My Prerogative by Leah Mueller, frosty Hurricane

Some people aren’t cut out to be strippers. When I applied to a semi-upscale Bourbon Street club, the owners sent me to their sister establishment, Papa Joe’s. It was a grungy, unisex joint. A woman named Tammy served as its undisputed queen. Her act seemed more gymnastic than sexual. As a finale, she sprang onto her pole like a trained monkey and hung upside down, tongue dangling. My erotic offerings were more modest. I mounted the stage and swayed half-heartedly for several minutes. Tammy tried her best to coach me. “Honey, these men are drunk and stupid. All you gotta do is shake it.” I staggered onstage in my ill-fitting stilettos. “My Prerogative” pounded in the background. I closed my eyes and drifted into a reverie. Undulating like a snake, I squeezed my thigh flesh and licked my lips. Several men burst into applause. The music came to an abrupt halt. My eyes fluttered open. Tammy stood beside the jukebox, plug in hand. “Goddammit, keep your pubic hair inside your G-string! I’m not going back to prison because of your bush!” Exposed pubic hair was illegal in Louisiana. I gazed downward. Sure enough, an errant tuft protruded from the edge of my costume like a patch of weeds. Those pubes could send an innocent parolee back to the slammer. Who knew? I tucked the hair back into place and resumed my awkward dance. Two hours remained in my shift. Then I could go home and forget everything. 

Bio:

    Leah Mueller's work appears in Rattle, NonBinary Review, Brilliant Flash Fiction, Does It Have Pockets, Outlook Springs, Your Impossible Voice, etc. One of her stories is in the 2022 edition of Best Small Fictions. Her fourteenth book, "A Pretty Good Disaster" was published by Alien Buddha in 2025. 

 
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