Chapter 21: When Eulalie and Chase...

When Eulalie and Chase viewed the Saturday morning video of the mother/son blowjob, Eulalie stared at Betty’s image, and said, “Permission Slip.”

Chase nodded, “That woman’s brain overrode generations of maternal instincts and allowed her to strip naked in front of her son. Then she sucked him off, came back, and did it a second time.”

“And she’s just one of the mothers we have working at Miss Kitty’s.”

Since Kate was now hiring only mothers who had at least one son, Sausalito families were self-sorting into two groups. The vast majority of moms wouldn’t consider dancing at Miss Kitty’s, although only a small percentage of them condemned those who did. Those narrow-minded ladies tended to be fundamentalists who homeschooled their children.

No, most women, like most of Sausalito, understood that times were tough, money was tight, a job was a job.

For many of those mamas who were, if not fence-straddlers when it came to filling out a Miss-Kitty application, they were at least tempted. The money of course. Also the growing esteem for the brave girls who got up the courage to walk out on that stage.

And, for the first time, there was a growing wave of internal family encouragement, in some cases, even pressure, to become a dancer. That coaxing often came from the sons who had become avid Saturday morning enthusiasts.

“Mama, you’re prettier than almost all of them,”

“God, Mom, look in the mirror!”

When Miss Kitty’s opened nearly 20 years earlier, most of the kids would have been embarrassed, some mortified, if their mother had become a stripper. Of course most of the boys were delighted when a neighbor, or a friend’s mother, went to work there. That was different — they would spend hours fantasizing about someone they knew — actually knew up there naked. And giving BJs. And swallowing!

But their own mothers ... ew, no thank you.

But, just as the town’s attitude had changed over the years, a surprisingly large number of boys came home and considered their mamas in a new light.

And every single one of those women had logged on to the Miss-Kitty website, usually more than once, and seen the fun that the other girls were having. Girls — many of them girls they had known, gone to school with, socialized with.

There was also the insurance angle. Dancers at Miss Kitty’s qualified for a basic healthcare policy — better than nothing, which was what a lot of Sausalito women had.

And, lurking, always lurking, the extra money.

For many, the final barrier hadn’t been baring it all; hadn’t been sucking cock, and certainly swallowing cum wasn’t even a remote consideration. While several of them had never had much sex with another girl, the idea wasn’t usually a deal-breaker. It was that Saturday morning baptism of fire when their own son would be right there in the audience.

Oh, there were a few exceptions. Three different women had backed out at the last minute, telling Kate, “I just can’t get it on with another woman. Nothing against the girls who do, but it ain’t for me.”

“You’re willing to get naked in front of your son, but you won’t mess around with another girl?”

“Sorry, Miss Kate, I just can’t bring myself to do it.”

Well, can’t win ‘em all.

As Kate rotated two new moms a week through the cycle, those still-hesitant mothers began a process of rationalization. Gigi Fontenot, Jolene Horton, Peggy Mouton ... they all had kids, they all danced. Fuck, Peggy even won that cocksucking contest and had her picture on the front-page.

And what about Betty LeRoux? She had kids of her own and actually sucked Tee-Jack off. On stage!

Where dancing at Miss Kitty’s had once seemed impossible for a mom to consider, it was now creeping into the Maybe column. If I’m so concerned about Junior, why was he openly lobbying for me to go for it?

More and more moms were spending some naked time in front of a mirror, evaluating, considering, fantasizing. More and more were talking it over with their girlfriends. Since Kate Broussard had eliminated all women without boys living at home, the odds of getting hired were better than ever.

And, since she was putting two new moms on stage every Saturday morning ... well, why not take a deep breath and give it a try?

There was some oblique pressure from the local media too. The Sausalito Chronicle continually ran stories praising Miss Kitty’s. “Not only one of the largest employers in town, but the most prestigious.”

Every Monday morning Shannon Trudeau interviewed one or two of the new Saturday morning dancers on WZYD. Other than a minority of purse-lipped citizens, the call-in listeners were positive, reinforcing, and in many cases (young boys), adoring.

Gradually, gradually, more and more mothers were inching toward self-issuing a Permission Slip. Bills were piling up, family members were urging, girlfriends were raving ... the societal Don’t Do It side of their brain was getting a little porous.

It was Slim Hebert who came up with the idea. Slim had danced on stage a few times, back when Sabine wanted her to become better known around town. And of course there was that breakthrough Saturday morning where CC had jacked off on her.

Slim suggested to Kate, “How about giving them ladies a no-pressure audition? Let ‘em dance up there on your stage with no one else watching?”

Slim didn’t need to spell it out, to elaborate. Kate understood immediately — if she got a girl up there naked on stage, half the battle would be won. Whatever that girl had imagined, dreaded, fantasized about, would become familiar, comfortable, hopefully a little exciting, but certainly not daunting, certainly not a negative experience.

Shannon Trudeau spread the word in the Chronicle and through Shannon Says. There was now a dedicated number to call for a private rehearsal appointment.

That section of the brain — the Don’t Do It area — began closing its mouth.

Kate started scheduling appointments for early on weekday mornings. Moms could see kids off to school, then show up before they began the day’s chores and part-time work. Kate and Evelyn would be the only ones to observe them.

Evelyn decided on Prince’s Darling Nikki for each dancer. Kate was warm, welcoming, and ever-so flattering. She quickly found the most effective rhythm. Get them up on the stage first thing. Once they were naked, keep them that way.

And, Kate was casual, giving a low-key, matter-of-fact tour. “These are the lap-dance areas. Your customers tend to be younger here.” She winked, “Working up their nerve to go to the Blowjob Room. We have two now — more guys than ever want their cock sucked after watching a hot girl like you up on the stage.”

The Wow factor was always the generous dressing room with its floor-to-ceiling mirrors, elaborate makeup stations, and the walk-in showers.

After the third interview, Kate added a feature that turned out to be wildly popular. Two of her regular dancers were also hair stylists at Wendy’s Salon. Every new girl who auditioned could have her hair shampooed and brushed out. Could have a pussy trim or wax.

Almost every girl opted in. By that time, they’d been naked for over an hour. Kate, Evelyn, and, especially, the dancer/hairdressers had been so welcoming — warm and casual and so matter-of-fact. Yeah, we get naked, yeah, we give blowjobs ... shrug.

By the fifth interview, Kate was having her morning cleaning crew and the sandwich delivery boys come in early. The naked applicant might color a little, but no one shied away, tried to cover up. Keeping the girls in he nude was conditioning in a way. Certainly not grooming — that would take a lot more time and effort. But just having them walking around, getting their hair done, being seen ... all while stark naked ... well, it helped some.

The hiring campaign wasn’t a runaway success. That fucking Saturday morning requirement still put a hesitation in many a girl’s step. “If I didn’t have to dance in front of Johnny...”

Kate didn’t implore, didn’t try to convince. “Suzette, I understand, I truly do. But look at it from my point of view. If I’m going to choose between a gutsy girl and a shy one ... well, who do you think is going to be more popular at Miss Kitty’s?”

Kate told Eulalie, “I’m signing up maybe one girl in 15 or 16.”

“Not bad, not bad at all.”

“The interesting thing is that some of the girls who turn me down are having second thoughts.”

“What do you do with them?”

“I have two or three of my grandsons come in.”

Eulalie laughed.

“They’re naked and erect when the girl shows up. I tell her to strip — if she does, and no one has told me no yet — well, there’s a chance I’m gonna nail her.”

“Okay.”

“I tell her — pretend you’re in the Blowjob Room. Only a couple got dressed and left. The other three just went to work.”

“Sucking cock in public.”

“Yep. All three ended up working their Saturday morning shift.”

Neither Eulalie nor Kate thought it was even worth mentioning that Kate was watching her own naked grandsons get sucked off. No, their attention was on the new girls, the interview process, how best to overcome the one remaining barrier.

Permission Slips.

Ray-Ray, Ginny, and Jill went inside to watch the new video on Ginny’s flatscreen. The girls. were still naked; it hadn’t even occurred to them to dress.

Jill watched herself avidly. She didn’t feel the slightest twinge of embarrassment; she was simply fascinated by her performance. She had started off aroused just by the idea of posing nude. By the backyard atmosphere. By the small audience. By the idea of Danny Boy.

She had fingered herself openly, eagerly, cheerfully. She wanted it, wanted to cum, wanted it to be recorded. She had gone from hesitating even to undress to finger-fucking herself to a gasping climax.

As she watched Ray-Ray edit the file right in front of her, Jill reached down to touch herself. Ginny was already stroking her own pussy.

What a day! The Monday Mamas. Watching Ray-Ray shoot Ginny, a hot experience in itself. Ray-Ray talking her into posing. Sending her to Wendy’s. Switching from photographs to video. And now, masturbating again, side by side with Ginny.

When Ray-Ray finished, the video ran just 47-seconds long. Jill adored the finished product, how sexy she was, how good her body looked in the sunlight. But most of all, she loved her face as she climaxed. She went from raw hunger to quick, gasping little breaths to sheer joy.

Ray-Ray said, “I changed my mind about Danny Boy.”

“Oh?”

“I’m going to just send it to you. I want you to give it to him yourself.”

Jill frowned, thinking it over. For some reason it seemed more obscene coming directly from her. But then again, what was she — in middle school passing along a note to her crush? She nodded to Ray-Ray, “You’re right, it’s better coming from me.”

He winked, “Next time, I want you to blow me.”

“Next time?”

No ‘How dare you!’ No, “Why the fuck you think I’d do that?”

Just, “Next time?”

“I’ll let you know when.”

“Um, okay, Ray-Ray, you got my number.”

In more ways than one. A whole new world was opening up for Jill Moreau. Wife, mother, one of the Monday Mamas. A MILF.

Miss Kitty’s now had a standard employee hierarchy, a recognized pecking order. The rookies were the Saturday morning dancers. Next, the waitresses. At the top of the pyramid — the dancers themselves.

Word spread — the Saturday-morning girls were the first to be called in if a shift opened up. They weren’t yet full-timers, but they were earning some very welcome cash.

Around this time, Kate had realized she had made a mistake, an error in judgment. The one stumbling block for most mothers had been the fact that their son would be in the audience.

Yet Kate came to realize that there were gradations of resistance. Her mistake, her miscalculation, had been in not clarifying exactly what each Saturday morning performer was expected to do.

The Aha moment came when Helene Grayson asked her, “Would I have to do a ‘Betty’?” Betty LeRoux, who had sucked her own son off.

“No, dear. And you wouldn’t have to do a ‘Slim Hebert’ either.” Her son had jacked off on her.

Once it became clear in her mind, Kate codified the Saturday policy. Strip. Mess around with the other dancer. Period.

Helene asked, “I wouldn’t even have to jack him off?”

“No dear, no physical contact at all.” Then she thought some more, “Not for the first three Saturdays anyway.”

Word spread; applications rose. Yeah, they’d rather not have to have their son right fucking there, but if that was the only obstacle ... Plus, three Saturdays was a long glide path. And $150 was nothing to ignore.

Permission Slips.

The race for the mayorship of Sausalito, Mississippi went pretty much as anticipated. Was, in fact, almost anticlimactic.

Gigi Fontenot was well known in town, well-liked by most. She was a public figure because Marie Guidry had had her elected to the school board. Of course she was more well known because of her long and cheerful dance career at Miss Kitty’s.

Kate Broussard spotlighted a new Gigi video on the website. Gigi, nude and reclining comfortably on a chaise lounge, in the sunshine, in front of John Lee Hooker Elementary.

As she casually played with her pussy, she smiled into the camera and said, “Hello everyone, I’m Gigi Fontenot and I’m running for mayor of Sausalito. My platform is sex education. Who is more precious than our children?” She shuddered to a small orgasm, smiled even more widely, and said, “I’m Gigi Fontenot and I approved this message.”

The credits rolled ... Cameraman: Ray-Ray Fontenot.

Gigi’s opponent — The Reverend Emanuel Luther Mosby was also pretty well known. He was head of the United Pentecostal Church of Christ Risen, and his congregation and followers were rabidly faithful. They believed in the End Times where the righteous would ascend to heaven and the unholy would be left behind to suffer through eternity. The sooner the better.

Many people simply thought him to be an annoying crank, always railing against sin — which he found to be rampant in the town of Sausalito. Yet, Mosby wasn’t merely a cardboard caricature. He was a genuine man of the cloth, a true believer. Other church leaders — Southern Baptist, Methodist, Presbyterian, Catholic — rose to support him from their pulpits.

Eulalia had indirectly pumped over $4,000 into his war chest to encourage him to commit. Mosby’s own church, as well as most of the others in town, held bake sales, car washes, bingo nights, to add to his campaign budget.

By election eve, he had over 1,000 yard signs scattered around town. His deacons had been going door-to-door, distributing slick brochures, for weeks.

Gigi confined her campaigning to that one clip on Miss Kitty’s website. Eulalie had told her in her one and only pep talk, “Don’t sweat it, honey. People know you, and they’re going to vote for you or not.”

Rémy Thibodeaux and his officers conducted a word-of-mouth campaign for Gigi.

The Chronicle gave her a front-page endorsement. “Gigi Fontenot is a native of Sausalito, a wife, a mother of four boys, a member of the school board, and a civic treasure. Her opponent means well, but isn’t married, hasn’t raised a family, comes from Alabama, and has never reflected the Cajun values that we hold so dear.”

Not content to leave things to chance, Chase wrote out a script for the one debate that would be held on WZYD. Eulalie dumbed it down a little and gave it to Kate. Kate had Gigi rehearse and rehearse her part. Gigi wasn’t scholarly, although she had graduated from Sausalito High. She blithely admitted, “I did fuck three of my teachers — that helped.”

But she was shrewd, street smart. And she conscientiously learned her lines.

Prior to the debate she was interviewed on Shannon Says.