Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: Chapter 30

Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: One Chapter A Day

THE BACHELOR CHAPTERS: A THINKING WOMAN’S ROMANCE

Chapter 30

The Triple Door was a classy looking nightclub that featured live music on a generously deep stage, and boasted the installation of perfectly engineered acoustics. Built as a vaudeville theatre at the beginning of the twentieth century, and shuttered for decades after a long run as an X-rated theatre, the venue designers had brilliantly retrofitted the sloping floor with terraced risers. The risers were furnished with high backed banquettes cut in concave curves, which created unmatched privacy and outstanding views from every table. Without exception, there was not a bad seat in the house. On that particular night, they’d created a dance floor for the salsa band, and I was ready to hit those boards. It was going to be Saturday night in Seattle on the arm of Chicago’s Finest; it just didn’t get better than that.

Cocktails and Kodak Moments above the Hudson River, NYC, 2010

Cocktails and Kodak Moments above the Hudson River, NYC, 2010

Kyle looked elegant in the smooth cashmere of his fine black suit, and then buff and physical when he took off the jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, and exposed a super-hero slice of cleavage. My black dress was backless, with a plunging halter, and a brilliantly designed skirt, which was cut long at the back of my knee, and then raised thigh high in the front. The full skirt was made to spin, and with speed, the fabric flew up dramatically to a horizontal plane that fully exposed the length of my high-heeled legs, and just barely covered my twirling butt.

The twelve-piece band was explosive: blowing horns, ripping percussion, and mastering all the salsa classics. Kyle nailed his rhythm to the band, and took over the space, using every inch of the catwalk aisles in a dance set that rivaled the best Broadway musical. It was a concert crowd, not a dance crowd that had come out to hear live-Latin that night, and we single-handedly wowed the audience with our dramatic sideshow of salsa fire. Kyle was smoking hot with his styling, and led a showcase of complex spins and breath-stopping dips. I had never danced better in my life, as he improvised a traveling choreography that touched every corner of the room. The man was a Latin Fred Astaire, and lacked only a spotlight to prove it. The crowd loved it, and I loved Kyle for what he gave me, a rock-star moment on his all-star arm: alive, sexy, and burning with fun.

We stepped on to First Avenue after the show, and I was feeling sassy and flamboyant after our grandstanding dance moves. “Baby, I want go to a strip joint—I want more sexy dancing! I want to watch the pros!”

I hadn’t been to a strip club in twenty years, and I had never been to Déjà Vu, which was one of the last adult clubs that hadn’t been rezoned out of downtown. The club was designed with two large dance areas, separated by a narrow hallway. We walked past a wall of small booths reserved for private dances, and found a table facing one stage. The room was not over-crowded, but held enough people to give it an ambiance; it was definitely a place to be. The clientele leaned toward twenty and thirty-something white men, solo or in small groups, dressed in Seattle-style evening wear: jeans, shorts, T-shirts, ball caps and jackets. I thanked the fashion gods for my good fortune; I had the arm of the only cashmere suit in the room.

Almost all the women in the room were staff, waitresses or dancers, primped like peacocks and working the crowd, parading with confidence in their petite costumes, and showing off miles of suntanned skin. An impossibly long-legged dancer, blonde hair cascading down to her ass, and wearing a miniature outfit made solely from tiny white feathers captivated my attention. I wanted to see her in action. “Baby,” I said, my hand on the smooth felt of Kyle’s firm thigh, “I want to buy you a lap dance—with her,” I pointed. “I want to watch.”

Less than thirty seconds into the performance, I had an unwelcome surprise, and a complete change of heart. There were no impressive dance moves to admire; there was no inspired choreography to draw on for later use. This wasn’t dance— this was pelvic gyrations and pouty lips. How could I not have known that the dance in lap dance was club-code for full contact, simulated sex?

The turnoff was absolute, and I decided to exit as gracefully as I could. I had to tell Kyle, but I also had to avoid the dancer’s perfectly formed thigh as she rotated her feathers and pussy-parts over the face of my guy. “Sorry, baby,” I whispered into his ear, “I’ll take a pass. You enjoy the dance; meet me when you’re done.”

Back at our table, I blamed burlesque for my naiveté. That vaudeville dance had been revived in recent years, and Dion had taken me to a few shows. Burlesque was too cute for my taste, but I liked the idea that nudity and sexual humor were unapologetically center stage. I imagined a sexier and slicker variation of naughty dancing in the lap dance booth. Quite frankly, I was stunned by what I’d seen. The adult dance-industry was closer to a brothel-business than I had known, and the gap between men and women with regard to sexual entertainment was striking. I would argue that I enjoyed the sight of a hot male body just as much as any man who objectified a woman. But that’s where the similarity stopped. I drew a line. There was no way I wanted a stranger rubbing his balls in my face, or sliding his ass across my tits.

“Baby, where’d you go?” Kyle had joined me, and he started to apologize. For exactly what, I’m not sure, because I interrupted him. “No worries, baby. I just didn’t know it was going to be so much like sex! I don’t mind if it’s something you like to do—I just don’t want to watch. The only picture I want in my mind of you with a sexy woman, is with me as the sexy woman.”

I think he understood that I wasn’t upset with him, but I could tell by his face he was confused. Fair enough, I thought, and I couldn’t blame him. I was confused, too.

TOMORROW: Chapter 31

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Copyright Vicki Marie Stolsen, 2014, Forever Forty-Four Publications, Publicity Rare Bird Lit, Tyson Cornell, Tyson@rarebirdlit.com, Distribution by Ingram, Available online and in bookstores in paperback, eBook, and audio format.