stripping

The Halftime Show

The year was 1992.  I honestly do not remember who was playing in the Super Bowl.  I am sure I could Google it and provide you with those additional details…but that’s not what we want is it?

His name was Tim and we met at the gym (the same place I met Tony).  He was a stockbroker by trade that took his workout regime very seriously.  He was ripped.  His arms.  His torso.  His legs.  He was Adonis-like in form and had a baby face to go with that body…complete with dimples.  It was almost too much to take in.  His voice was deep and authoritative.  He was outgoing and friendly.

And we had immediate chemistry.  He was 37 and I was 20. He took the lead and helped me learn my way around the gym.  We started a tumultuous relationship.  On again.  Off again.  Hot sex.  Bad arguments.  More hot “make-up” sex.  Off again.  And we stayed off for a while.  We would see each other at the gym, where we would exchange niceties as we went about our business.  I’d begun using the aerobics room to work on dance routines as I belonged to a belly dance troupe.  It gave me a quiet place to rehearse, with mirrors and little distractions.

One day, I felt someone watching me.  It was Tim.  He smiled that boyish smile and i found myself wet, thinking of how he would feel inside me.  He motioned for me to come to him.  I walked over as he brushed the sweaty hair from my face.

“You are an amazing dancer.  I didn’t know you could move like that.”

I blushed and said, “Thank you.  You’ve seen some of my other moves. Guess I was saving these for a different time.”

His tone was serious, “What are you doing Sunday?”

I had no plans, but didn’t want to seem too available.  “I’m not sure.  It’s Super Bowl Sunday.  I may go to a party. How about you?”

He grinned, “I am having a party.  Come to mine.”

I smiled at the thought, but then remembered how volatile things became when we were together.  I hesitated.  “Maybe, I will.  I will let you know.”

He pulled me close to him and whispered in my ear, “I will pay you.”

Pay me? For what? 

“I want you to be my halftime show.  I want you to strip.”

I was a little taken aback.  Not that I was offended.  Not being prudish.  Just surprised that he wanted to put me on display like that.  But I was intrigued and flattered.

“What time do you want me there?”

“Be there around 7:00.  Have about 30 minutes of dances ready.  I will give you $200 for your time. I want you sexy, not dirty.  Many of my co-workers and clients will be there. No women.  Strictly a guy-thing.”

And at that, he turned and left.  And I realized…it was Friday.

Holy shit!  What do I do?  Which songs?  What do I wear? I was nervous and scared and I LOVED IT.  I went to my car and pulled out all of my music.  I needed to find the perfect songs for the occasion.  Before I knew it, it was dark and the gym was closing for the night.  I’d worked out searching for inspiration…for 3 additional hours and had lost all concept of time.  But in the end, I felt prepared.  I selected six songs.  Everything from AC/DC, to Prince, to Van Halen to James Brown.  It was a sexy playlist and I had special moves for every song.

On Saturday I spent most of the day shopping for stripper-wear.  But came up with little more than some thigh high fishnet stockings, a black lace corset, long black gloves and a black cowboy hat. I had a little black dress and boots perfect for the occasion.

Sunday arrived and I was beyond nervous.  I almost backed out.  But the adrenaline junkie within me took over and I found myself on his doorstep at 7:05.  He ushered me in a side door and had me wait in his bedroom while his guests watched the game.  He brought me a strong cocktail, which was the liquid courage I needed.  I tossed the drink back and waited for my cue.  I’d already given him my “mix tape” and he had it poised and ready.

He opened the door and took my hand as he led me to his game room.  There were about a dozen men there.  All of them were surprised to see me.  Tim turned the stereo on and introduced me as a “close friend” who came to entertain them.

“Tonight, you will remember this halftime show far more than the game itself.  Feel free to tip this young beauty as you see fit.  But no groping.  She is a lady and I hope to have her back for future parties.”

At that point, I heard the first riff from Back in Black and I found myself in the zone.  I’d brought a kitchen chair to the center of the room and straddled it as I began my routine.  I had them in the palm of my gloved hand as I mixed belly dance with burlesque.  By the third song, Prince’s Darling Nikki, I was down to the corset and cowboy hat.  I closed out the routine with James Brown’s Man’s World, a slow and decadent song where I received the most tips, in nothing but my boots and a g-string.  I felt like a goddess.

I received an additional $100 in tips and a roaring round of applause with lots of inquiries about my availability for other parties.  I was not prepared for that type of reception.  And Tim looked like the hero to all of his friends.

“You were amazing. I am so proud of you…and I am so turned on.  Fuck me here.  In front of them.  I want them to watch us.”

I was not prepared for that.  But at this point, I’d had another strong cocktail and I was game for the exhibition.  I looked at him and pulled the chair over to the side of the room, where I motioned for him to sit down.

I knelt in front of him and unfastened his pants, pulling them down slowly.  I could feel his hard cock beneath his boxers as I pulled them off.  I provocatively pulled my g-string off as I mounted him on the chair.  His friends were quiet as they watched us.  I think they were shocked that we were so audacious to fuck right there…in front of them.  He pulled me down on his cock hard as he rammed himself inside.

I gasped with delight as I rode him.  He squeezed my breasts and kissed me as he pounded my hole.  I remember how amazing it felt to come unglued and orgasm in front of a group of strangers. They were speechless.  The game had been back on for over 30 minutes, and the TV was not even turned on.

But they were.

Best halftime show ever.  I don’t know who won the game that year.

But I felt victorious.

the hat

 

“Real” Sex-Burning Love

Fall 1992.

I lived in off-campus apartments with 3 other roommates.  There was the exhibitionist bartender, Mary.  She walked about the apartment naked.  She rarely ate and had a different man in her life every week.  There was Jen, originally from Minnesota-‘don’t cha know’ who kept to herself.  And there was Maura.  She was from Jersey with jet black dyed hair and the attitude to match it.  And there was me…the straight-A student with a naughty side that overshadowed anything they were capable of doing.

Late that summer a new student moved across the hall from us.  His name was Levi (pronounced Levee, NOT Lee-vI).  He had just moved to the states from the Bahamas.  His skin was the color of honey.  Hair a sun-kissed blond.  And his eyes were a translucent hazel.  He had a strong British accent, with a twang from the islands.  He came from old money and drove a brand new white Jaguar.  He caused quite a stir among the girls at the apartment complex.  Dashing good looks.  Cool name.  Great accent.  Beautiful car.  Everyone was after him.  But he was aloof.  He paid them little attention.

One day we showed up at the apartment laundry center at the same time.  We talked as we washed our clothes.  He was quite smart and charming  I could certainly see why everyone was taken with him.  I found myself attracted to him, but wondered if he was “bad” enough for me.  We didn’t speak again for several days, when he approached me in the parking lot.

“Doing any laundry tonight?” he asked.

“Not tonight.  Think I’ll do it tomorrow.” I replied.

He grinned.  “Good.  Then you’re free this evening?”

I felt a flutter in my belly.  Was this price charming asking me out?  I decided to play it cool.

“That depends.  If you’re asking me to do your laundry, then no.  I am not free…I am quite expensive.”  I smirked.

I could tell he was impressed with my witty response.  He said, “No.  I wasn’t thinking of doing laundry…”

I decided to play along…so I asked.  “What were you planning on doing then, Levi?”

He looked me dead in the eye and said, “I was hoping to do YOU.”

Talk about direct and to the point.  Out there in the parking lot, he basically asked to shag me.  I loved it.  I do love a man with large balls…the balls to say what’s on his dirty, twisted mind  Maybe this pretty boy was bad enough for me.

I felt myself blush.  I struggled for a biting response, but I was so shocked by his brazen proposal, that I had nothing.  And before I could respond.  He said, “So it’s on then.  I’ll see you at 8:00.  My place.  The roommates are gone tonight.  It’s just you and me.  Oh…and wear those lacy black panties you were folding at the laundry the other day.  I’ve been thinking about them since I saw them.”

Now I really had nothing.  How do you even respond to that?

I managed to mutter, “Okay.  See you then.”  And we both went on our way.  I closed the door behind me and sighed….did that just really happen?  What the hell do I wear (besides the black, slutty panties?) He made me nervous.  Very nervous.  I was accustomed to being the most experienced.  The most confident. And here he was…outranking me.

To help cope with the tinge of anxiety, my bartender roomie, Mary, decided I needed a drink…just to take the edge off.  She made me some concoction that loosened me up as I got ready for my rendezvous across the hall.  I wore a sheer black shirt and cut off denim shorts.  I know…not date worthy, but we were staying in.  The shorts made my legs look fabulous.  My hair was fierce and I felt sexy as I knocked on his door.

I simply was not prepared for what I saw when he answered.  He was shirtless.  I was speechless.  He complimented me on my ensemble as he ushered me into the apartment.

“Have a seat.  What do you want to drink?’ he asked.

I had already had more than my limit, but before I could stop myself, I said, “Surprise me, Levi.”

I heard the cork pop and realized he had opened a bottle of champagne.  Oh crap…champagne?  Really?  Champagne had a very sexual affect on me.  I knew I’d be bent over his couch after two sips.

He brought out some glasses and poured us both a glass.  He toasted, “to laundry”

I don’t remember how we transitioned into the fuck fest we had.  He was very knowledgeable and aggressive.  He flipped, spread and rammed me as he pleased.  After he came several times, he said, “I need to recharge.  Dance for me while I stroke my cock.”

How sexy.  This man had some serious chops.  I loved the opportunity to dance for him.  We found some music on the stereo and he lit a couple of large pillar candles on the table.  He then gave me some instructions.

“The candlelight is so sexy.  I want you to take your time.  I want to see every inch of your body.  Spread those legs and let me see that glorious pussy that I am going to keep fucking.  Don’t stop dancing till I tell you.”

I was still a bit tipsy, as we finished off the bottle of champagne.  I started my “routine” on the floor.  Carefully choosing my moves.  I crawled to his feet, flipped to my back and opened my thighs for him to see.  I lifted my ass off the carpet and did a sexy grind for him as I touched my clit.  He loved it. I loved watching him watch me, while he stroked his hardening cock.

I rolled back over on all fours and crawled closer to him, allowing my breasts to spill onto his lap, grazing his cock.  He loved it.  Now the challenge was to get back on my feet, gracefully.  So I dipped down to shift my balance before standing and threw my ass in the air to keep it sexy.

Little did I know, the candle was close to the edge of the table.  My sexy sashay caused the flame from the candle to come in direct contact with my right ass cheek.

I was burned.  The flame scorched my exposed ass.  I was too shocked to mutter a sound.  I couldn’t believe it was happening.  But then the pain was too much.  I cried out.

He realized what had happened and immediately took me into the bathroom for a closer look.  It was a significant burn.  He made a decision.

“Get some clothes on.  I am driving you to the ER.  NOW.”

I quickly dressed, placing a homemade bandage on my burn, and got into his car.  He took me into the ER, helped me check in and left soon after they got me into a room.  He had class very early the next morning.

Can you even imagine my embarrassment?  How do you explain such things to an ER nurse?  There were questions like, “can you tell me what you were doing when it happened…followed by, did your clothes burn into your skin…followed by…so there were NO clothes that burned to your skin?  I finally just looked at the young RN and said, “look…I was doing a dance for my date and got too close to the candle.  I had been drinking champagne and my judgement was off.”  She smiled and said, “we see all kinds of things in here.  No worries…we will get you patched up.”  I managed to get some treatment and went home around 4:00 that morning.  Maura picked me up, in her bathrobe…with a towel on her head.  Seriously…no shame in her game.  Levi came over to check on me that morning before his 7:10 class.

“How are you, Joan of Arc?”  I was groggy from the champagne and pain medicine.  And I am sure I looked horrible.  But I managed to pull myself together.

“I’m okay.  Just sore.”

“I bet you are.  That was a nasty burn.  I am so sorry that happened to you.”  he said.  “Next time, we will make sure the candles are up a bit higher, because I want to see the rest of that dance.”  And he kissed me on the forehead and ventured on to class.

I was out of commission for a few days.  I made up a story about a more appropriate injury for my friends and family.  Only Maura and Levi knew the truth.  He moved to a house later that month.  Seems his parents bought him a nice 4-bedroom next to campus.  And I didn’t see him at school often.  He was more focused on living the dream, than attending class.  I heard he moved back to the islands sometime in 1993.

So, that was my stint with prince charming.  All in all it was a fun time.

I still have a small scar on my ass cheek.  It was always a topic of conversation with subsequent suitors.  I usually told them It was an injury from my childhood caused by getting too close to a space heater.  I did tell a few of them the truth…which was typically followed by, “i want a dance, too. ”

And I always obliged their request.

But with NO candles.

candle2