Chapter 7

"Cindy, we need to talk," I said.

"What about?" she said, smiling sweetly.

I stopped by the library where I knew she had a study group that afternoon, and once they were all gone and we had some privacy, we sat down, facing each other very seriously and grownup-like. "About last night," I said.

"What about it?" she said.

Um, the rubbing your pussy for total strangers for money part? "You know, after we said we were going home for the night, and I went to the peephole place, and... uh, you did too."

"That wasn't me," she said.

Now, you have to admit that was kind of a weird thing to say. If she really hadn't been there, she would have said "What are you talking about?" But saying "That wasn't me" meant she knew what I was talking about, which meant-- what, multiple personalities? "I don't get it," I said, cautiously.

"It wasn't really me," she said. "It was me playing a part. That's the only way I can do things like that for you, Ricky. If I put on an act, then I can make you very, very happy." And looking into her eyes, the frankly horny look in her eyes, I didn't doubt she meant it.

"Well, why don't we come back to my place right now and we'll both make both of us very happy."

"I can't do that," she said, sitting back in her chair and taking her hands off my knees, where they'd been resting. "If I'm going to put on an act-- it needs to be for an audience."

My head was swimming now. This was exciting, and scary, and deeply fucked up. It sounded like we could do whatever I wanted to do-- but only on her terms, which were, apparently, on stage at Radio City Music Hall. "What kind of an audience?"

"Who's that woman you said you didn't love, but had sex with?"

"I've got the popcorn and the Jujubes," Bart said as we entered the peep show.

"C'mon, don't make fun, she might back out," Lana said.

"I don't think so," I said.

It was 6:30 on the nose-- early for traffic in the peep show, I was sure. Lana and I went into one of the booths together. It was against the rules and there sure wasn't much extra room, but we'd given the guy a $20 tip as we went in which he knew meant, Listen pal, just keep reading the sports section. Bart took the booth next to us. The music ("You Can Leave Your Hat On") started, and the bead curtains parted as Cindy stepped out in a feathery blue nightie and G-string panties.

"Wooo-hooo! If the booth is a-rockin', don't bother knockin'!" we heard Bart shout from next door. Cindy seemed to be another plane of existence entirely, however, as she moved calmly, serenely, toward the pole in the middle of the stage and began to perform for us, wiggling her skinny little ass while I was pressed up against Lana's bountiful tummy.