"Jennifer.....the price......"

"$400" she said quickly, hoping to scare him off the idea.

"Done."

Damnit.

"Okay, well, I need it all up front, I've had too many guys run out on me."

That wasn't true, but she, too, knew what she was doing.

He handed her the money, $1,500 in cash. She got the chips for the songs, and put the rest in her bra.

She led him to the back, sat him in a black lit room with fake candles lit. She took a blanket that was weirdly placed on the couch, and covered the camera with it. She had done this before.

"Okay, take it out. I'll be right back, I have to pee.....I don't want to pee on you and I can't wait 12 songs. You get comfortable and we will have a little fun when we get back." She winked and licked her lips as he unzipped his fly. She walked out of the room and went straight to the bouncer.

She told the bouncer everything, except she lied about the blanket, she told him that the man in the room put it there and right now was sitting there with his pants around his ankles trying to fuck her and wouldn't take no for an answer.

In Nevada, brothels are legal, but prostitution is illegal. How much sense does that make? But either way, you need to have a "sex liscence." They did not. Did it still happen? Sure it did, but it didn't make it "legal".

She watched as the bouncers carried him out. There were signs of a struggle, his face was cut. All the girls, many of the ones who seemed like they knew him, had their hands over their mouths.

"She has my money! She took my money! That little bitch has my money!" He was frantic. The bouncers didn't care. The cops were on the way. Jenny watched as the bouncers lifted him towards the door and outside. She waved. His eyes were intense. Hatred in them. Betrayal even. She smiled as they took him out the door.

"I can't believe you," one of the girls who had come up next to her said, "you're such a bitch."

"Ugh" she put her hand up in the whatever position and walked away, sitting down to count her profit.


Summer 2013

Jenny rolled out of bed, he feet hitting the empty Captain bottles and assorted clothes that riddled her bedroom floor. She stretched, yawning at the same time. Wearing just a tee shirt and underwear, she saw herself in the mirror. She looked good.

Just then there was a creak outside her bedroom door. This place was brand new, what the fuck was that?

There it was again.

She stopped, thinking maybe it was her steps. As she stopped, it happened again. Thinking maybe she was going crazy, she stopped and it happened again. Then, suddenly, she yelled out as her bedroom door burst open. There he was. He looked rough, but somehow, still rather kept up.

"Hello, Jennifer."

"Oh shit."


"Ohhhh Abigail......how adorable. I wasn't sure you knew how to speak, apparently I was wrong. You're actually quite the talker, the problem is, it is all hot air. It lacks substance, though I am glad it wasn't a bunch of slut jokes and blonde bashing. I am glad your mental acumen is higher than the rest of these trolls. But what you didn't seem to grasp is the fact that this title you hope to acquire WAS in fact made for me. Tell me another woman on this roster who has had a bigger impact than me? Roxy has battled me, she has seen what I can do. Sure, she beat me, she put me in the hospital, she embarassed me in my hometown in a match stipulation that I created after calling her out publicly.......but I am still standing. She beat me but she didn't end me. If anything, she made me stronger. She was grooming me for success, in a twisted sort of way.

One thing you forgot, sweetness, is that Madison Dyson is the special guest referee. Madison is in my corner, despite what she says. You know she is itching for another shot at me after I beat her Cyborg style few weeks back. She wants this belt just as bad as anyone, don't let her political mumbo jumbo fool you. She is dangerous when she wants something. But unlike you other puddles of discharge in this division, she actually respects me. See, if she is going to try to take this belt she is going to want to try to take it from me. I have earned that respect, and you, Abigail, have barely earned a roster spot. Your cop outfit is cute though. It is a cop, right? Or maybe a ninja. Yoga? Oh well, lets just say the dark goes well will your carrot top.

Outside talent, it was created to generate outside talent? Yeah, I am the dense one. Where are they, Abby? Where are these ladies that want to line up like addicts at a methadone clinic to get a shot at this beautiful piece of metal? Newsflash hun, there is no outside talent! They have been hyping that for weeks in order to put together a halfway decent media campaign and generate interest, but there is noone coming, at least, noone worthwhile. Not yet. If they end up with contracts it is by happenstance.....NOT JUST because of this title that I will have around my flawless waist in a weeks time. Good try though, I would give you a solid B in speech and debate class.

You're nothing here, Abigail, and it is about time you learn that. You haven't impressed anyone--like I said before it is the need for warm bodies for the W2's. You're in this match because you're marginally better than Izabella and Talia. Ezariaha is in the match because a triple threat is "best for business". It is black and white, really. This is my match, my title, my division. When I win I am going to have a coronation ceremony, in the ring on Savage. I hope to see you there.

The only parade being rained on here is yours. You seem to think that for some reason you're anywhere close to being on my level. I am getting better in the ring with every passing day, and not to mention I'm the hottest bitch in this business. You are right, Abby, there have been good female competitors here before me, and hot ones too. You aren't on their tier either. I am the voice of self entitlement?

Give me one reason why I shouldn't be.

Go on.

I'll wait.

That's what the fuck I thought. Until someone knocks me off my throne, why shouldn't I be? Roxy isn't in the fucking tournament, and the next best is the goddamn referee! Give me one reason why I shouldn't be confident going into this match?

You sound so shallow. If this title isn't worth anything, Abigail, why don't you pull out of this match and go for the 24/7 X-Treme Title? Why don't you fight to accomplish something better? I'll tell you why.....because you can't. You put this title down and try to make me feel like my efforts aren't worth it--but don't you dare lie and say that if you win this belt you won't break down in tears and have a Miss America Pageant freak out in the center of that ring. You put this belt down because you know you'll never hold it, so you try to rub in my face that it is not as good as others anyway. Shallow, weak, and downright pathetic.

"I am the bitch who bullied you your entire schooling career. I pushed you into lockers, knocked your books out of your hands, drew a penis on your locker. I am the bitch who put icy hot in your panty-liner after practice--post shower. I am that bitch, Abigail. And that bitch will come out on August 19th. That is the type of bitch that wins these type of matches. Soft work-in-the-library-after-school type bitches like you, they always seem to find themselves on the raw end of the deal. I am the bitch to steal your prom date and then laugh as you cry in the corner with smeared eye liner. I have no moral compass, that is the difference.

The world needs more strong women like me.

So Abigail, I look forward to seeing you in London. I'll make sure to send you an invitation to my coronation, don't let me forget. Please remember to RSVP as seating will be limited and this is a show you, especially you, will not want to miss.

Kisses.

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100 Percent Pure

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