Green Berets for the Sexual RevolutionChapter 13
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It was close to showtime. I settled into a front-row booth, which I was told was more comfortable and roomier than the others. Wanda, one of the waitresses and assistant managers, showed up with my special drink: a pitcher of seltzer without ice. "I'm slightly confused. I thought you were named Louise."
"That's Aimee's thing. She sometimes refers to Jeannette and me as Thelma and Louise. Other than Jeannette being stronger than Thelma, I can't say the analogy is utterly wrong. She and I do have different styles. She's more the house grandmother. I'm an ex-dancer, mostly for health reasons, and I enjoy being a bit provocative." She stood. "Take a good look".
Wanda wore a bodysuit and athletic shoes. Her attractive legs were bare. "I wish I could wear heels, but given back problems, I couldn't walk. While I know you aren't formally part of the staff, Aimee and Carol have told me that they trust you completely.
"I trust them, so you're in. We haven't had much time to get to know one another, but I'm looking forward to changing that. I'm also happy to learn that you're one more resource if we have problems.
I've also had several dancers tell me that while they wouldn't dream of trying to take you away from Carol, they like you a lot. Carol has told them about your open relationship. Some of the girls weren't sure what that meant to them, and I passed on that it first meant that she approved of, and encouraged, your playing with them as long as everyone enjoyed it. I also told them that you were completely fine with her both playing and mingling, and never would be jealous. Carol said if you saw her fucking, and she seemed at all uncomfortable, your first concern would be if she was being forced. Otherwise, you'd probably bring her more lubricant.
"Before long, I suspect the three of us will get together outside work. She told me about the soft versus hard idea that was talked about tonight, and I must say that's a novel insight that works well. I like to think, though, that I still could qualify for the hard dancer group except that I'm on injured reserve." She took my hand and put it on her thigh. "I'm also on the leg and butt team rather than the boob team." She pressed my other hand to a tit. "I'm definitely not flat chested, though."
Your lady told me that we're going to have to work on the outfits you wear to the club, for everyone's comfort and accessibility. Lowering a hand, she ran her fingertips across my crotch. As soon as you've got some soft pants, even sweats in the short term, no underwear. It just gets in the way. Bring over a couple of sets of soft clothes and stick them into Carol's locker. With all the care we take in choreography, shit happens, like getting a pitcher dropped into your lap.
"I'd like to play just a little now, call it get-acquainted. I think we've got about 40 minutes to opening, so we shouldn't take more than 20 or 30. Somehow, I don't like the idea of having your clothes, especially when not ideal, being awkwardly displayed. That doesn't mean that we couldn't go to a guest bedroom and fuck if we've got time."
"If not, Carol told me that she can be sympathetic to "she followed me home. Can I keep her?"
Let me share some of my kinks, which also will teach you more about the place. Both Jeannette and I very much are voyeurs. Now, we get a number of thrills just by standing around on the floor, at positions where we know we can look into a booth but the occupants are unlikely to see us. Yes, there is a TV monitoring system, but we never felt it was right to use that for our pleasure. It stays under Aimee's control and is used only for security. Unless perhaps it's a rare private party with more relaxed rules about the stage show, the show proper is kind of like diet food to a voyeur. Most of our fun is from looking into booths. A wide range of things can happen there. If a girl isn't comfortable with her customer, we advise her to sit on the outside of the couch in the booth, so she can escape. Purely from the benefits to us perspective, that's not much fun, because her back will block our view of blowjob action. Again, depending on many things, we can see more or less. A girl may be OK on the inside. She may even be aware one of us wants to watch, also herself likes to be watched, and she'll try to position herself to be seen. There are slight adjustments available for lights in some of the booths, and she can turn it up so it's easier to watch, but it's still dim enough that the customer won't notice.
You won't be surprised that Jeannette and I are voyeuristic. If we won't get interrupted, I adore dirty talk, giving and receiving. I'm a much happier camper when someone trusted whispers absolutely filthy things into my ear, although I have to be cautious and maintain control with most customers. Carol and I really do share a lot of the interest in filth and being outrageous. I can't be that outrageous in the general job. There have been a few times where a customer was feeling exhibitionistic and I was invited to stay in the bedroom. Some people just enjoyed have me watch. Others though it was great if I'd jill off.
She pulled close, gave me a quick open-mouthed kiss, poured some seltzer for me and asked, "spit?" She gave me a big smile, and opened her mouth wide. Honor requires that a gentleman be responsive to reasonable requests from lovely ladies. SPAT. As she smiled happily, I reached out and honked her boobs through the thin fabric, and her face lit up even more.
"I should mention something that does have a voyeuristic side, although there are other aspects. In the back, on each floor, there are one or two bathrooms. That's separate from the shower room in the basement. The doors are unmarked. Most of them have a gold-toned door handle, although a couple are silver. First, Curt, whenever you need a bathroom, don't use the public ones. Use the dancer ones, which have bidets. Bidets can be nice for guys as well. These have some fast hot air dryers, which feel great. There are times I just sit on one for a couple of minutes of air blast. You can learn to wiggle around and get something of a massage. Maybe we can find ten minutes and I'll teach and demonstrate. There's enough mouth to ass play around here, as well as licking in front, that we want to stay fresh and clean.
"More spit, dear? SPAT Thanks! I should add that no one, as far as I know has the slightest interest in scat, brown, or whatever else comes out of that end.
If you're in a bathroom with a gold handle, unless someone asks you not do so, the house rule is that watching someone pee is just fine. Move in for a close look if you like. Most of us like feeling or tasting, but it's considered nice to ask first unless you know the person real well. Since you are the first guy that is getting this sort of access, we need rules for you. Figure it's fine for anyone to watch, but think through having her hold you, especially if you get hard. Holding a pissing man is, for me, a treat that I rarely get, but it often needs to be part of a more organized scene. If the girl won't get a good grip, I can picture a mess with a wild hose spraying around, or your not being able to piss because you are too hard. Anyway, piss drinking is pretty popular, but ask first. That's one reason you tend to see lots of water bottles around -- keeps the piss dilute and sweet, and ready to flow.
A while back, there was a feature dancer named Joni, who was great on stage and in the booths, but by all accounts, delightfully unpredictable in the bedroom. The custom, unless special arrangements have been made, is that the waitresses can walk into the bedrooms at any time. People get the idea, very quickly, that the waitresses are cool with anything going on. Guys continue to fuck.
I started to realize, when I'd walk in on Joni's scenes, that unless it would be awkward to do so, she'd make a point to turn so I had a good look at her. She might finger herself, or lick her finger, while looking me in the eye. When she thought it would be a well-received extra spice, she'd sometimes suggest to the customer, "want to have Wanda watch?" I got extra tips for something I might have paid to do. She might suggest that I could take out my boobs, maybe play with them. I'm of that somewhat frustrating shape where I can get close to licking my nipples, but can't stretch far enough. Guys like to watch. Sometimes, I get tipped to finger myself while watching them, again something I'd probably pay to do.
"Isn't it nice to be around people who love to push the limits? When the more intense scenes develop, especially with customers that we've gotten to know, most of use are willing to be at least a little vulnerable and accessible. Betty is the only one who doesn't do that much, but people sometimes want some domination or erotic pain, which is her favorite. Her face especially, but also her body, are so perfect to make up for a lot. A few times, someone has had a fantasy of an emotionally withdrawn fashion model, and Betty is just great at that. Don't get me wrong. Betty also genuinely gets sexual pleasure, but it's on her terms.
"It's a little frustrating that Betty would be absolutely perfect in that role -- well, maybe not role, because I believe that's her actual style -- but she dislikes any significant girl-girl contact. Maybe she could be convinced, if it was stage only, and she got to exercise the domme and sensual sadist parts of her personality, which she thinks we don't know about. I know that Melina has done fight choreography. I wouldn't mind taking a few hits from Betty if they didn't really hurt, contributed to the act, and got her excited. Isn't funny to hear strippers plotting on how to make a colleague, not a customer, lose control?'
As Wanda left, Cathy replaced her. She gave me what anywhere else would be a scorching deep kiss. Among the inner circle here, it wasn't fair to say that was the equivalent of a handshake, as handshakes were chaste. It's more that this was a pleasant routine event.
"When I was still working on my master's degree, I remember completely losing control with one customer. I had mentioned I was a student, he had said something vaguely technical, and we were getting into one of those conversations where each of you is probing at the other to find out if he or she really knows what they are talking about. Of course, we were flirting sexually, but with an undertone of intelligence. Maybe I teased about a local swingers' club moving to a new facility. I had let slip that I was in computer science.
When that man said, "I'd like to study groups with you in both contexts. Group homomorphism is not a perversion," I swooned. He would have moved to Friend With Benefits, but, alas, he was going to Europe for a fellowship. Carol glanced at her watch. "A couple of minutes until Carol starts."
"So don't do serious nerd humor with me until I'm home with you, and having my way with you won't upset the audience.
Quietly, Carol had been trading ideas with Sam, and Sam had been digging up sound effects to add. The stage still dark, but the sound of a cheering crowd, and then bouncy cheering music. Followed by the lights, Carol cartwheeled out, and then, facing the center of the audience, went into a full split. Occasional flashes of spotlights did emphasize her long legs, and rather than athletic shoes, she wore heels.
Her uniform had changed a little. Something sparkly was on her chest, and emphasized with a narrow spotlight. She cocked her head and mimed concentration, then reached for herself. For a moment, I thought she had torn off her chest, but she shook whatever was in her hands and revealed metallic pompoms. Loudly, she cheered,
E to the x, dx/dy
Cosine secant theta prime
3.14159
Caltech! Caltech! Rah!
Cathy pressed her hot thigh against mine, grabbed me with sharp-nailed hands, stuck her tongue into my ear, and groaned, "can I even wait for later when she turns me on with the chance of many to one mappings?"
"Yeah, I know. Mathematical gangbang. Always bothered me that many-to-one functions weren't injective, for codomains that wanted the injection of much cock."
With that, she dug one hand into my thigh, cupped her crotch and rubbed. To clitoral, vaginal, and G-spot orgasms, she added mathematical ones.
Carol moved out of the split, putting her legs together, and raising them slowly, together, followed by the light. I knew the strength of her abdominal muscles. I wondered how many in the audience knew the difficulty of what she was doing, but was confident that every eye was focused on her legs. Carol's normal complexion suggested a great suntan. She didn't need the visual enhancement of nude stockings, although often wears colored ones. Color? Is white a color? An image of Tana flashed in and out of my mental theater.
She rolled back, pointing her legs up. The spotlight, enhancing but not overwhelming, moved back and forth, emphasizing her high-heeled foot, and then stroking down her legs. The skirt fell back, revealing her lovely posterior in panties rather briefer than those of the usual cheerleader. She leaned back, balanced on her elbows, and slapped her but a couple of times. It sounded like Sam had some percussion instrument back there, as every slap was echoed by a brass "ka-ching".
Carol lowered her legs and stood. The music shifted from the sports theme to Joan Jett and "Do You Want To Touch Me?" She moved around the stage, and at each point bending, and slowly standing while caressing one of her legs, until her fingers touched the hem of her skirt and raised that side to her waist, revealing her hips uncovered by the high-cut panties.
The stage went dark. When it lighted again, a dance pole was in view. Again, she cartwheeled in, but rather than going to the floor, she leaped onto the pole. With spins and a few hand movements, she worked out of her top, throwing it aside. Carol played the pole, up and down, circling it, her proud breasts beautifully formed if not immense. I could tell that she had reddened her normally dark pink nipples to be more visible.
Dropping from the pole, she went to her hands and knees, stretched out, and circled the stage, head high and back bent, thrusting her boobs at the audience. Everyone in the audience knew the answer to the singer's question. They wanted to touch her. Cathy cuddled tightly against me. We exchanged deep kisses, but occasionally Cathy would moan and reach out her arm, her hand squeezing the air.
My inner nerd cannot avoid reflecting, even in the most intense situations. Cathy's comments on giving herself not for drugs, but for abstract algebra, reminded me of the control that wise dancers maintained. Cathy was giving me her trust, in the club where control was wise, as she cuddled against me and let me see her passion. That warmed me inside just as much as her thigh was warm on the outside. My hand dropped to her leg, caressing the superb muscles under sleek womanly skin. She was far more than a sex object.
Wanda came by, still laughing. "I helped solve the technical problem that might have interfered with the start of Edie's act. The ginger ale concentrate line to the mixer at the bar got clogged. She wants any beer bottles used in her act to be filled with ginger ale. She didn't tell you about it ahead of time..." Carol's head snapped up. "Relax, Carol. It's an experiment, but she told me just a little and I think it will be fun."
Lights revealed a chair, small drink table, and floor microphone. I wasn't sure how many people would recognize her intro music as "How Dry Am I?", but the arrangement did have a cheerfully tipsy flavor. She swayed in, wearing a short club dress. About halfway to her chair, she stumbled a little, but caught her balance. Edie raised her beer bottle high in both hands, showing how she had protected it.
She sat down, not very elegantly. Her skirt rose enough to reveal the tops of her black stockings. Lifting her bottle toward the audience, she took a swig, and then lifted it to toast. "I'll bet you're wondering what else I might do with this bottle." She looked at it for a movement, then licked the top, and gave it a few sucks, red lips bright against bottle green."
Edie leaned forward, almost as if she was about to whisper. "Hey, I've never been in a gay bar. Do the guys spend more time giving blowjobs to beer bottles than drinking it? How do gay guys drink enough to get drunk?
"Oh no, I wasn't suggesting that you had been in a gay bar. I'm talking to the guy next to you." Her skirt was loose enough that she could spread her legs a little and hold the bottle between them. "I'll bet you thought you'd get a crotch shot when I put the bottle there. Gentlemen, you are looking at a trained professional." Her laugh was evil.
Only a hint of cleavage showed through the top of her dress. She reached up and tugged a little. "Need to give the girls some air. Now, I don't need a bra, except maybe to protect some guys from a truth they can't handle. But have you ever looked at some bras for big tits, and thought about the challenge of putting on an over-the-shoulder boulder holsters?
"Let me put it this way. If guys had to do this, they'd have tit VIagra. Hey, you surprised that you hear a woman talk dirty? There's just one of me. Go into a room of blue-haired grandmothers, and you can hear dozens of ladies yell 'Oh fuck' if you just say one word.
"BINGO!
Retrieving her bottle, she took a swig, and then several big swigs. Making an unladylike sound, she covered her mouth. "'scuse me." She crossed her legs, showing skin over her stockings. "You wanted Basic Instinct? Nah. I have better control than Sharon Stone, although I can be just as nasty. Maybe I do need to walk off some beer." She put the bottle on the table, rose, and strutted around the stage. Every couple of feet, she'd yell "damn stocking top!" Yanking the skirt over that leg to her hip, she'd adjust it and move on. Between stocking maintenance, she'd stumble and pantomime a burp.
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