Chapter 1

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Ma/Ma, Consensual, Romantic, BiSexual, Heterosexual, True Story, Humor, Slut Wife, Wife Watching, DomSub, Spanking, Light Bond, Swinging, Polygamy/Polyamory, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Squirting, Food, Water Sports, Cream Pie, Spitting, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Leg Fetish, Prostitution, Porn Theatre, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - What happens when Jewish guilt meets Catholic guilt, on a honeymoon in San Francisco where no one knows you? What is the proper etiquette for when you forget to put away your vibrators and the hotel lines them up and puts chocolates on the tips? What happens when she tries out for a strip club? Do they have futures with polyamory and sensuous BDSM?

The loveliness of Paris seems somehow sadly gay
The glory that was Rome is of another day
I've been terribly alone and forgotten in Manhattan
I'm going home to my city by the Bay
I left my heart in San Francisco
High on a hill, it calls to me
To be where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars
The morning fog may chill the air, I don't care
My love waits there in San Francisco
Above the blue and windy sea
When I come home to you, San Francisco
Your golden sun will shine for me

Quite a few people, if they were being honest about it, would admit to being too tired to do anything on a wedding night, at least a wedding night before leaving for the actual honeymoon. Since Vanessa and I had been living together anyway, we didn't worry about it. My work had been taking me frequently from Washington, DC to San Francisco and Silicon Valley, so it was a familiar and relaxed trip for me, with lots of frequent traveler benefits.

In the three years we had lived together, Vanessa had grown a great deal. She had been a very shy junior consultant at her Big 4 accounting firm, but had decided to dress like a partner, and took confidence from that in a way she didn't take from excellent work. She joined me in weight training, and soon was more intense about it than I was. One evening, she came home and demanded a celebration. Without even thinking about it, during some office reorganization, she picked two electric typewriters, balanced them each on a hip, and took them into another room. As she did so, a senior manager, who had made unwelcome passes at her, jumped aside, eyes wide. There was a bit of fear in his eyes.

A few months ago, she decided not to continue going for amateur competition bodybuilding, but kept her body sculptured, in a most feminine way. In fact, she still was fine-tuning her body, to have more of the fitness model look. Rather than having an obviously ripped appearance, her skin was taut but smooth, softly covering the muscles. She was particular to describe her weight at precisely 118, and her height at 5'6" 1/2. Given her perfect posture, preference for four-inch heels, and long, curly auburn hair, she seemed considerably taller. Her body proportions gave her exceptionally long legs. She had also shifted from general accounting into tax, but was actively thinking of becoming a software developer.

She had considered becoming a professional makeup artist, and was exceptionally skilled at makeup. While she was concerned with the effect of the sun on her skin, she had been getting an all-over tan for her honeymoon. Rather than the golden tan of a blonde, hers was more a light mahogany, with a warm redness. In preparation, she had trimmed her pubic hair to a small landing strip. She also had asked me to shave some of my own, "to keep the hair out of my teeth."

Our bachelor and bachelorette parties had been fun, if unusual. I was taken out by a number of her female friends, and she got some of mine, all of whom were quite aware that we had an open marriage. That's a story for another time.

I suppose I should introduce myself. I'm Victor. I'm 6'4", with red hair, blue eyes, and a beard. While I don't really play sports, I do work out regularly, and take various martial arts. So, I'm well muscled. My professional life involves mixing medicine and computer science, trying to play physicians on computers. My undergraduate degree is in microbiology, and I have a master's in interdisciplinary stuff. I don't have to do it, but enjoy doing it. Picking correct ancestors meant that I was "independently wealthy." I had a large house in the Georgetown section of DC, overlooking the Potomac River.

Washington Navy Yard Officers' Club, Saturday afternoon

Preparations for the wedding had been interesting, to say the least. I winced, thinking of dealing with Norma the Evil Stepmother in the arrangements at my father-in-law's officers' club. Our input on the menu was not welcome. Now, I'm from the greater New York City area. I love good chopped liver, and never have understood the taunt, "what am I, chopped liver?" With my grandparents' tradition that all food became kosher in a Chinese restaurant, I had learned to like well-prepared snacks like bacon-wrapped chicken liver.

Vanessa was stunning, both in model-quality beauty, and in her inner glow.

The wedding had its moments of comedy, as when she threw the bouquet, straight into the ceiling, where it fell like a dead bird. Her bridesmaids liked being single and ran from it. Eventually, a ten-year-old girl picked it up.

She had much more fun launching her garter.

Of the buffet ordered by Norma, only a tray of rumaki -- bacon wrapped shrimp -- remained. Good rumaki is a delight. This wasn't, as we had learned when tasting samples.

Back at home, Saturday night

We took them home, and presented a nicely arranged tray to Constance, our most refined Russian Blue cat. Constance was a gourmet and a gourmand. No shrimp was safe on a table, unless actively guarded from a swooping gray streak who would run off with it. On one memorable occasion, this eight-pound cat managed to get a substantial roast of beef off the table. She adored the liquid from canned lima beans, would fight for cantaloupe, and thought highly of mashed potatoes. This was not a cat of limited tastes.

As she approached the leftovers, her walk slowed. Her nose twitched. Carefully, an elegant paw reached out and moved a liver. Her nose twitched again. She lowered her face to the plate, inhaled, and sneezed. Constance looked at us, not so much disdainfully as surprised we would do such a thing to her. The next sound clearly meant, "As a lady, I rarely curse, but what the fuck is this? Am I being punished?"

Keying from that idea, she continued to bestow guilt over being banished during the wedding, and now sentenced to eat something worse than the gruel of the fairy tales.

Apologizing to Constance with a dish of cream, Vanessa and I decided to relax a little before packing. While I'm not an adept of the Japanese tea ceremony, I can prepare tea and some side dishes with considerable flair. We meditated a bit over the water boiling, then closed our eyes to sense the aroma of the brewing tea.

Another meditation

Calmed by the tea, Vanessa suggested another meditation. "You know that anthropologists formally define a fetish as an object that has magical power. I realize that for you, my heels are exactly that. When you play with them, it has nothing to do with submission. It has to do with you having a mental focus for sex."

I hadn't realized it, but she had changed to her most exotic six-inch heels. She was right. "I want to suck and lick your heels, and think of them as a conduit for the sexual energy flowing between us."

As she stretched out her leg, she reached down and began to finger herself. I returned the compliment, enjoying jerking off. When I came, I came onto her shoe. She removed it, licked off the cum. Vanessa then leaned forward and kissed me deeply. It was another way to have a magickal exchange.

Preparing.

We packed. Vanessa had put together what she called a "toy bag", adapted from a paramedic's bag with a locking top and lots of compartments. For our honeymoon, it was lightly backed with some vibrators, dildoes, lubricants, and scented candles. She left plenty of room for things we might acquire in San Francisco, including an expanding cloth part that could hold clothing.

Our apartment, early Sunday morning

Waking up on our wedding morning, we confirmed the cat sitter, and headed off to Washington National Airport. Vanessa had told me she planned to be on the exhibitionist side for our honeymoon, starting with a classy look but adapting to circumstances.

For travel, she had chosen a bright red-skirted suit that first seemed just inside the acceptable edge of business wear. Well ... maybe if the skirt were a couple of inches longer. Still, it was one of the power suit colors. Under it, she wore a soft, cream-colored buttoned sweater. The sweater was carefully tailored. It was less that she was busty, as much as she had a tight waist to which her top clung. That she had a softly defined six-pack wasn't obvious, but still affected her look.

I had become a regular on the much-missed Frontier Horizon Airlines. Just before our cab arrived, I called their VIP lounge, and confirmed some details of the flight. "Vanessa, honey, we're getting off to a great start. One of my favorite flight attendants is the purser. She's eager to meet you, and I trust that she'll make the flight as exotic as possible. All depends on what she can do given other passengers. Molly Anne is San Francisco based because that fits her lifestyle, and she's very tolerant, even of practicing heterosexuals."

"So she should be even more tolerant of me, then. Dear, on our honeymoon, I feel totally safe with you, and I want to try some things that I've been scared to do at home."

At First Class check in, we were second in line. Dixie, the station manager, waved, and then scribbled something. She passed it to me when I got to the line. It read, "Honeymoon, right?" I nodded.

As we finished checking in, there was a little beep-beep. Behind us was an airline golf cart, with a driver, but also an attendant from the VIP club, who had a tray of champagne glasses. It was a good omen on a trail of good omens. Early Sunday flights rarely were that full, but, when we boarded, we found that we were the only people in First. I whispered to Vanessa, "Some of my favorite FAs." Molly Anne, the purser, glanced up for permission, and then hugged Vanessa and then me. "Never sure about touching passengers, especially passenger spouses."

"Let me introduce the two of you. Vanessa, so no one is hiding anything, Molly Anne and I are classic friends with benefits. When we travel to one anothers' cities, we might do cultural things, and if the timing works, we might have nice friendly sex. We've also gone to swing clubs together. Given her travel, we've never tried to have a relationship beyond that."

As Vanessa looked at Molly Anne, she thought, her uniform covers it, but she has an incredible figure. I'd guess that her breasts are just short of unbalancing her, but they look shapely. Tiny waist -- yet she also looks athletic. I can see her legs in that short skirt. I'd certainly consider her in working on my opinion of women, and I imagine I could greatly enjoy watching her with Victor. Definite threesome material, especially because she seems really nice.

Vanessa grinned, said, "consider this my Mae West impression. Why did you let go so soon? Are you being heterocentrist on the San Francisco run?" Molly Anne did a doubletake, grinned, and said "Later, then." With that, I got a hug from Derek, the other flight attendant, who camped it up a bit. "I may have preferences, but I'm equal opportunity."


Molly Anne and Derek closed the curtain to the peons, and started to give the requisite safety briefing, with an apology that I certainly knew it. "Excuse me. Isn't the FAA requirement that it be said, not who says it?" I stood. "Sit."

"In the unlikely event of a loss of cabin pressure," I intoned, "grab your mask as it flops in the hurricane-force winds. Pull the tube far enough that it is straight and has slight tension, which will start the oxygen flow. Do not, however, pull it out of the ceiling. Do not be concerned if the bag does not inflate. That is there to inflate if you vomit, so the airflow doesn't get blocked..." I observed two FAs in hysterics. I looked longer and more appreciatively at Molly Anne, whose skirt had risen almost as high as Vanessa's. Vanessa leaned over, stroked Molly Anne's leg, and inquired about the continuation of the hug. They exchanged a laugh and a lipstick-sparing kiss. At that moment, I got a friendly lip kiss from Derek, which seemed only fair. On to San Francisco.

Derek came by with blankets. "Should you want to cuddle with some privacy, these will help. We'll try to keep this section private, although I can't do anything about the cockpit crew. I gave a heads-up to our friends in coach, and they'll help keep it private. Now, if you do want witnesses, which, Vanessa, your outfit might suggest, we're available.

"Trust us. The Mile-High Club, unless you're on a private plane, isn't worth it. Essence of 727 lavatory is just not romantic.

"Will you want the meal? We can also put together a cold tray for you."

"Thanks Derek. It might be nice to eat with you guys."

A bit later, Molly Anne brought our trays. "Best I can do is sit across from you. One of us does need to be on duty at the curtain."

Derek, rather dramatically, waved his hands and complained the women got all the advantages, being able to show themselves off in skirts. Molly Anne gave him a grope, and teased back, "yes, and if you get into the way of giving them a show, you don't get to give anyone a blowjob!"

Without any question, we enjoyed cuddling, kissing, and groping. We also talked. "Vanessa, when you talked about trying things that had worried you at home, am I thinking that #1 on that list is BDSM?"

"That, or unleashing my inner whore. The more I hear about the BDSM scene, the more interesting my fantasies. I know you suggested going to the education seminar at the Dark Lotus, but I'd have been mortified if anyone, who knew me, saw me there. What if Norma the Evil Stepmother knew?"

"Screw Norma ... well, figuratively. The literal is a frightening thought."

"I've told you that humiliation and scat are hard limits for me. Norma would be both."

Vanessa snickered. "In fact, let me try some inner whore." When Molly Anne came by, she licked her lips and said, "Want to watch me play?"

She was surprised, but asked Derek to guard the gate to Coach Class. "Derek is mostly gay, but he might like a turn." Vanessa reclined her seat, raised her skirt to her hips, revealing stocking and no panties. She reached into her purse and pulled out a medium-sized pink vibrating dildo. Turning it on, she stroked it against one side, and then the other, of her clit. When she was warmed up, she moved it directly against her clit. Vanessa dropped one hand, and played with her slit, collecting juices. By then, Molly Anne had her skirt pulled high. She pushed aside her panties to show a shaved mound, which she began to stroke and squeeze.

Vanessa offered her a juice-covered finger, which Molly Anne licked off, very happily. Under a blanket, I was jerking off. Vanessa looked back and lifted the blanket enough to give Molly Anne a very good look, and then covered me again. "We can drop skirts fast if interrupted. That's harder to hide."

Molly Anne purred, "Victor, I want that in all of my holes. Looks delicious." She bent forward to kiss Vanessa. A minute or so after their tongues met, both climaxed.

As we caught our breath, she warned us, "Federal Aviation Administration regulations require actual penetration to qualify for the Mile-High Club. Right now, you're in student status."

Molly Anne left, regretfully, to relieve Derek. Vanessa began to talk again. "I don't really have clear fantasies in mind, but the whips and clamps and paddles do fascinate me. I just don't know if I want to give or receive pain, and whether that relates to dominating or being dominated. Some submission might be my Catholic guilt telling me it's not a sin if I'm made to do it.

"It's not even the kinky things. I know you like me to dress provocatively on social occasions. Hell, it's not that we haven't had threesomes and some individual adventures. But I feel weird, if excited, when doing them at home. Nobody knows me in San Francisco." I offered a silent prayer that we didn't run into some of my West Coast colleagues, or at least until Vanessa would be open to the idea. "On this trip, you definitely can expect me to have a sexy look at all times, and enjoy it. I also want to explore experiences, although I'm not sure how far I will go. Maybe starting with shows is a good idea."

We deplaned with our carryons, and Molly Anne and Derek's phone numbers. She told us that she'd be on other routes, but would be flying back to DC on Friday afternoon if that happened to work for us. She'd be back in San Francisco sometime during the day on Thursday and had some errands to do.

Sheraton Fishermen's' Wharf, San Francisco, Sunday evening

We checked in at the Sheraton Fisherman's Wharf, which is rather upscale for a Sheraton. Before we left the desk, an enthusiastically friendly woman came out of the office. "Hi Victor! Congratulations! You must be Vanessa." Rosa welcomed her with a hug. She wore a suit, but with interesting touches. I noted that she wore one feathered earring, which I understood was a lesbian signal. In any event, she had told me about her preference for women. When I came through San Francisco, though, we spent time together platonically, often playing chess.

"Honey, Rosa is the manager of this hotel, and a regional executive for the chain. We've become friends."

"Friends without benefits, though. We admire one another's chess, not chests." She looked dramatically at Vanessa. "It would be a different matter were you and I friends, and we wanted benefits. Ah, the good ones get taken.

"Let me get your bags delivered, order some snacks, and take you to the room. I won't stay in your hair, but I want to be sure you have whatever you need. Your suite is a reserved one, with a few extra features. There's a little kitchen, and you're stocked with all sorts of munchies and nibblies. There's also a very nice hot tub, of a fine Japanese style, which we've set up with flowers, candles, treats, and wine.

Vanessa gracefully declined unpacking assistance. She was a little sensitive about her playclothes and toys. The latter were in something of a toolbox, along with cleaning supplies and batteries. She showed her administrative management talent with them.

"Slowly and elegantly, my dear." I started the water, and then the whirlpool.

"Don't worry, I will, later, ravage you in that outfit. But now, let's relax." We slipped into the water for a while and enjoyed the sensual pleasure.

The ventilation was just right, having warmed the air to near body temperature without being too hot. I lifted my lovely to the edge of the tub, draped her wonderful thighs over my shoulders, and gave myself to mutual oral pleasure. While I suppose she did have the first orgasms, if only one sexual pleasure were left to me, it would be going down on an appreciative and tasty woman.

After a most pleasant time, I wrapped her in a very nicely warmed bath sheet, dried myself, and moved into the bedroom. I was about to lift her into the bed, but she stopped me, and had me sit her at its edge. "Hey, I don't forget your kinks, love." Reaching into a suitcase, she pulled out black patent pumps with six-inch heels, slipped them on, and slid into a delightfully naughty pose. "We'll put you into your leather later. Now take me." She raised her legs high, and, as she obviously intended, I put her heels on either side of my neck, and my cock unerringly sought her core.

Later, we napped a bit. One of the special things about marriage can be literally sleeping together, in a most secure way. She called me her teddy bear.

San Francisco, mid-day Monday

For a first field trip, we went to Chinatown for lunch, and then to North Beach Leather. She dressed in all black: skin-tight stretch pants with nothing apparently under them, high-heeled boots, and a zippered stretch top. At several intersections, I learned that "stopping traffic" could be quite literal.

When I reminded her of budget, she informed me she'd start by getting me some things that turned her on. I felt a little silly in the vest and chaps intended for the bedroom, but she was enthusiastic about wearing things that excited me. Turnabout was fair play.

The leather store also had a nice range of toys, both BDSM and erotic. She bought nipple clamps, and an assortment of soft whips and paddles. "I don't really have clear fantasies in mind, but the whips and clamps and paddles do fascinate me. I just don't know if I want to give or receive pain, and whether that relates to dominating or being dominated. Maybe this is a good time to find out." She also bought a couple of spanking magazines. Of course, this was all supplemental to her traveling toy set, ranging from small butt plugs to a substantial line-powered vibrator. My love was in no rut.

"Let's go back to the hotel and try these out."

Sheraton Fishermen's' Wharf, Monday afternoon

"No, I'm not wearing any underwear. See my nipples?" Unzipping her top, she reached into the bag, pulled out the nipple clamps, and purred, "go to work, master."

Trying to get into the mood, I growled back, "I'm going to set the pace." With that, I pulled her to me and roughly kissed her. My hands explored her bare breasts. When she began to moan, that seemed to be the time for nipple clamps. I screwed them down a little, judging her reaction, and she hissed "harder!"

Undoing the zippers on her shiny PVC boots, I slipped them off, and, after clothed crotch squeezes and letting my hand explore under her waistband, I removed her pants. She fell back on the bed and writhed. With increasingly maddened eyes, she moaned, "hurt me!" I was hesitant. I realized that judging how to give erotic pain was one reason I had wanted us to go to some BDSM workshops.

While I really didn't like the idea of inflicting significant pain, I understood how pain, or at least intense sensation, could add spice. My strongest fetish was for stiletto heels, and having one pressed into the hard muscle of my thigh gave me an exciting sensation, but that I wouldn't call painful. If the heel slipped and scraped my skin, I would yell.

Grabbing her firmly by the shoulder or hip, and jerking her around the bed, clearly was exciting. She didn't resist with the strength I knew she had, so it was clearly something that she wanted. Still, I was improvising, and had an idea. "Were you a naughty girl who didn't pack her Catholic school uniform? The tartan skirt you rolled to mini length, and the heels you put on as soon as you were out of sight of the nuns?" That brought moans. "Perhaps you need to be spanked in that outfit, so you remember." She stifled a scream at that idea. Something clearly for later.

For the moment, I did pull her onto my lap, my knee against her mound. She ground against me. I reached to the toy bag, quickly lubed a butt plug, and inserted it aggressively, but careful not to damage. That brought happy sounds. She had always liked anal sex, but with softer objects. I ground her between knee and plug, triggering explosions of passion.

Soon, I pushed her off my lap, onto her knees. Opening my pants with one hand, I pulled her face to me. There were no questions of no meaning no; she whimpered "yes! yes!" Afterwards, I'd have to ask her where her mind had gone. Nevertheless, my cock was soon deep in her mouth, being laved by her tongue. Vanessa was very proud of her oral skills. I sensed she wanted further domination, and I pulled at the back of her head, careful not to choke her.

Fishermen's Wharf, early Monday evening

"I did pick this hotel because there are lots of interesting, although not sexy, things within walking distance. How about exploring a little?" She agreed, and slipped back into her black outfit. As we walked along the main street of the Wharf, we stopped for some shrimp, which we ate at a picnic table. Actually, her consumption of the crustaceans looked more like a blowjob than anything else, to the point that I put a protective hand on my groin when she finally bit through it.

We followed our noses to the ever-stronger chocolate aroma of Ghirardelli Square. The shops were fascinating. Before long, Vanessa couldn't resist the chocolate side of the Force. Entering the Ghirardelli Chocolate area, her eyes grew wider at seeing the range of packages. Entering the room with the shining copper cauldrons of melted chocolate being sensuously stirred, she muttered, "I want."

"No, you can't throw yourself into the vat. It's too hot."

"Damn."

We browsed through stores on the Square, and then came back, stopping at the Believe It Or Not museum. Why not tourist attractions? It occurred to me that there was a submarine that could be toured, and I snickered in anticipation.

"What are you giggling about, love?"

"Nothing, nothing." Actually, I was wondering if I should wait until she wore a skirt, to climb up and down the sub's ladders. That's submarine, not submissive.

Sheraton Fishermen's' Wharf, evening Monday

We headed back. She preceded me into the bedroom, and stopped so suddenly that I slammed into her. Vanessa was making odd noises. Was she choking or laughing? When she turned to me, her face was quite red, and she couldn't quite form words.

Then, I saw it. As with many nice hotels, they had slipped in and turned down the bed. We had forgotten about this, and had left an assortment of toys on the bed. From my perspective, I didn't know if it was funnier that Housekeeping had neatly lined up the dildos and butt plugs, in descending order of size, or that they had carefully placed a chocolate on the tip of each one. The spanking magazines, however, had little bottles of lotion.

Vanessa, still blushing, was calling the front desk to ask that turndown service be stopped. By then, I was struggling for air.

For the evening, she slipped into a Little Black Dress, but with neck-to-hem zippers on both sides rather than the Chanel classic. Under it, she only wore extra-long self-gartered stockings in a golden suntan color. Rather than the routine black patent shoes, she selected strappy sandals of a rich brown, complementing her skin tone. A long brass beaded necklace, vaguely thirties-style, picked up the brass of the zippers. Those metallic vertical lines made her seem even taller and slimmer, especially when she unzipped one side to well above her knees.

North Beach, Monday evening

Back out for dinner and a show. It seemed only correct that we visit two of San Francisco's biggest landmarks, the commemorative to silicone that was the chest of Carol Doda, the original silicone-enhanced topless, and then bottomless, dancer. After an Italian dinner, we went to Ms. Doda's Condor Club, an interesting hybrid of burlesque and contemporary strip club traditions.

The Master of Ceremonies called for last drinks before the main performance. Soon, however, came Carol's star act. She was, indeed, bottomless, as she was lowered from the ceiling, stretched out over a piano. Intense strobe lighting kept our eyes from analyzing that she was no longer young and supple. Still, it was a hell of a show.

One of the dancers sat down, and ordered drinks, charged to the house. "Hi! I'm known as Blaze Dreamfire." She looked skywards, seemingly in apology. "Carol is the star attraction, of course, but I'm the closest to a feature dancer. I'm also the director and choreographer.

"I like to talk to couples, let them know what they're going to see, and find out their expectations. What brings you to us?"

"Thanks for the welcome. I suggested the Condor to Vanessa, as a great introduction to the erotic art of San Francisco. I've been here before, but didn't get the attention that a couple gets -- no surprise there."

"Vanessa, just from what I can see here, you're sexy enough to be on stage. I get the impression you're an athlete. Do you dance?"

"Not too wildly, but I'd like to get more down and dirty. That's part of the reason we're honeymooning on the West Coast -- I can be more relaxed and wilder here than in DC."

"We don't have amateur nights as such, but we do have amateurs on stage. If you're interested, we could have a tryout some morning. Our club might be easier than some others, because other than Carol, dancers go only down to G-strings."

When the dancers learned that we were honeymooners, more bought drinks for Vanessa than we bought for them. Most were genuinely delighted to have a couple. There was no sense of buy-me-a-drink rip-offs. At various times, we had dancers at her side, my side, or both. She enjoyed fondling the willing ones. I realized that her legs were as fine as anyone in the show, although there indeed were bustier maidens. I've never been that much of a breast man.

After opening her neckline quite a bit, Vanessa stuffed bills in G-strings, but turned down an invitation to come onto the stage. I might have liked to see that, but she was far too wobbly to do it and avoid catastrophe. At that point, we were both getting enthusiastic and sloppy kisses.

I was far more interested in my wife than in any dancer, but I was getting concerned. "Dear, they aren't watering those drinks. Lots of scotch. Maybe you might want to slow down a little?"

"I'll be fine ... urp." She excused herself. The Condor, I realized, wasn't an overt sex club as were some of the other theaters. Those would be places to experiment.

Several dancers came to the table, to inform me that, to their knowledge, I was the first man who had been invited into the ladies' room of the Condor Club. When they ushered me in, I found Vanessa in a religious rite, praying to the porcelain goddess.

I held her as she emptied the rest of her stomach, then, as best as I could, cleaned her up. Blaze came in and looked at us sympathetically. "I'll get one of our drivers to take you back to your hotel. You don't want to be searching for a cab. Here's my card; phone me if Vanessa wants to try out.

"My stage name is silly for conversation. My name is Hillary."

Chapter 2 ยป