Player Loves Curves Box Set #4-6 by Hope Ford
Hanna
I peeloff my clothes self-consciously. I look around the room at the half naked women around me and I can’t help but compare myself to them. Where they’re lithe and toned, I’m full and voluptuous. I’ve worked hard to not let my body image affect me, but looking around the room I can’t help but feel a little like I should be covering up instead of stripping down.
One of the women brings over my costume and I hold it up in front of me. “This is it?” I ask her. In my hand is the smallest sliver of material and I know it is barely going to cover my mound, let alone my larger butt.
She nods her head at me. “Honey, what are you worried about? You’ll look great in this. All the men will be drooling over that fat ass.” She’s chomping her gum as she says it, and at first I wonder if I heard her right, but then when she reaches behind me and slaps me on the butt, I know I haven’t.
I draw back, shocked, not used to having someone talking to me like this, let alone hitting me on the butt. But she just laughs and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Fat is a good thing.”
I look at her with confusion etched on my face. I’ve never known fat to be a good thing, but whatever, it’s the least of my worries right now. The woman is still standing there and not until I smile at her, letting her know I’m not offended does she smile back and pat me on the shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything.”
I mutter, “thanks” before I hold the material between my hands, pulling it in every direction with hopes that maybe I can stretch it, but I have no such luck. I shake my head and start telling myself over and over that I can do this. I have to do this.
I finish undressing and pull the small panties and the matching fitted bra on. I spot a vest on a hanging rack. “May I use this?” The woman that is stationed next to the rack shrugs her shoulders. “All the clothes are free rein. You can wear whatever you want… or nothing at all.”
She cackles at her joke, but I barely get a smile out. I pull the vest on and then plop a cowboy hat on my head and then look in the mirror.
I can’t help but shake my head. Damn, Hanna. You’ve come a long way from the teenage girl in Macon County.
I’ve had to grow up too fast and I know it. But I don’t have anyone else to blame but myself. I pull at the fabric and try to fit it better, but every which way I pull it just bares another inch the other way. Reluctantly, I give up. I’ve made my bed and now I have to lie in it. I know that no matter how much I hate this, dancing for men in barely nothing, I won’t leave. I can’t. I’m here to stay. I’ve heard this is the fastest and easiest way to make money, and so that’s what I’m doing. I’m going to make money.
I stand there jittering, fiddling my hands together, and then turn away from the mirror. I can’t look at myself right now.
The door opens and the music level gets higher. Troy, the manager that hired me earlier today, comes in, spots me, and heads straight for me. He circles me and looks me up and down. He’s not leering and thankfully he doesn’t touch me. “You nervous?” he asks when he comes around the front of me again.
I only answer him with a nod. Maybe because I feel like if I talk, I’m going to throw up all over the place.
He motions for me to follow him and I do. We walk down the hall toward the backstage door, and he talks the whole way. “You’ll be fine. Tiny’s at the door. If anyone gets too handsy, he’ll take care of it. All you have to do is dance. They’re going to love you. What’s your name?”
“Hanna. Hanna Michaels.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Your stage name?”
“Oh, uh, I dunno.” My mind starts to whirl, and I spit out the first nickname I think of. “Sweet Peach,” I tell him but as soon as it leaves my mouth, I regret it. It’s my past rearing its ugly head, but I can’t focus on that right now. No, I need to go and shake my ass in a room full of strangers.
“That’s perfect. So you’re next. Just stand here and when you hear me say your name, come through that door strutting your stuff.”
I must look scared to death because he stands there and stares at me for a minute. There’s a softness about him, one that surprises me. When he interviewed me earlier today, he seemed gruff and sort of an ass. But now he seems more like a grandpa than anything. His forehead wrinkles worriedly. “You okay? You going to be able to do this?”
When I don’t answer him, he says, “I’m assuming you’re here for a reason and I’m assuming that reason is money. You’re clean and don’t do drugs…”
I start to ask him how he knows, but he shakes his head. “I can tell. Trust me, I’ve been doing this a long time. Just go out there and get lost in the music. Imagine you’re alone or you’re dancing for your boyfriend. Whatever. It will be over before you know it.”
Finally, because I know I’ve already given him more trouble than anything, I nod my head and give him a determined smile. I pull my shoulders back and mentally prepare myself for this. I can do this. I can do this, I tell myself. And then finally, I tell him the same. “I can do this.”
