I told him I would keep the $5,000 in mind, but to transfer the $51 K into my checking account immediately.
As soon as I hung up from talking to Harold, I called Shirley. I cried on the phone with her for about a half hour, but then I had to get to work. I was crying most of the day, but I got all the orders right and didn’t spill any hot coffee on anyone.
The Beat Girl session was TERRIBLE! I should have had Harold cancel the session and put on a rerun. We do that once in a while when Beat Girl is “on vacation.” But those are always announced in advance, and I didn’t want to disappoint my fans.
I disappointed them anyway– at least most of them. It was a spank and paddle night which usually brings out my E buddies, but I was so down that they stayed home. Anyone who was hoping to see me go into a pain-induced orgasm was very disappointed. On the other hand, anyone who wanted to hear me scream in pain really got their money’s worth.
I probably should have dropped the safety switch when I realized that the endorphins weren’t going to kick in at all, but then I decided that maybe my body was telling me that I needed the true punishment with no help from my E buddies. I had, after all, gotten myself into this by “an illegal act in which I willingly took part.”
Everything hurt like hell, and I kicked and screamed and thrashed like I never had before. If this was how “normal” people experience this kind of pain, I understand why they think I am weird. There is no way that I would do this regularly if it actually hurt that much with no corresponding reward and release.
As soon as the session was over, I shut down the studio and limped back up to the house barefoot and naked. I probably would have done that anyway– walked back up to the house barefoot and naked, but I wouldn’t have felt like a whipped dog slinking back to its kennel while I did it.
I had barely gotten back into the house when my phone rang. It was Shirley.
She didn’t even say “Hello,” but instead started off with, “I know how we can raise the money.”
“I don’t want to borrow from your parents,” I answered.
“Can’t do that anyway,” she replied. “I talked to them this morning. It would directly involve them in a criminal proceeding in which they did not have a direct relationship, and that could taint their credibility in other cases.”
She gave a short snort that was somewhere between a laugh and a chuckle. “That’s my Dad’s lawyer talk for why he can’t do it. But I have another idea.”
“What?” I asked.
“We do a live performance of Beat Girl!” she bubbled excitedly.
“Wait a minute, Mickey Rooney,” I answered, “this is not a ‘Let’s Put on a Show’ movie. It doesn’t work that way in real life.”
“Yes it does,” she replied. “I already checked with The Grease Pit. We can rent the place for an after hours show for only $1,000. They are licensed to seat up to 250 people. If we charge $125 a ticket, and sell out, we can clear over $30,000. Even if we only have an 80% house, we still clear $25,000.”
“But Beat Girl doesn’t have a road show,” I protested, “And it would be really hard to set up all this equipment somewhere.”
“The only equipment you will need,” she insisted, “is your cape and mask and that weird chair you showed me in the studio. I can get anything else we need. We advertise the show as a live performance of Beat Girl and Nubbin, with special guest, Beat Cat.”
She paused to let that sink in and then continued, “I really wanted to use Catwoman, but Dad said that would trigger a copyright bot if it appeared on the website. He’s not sure how you have gotten away with Beat Girl for so long.”
“I’m not sure about all ths,” I said. “Who do we get to be Beat Cat and Nubbin?”
“I will be Beat Cat,” she said. “I have a full body cat suit that will drive them wild. As far as Nubbin, have you ever seen Vicki naked?”
“Not since the sixth grade,” I replied.
“Vicki is endowed,” Shirley continued, “with a clit that is bigger than some men’s pricks. When she gets turned on it sticks out of her almost two inches. And I haven’t collected from her on that bet yet, so she has to do it.
“Get Harold to put something on a special page of the website that says that Beat Girl and Nubbin will be appearing live this weekend. That way people can check the website to be sure that this is the real deal. We put up posters at the Pit and a couple of other bars in town and see what happens.”
I agreed and Shirley said she would talk to the owners at the Pit and set things up. She was also going to take care of getting the tickets and the publicity ready.
I was feeling a little better when I finally went to bed, but my ass and legs and back still really hurt. With my E buddies on strike, I didn’t even feel like jilling off before going to sleep. I just took some pain pills and slept on my stomach.
End of entry for Day Twenty-Six
Maddi’s Diary, Day Twenty-Seven, Wednesday
I explained to Dr. B what Shirley and I were planning to do. He advised me to pay the bill from the state first since it would take the longest to clear. We really didn’t talk about much else during our session. He more or less let me vent about how unfair this all was. All I did was stand up on a ledge naked and it was practically ruining my life.
“But you finally connected with Shirley because of it,” he said in his helpful therapist way.
“Yes, there is that,” I conceded.
Then he asked, “If that was the only good to come out of all of this, would you do it again?”
“Damned straight!” I answered. The answer surprised me for several reasons. One, that is one of my father’s expressions and I have never used it before in my life. And two, I was practically shouting as I said it.
Dr. B just laughed and said, “See you Friday.”
I checked with Shirley before I went to work and she said everything was set up with the Pit. Tommy, the bartender, will get 5% for handling the ticket sales. That cuts some from the profits, but it is a necessary expense. She also told me that she was hiring four of the security men from the club at $250 each for the night… “just in case.”
“In case of what?” I asked.
“Two of them are going to be wandering the crowd keeping things peaceful. The other two are going to be standing up front making sure that nobody gets over-excited and rushes the stage.”
I hadn’t thought about that. Men can kind of lose it sometimes when things get hot on a live stage. The real reason that strip clubs started using brass poles was to keep strippers from being pulled off the stage by lust-crazed customers. The pole gave them something to hang on to. The fact that dancing around that pole can be erotic as hell, was just an accidental side benefit.
Work was OK. My mind was a lot clearer. I was even able to smile and be chipper as I waited on customers. That makes a big difference. My tips went back up to their normal level.
End of entry for Day Twenty-Seven
Maddi’s Diary, Day Twenty-Eight, Thursday
I didn’t realize that my E buddies could arrive so late. I was feeling a LOT better, and I woke up REALLY horny, so I dug out my jack rabbit and my stash of clothes pins. There are a lot of different pain devices on the market, but nothing really does it for me like a good ol’ wooden clothespin. And it is so quick and simple to set up.