Page 50 of Shamed
I cringe at the name, my muscles twitching with aversion, then I look at him over my shoulder. “It’sJayne. I don’t go by Jennifer anymore.” I don’t even know why I told him that name rather than JJ.
“Sorry . . . Jayne. Just think about it, okay?” His final words reach my ears just before the door shuts.
I take several steps inside before pausing, leaning my back against the wooden-slat wall while I take a few deep breaths. That was unexpected, to say the least.
Was he really just waiting out there for me to arrive? For how long?
“Why are you just standing there doing nothing?” Looking up, I see Chester sitting at one of the nearby tables, having a drink with one of his friends, his narrow eyes on me, waiting, impatient. “Get your ass into the dressing room.”
“Sorry.” I quickly push off the wall and move to get changed.
I don’t think I’ll be able to escape into my mind tonight, but at least I’ll be distracted thinking about something else.
*~*~*~*~*
“Let go of me.”
Meaty hands grip my shoulders, keeping me pressed into the lap of the man behind me.
I knew this stringy-haired man would end up being a creep as soon as I stepped into his space.
The only reason I’m not completely paralyzed under his grip is because there are people surrounding us, not that anyone has done anything to help so far.
“It’s called a lap dance, girly, and I want you to fucking grind harder in my lap.” His demented chuckle chills the back of my neck while he rubs himself against my ass.
Tremors rattle my bones, making them feel uncoordinated, but I keep twisting and turning, trying to free myself from his hold.
“And as I said, let go of me.” Unfortunately, the words coming out are more of a gasp, so they don’t have the same commanding effect I’d like.
He ignores me, of course.
When he snakes one of his hands around to feel my breast, I yelp, thrashing my body so hard that I tumble to the sticky ground. Anything is preferable to his lap.
“Hey!” At first, I think it comes from the man, angry at me for having escaped. But when someone steps over me to stand in front of the guy, I realize it came from security.
Thank fucking goodness.
I watch from my collapsed position as he’s hauled to his feet, then proceeds to spit out profanities as he’s dragged to the door.
“Are you okay?” I flinch at Melody’s hands suddenly on me, then try to shake away the fear making my lungs feel like they’ve been stuffed with weights.
With Melody’s help, I get to my wobbly feet.
“Let’s get this strap fixed.”
My eyes drop to where Melody is looking, and sure enough, my bra strap is hanging, torn. I didn’t even feel it snap.
“Okay,” I say half-dazed, and follow her to the changing rooms.
Several hours later, a little shaken, a lot tired, and very relieved, I make my way to the dressing room to change back into my comfy clothes.
After my run-in with that man, I was left feeling a touch rattled for the rest of the night. Every time I turned around, I expected to see his stringy blond combover, creepy smile, and patchy beard.
Most of the other girls have already left by the time I step into the changing room. I had to stay back a few minutes extra and explain to Chester why I wasn’t on the floor for the half-hour that Melody was helping me pin my bra strap back together.
I rush through the process of unpinning my crown and putting on my street clothes, not bothering to take off my makeup and glitter. Then I gather my things and leave. I just want to get out of here.
I look over my shoulder every few steps, worried I’ll find someone walking behind me, like that creep I got kicked out. My fear and anxiety are always a little worse after a night like this, and I end up on high-alert, wondering if predators are waiting around every corner, waiting to get their revenge.
