Kissing

When you spend 30 hours a week projecting sexuality, you tend to be really turned-on most of the time, even if it's for the purpose of making money. If you spend most of your time around the same group of people and those people are beautiful and your friends and just as high and turned-on as you are...

...eventually everyone starts kissing: onstage, off stage, during table dances, at the bar, in the bathroom while snorting lines, at the dyke bar next door, at after parties, through and under your new satin panties, in the car, in somebody's bed, etc., etc., etc.

Dress Up Part 1

Kelly decided she was having a party. "It's a dress-up party. We're always naked, so we'll make this special by wearing fancy clothes."

That weekend she arrived armed with flyers for the "Dress-Up Party. (I mean it.) Food, Friends and Fun (ie. Booze). Bring Your Boyfriend, Bring Your Friends." This was followed by her address, phone number and a hand-drawn map to her house from Central Avenue.

I told the boyfriend about it while we were running errands. He got excited. "A stripper dress-up party! Cool! I have a great sharkskin suit from the 50's that I hardly ever get to wear. What are you wearing?"

I did a mental inventory and realized I had no party dresses. The boyfriend grabbed my hand and whisked me through the busy afternoon traffic, across the street and into a Vintage Shoppe.

We found a round rack in the middle of the store with cocktail dresses, Some were amazing, but they were pricey. I thought we should leave, but he shushed me. "Just try them on for fun. Classic dames turn me on," and he kissed the back of my neck, so I grabbed a space-age lamé sheath and a basic black. He thrust a quilty cream and gold broacade silk with matching evening jacket into my hands.

"Ack! This is a musty old lady dress!" I tried to hand it back. He refused.

"Just try it on."

I tried the gold lamé first. I felt like Barbarella attending a dinner party hosted by Captain Kirk. It was cool. Then to humor the BF, I tried on the cream and gold brocade silk.

Oh my god!

I walked out to show him and he immediately flushed and got a partial hard-on. It was as if the dress -- cut, color and fabric -- had been custom-designed for me. With the jacket on I looked designer elegant. Without the jacket, the fitted tank halter dress made me Iook like a silver screen sex goddess.

"I'm buying that for you," he sighed.

I looked at the price tag. "It's $75.00." The boyfriend was a cook and taking care of his terminally ill mother.

"It's worth every cent."

******

None of my shoes matched my new vintage outfit. It was 2 days before the party and I was obsessing as I sipped a beer and waited for my big money regular to drop by after his shift. Brandy hopped on stage. She sort of lazy pranced around -- it was early and dead -- when I noticed her shoes -- clear high-heeled lucite strappy sandals. They would match my new suit and they were the perfect accessory for a stripper dress-up party. When I asked, Brandy said she'd picked them up at the mall at some faux-boutique shoe shop on the second level.

The next day my 3 year old son and I were driving across town to the place my roommates and I had derisively nicknamed "Hitler Mall". (The mall was actually named for a conquistador who had decimated the local Native American population -- the survivors' descendants lived in the hills beyond the mall. Also, I hate malls.)

My boy and I wandered around the mall until we found the store. The salesman brought me a couple of styles to try, I found a style I liked that was comfortable and stood up to prance around on the carpet. My son looked at me and his deep brown eyes widened with awe.

"Oh, Mommy! You look just like Cinderella!"

Thunderbolt

It was a very, very slow Saturday. One of the Unser boys had wandered in and Calico was making her rent money. He really liked her. Besides them, there were 2 drunks not buying dances and 5 very frustrated dancers. Janine and I went to the dressing room to kill some time and catch a buzz.

I didn't come out again until my next stage. I was hoping to keep my mood as positive as possible in case more customers arrived. I played this christian rock song I really liked that the DJ had turned me on to. ("The Flood" by Jars of Clay.) I decided to dance for myself since the place was slow. I practiced some new pole tricks and worked on a few belly dancing moves I had picked up at a workshop. I was lost in my own ecstatic dance and didn't even notice the man that was sitting at the top corner ringside table.

He walked up with a dollar as the song was fading out. "You're amazing." he whispered. "You dance like you love it." I had been gathering up the pieces of my costume scattered around the stage. I stood up and smiled. I was holding my skirt and bra over my naked breasts shyly -- as if I hadn't just been shaking my tits to a christian rock melody. Absurd!

"Would you like a dance?"

"Yes, please!" He sat back in his chair and I dropped my clothes on the table and moved very close to him. He probably received one of the best table dances of my short career. You see, when I first looked at him, I was hit by the thunderbolt -- like Michael Corleone in Sicily.

I was always quite capable of drawing a thick line between my desires and the men that visited the club. Occasionally, I found one attractive -- but that merely made working them easier. Occasionally, I found one to be interesting -- but that merely made working them more entertaining. Sometimes -- rarely -- but sometimes, a dancer would start a relationship with a guy she met at the club. Naomi met her boyfriend there. He had come in with a bachelor party and returned every day for a week until she agreed to go out with him. But every wise dancer knows that you don't shit where you eat. Your highest dollar regulars were rarely boyfriend material anyway. My hundred dollar a night men were respectively:
+ a 50 year old married family man who claimed I reminded him of his wife when they met and
+ a 50 year old thrice-divorced drunk who ran a paint crew of ex-cons and liked to party.

But there was something about this gentleman. He was only a few years older than me. He had black intelligent eyes, broad shoulders, silky black hair and his skin was the color of cinnamon. I wanted to lick him. I wanted to go wading in his eyes and kiss his soft full lips. I was giddy and nervous and shaky. I forgot I had a boyfriend. Mostly he had that undeniable magnetic quality that I can't begin to describe.

When the song was over, I sat down with him. The waitress sauntered by and he ordered us each a beer. We talked for a while. We shared interests in music, books and movies. He said he was just passing through town.

"Why?" I asked. "Are you a truck driver or something? "

"No," he said. "I have to be at the airforce base at midnight. Then I'm being sent away."

"Midnight? That seems rather clandestine. Are you Special Ops or something?'

"Kind of. My term starts the 15th, which is midnight. I can't talk about it."

That piqued my curiosity. "What? Go ahead and tell me. I'm just a stripper. My job is keeping my mouth shut while dancing mostly naked."

"No one would believe it." He looked sad and tired.

"I'll believe you."

"You're not a government agent are you? No, I know you're not. You haven't seen any hanging around here, though? Any customers in fedoras and trenchcoats?"

"Not tonight," I laughed.

"OK... I haven't been able to tell anyone the whole story, not even my Mom. I'll tell you because you're beautiful and amazing and I want bury my face in your skin all night and I still trust you somehow. I'm really good with computers. A couple of years ago I hacked into a very sensitive location and found a lot of very sensitive information. I got caught while trying to expose it. They threatened to kill me, but brought me up on federal charges instead. I -"

The waitress had walked up again. "Would you like another drink?" I looked at him.

"I'm broke. I'm sorry." The waitress rolled her eyes and walked off. "I'm going to get you in trouble. You need to go make money -- you have a kid. I just wanted to kill some time before going. I didn't expect to meet someone I liked. But damn, watching you dance..."

"Go on with your story," I said. "It's slow. I'm not missing anything. I like you, too."

"OK," he continued. "I was given a choice. Twenty-five years in federal prison or I could spend 5 years teaching my computer skills. Hey, teaching -- no problem. But then I found out my assignment. Do you remember the Star Wars program?"

"Sure," I said. "That super-expensive defense program Reagan devised that didn't even work."

"Oh, it works. They just don't want anyone to know. What happens is... you type in a set of coordinates and the person who is at that location gets assasinated via sattelite. They use intelligence and surveillance to know who will be there and when -- then bingo! The government assasinates enemies and no one knows who is responsible. My job will be to train a bunch of hacker kids who have gotten into trouble to use it."

The waitress walked up again. "Rachel wants to see you."

He looked at me. "See, I did get you into trouble. I'm sorry. I better go." We both stood up.

I put a hand on his arm. "Don't go. I'm not in trouble. Let me go talk to her and I'll be right back. Wait here."

At the bar, Rachel told me about some guy sitting alone at a table in the corner. The waitress said he had a big wad of cash on him and no one was working him. I looked at him over my shoulder. His eyes were tiny and cold. He looked mean.

"Thanks for the tip, Rache. Look -- this is weird. You know I'm all about the money, but I'm really enjoying the guy I'm talking to. I think I might sit with him for a little while."

"OK. I just figured you'd want to know."

"Thanks, Rachel." I turned around, but my thunderbolt man was gone.

And I swayed over to the table with the mean-eyed money man.