Small Town Secrets: A Forbidden Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  Oh yeah. The man jerked forward in his chair now, eyes glinting as they took in my pink pussy. Because the folds were puffy and aroused, glistening moistly under the hot lights. Did he know that it was for him? Could he tell that I was already seeping moisture from my sacred spot, anticipating his touch?

  But no. Again, the Flamingo is a no-touch shop. So instead, I shook my finger at him while smiling coyly and shimmying away before leaning back against the pole and spreading my legs. And I did it then. One hand slid over my creamy, undulating body to slip between my thighs while pulling my nether lips open. And that’s when everything was revealed. Because I was aroused too, and my clit stood at salute, hot and throbbing while pointed straight at the strange man.

  He growled. I could hear it even across the room and over the thumping beat. The dark man was an animal who knew his woman on sight. So he let out a vengeful rumble that let me know just who my master was as the man stood halfway in his chair.

  And that’s when I saw it. That humongous dick, or at least the ridge of an enormous monster wrapped around his waist. Even though it was dark and even though he was wearing suit pants, his jacket fell away enough so that I saw it. The man was enormously aroused and it was all because of me.

  That was enough. My teasing play had turned me on so much that I lost all control then. Still leaning against the pole, I reached one hand over my head and grabbed the golden stick to steady myself. Because my other hand held my pussy open, and lo and behold, but I was coming right there on stage. With the eyes of the mysterious alpha male on me, I pulsed and shivered before his eyes, my cunt spasming under his gaze as my breasts shook and trembled. Somehow, without even touching me, the stranger had made me come.

  But that’s when things took a turn to the bizarre. Because after the orgasm passed, I opened my eyes and he was gone. What in the world? Bizarre things have happened before. After all, I work at a strip club and this environment attracts weirdos all the time. But disappearing? That was a new one. If anything, most guys try to hang around, asking for a date or something even worse.

  Yet this man was different because there was no trace of him now. His seat empty and even odder, there was a certain stillness in the air as if all the energy in the club had been sucked out now that he was gone. Stay with it, the voice in my head warned. Keep dancing. You’re still on the job, and they’re not paying you to lose your head over one customer.

  Fortunately, the song was about over and I picked up the dollar bills, grasping them into my fist while skipping off stage with a false smile and wave. But the entire time, my mind was whirling. Who was that handsome man, why did he disappear, and most importantly … would I ever see him again?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Thomas

  Holy shit, who the fuck was that girl? She was amazing, curvy and lush exactly the way I like them. Even more importantly, when was I going to see her again?

  Because it was clear that I was going to see her again. Shit, I’m the President of the United States. Commander-in-Chief and the leader of the free world. The Secret Service does as I say, not to mention the FBI and CIA. So of course I was gonna meet the hot stripper in person, someway, somehow.

  But it would be a clandestine meeting for sure. After all, you can’t exactly do a press conference and say, Hey, our president is out there looking for a woman. And by the way, he’s hooking up with strippers along the way. But that’s where the beauty of this office comes in. Because my guys are at the top of the game, and they know exactly how to set these things up. Secret meetings in the Seychelles with African diplomats? Please, that was easy for them. So organizing a meeting with “Pearl Evanescence,” as she called, would be ten times easier.

  Because I have needs like any other red-blooded man. This job is stressful and it ain’t easy being a single guy in D.C. You’d think that there are plenty of society debutantes who are dying for a date with the President, and yeah, sometimes I take one or another of them out. But it’s never right. First, these girls are social climbers. There’s no other way to put it. They want to see and be seen, and what better way than on the arm of the President of the United States?

  Second, the society debutantes are practically inbred. I don’t mean that they’re dumb. Quite the opposite in fact. The females here have degrees up the wazoo, and probably got perfect scores on their SATs. It’s just that none of them are street smart, and that really turns me off. If I wanted to have a conversation about the literature and peoples of ancient Nova Scotia, that would be one thing. But if I wanted to talk about real things, like the price of a hammer or the cost of a cup of coffee at a local diner, it’d be impossible. They’re used to getting single origin roasts at places like Kounter Kulture or Wayville, and not Big Mike’s Munchbox over on Second and Northwest Avenue.

  So it’s left me in a conundrum. On the one hand, I’m a red-blooded man who needs release to perform at the highest levels. But on the other, it’s hard to find a woman in this city. Isn’t that the problem that all guys have? I guess being the President hasn’t made things easier. If anything, it only means that I have to wade through more layers of muck before finding what I really want.

  Plus, my office hasn’t exactly made it easy. Staffers set up some fake site called Gold Medallion, which believe or not, provides male escorts. Evidently, there’s a dummy profile for me that gets contacted non-stop. But the thing is, the women who want to date a dude like that are terrible in the exact way that I’ve been trying to avoid. They want someone who speaks five languages and travels all over the world. Sure, I’ve traveled a lot, but I’d like to slow down a little. It gets old when your bedroom is really the cabin on Air Force One. Plus, I only speak one language, and that’s American. It sounds so country-bumpkin and backwards, but it’s true for better or worse.

  So yeah, sometimes I go rogue to find a woman. I have to leave the circles that form my usual stomping grounds, and look afield for fresh meat. It does no good to go to bars and restaurants around here, it’d just be the same old thing. It’d do no good to hit up Maryland or Virginia either, I’d be recognized there as well.

  Thus, the anonymity of New York, although of course, anonymity is relative in my case. But you do the best you can, and no one expects to see a sitting American president at a place like the Flamingo on a Tuesday night.

  After all, most high-class guys would head to some place like Scores or Elevated. They want to smoke cigars indoors while paying for over-priced liquor. But me? If I want to find a woman, I head to the Pink Flamingo or Booty Boots over on West Forty-Fourth. The guys there don’t care about top-shelf whiskey. They’re more likely to be downing PBR or Coors, and that’s fine. After all, no one’s expecting to see the American president at some downhome strip joint, and that’s why I go. People only see what they want to see.

  So yeah, I was there when Pearl Evanescence came on stage, and shit, but the woman blew me away. Lush and curvy everywhere with tits and ass to spare. Exactly my type. The kind of girl who eats everything on her plate, before asking for seconds. And during that dance, when our eyes connected and my dick spurted involuntarily? Holy cow.

  So I left without a trace, but that didn’t mean that it was the end of the road for us. In the limo, I called up Daniel, my trusty assistant.

  “Hey boss,” came his merry voice. “What can I help you with?”

  Daniel’s a twenty-five year old staffer whose primary purpose in life is to be my body man. I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing, but at least he picks up on the first ring even when it’s 11 p.m.

  “Hey Dan,” was my growl. “Can you help me find the name of a girl I just met?” Of course, I was taking some liberties here. “Her name is Pearl Evanescence, and I’m looking to get some intel on her.”

  My assistant didn’t even blink an eye. I’ve done this before, and my loyal staffer’s familiar with the drill.

  “Pearl Evanescence from where?” he asked in a business-like voice, probably already jotting things into hi
s notepad. “Are you up in New York?”

  “Yeah, at the Pink Flamingo over on West Thirty-Third. She did a set tonight and I’d like to get a work-up done.”

  A few more scratches over the phone before Daniel came back on again.

  “Sure thing, boss. We should have this ready for you Monday morning, no prob.”

  And with that, we said our goodnights and clicked off. Because I can’t exactly date just anyone. It’s not good for national security. Who knows if there’s some Russian honeypot planted in order to get my secrets? So at the very least, we run a full background check on the girl to make sure she’s an American citizen, and kosher to boot. She’s gotta have credit history, no criminal record, and no obvious drug dependencies. That’s just to start. A much more thorough check goes on after Daniel hands off her file to the Secret Service, but for now, that was enough.

  So I sat back in the limo, on my way to a hotel in Midtown. The city’s gorgeous at night, even with the high-rises empty and the occasional bum staggering down the sidewalk. There’s something about Manhattan that calls to me, and I plan on moving here after my four-year term is up.

  But for tonight, there was nothing to do but wait. My assistant would do the preliminary background check, and then Pearl Evanescence would be brought to meet her newest client … the American President.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Susie

  I let myself in the backdoor of the Flamingo. Mickey D had called with a last-minute request, and reluctantly, I’d acquiesced.

  “Really, there’s no one?” were my skeptical words. “I’m the only girl that’s available?”

  “There’s no one,” came his whiny voice over the phone. “I swear, Susie, you’re our only hope. And after management’s been so nice to you, don’t you think you should give a little something back? Come on,” he wheedled.

  I rolled my eyes but there was truth to his words. After all, the Flamingo has been good to me in its own way. I make a lot of money, which is a big thing in and of itself. But also, management is relatively nice, meaning that they don’t force me to do lap dances or anything like that. I’m able to do my sets on the stage, grab my dollars, and then head back home without having to kiss up to customers or flaunt my assets while trying to get them to buy more drinks.

  So with a sigh, I checked my calendar. Well, not that it made a difference. I’d still have to be at the New Academy bright and early tomorrow morning, but I guess picking up an extra shift wouldn’t kill me.

  “Alright,” came my reluctant voice. “The ten p.m. shift?”

  “No, the seven p.m. one,” said Mickey in a delighted voice. “Just seven to ten.”

  “Really?” I asked, brows raised. “But there’s hardly anyone there then. You can’t be one girl short?”

  Mickey was ready.

  “No, we like the Flamingo fully staffed at all times. You know that, Susie. Plus, customers start drifting in at nine or so, so it’s important to be prepared. Bring your best outfits, just like usual,” he trilled. “See you then!”

  And with that, he was gone. I hung up, still a little puzzled. Honestly, the Flaming has probably fifteen customers between the hours of seven to ten, but then again, Mickey was right. It was better to be prepared once the rush started late at night.

  So with a sigh, I got into the shower, sudsing myself off before stepping out and staring at myself in the mirror. Wow. Was that really me, with the flushed cheeks and curly brown hair? It was, for sure. But my double life as a librarian cum stripper lent a sparkle to my eyes and a special curve to my smile because I had secrets no one would ever know.

  Shimmying into a red bra and panty set, I pulled out my highest heels and then wrapped my curvy form into a trench coat. It was a standard dancing outfit. With a couple accessories, the red bikini could be turned into a 20’s flapper, Medusa, or even the Queen of England, depending on what mood I was in.

  So with another secret smile, I grabbed my purse and headed out to the club. And after letting myself into the backdoor, I looked for Mickey.

  “He around?” were my words.

  Camilla, an older stripper who’s had lots of plastic surgery done, jerked her thumb to the back while smacking her gum.

  “Better be quick, girlie,” she said. “You’re on in fifteen.”

  I knocked on the wooden door in the back.

  “Mickey?” I called. “It’s me, Susie.”

  Immediately, his voice sounded.

  “Come!”

  Hmm, weird. The tone was a little high and nervous-sounding. I wonder why? But when I pushed the door open, the reason became immediately clear. Because a guy as big as a Mack truck stood next to Mickey’s desk, imposing and huge. He had a flat top and absolutely no expression on his face.

  “Heya!” greeted Mickey, scrambling up from his chair a little too quckly. “How are you, Suse? I mean, Pearl.”

  What the hell? What was going on? But I let myself into the office.

  “You know I don’t do lap dances,” came my warning voice, casting a suspicious glance at the stranger. “I don’t do any type of extras, for that matter.”

  Mickey simpered a bit while showing me to a chair.

  “Of course not!” he sang. “That’s not why you’re here at all. Let me introduce you to Harry.”

  Hmm, no last name? But that’s common in my line of work, so I nodded although my eyes were still suspicious.

  “Hello,” came my frigid greeting. “How are you?”

  He nodded his head.

  “Ma’am.”

  That’s all? He wasn’t going to say more? But Mickey jumped into this awkward situation.

  “So Harry’s here because he has a proposition for you.”

  I stood up to go, shoving my chair back.

  “No,” was my firm word, shooting daggers at my manager. “Absolutely not. You know I don’t do this, I don’t even know why you’re asking.”

  “Wait, hold on, hold on!” begged Mickey, both hands up in a placating gesture. “Just hear me out. Harry here has a proposition, but it’s not for him. It’s for his boss.”

  I shook my head wearily.

  “Doesn’t matter,” were my curt words. “I don’t do extras, not even for the President of the United States.”

  At that, Harry’s eyes flickered a little, although I couldn’t exactly see why it mattered. That was just an expression. Did it trigger something?

  But Mickey was babbling now.

  “It’s just a date,” he assured me, voice running at a million miles an hour. “What’s so bad about that? Nothing extra. Just two hours of your time, and you’re good to go.”

  I shook my head.

  “No,” was my firm word. “Didn’t you hear me? That’s not part of my schtick and you know it, Mickey. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  But my manager’s expression fell then.

  “Well, I didn’t want it to come to this, but then you’re fired Pearl. The Pink Flamingo won’t be needing you anymore.”

  I gasped, outraged.

  “What do you mean, fired? This is retaliation! You can’t just fire me because I won’t go on a date with some strange man who I don’t know from Tim, Dick or Bobby. He could be some rapist or a criminal warlord for all we know.”

  But Mickey shook his head regretfully.

  “Unfortunately sweetheart, it’s not a mistake. I got word from the higher-ups that you need to go on this date otherwise it’s a pink slip for you. Effective tonight.”

  I literally couldn’t move, just gaping at him from my chair.

  “No way,” were my slow words. “I’m a solid moneymaker on Tuesday nights. I always show up for my shifts and even have some regulars who come to see me week in and week out. You can’t fire me just because of this.”

  Mickey’s expression was mournful.

  “Sorry sweets, but that’s the deal. Management needs full-service girls, and if you don’t go tonight, then we’ll have to find someone else who will. Sorry,” he sh
rugged.

  Yeah, right he was sorry. If anything, the dude was a monkey in a purple pin-striped suit who just took orders. But that was the problem. Mickey had no decision-making authority, so there was no point in pleading my case to him. The powers-that-be had already decided.

  I took a deep breath, mind churning furiously. What would happen if I quit? Of course, I could always get a job at another outfit, but was I ready for that? Was I ready to go somewhere new, where lap dances were part and parcel of my responsibilities? Was I ready to let men grope my ass and touch my boobies, all because it was part of the job?

  Plus, what about my schedule? I was used to dancing prime time on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and the Flamingo had promised me a set on Saturdays as soon as one of the older girls vacated. If I started somewhere new, I’d be at the bottom of the totem pole again, relegated to picking up shifts whenever and wherever I could. The money would be worse until I managed to claw my way up the ranks.

  So it was pretty clear what the choice was, and in essence, there was no choice. I needed the money. It’s impossible to survive in the city on a librarian’s salary, and without the Flamingo, the options went from bad to worse. So I took a deep breath.