Chapter 20

The Booby Trap was very different at 7pm. There was a hot girl that could have easily once been a prom queen working the door. She was dressed in a fancy gown. She looked bored out of her mind as she sat there.

“Ladies, get in free, 10 dollars for you,” she announced as if she could give two shits.

“They would like to apply for jobs,” I said.

She rolled her eyes and made a quick phone call. “Jack will see you inside,” she pointed.

“We didn’t get ID’d or anything,” my daughter snickered with amusement. Heather acted so mature I almost forgot she was only 19 years old. The drinking age used to be 18 when I was younger, but that was an entirely different generation and time period. Now it was 21, but pretty girls like Heather probably never get carded at nightclubs. They certainly didn’t seem to give a shit about our ID at the Booby Trap.

It was dark, and smoky. I recognized the classic rock song “Fantasy” by Aldo Nova as soon as I walked in. The smell of cigarettes, cheap perfume, mildew, and desperation permeated the air.

There were about thirty customers, but the place could hold eighty to a hundred, and with them spread out and quiet, it seemed a little empty.

There was a girl on stage dancing. She had the biggest ass I had ever seen. She had thick thighs and wore white boots and nothing else. She squatted down and spread her ass cheeks for a customer to put a dollar between them. Her tits were small, and she had a short pixie haircut. Her stripper name was “Tityana.”

“What a waste of a good stripper name. She doesn’t even have nice tits,” Heather grinned.

I was about to say something back to Heather, but my wife grabbed her and pulled her close. “Watch your tongue in here. You are here to work and not joke. That stripper you saw on the street can run her mouth, but they wouldn’t put up with a meth-head wise-cracker like her. If we are going to do this, I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

I could tell that Karen’s aggressive tone towards Heather was partly due to her own insecurities and nervousness. I knew my wife well enough, and even though she was surprised today, there were some things that I knew for sure. My wife needed to hear someone lay down the law because she felt guilty that we had left the kids at home so she could work at a strip club.

The expression on her face was equal part guilt for doing this, and the thrill of living out a personal fantasy. It came off as indifferent at times while she was dancing. I felt Karen was trying to process that this was really happening!

“I am not going to let you two cunts work here if you don’t follow the club rules and MY rules,” I interjected. I wasn’t sure at this stage if working at the club should feel like a privilege or a humiliating punishment.

I was assuming it would be the latter, but they both seemed to want to do it. “If you fuck up, after I finish beating your asses, I’ll tie you out behind the dumpster of the bookstore and invite the customers to a mother-and-daughter gang bang. I advise that you watch what you say, what you do, and who you piss off.”

That was enough to get their attention. I didn’t like that ultimatum because a gang bang might be too much, or it might be exactly what they wanted anyway.

The manager was easy to spot. He spoke with an accent that I assumed was Dutch or German. His name was Jack. He looked kind of like a biker in his forties. He seemed preoccupied with a checklist and some paperwork. He knew we were there, and he didn’t approach us, so we approached him.

“Ever dance before?” he asked the girls as we approached.

They both said no.

“Bullshit, you both look like you know your way around a stage,” Jack was skeptical. He chewed gum while he talked and had one of those no-nonsense attitudes that made it clear that he could give two shits about us.

“Any warrants?” was his second question. I realized that he must get some fairly desperate women. I answered for the girls and reiterated that this was their first time dancing.

“Pimp?”

“I am her husband and her father,” I said. He didn’t seem to believe me, but Jack didn’t challenge me on that either.

“You can hang out, but if you are in here, you have to drink,” he said to me.

“I thought this was a juice bar?” I reminded him that it was non-alcoholic.

“Yeah, order juice, water, coke, whatever.”

Jack’s uncaring attitude and brisk manner was rubbing me the wrong way. He was, in short, an asshole. I suppose that was why they put him in charge.

“Do you have anything to wear on stage?” he asked. The girls nodded.

“Dressing room is down the hall, through the women’s bathroom. Change and go tell the DJ your name and what kind of music you want.”

“We have the job?” Karen asked.

Jack didn’t answer right away. He made my wife wait as if she was an idiot for asking the question. “No, you have an audition. If you do okay, then you have the job.”

The girls asked me what their dancing names should be. Jack laughed. “Tweedle-Dee, and Tweedle Dum,” he suggested. I liked the casual way that he talked down to the girls. I felt I needed to adjust my tone with them. I hadn’t changed my demeanor very much since this all started.

“Can it be anything?” I asked him.

Jack looked at me as if he was wondering why I had asked the question before he answered. He seemed guarded as if getting information out of him should be difficult. He made it seem like every word he said had to cost something, and that’s why he wasn’t generous with long explanations.

“As long as there are no other girls with the name. It can be their real name for all I care.”

Names are important things. “I want the name to take you out of Heather and Karen’s headspace and allow you to adopt a new persona when you are here,” I said as I shuffled through stripper names in mind

like Cherry, Candy, Honey, and Nikki.

“What about Porsche and Mercedes?” Heather offered playfully for the two of them. “Guys can ride us but not for free!”

“What about you let your father pick the names, you dumb cow?” Karen seethed with anger.

“Hah, I like this one. She’s got spunk,” Jack brightened and seemed amused by my wife’s fiery response.

“Cum Gobbler and Spunk-Face,” I suggested. You should have seen the girl’s eyes grow wide in shock. They obviously didn’t like those names at all. “That’s what you are, and the customers should know that.”

Jack thought I was joking and, when he realized that I was serious, shook his head no. “Customers want a fantasy name to be with a fantasy girl. They don’t want Karen at home, but I doubt they want to hear Cum-Gobbler on the main stage.”

“I will be honest with you, Jack,” I said. Jack clearly became offended when I used his first name. It felt like he didn’t think I should be on a first-name basis with him. I continued my explanation anyway. “My wife and daughter have an ego problem. I am trying to check their egos and keep them from feeling like celebrities here.”

Jack’s facial expression suggested he was going to say that he did not give a shit.

“We could use a few less prima donnas with attitude here,” he said. I was going to say something else, but I was glad I didn’t. He was thinking about his response. “Gobbler and Spunky would work. Short and simple.”

I looked at the girls. Their faces were pale, and they weren’t particularly enthusiastic about the names. I wish I could say that I had some really profound reason for the names that they were going to be given – one that represented something meaningful and made them reflect on their behavior.

“Perfect,” I smacked my wife on the ass. “Spunky, go change and tell the DJ you only dance to booty music. You too, Gobbler!”

“Yes, Daddy,” Heather hurried off with her mother.

Jack sat quietly for a few minutes. A waitress came around to ask me what I wanted to drink.

“Set him up with whatever he wants,” Jack quietly whispered to her. I thanked him, but he didn’t acknowledge it. I assumed that he was the kind of guy that didn’t want me to make a big deal about it. He didn’t say whether that applied to all night, but if the girls failed their audition, then it wouldn’t matter.

Heather (Gobbler) came back in a mesh outfit with a pair of black panties. It left little to the imagination and her tits were fully visible. She had some short heels that she apparently borrowed from “Barbie the House Mother.” Who had advised her that she needed “Skin to Win”. Heather was so excited, and looked so slutty! She fit right in with all the sleaze, laser lights and smoke machines. The fact that her stripper name was kind of a joke felt right to me. I didn’t want her to get a swollen ego because as a new girl – she was already turning heads out on the floor.

My wife modeled a black leather harness that I had just purchased for her. She wore uncomfortable high heels, and had her hair and make-up all done up! She looked ten years younger!!

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Jack didn’t say anything about the outfits, and he didn’t offer to buy them a drink. I told them to sit quietly and wait to hear their name after they told the DJ who they were. He was a thin, wiry, weasel-looking guy that went by “Wizard.”

“Is he a good DJ?” I asked Jack over the sound of the stripper’s music warbling over the loudspeakers. I was just trying to make conversation.

“He sucks. You want the job?”

I thought about it for a split second. I don’t have a radio voice, and I’ve never DJ’d before. I also make a comfortable living working in technology. It would allow me to keep an eye on the girls. I laughed and told him I had never done it before.

“Good, you have no bad habits. He tries to hit on the girls. Nobody likes him.”

Jack was incredibly blunt.

A steady stream of girls came up to the DJ booth as he called their names and told them to stand by. They would flirt with him and sometimes hug him, but none of them seemed rude. I asked Jack about that, and he said that “This is their bread and butter. What good is giving him attitude? He is a little shit, but the daytime DJ is even worse.”

I reminded Gobbler and Spunky that they needed to be EXTRA nice to everyone and that I’d find out if they weren’t.

“What are you going to do, Cowboy? Take away your wife’s Lexus for a week? We get swingers in here all the time. They want their wives to dance for fantasy and then we never see them again. You are the first one who claims that he also has his daughter with him.”

“If my wife is rude, I’d make her apologize, offer a BJ to you or Wizard if you want, spank her ass, and probably make her crawl all day tomorrow instead of being able to walk. If she continues to be rude after that, I would give her a more serious punishment.”

Jack didn’t respond to that. His expression didn’t change, and he didn’t seem surprised by what I said. He didn’t even acknowledge it.

“Gobbler, standby, Gobbler, standby,” Wizard announced over the speakers.

“I am nervous,” Heather smiled warmly. She’s been to hundreds of cheer competitions, and she had nothing to be nervous about.

“If he doesn’t hire you, I will handcuff you behind the dumpster of the bookstore and charge 5 dollars for your dirty cunt, 3 dollars for your asshole, and handjobs and BJs are free.”

I wasn’t kidding. It sounded over the top like a joke, but that really was what I planned to do if this idea didn’t work.

Jack laughed. He didn’t laugh hard. It was a single tittering chuckle, but he laughed. He returned to the stone face he had before almost immediately.

My daughter was called on stage to a song called Booty by Saucy Santana. The music was uptempo and exciting. The chorus was “Booty, Booty, Booty,” and it was a fun, cute song.

Customers got excited as soon as she approached the stage. My daughter looked clueless as she walked up the steps. She walked around and shook her hips.

“C’mon guys, we got booty, booty, booty, shaking everywhere. Who came here tonight for some ass and titties? Ass and titties? Look at that fine-looking college girl. She’s here with her Momma tonight at the Booby Trap! Auditioning for her place with the all-stars. If you like what you see, come stick a dollar on that garter.”