Do you remember Kelli? She stunned us again.

We sat in Joey’s area because we hadn’t seen her in a while.  We wanted to catch up.  She sent Kelli over to take our drink order as she stepped outside to take a cigarette break.  Those things will kill her–the cold alone at 20 degrees, you had to really want a smoke!

“Guess what I got?” Kelli was giddy as she poured our glasses.  “Some more body art?” I guessed, hoping for a repeat reveal.  “Hardware!” she gave a reckless grin to me first, and then to my wife.  Paying attention to our reactions rather than her pouring, she managed to serve me a glass of nothing but foam.  “Shit! Let that settle a minute.”

“What kind of hardware?” the Mrs. inquired.  That a girl!  I had a good feeling about this because I knew she already had a belly button piercing.  We had seen that when she showed us her tattoos.   Quieting down, so the family with two children sitting behind us wouldn’t overhear, she nodded towards her chest and said “Got my nipples done.”  She took another look at my beer glass.

I studied her chest through her uniform.  I couldn’t see a hint.  Catching my gaze, she offered, “I’ve got a padded bra on so you can’t tell.”  She must have read my mind as I figured I’d talk her into a showing.  She giggled, “I don’t think so.”  “Oh come on!” I pleaded, ”You showed us the tiara, for crying out loud.”  “Hurt like a bitch,” she confessed.  “I thought someone stabbed me in the tit with a hot poker.  I almost chickened out and stopped after one.”  I was stuck on one track, however.  “You going to give us a look?”

Joey was back in no time.  Before long the crowd had thinned.  Kelli got cut early.  She asked if she could join us after she changed.  I agreed, “Only if you lose that padded bra!”  She came out dressed in gray sweatpants and a black tank top–it looked almost identical to the black Hooters top she had worn except without the company logo–and it was very clear that she wasn’t wearing a bra.  The piercings held her nipples erect.  “Let’s get this out of the way,” she sighed as she sat down, quickly looking around.  With that, she pulled her tank down, straps sliding down her arms–her breasts clearly exposed, and her piercings quite impressive!  She didn’t move to cover them as quickly as I would have thought.  “What do you think?” she asked.

Oh darling!  What do I think?  Uh…

Do you remember Cara? From this angle, how could you forget?

“I’m quitting,” she announced as she took our order. Rolling her eyes in the direction of new manager and former Hooter girl Pam, she snipped, “I won’t miss these fuckers at all!”

I was shocked that Cara was leaving.  She had made sport of how easy the tip money could be coaxed out of male customers’ wallets, and in more serious moments she had alluded to how much better the waitressing life was to her past as a stripper.  But I was even more shocked when she sat down for a few moments to tell us her plans for the future.

“It’s like I’ve told you before–I’ve got these money makers.”  I recall that comment, but I also remember how she had felt degraded by men tossing money at her.  “So you’re going back to it?”  “No.  I’m too old for that shit,” she stared at the floor.  “You remember the modeling I’ve been doing?  It’s a new opportunity with that.”

“What new opportunity?” my wife couldn’t hide the worry in her voice.

“It’s like massage–helping clients relax.  Good paying clients.  Very good paying clients, actually.”  My wife let loose, “Jesus, Cara!  You’re smarter than this.”  I was confused.  Modeling that helps clients relax?  “It’s not like you think,” Cara argued. “I just model lingerie for a little while, we have a few drinks, I let him catch a glimpse or two, we have another drink while I rub his shoulders, and… you know…”  “You rub one out for him!” my wife finished her sentence.   Now I understood.  “That’s prostitution, Cara. It’s sex for money!”  Cara bit her lower lip.

Just then Pam yelled across the room, “Cara!  Pick-up!  You’re falling behind!’  Cara rolled her eyes again.  “It’s definitely going to be better than this shit.”  As she stood to leave, the Mrs. grabbed her wrist, “We’re not done talking about this.”  Cara sighed, “Okay.  I’ll be back.”  It was going to be a late night.