Chapter 3

Truth be told: If it were in a real competition, I would win with one hundred percent of the votes for the first place of a real bitch.

But despite the very well-accepted title, I did not fit the standards imposed by the sexist society whose air I was forced to share for years of my life.

The fact was that I had never been involved with married men, or that at least had the moral to indicate a serious relationship with women who differed from the rich and depressed bitches that irritated me. My lust differentiated at this point.

I would never forgive myself for being the cause of the destruction of a family, even if it cost me a wonderful night with an experienced man. Even if the idea of getting stuck in a lasting relationship burned my skin and irritated my free ego, I put myself in the shoes of every woman who waited for her husband at home, not knowing that he frequented places similar to what I was used to finding my best fucks.

Children who were waiting for their parents to tell them about their school activities, not knowing the perversity that their heroes practiced twenty minutes earlier with older little girls.

Being free and single was my choice, and I didn't think it was fair to disrupt the lives of those who chose a tedious life, watered with dull sex and relationship discussions.

Although very aware of the limits to satisfy my sexual hunger, for married men my exaggeratedly sculpted body had the same effect as a flag for a rescue team. I drew more attention than I should and took them directly to my feet.

At that time I already knew that men could be extremely pathetic when they wanted to be. We took a humiliating example of being admitted; a man was leaning against the blue led counter and simply did not take his eyes off me since the doors of the nightclub were opened.

I could see the golden ring that was pronounced on his left finger like the handcuff on the wrists of a criminal. His eyes shone against the strong lights of the sound effects, shouting obscenities against my protected body with nothing but little cloth and sweat. The word "traitor” stamped that man's forehead with lines that indicated his early thirties.

It disgusted me, and I could have vomited right there if my job didn't require my good manners. I would find a way to get rid of the disgusted feeling later. I closed my arms and turned the two bottles in my hands, entertaining the small audience of customers in front of the bar with my juggling accompanied by a dance with little balance.

Another undeniable fact about me: I've never been too good at dancing. This was a quality that only Kendall could completely master. Her movements were precise and fast, like those of the ballerina she was during her childhood. His arms moved open, intensifying the coordination of his long legs as if a force field were his true point of balance. Kendall could have his moments of existential crises, but he knew how to take a man to heaven with few hip movements.

Those who gathered around the bar and consumed the drinks were attracted by their dance, and I took advantage of their distraction to increase the profit of the house, offering drinks after drinks, moving the minimum necessary for my full breasts to come into evidence with a few jumps. It worked.

Kendall and I were a complementary duo. The one who used her talent to attract insects to the spider web of the one who used her own body for her benefit. The entrance to the nightclub was what was most affordable for the partygoers. Maybe that was the reason for all that success. The house was affordable, but it didn't mean that consumption was too. The profit was mainly in distraction.

The more excited the men were with the dance of the strippers in their metalized masts, the more they would drink and forget the value of the bill. That's why Kendall drew attention, and the boys and I worked to entertain the curious looks.

Food consumption was done on the second floor, precisely where the VIP rooms were. Customers could only consume the food if they paid triple the entrance fee. Inevitably, with so much drink in their stomach, before the end of the night, most of the customers ended up giving in to the snoring of their bellies and released the money. It was exciting to watch the dirty game against the most unsuspecting.

“Four "sex on the beach", a girl with a British accent, positioned in front of a group of smiling and well-dressed people, screamed to be heard. I didn't have to say anything, she promptly stretched her wrist toward me.

I never knew if the nightclub's payment system was always the same, but since I started working I was instructed to use the touch screen monitor to record customers' consumption. There were three of those small fifteen-inch screens arranged in supports attached to the counter, on the left side of each screen were small barcode readers. All we needed to do was register the bracelet code on the monitor home screen and then select the main ingredients used in each of the drinks.

As soon as the machine generated the value, the customer raised his wrist to meet the code reader, and, after being registered on the bracelet, he did not have to worry about anything else until the end of his night. I mixed enough for four glasses in a cocktail shaker, taking advantage of my agility with the bottles to provide a show to my group of customers.

Not everyone liked to see juggling their drinks, especially those who arrived in groups. But somehow, I had a special and unique way of making them appreciate my not-always-so-certain movements. In less than two minutes I finished my work and decorated all four glass cups with a strip of Sicilian lemon. I gently pushed the glasses towards the smiling girl, observing the hands that stretched to capture the drinks and disappeared among the mass of bodies of the growing line.

I used to love tourists for several reasons, among them was the fact that they always saved my work in having to explain how the payment with the bracelets was made. It always seemed like they were researching how to behave in a nightclub, they just forgot to find out what tricks we used to make them spend more.