Burlesque Show
When I get home from work, I tell Alyna that I’m getting beers with Todd as part of my therapist-recommended individual identity-building time. She can’t argue. Forty-five minutes later, I’m at a place Holly invited me to called Three Clubs, buying us both drinks and tickets to a backroom burlesque show featuring one of her friends.
Most of the chicks in the place are beasts. They’re far more than just chubby and they’re all dressed like Bettie Page. Holly is easily the hottest chick in the place. I’m glad to be with her. We sit down, engage in some meaningless small talk, and then the show starts.
I was under the impression that burlesque shows featured hot girls who were slightly too classy to actually work in a strip club but still like showing their tits to complete strangers and don’t mind making one-tenth the money strippers do. Somehow no one ever explained to me that burlesque shows are actually endless parades of fat chicks with bad tattoos and hairdos from decades before their grandparents were born.
I don’t make my disgust for these fat chicks known to Holly, because I know her friend is one of them. The announcer, a weird rockabilly Mexican guy with a wallet chain, takes the stage after five or six acts and says, “Are you ready for our final performer of the night?”
The fifty or so people in the audience all cheer. I refrain. He says, “Let’s give a warm Three Clubs welcome to . . . Martini Blue!”
Holly says, “This is my friend.” Everyone goes crazy. I’m expecting another fat chick to come out and flash her sloppy tits and cellulite, but instead the woman who comes through the curtain is one of the hottest girls I’ve ever seen. She has the standard incredibly pale and shittily tattooed look that all of the other burlesque dancers have had, but she’s actually beautiful and she has an incredible body.
The first thing she does is rip off the little blue wig she’s wearing and start twirling her black hair around. Then she does a routine that’s similar to the ones all of the fat chicks before her have done and at the end she does the thing with her perfectly firm little B-cup tits where she makes the tassels spin in opposite directions. The announcer comes back out and thanks everyone for coming, and then the burlesque dancers start emerging from the behind the little makeshift stage where they all just performed. Holly says, “Let’s get a drink with her.”
At the bar I cover the tab for Holly and her friend. Her friend says, “Thanks.”
I say, “No problem. Great show.”
She says, “Thanks. Thanks for coming. I’m Cindy, by the way.” We shake hands. She says, “So, how do you know Holly?”
Holly says, “We work together.”
Cindy says, “Cool. You ever been to a burlesque show before?”
I say, “No, not really.”
Cindy says, “Well, I hope your first experience was a good one.”
We talk and drink for another hour. Most of the burlesque audience has cleared out and it’s just Holly, Cindy, and me in a back corner, talking and drinking.
Cindy says, “So, I assume you guys are fucking, right?”
I look at Holly. I have no idea how to answer this question. I don’t know what she’s told her friends and I don’t want to ruin any future chances I have of fucking her. I let her answer. She says, “Yeah, we fuck.”
Cindy says, “Then what’s up with that ring?” and points to my wedding ring.
I say, “Well, it means I’m married.” This is the first time my marital status has been brought up in front of Holly. I hope this doesn’t ruin things, and if it does, I silently vow to cave in Cindy’s fucking skull with the heel of my shoe for bringing it up.
Cindy says to Holly, “And you’re cool with that?”
Holly says, “Uh . . . yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Cindy says, “Cool with me if it’s cool with you. That’s probably pretty wild, though, right? I mean, fucking a hot younger girl? Is that like the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”
I say, “I don’t know if it’s the craziest.”
Cindy says, “Then what’s the craziest? Have you ever had a threesome?”
I say, “No, I haven’t.”
Cindy says, “Well, we both have.”
My dick almost splits the table in half. I don’t know exactly what’s happening in this conversation, but it certainly seems like I’m about to be offered a threesome with Cindy and Holly. I try to play it cool. I say, “With each other or independently?”
Holly says, “With each other, but it was a while ago. Like last year with her ex-boyfriend.”
I’m hoping Cindy feels some need to repay the favor Holly did for her ex-boyfriend. Cindy says, “It was seriously hot.”
Still playing it cool, I say, “I bet.”
Holly says, “Would you ever want to have a threesome?”
I can’t tell if this is a trap or if she’s really trying to find out if I’d fuck them both. I say, “Yeah, sure,” and she grabs my leg under the table.
Holly says, “Well, what time is your curfew?”
I say, “I don’t really have one.”
Cindy says, “What about wifey?”
I say, “Not your concern.”
Cindy says, “Oooh, he’s like Don Draper.”
Holly says, “I know.”
I have never been compared to any actor, let alone a sex symbol of Jon Hamm’s status. I decide this must have been what Carlos was talking about. They see me as something I’m not, merely because I’m older than them. I don’t look this gift horse in the mouth. Trying to be smooth I say, “So where are we going next?”
Cindy takes out her phone and reads a text message or something, then says, “Oh shit, guys. My boyfriend got arrested. He got a DUI. I’m sorry, I have to make a call,” and disappears.
I look at Holly and say, “That sucks.”
She says, “I know. I was hoping we could have hooked that up.”
I say, “Really? Was that really going to happen?”
She says, “Yeah. I think so.” She takes a last sip of her drink, then looks me in the eye. “But don’t worry. I’ll make it up to you.”
Half an hour later, I send Alyna a text telling her that I’m spending the night on Todd’s couch. Holly and I go back to her dorm room, she kicks Carly out, and we sixty-nine for fifteen minutes or so with the lights on. I really get a chance to look at her asshole and her pussy. Her asshole is perfect. It’s tiny and it’s the same color as her skin. It has almost no convolutions. It’s almost like she’s a toy or something. Her pussy is even better. Tiny lips that aren’t visible unless you spread it, and it tastes so fucking good I almost blow my load just from the idea of having it in my face. And the best part about the view I have of her pussy and asshole in the sixty-nine: there’s no episiotomy scar. Eventually we fuck like wild animals for an hour. I’m on top of her, pressing her down into the bed with a hand on her chest, not letting her move, the full weight of my upper body holding her in place. I feel strong and in control, and she can tell, and it turns her on as much as it turns me on. She runs her fingers down the length of the forearm I’m using to pin her down, admiring it, feeling its weight against her chest. I fuck her harder and stare into her eyes.
She whimpers a little bit just before she cums, but never breaks our gaze. I’m full of this idea that I’m in control, that she’s just there to make me cum, that I’m taking the thing I want most and she can’t stop me. Just before I cum, I pull out, rip the rubber off, and jerk off all over her stomach and tits. She moans as I do this and says, “You’re so fucking hot,” then gets a towel from her closet and wipes my cum off herself. She get back in bed, and just before we pass out naked in her dorm-room single bed, forced to press our bodies intensely close together so we can both fit on the mattress, I say, “I fucking loved that view when we were sixty-nining.”
She says, “What’d you like about it?”
I say, “You’re perfect.”
She says, “Thank you.”
I wake up the next morning smelling like her pussy and more hungover than I’ve been in a long time. I borrow her toothbrush and take a shower in the dorm’s community shower. It should be stranger than it is to me. I actually find it kind of fun, like I’m young again.
We drive to work in separate cars.