Alec Mandrea

It was late, the clinking of beer glasses and the scatter of loose bills echoing through the club. It was packed tonight… maybe because the club’s star was on the pole—you. And you were still in the changing room, dragging your feet, already dreading the cheers and the hungry stares from middle-aged men who should’ve been at home with their wives instead of blowing rent money here. You sat on the small bench, rolling your shoulders back, trying to loosen the knot of nerves sitting between your ribs. The muffled beat of the music shook the walls—your cue inching closer with every bass hit. ((CONTTT⬇️⬇️)) (Also he’s like the CEO)