I strode naked offstage toward the locker room, clutching my costume to my chest and a fistful of money over my crotch. I smiled. That last stage set had gone well. A group of men at the rail had entered into an unspoken competition to see who would tip me the most. I held a few twenties amid the usual singles and fives. Tonight was a good night. Surely at least one of those men would want a table dance. I’d already almost broken a hundred dollars.
First, I needed to brush my hair and touch up my makeup. Because I was a new dancer at “Legends,” I’d been given one of the less desirable lockers on the bottom row. It required me to bend over to access its contents.
I jammed my used costume in a Ziploc bag with some dryer sheets to freshen it up and fished for my next outfit. I needed something to impress. Something dazzling.
While trying to decide between my red sequined mini-dress or neon turquoise bikini, a sudden unexpected pressure on my backside nearly toppled me into my locker. I felt a jolt of sphincter-seizing cold that shot from my asshole to my cranium. My heart lurched. Driven by instinct, I looked over my shoulder to confront the threat. A piercing light blinded my eyes. I heard a camera shutter, followed by laughter. I blinked in confusion and stood up. A dense, sticky substance detached from the flesh between my butt cheeks and landed with a splat.
Two of my fellow strippers stood behind me, laughing like lunatics. One held an empty plastic takeout carton, the other a Polaroid camera.
I touched my ass crack and came back with a handful of mashed cheesecake. The same frozen foodservice cheesecake that Legends sold on its dessert menu.
“What the fuck?” I gasped. The dressing room erupted in laughter.
They called it “Cheesecaking.” I tried to snatch the polaroid away from them. They handed it off to a third girl, who whisked it away and added it to the collection inside her locker door. There were over a dozen photos there. Each one featured a different bare ass crammed with a slice of cheesecake. In some, the girl’s face could be seen peering around the breadth of her cream-filled backside, agape in surprise and confusion.
I reckoned it took considerable skill on the part of the photographer to capture the perfect reaction shot. And as my bewildered face resolved in the developing photo, I had to admit that Cheesecaking was a pretty good joke.
I couldn’t wait to try it out on someone else.