Nekkid Ophie

Casino Nekkid Ophie

Wait. What!? Nekkid Ophie? How? Where? I write this stuff. The characters I depict are mine. I’m supposed to be omnipotent for them. But I’m not. So annoying. Ophie, the woman I thought was near to a nun, fierce as Athena, and a paralegal, naked? OMG!!! True, it seems.

Why? Why would a woman who comes from money, owns property, and doesn’t seem to need a day job get down to pasties and a g-string in a local gentleman’s dance club? In a word: her farm. Charlie left an expensive mess. What better way to find the extra money for the renovation than wave her tits in his face?

Some of the back story—I’ve said Charlie and Ophie have some history together. Years ago they were stars of the Bal du Bois. Charlie was a freshman with a major in Finance, and Ophie majoring in English with an eye toward law school. Young, from good families who have money, in college and good schools, and the work ethics and grades needed to set them on the right path. They were dating then. Fam talked of weddings and dates. Everything was set. All they had to do is execute the plan set before them.

That didn’t go well. First of all, the fifteen minutes we see while they are in the limelight is the fairy tale we wish were true. We want our magical thinking to be real. It isn’t. Charlie drank and gambled his way to his senior year. He had the money to spend and keep the illusion going. Then he met his aunt, who was a much more desperate drunken gambler than he.

Light Fantastic

Ophie and Charlie were a thing. Paris, London, Tokyo, Monte Carlo, Secret Room Marrakech, the Belagio, and Trump Plaza. Ophie, back then, thought women were entitled to as much debauchery as they wanted. She could afford to pay her way out of the consequences. Charlie, with his big dick brain, was easy to keep on a leash. Charlie’s money was still good. Good times.

They were taking it easy in Atlantic City. A cocooning weekend at Ceasar’s. Charlie spent most of Saturday downstairs at the roulette wheel. Fine by Ophie. She’d been applying to law schools and needed a break. The hotel had Netflix for free. So Squid Games.

Then Sunday morning Ophie didn’t feel so great and it wasn’t a hangover. Her period was late. So she got a pregnancy test from Walgreens on Atlantic Avenue. It was positive. Charlie was her baby daddy unless something changed. That morning as she thought about it the reasons why Charlie was a good party buddy but a bad fiance were easily dismissed. She could make him into a good man. There was enough there to work with.

Turned South

Ophie took a walk to think at about 10:30am. She was gone for a couple of hours. Some of the time she spent enjoying a White Chocolate Latte and chatting with Inger about last night. When she got back to the hotel her key didn’t work. The desk clerk informed her that Charlie’s card was no good. He had an unpaid bill for the room, some meals and liquor charged to the room, and a balance due for his gaming at roulette. Bad baby daddy, bad.

Where is Charlie? It took a minute, but he was at Bare Exposure. He’d talked his way into opening a tab and was in deep. All the things Ophie told herself about how she could make this man a good father drained away. She found him. A tiny, meth-addled faux teenie thing was giving him a lapdance in a bathing suit that had barely an inch of fabric stretching from her crotch, across her flat chest, and down into her ass-crack, “Hey! Get off my man, bitch!”

The girl swung her head to dead stare at Ophie, “This one is yours?”
“He is.”
“Want to join?”
“Get off him before I hurt you and get bounced.”
“Whatever. He has a tab and his card isn’t good.”


Ophie gives the girl her card. She disappears to run the card. Before I let Charlie talk I’ll remind you that one of Ophie’s rules is that the man must be able to pay. Pregnant, catches him in a dance club, and he can’t pay. Ophie signs for the tab, “Charlie, we are done. Don’t call me.” She looks at the receipt. The teenie thing ordered for McCallan 18 bottle service for Charlie. That dancer had taste and smarts. Teenie thing would collect a nice fixed price tip on that. She made it back to Caesars, paid for the room so she could get her stuff and checked out. In the cab to Philly and the airport, she books a charter back to Richmond. On the flight she blocks him.

Within a few weeks, she lost the baby, started the purchase of her Gunn Road house, and went to confession. BTW–the Gunn Road house was a foreclosure auction purchase, her first. Previous owner? Betty Kennon, Charlie’s aunt.

Some enemies are a threat that needs attention. Others are baby boys who throw tantrums and threaten apocalyptic consequences but can’t do much more than shout invective and act stupid #charlie. Charlie today is a pot washer. Ophie owns his aunt’s house and his farm, so . . .

Nekkid Ophie Dancing

Atlantic City was years ago. Forgive first, right? Give grace first and take the high road. I agree. But . . . Charlie is his own worst enemy. And Ophie isn’t above a double win where she can shit on Charlie and increase her net worth. Charlie’s foolish and fast money ways are investment opportunities for Ophie. But . . . yes, there is a but. Getting it done on a rundown farm in Goochland that might be a crime scene and is definitely concerning because of the bugout shelter and weapons cash cost her. Ophie needed money if she was going to afford the renovation without taking out loans.

Guys, some of us, have dick brains that are louder than our reptile brains or our reasoning prefrontal cortex. Wave some nipples or some camel toe in our face and we become very pliable. We make it rain benjamins. I’m not that. People terrify me and women terrify me more. Naked women, even with pasties and a g-string are full-on anxiety attack triggers. Charlie? His dick brain takes over and he’ll do anything.

Ophie asked Inger about taxi dancing at Paradise Casino. Taxi dancing? Yes. Though a dance costs a bit more than a dime these days. The girls dance with the guy for one song. Benign, no? Kind of. These are the same girls that were on stage a little while ago stripping down to pasties and a g-string. Pay her and you get 5 minutes writhing to the beat with the girl you just saw performing.

Behind the Fourth Wall

Not Ophie, though. She was good on stage where the bouncers made sure the only thing flying onto the stage was cash. The guys who paid for a taxi dance were pigs. Somehow the fare they paid gave them the idea that they could touch the girl in intimate places. Wrong idea but a big part of a gentleman’s club is a game where the question in a guy’s mind is, “how much will it cost me to get what I want?” With Ophie, more than you have, buddy.

So here we are. Charlie has a night off. A couple of the bar girls are sharing a table with him. They’ve ordered Korean BBQ. Everybody is on their second or third bottled beer. Good times. The DJ announces the next feature dancer as Aphrodite. Whatever. She starts dancing. The dance begins with her in a toga that reveals an S&M one-piece made of red latex. Pieces come off. Her mask comes off.

Charlie has never moved this fast. He was out of the club, into the kitchen, and in the hallway headed for his room with quickness. What happened? Ophie’s stage name is Aprhodite. Charlie didn’t pay much attention until the first pasty-covered nipple was revealed and the mask came off. His female enemy was on stage getting naked.


Aphrodite finished her set. One of the comics came out with a push broom and swept the cash to the back of the stage where a bouncer bagged it for counting. Saito-san made his feature dancers rent the stage for their set. A girl had to collect enough to make money, cover her stage rent, tips to the bouncers and DJ, and some money to cover the cost of makeup, costumes, and supplies. Aphrodite collected about half of what she needed that night. The late-night crowd had better come through for her.

Meanwhile, Charlie was in his room trying not to cry. It was her fault that he panicked and ran to his room. She embarrassed him in front of the Vietnamese bar girl he had a crush on. Angel was in the room, “Baby, what’s going on?”
“That bitch from Richmond was dancing tonight. I can’t believe she’d do that!”
“Do what? She’s just a dancer.”
“You don’t understand. Anyway, whatever. I’m over it.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I’m good,” Angel tries to rub his shoulders, “Stop that. I’m so done right now.”
“HEY! Don’t be mean!”
“Sorry. Can you come back tomorrow? I’m kind of messed up right now.” Angel tried to hug him and he pushed her away. She left the room. Charlie took a long pull from a fifth of Fireball put his earbuds in and turned up My Chemical Romance until he could hear nothing else. A tear crossed his cheek and he drank again, “fucking cunt”.