Strip for cash??

As a freshman, I got assigned a random roommate, a girl named Julie. We hardly got along. Juliecame and went at all hours of the night, while I tended to tuck in early. She constantly "sexiled" me, bringing boys over and locking me out of the room. Jane also annoyed me with how she spent money: new clothes every week, jewelry, the latest gadgets, and vacations to exotic locales. A lot of fairly privileged students go to my university. One could find not only BMWs and Mercedes in the school lots, but Maseratis too. Jane fit the "rich kid" mold, but I came from a relatively middling family. Later in the year, to my surprise, Jane revealed that she did too. She got her money from her job. It also explained her late nights. "Working?" I asked.

"I'm a stripper. But keep that between us," Julie said. Curious, I asked how much she made. "In a good week, usually $4,000. I once made $8,000 in a busy week. In a bad one, though, it might just be $1,500. It depends how many nights I work and how lucky I get with tips."

That seemed like a lot more than I would've expected, but I shouldn't have had any expectation really.

"You could do it too you know. You have the body, from what I've seen at least. I know you're shy but just throwin' it out there."

I blushed. "Um, I'll think about it!"

I never did. At least not until almost a year later when I found out my family could no longer afford my schooling. But taking my clothes off for a bunch of strangers? I had one boyfriend before college and had two short relationships since. Only three people had ever seen me fully naked. Yet $4k a week equals $16k a month. That's $192,000 per year. That would cover not only my undergraduate education, but my dad's treatment and even graduate school.

I debated whether to reach out to Jane and felt almost queasy working up the courage. When I finally texted her, she responded that she had dropped out of school and moved back to her hometown of Chicago. Go figure. But Jane gave me the name of a club, "The Mad Hatter," which she said catered to richer clientele. "That's the best and safest club in the area. Ask for Joey D. He's the manager. I would say you could use my name, but we didn't leave on the best of terms." She ended her text with laughing emoji.

The next day, I battled my nerves again, this time to call the club and ask for Joey D. He said their roster was full, but if I came by later that day, he would meet me. I wasn't sure how to dress for the meeting. I didn't own any "sexy" clothes, at least nothing that screamed "stripper," so I went with what I had: acid wash jeans and purple tank top. I looked sexy in spite of myself and was unsure of what would happen...