Show Time

 

Candy twisted this way, then that, as she studied the sparkle of her new nipple rings in the smudged mirrors of the dressing room. Like sly, winking stars, she thought. Stars for a star! She could see the wide eyes, hear the whoops and hollers already, feel the crisp bills from just cashed paychecks sliding under her G-string.
     “Show time, Candy. Move it,” Mack shouted.
     When she spotted Mack’s greasy head poked through the hallway door, she flicked an errant tress over her shoulder, pursed her freshly glossed lips, sniffed, “Let ‘em fester.”   
     Mack snickered. “Get it in gear, girl. Oh, and did I mention? Professor Lube Job’s here already, just waiting for his fave.”
     Candy rolled her eyes halfway across the dressing room’s leak-stained drop ceiling. “Yeah, professor of what, boobology?”
     Mack snorted. “Well, you just keep him focused on his studies. By the way, what about your mom?”
     “Huh?”
     “When you gonna bring her round? Mother/daughter acts are all the rage, you know. Ain’t she the one you got those tits from?” Mack made the melon squeezing gesture with both hands.
     “Go fuck yourself — Mack.” She bit his name out as if he were just as loathsome as Professor Lube Job.
     Mack frowned, then snickered again. “You’re right. Don’t need no mother/daughter rivalries round here.”
     Candy flipped him the bird. In his shit-brown leisure suit, Mack reminded her of her big brother. Wasn’t Tom always so proud of his stupid Boy Scout uniform? She felt like sticking her tongue out at Mack, calling him Mister Doo-doo Man — Tom always hated that. But why bother? Good riddance! she thought when Mack’s head vanished back into the hallway.
     She turned back to the mirror, swayed her breasts again, flashed her new nipple rings. Guys and boobs! she thought, shaking her head. What, still longing for mommy? For the snuggly comfort? The milk? Or is it more like stealing a naughty peep at mommy undressing? Then what, exposing her, mocking her, fucking her? She shook her head again.
     After zipping up her satin bustier, everything tucked and squeezed in just right, she stared back at the mirror. Free or packaged, she thought, just sacks of fat. Just boobs — for boobs. But as Mack said, worth their weight in gold, better than brains. They kept her off the streets.

 

Back in the dressing room after all the hooting and stomping, Candy counted the bills from her G-string. Not a bad haul, she thought, not bad at all. She turned toward the mirror, flashed a grin at her lucky new nipple rings.
     Mack peered in from the hallway. “Lube Job’s paid up for a special. He’s in the VIP lounge. Get your ass on him.”
     Candy grimaced, pouted. “Why always me?”
     Mack stepped into the dressing room, leaned against the wall. “Why you, Eye Candy?” He folded his arms over his chest. “You still gonna go to college? Still gonna be a headshrink someday? So you never heard of perverts?” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Lube Job’s waiting. Lemme know when you figure him out.” Heading out the door, Mack turned back, sniffed, “Forget college. Shake 'em right, and the professor might even let you shack up with him in his ivory tower.” Mack snickered. “Hurry up. Get your ass on him.”
     She flipped Mack off again as he disappeared into the hallway. While she zipped back into her bustier, she wondered if the professor ever thought about what she was thinking as she sat on his lap watching him stare at her like that. But didn’t the old weirdo like it that way? Her so mechanical and aloof, him as still as an old stone statue, not a twitch as he ogled every sway and jiggle. If he weren’t so ancient, maybe he’d be just another one of the leering jerks, but... She shuddered at the thought of his withered old eyes, his deathlike stare. Eye Candy, all right, even for his eyes. She gave herself one last glance in the mirror, whispered to herself, “I — Candy.”

 

When she stepped into the darkened VIP lounge, she glimpsed Professor Lube Job already seated on his favorite chair in the center of the room, under the brightest spotlight. She noticed Shelly and Monica sitting under dimmer lights in the corners, waiting for their customers to show up.
     She took a deep breath, then marched robot mode toward the professor. Without as much as a nod, she sat on his bony thighs, then tugged her brimming bustier down till her breasts billowed over its lacy fringe. When she rocked her shoulders, glints from her new nipple rings danced across the professor’s crinkled face.
     Then his eyes widened. He jolted upright, shouted, “Stoppa!”
     Her jaw dropped. “Huh?”
     He pointed frantically at her breasts, his skeletal index finger nearly touching her nipple. “Looka,” he screamed....

 

Copyright 2020 A. R. Gregory