Fred, "I've got a booking for a stripper at the
'King's Arms' in Crudborough on Saturday, at 8 o'clock.
My normal girls suffering from an acute case of pregnancy.
It's a private party in the function room upstairs,
so just take a CD to dance to and hand it to the de-jay.
Tell him your name and he'll know who you are. Its all
arranged and I'll grab the dosh off the gaffer (translation-
get the pay from the manager) the next day. But for
God's sake, don't cock it up."
Saturday evening arrived. Julie was so nervous, she
spent ages putting on her best lingerie. Seven-thirty
found Julie pacing outside the door of the 'King's Head,'
butterflies re-enacting the Battle of Britain in her
stomach. Still a half hour to wait! Finally at ten to
eight she could wait no longer, it was now or never.
She pushed open the door, mounted the stairs to the
function room and approached the disc jockey across
the empty dance floor.
Removing her coat as
she went, Julie's legs felt like jelly as she imagined
every eye following her. In fact they were, since she
was attired in a long green silk dress split nearly
to the waist, stocking tops very noticeably showing
like a Skoda Felicia on the starting grid at Brands
Hatch, or a Ferrari parked in Tesco's car park.
"Hi, I'm Julie."
replied the disk jockey (strange answer thought Julie).
"Can I dance here,
on this stage?"
replied, apparently a man of few words, with a shrug
of his shoulders.
She felt even more nervous
standing next to the stage whilst the current record
played out. Julie couldn't help noticing how many couples
were there. She'd always thought these sorts of parties
were usually an all mail affair. As the Disk Jockey
faded it out and faded in Julie's track, he announced,
"This one's for Julie." Strange way to announce
a stripper, thought Julie.
Julie mounted the steps
back to the stage then took long sensuous strides to
the centre, marking the beat. As she started to dance,
slowly her nerves ebbed away; the worst bit had been
getting there in the first place.
As Julie pranced and
boogied about the floor, teasing the hem up the length
of her long legs, gradually revealing her brief panties
for longer and longer, she was viewed with differing
emotions. Many approved whole-heartedly. These were
of course mainly men. Quite a few cocks were straightening
out into bulging erections. Some were shocked and disapproving.
These were mostly women. Of those who were turned on
eleven were women. Three were outright lesbians and
eight were bi-curious, of which six were to use Julie's
dance as an excuse to their husbands to admit they wanted
to sleep with another woman. Lucky bastard husbands.
Of those men who approved,
many felt how much they'd like to fuck Julie. Most of
these were of course married. The wives of four of them
were amongst the bi-curious ones.
As Julie slowly and seductively
released the poppers at the top of her dress, then dropped
it to the floor, her nerves fell away with it, like
a caterpillar shedding its skin to reveal the butterfly
within (wow, what literary stile. If only this story
were American, it'd win a Pulitzer with no trouble).
As she unbuttoned her
dress she still felt a little nervous.
As the top of her dress
passed her frilly front-loading black bra, she felt
a little better.
As it passed by her scanty
black semi transparent panties (which were actually
one of Fred's bikini bottoms he sold in the market,
after being washed once), she felt completely at ease.