Chapter 4: Gym Friends and Dancers

“I’ve chatted with a couple of girls at the gym, who I guessed were club dancers.” Lynda was sharing with me at dinner one evening, after her workout. We had gone to a favorite restaurant, Pistone’s, because it difficult to talk in the gym’s snack bar, given all the passes made at us, but the staff protected us. Frankly, we all enjoyed showing off and teasing, but not having to do anything for the admirers.

Restaurants that have been around for decades have something going for them. At first, Pistone’s seems neighborhood Italian. It has the biggest, freshest, most diverse salad bar that I’ve ever seen. It does standard Italian dishes perfectly, but the chef both creates things and will make things for regular customers. It’s at Seven Corners in the nearby suburb of Falls Church. Nationally and internationally regarded downtown chefs not infrequently go there for late meals, and will experiment in the kitchen with the chef, Gabriella.

Lynda was one of those regulars. She considered Fettuccine Alfredo, thick with cream, butter, and Parmesan cheese, to be of a level of sensuality of an orgasm with a new lover, with whom she was learning how to tune the experience. Lynda thought most highly of cheese, commenting, “The mark of a society is how well it curdles milk and sours grapes.” Gorgonzola cheese, by itself or on fine bread, was at the next level of sensuality. At the suggestion of Michael, perhaps the world’s greatest waiter, chef made her Fettuccini Lynda, which put lots of gorgonzola, chopped herbs, and a dash of black pepper into the standard recipe. Michael has become our best gay male friend.

After she tasted it, she addressed the plate. “Sorry, Alfredo, it’s been real, but I’ve outgrown you.” Michael and I moved to her side when she covered her mouth. “Oh, no problem. I’m stifling a scream.”

He was amused that she was mopping her plate with bread. “Lynda, my dear, there can be more if you like. But I have something else.” Michael rolled up a cart, whipping egg yolks, marsala wine, and sugar into a frothy custard. He dotted a plate with sliced, perfectly ripe strawberries, and covered it with the sauce. He pulled out a pastry tube, but hesitated, giving Lynda a naughty grin. She caught his signal perfectly, tugging on the somewhat phallic tube until it spurted whipped cream over her dessert.

I observed, “Whipped cream inherently sounds kinky.”

She ate every bit, with sound effects muted in courtesy to other patrons. Looking hotly at me, she said, “I’m not sure of the logistics, but I intend to offer you my body, with a substantial serving of this heavenly substance. Or is it devilish? Well, I shall provide chocolate ... better, a chocolate covered banana. You can figure out what to with it.” Lynda slumped back in her chair. Michael and I laughed together. After she rested a bit, he brought espresso, joining us at the table. Even in a restaurant, eating with Michael, to say nothing of Gabriella, is like eating in the home of a wealthy friend who loves to cook.

On the way home, breathing more normally, “Andrea asked me if I wanted to try dancing, and whatever more came out of the at a club. At this point, I told her, I’d limit myself to being a customer, probably with you with me. I might also consider being a musician.

Roberta said, “A couple at the club, when the vibes were right, can be incredibly hot for the dancer. For the moment, though...” She looked at Andrea, who nodded in confirmation. “We’d rather interact with you here and outside, not in the club with the meter running.

“Tell you what, Lynda. How about you and Arnold having dinner with us? We’ll tell you what to expect and how to get the best experience.

“If you do have a good time, it might just be, if you were interested, that we might do things socially. Maybe we would later do things in the club, but I’d rather have a friend than a customer.”

Lynda invited them to our place for an early dinner. Both had mundane jobs as well as dancing.

Both of the girls were impressive, outside the club style. Both wore tailored business suits, flattering but not extreme for an office.

Andrea had striking dark red hair, shining to her shoulders. Her Kelly Green suit set it off, a black patent belt making it obvious that her waist was very small -- but not until she removed her jacket. The skirt definitely showed some thigh, but the hem was between mid-thigh and her knee. She wore tan hose, with knee-high crinkly PVC boots.

Roberta also was in a suit, navy blue with a white blouse, the skirt of which was longer, but appeared to wrap around such that there might be a buttoned or zippered slit. The jacket did not conceal that her breasts were very large. “Yes, my dears. It’s sometimes a challenge, at work, not to be known as the tit lady.

“If someone gets too focused on them, and my supportive top boss finds out, such a person may be categorized as a boob, if they stay around.”

Both women were evasive about what they did, but I had a strong impression that they were professionals of some type.

Andrea educated us. “In DC, strip club has lots of variations. Some of those on lower 14th Street, much less 8th Street NE, are raunchy not in the sense of having much elegance.

“The next level up, which never has any legal problems, are the few gentlemen’s clubs west of Connecticut Avenue. Generally, they have no contact. Depending on the state of enforcement, they may have no-contact lap dances. Once in a while, phone numbers are exchanged during a dance.

“At the next rung of intensity, we have clubs with a stage, tables in a dark audience area, and sometimes simple booths. Most dancers mingle with the patrons. Mingling is club code for having at least some sexual interaction.

“We look at lap dances, which people can see, as advertising for the more intense. That can get interesting with a couple, where the dancer and the lady customer have fun.

“Anyway, the higher-end DC clubs have all but the slightest interaction in booths, or sometimes even back rooms. That avoids problems with the liquor or vice cops.

“There’s an informal code of what kind of sex guys can get, if they aren’t a jerk. Couples, again not being jerks, usually get more action than guys.

“Our club, Stars, has a lot more action than lap dances.

“When they’re mingling with customers, dancers usually wear tube dresses, with little or nothing underneath. Some of the girls do wear floor-length evening gowns of flimsy material, naked underneath except sometimes stockings.

Once back in the booth, the top will slither down so we’re bare-breasted. If the vibes are right, I might even do that before sitting. If the vibes are really good, I’ll lift the hem to my hips.

“The basic rule is one orgasm, in about half an hour, for each bottle of champagne. That can happen as a handjob or blowjob. A pleasant customer will get to play with my boobs, and probably some hot kissing. I know that brothels tend to have a no-kissing rule, but we don’t do that.

“The more someone pays, the more they get. When they buy a large bottle, that may get them an hour in a bedroom in the back, with a girl that is happy to fuck. Nice personality, as well as money, can increase the action. Well-off people have been known to have fantastic evenings, sometimes with multiple dancers and about every sex act you can consider. Some of the premier dancers will test the customer for treating her as an equal, such as snowballing after cumming in her mouth. A guy that does that gets a pretty blank check.

“Now, the rules get flexed a lot when a couple is the customer. First, dancers that don’t play with women won’t approach you.

“Second, we’ll test the two of you a little. People don’t notice it, but when the booth has a bench seat, I’ll maneuver so the lady goes in first, then the man, than the dancer, so she can exit.

“When she’s comfortable, she’ll often get up on the table facing the seats. She might give a crotch shot, then stand and show her boobs to each of you. She tries very hard to see if the lady is there with enthusiasm, or to please her guy.

“If I conclude that she really wants to be there, I do differently than some of the other girls -- I’ll lean back, stick out my leg and heel, and invite touching. That might just induce someone to go down on me. If my sense is that breast play turns you on, I go to that. Case by case, of course. If you’re paying enough, we can go to a bedroom where anything goes.” By now, we were all breathing hard.

Club invitation

Lynda told Andrea, “I’ve never danced, but I’ve played the piano for dancers, showing off a fair bit although I didn’t have the skill that I do now.”

A couple of days later, Andrea and Darla told her something in the locker room. “Our manager and choreographer, Anna, has been thinking of adding, as a feature, some live music. It wouldn’t be the usual band.

“Let me be frank.” Andrea leaned close, and stroked Lynda’s leg. “Remember, it’s a club where you can and do get sex. There are other clubs that have that.”

I chimed in. “Lynda wants to have, though, some show business experiences. While she started thinking about Sam, the pianist in that great movie, Casablanca, she wanted more -- the movie had a full band, and he played an upright piano. She’s been thinking of having a glamorous pianist at a grand piano, in sexy clothing but not competing with the dancers getting naked. She would accompany only certain acts -- we’d still have those that went straight to hardcore. We’d still have dancers mingling, maybe from the bar, and the customers not sitting to watch.”

That evening, I told Lynda, “The dancers may not know about the security issues, but I checked with John’s team. Vivid is approved as a playground without blackmail.”

Dream Dresser

We made our first expedition to Dream Dresser with Andrea. It’s in a townhouse in Georgetown, on lower Wisconsin Avenue just south of the C&O Canal. From the outside, it’s not exotic. She told Lynda, “Dress as if you were going to a club. Do wear panties, to let you try on things that will be intimate in the crotch. Wear hose and heels. You might bring extra-high heels that you can change into for the store.

“Arnold, nice casual for you, with underwear. I like thinking of you in things nice to the touch, including leather. A lightweight bar vest is nice, but not super-kinky. They might have club-quality lounge pants, which don’t have zippers to gouge.”

A little sound came out of my throat. Andrea reached back and stroked me, but suddenly looked at Lynda. She told Andrea, “I’m not worried about you touching Arnold, or vice versa. You and I have exchanged some fairly hot caresses. Want more? I figure the store’s a safe place for exploration, in a private dressing room with very tolerant staff.

Marcie, one of the store staff, met us. She was a petite blonde in a black leather dress, zippered down the front, stopping above mid-thigh. Black hose went to ankle-strapped pumps, definitely high-heeled but in which she moved easily.

“I’m wearing what I consider the kinkier equivalent of the Little Black Dress. It’s something that you should have in your wardrobe, perhaps in several variations of color, zipper, and material. Might I suggest that we come back to that after you’ve seen wilder stuff? A good first place might be some one-piece items that could be undergarments, or at the right party, your primary attire.

“Donna will model if you want to see things on someone else. She does remind me of you.” Bigger and taller than Marcie, Donna was young and eager. Her hair also was dark, but worn full, in a Farah Fawcett style. She was in a tube dress, Units style, in bright green.

“In the bad days with Leonard, there was a fight in a club where I was trying out. A bullet clipped mu shoulder, and, while the scar wasn’t that large, my shoulder sometimes twinges uncomfortably. You might see me wince trying to get into something.”

I have to say that I don’t really understand the terminology of sexy garments that mostly cover from boobs to crotch, and then perhaps hold up stockings. I’ll just call all of them corsets. Some of the lightweight ones, displaying, I know are bodysuits, and there are differences between things with a crotch opening and not. All girdles.

Donna came in wearing the first item, which wasn’t all that imaginative. It was fairly heavy elastic black lace, probably meant for women more fat to control.

The next was red, with a complex bodice of lace, mesh, and lacing, which clearly would lift one’s breasts. Complementing the plunging front were straps which met around her neck, drawing a flattering border around shoulders. Garters fell from it, holding up red stockings. Its hem swept dramatically from her crotch to above the points of her hips.

“I’d like to try that,” Lynda told Marcie.

“Great. We have it in red, white, and black, with other colors on order.” Donna went out and brought out a black one. “Did you want to change in a private room?”

“No, I’d actually like to have Arnold watch me get in and out of things. These ladies can help. Do I need a camisole or something for trying it?”

“No, I don’t think so, as long as your breasts don’t sweat. May I? I’ll probably need to touch anyway to adjust the garment.”

In a husky voice, Lynda told her, “Touch away. Maybe I can return the favor.” I’d heard that the Dream Dresser staff could go beyond what was allowed at other stores, and Marcie’s smile confirmed that.

Lynda stripped to the waist. Marcie helped her into the corset. Indeed, her breasts jutted out over the top. When Marcie adjusted the shoulder straps, however, Lynda gasped, squealed, and moaned.

“Lynda,” Marcie asked, her fingers stroking Lynda’s back, “Did you just have an orgasm from the touch of this cloth?”

“Not exactly. Those shoulder straps, however, gave me a great physical lift. I have a damaged shoulder. Those straps gave me the first pain-free experience in years. I’ll take red, black, and white. Do you have a neutral flesh color that can be discreet with office wear?”

“I can get it in a week.”