by Paula Hawkes
The sex with Mark got even better as the liaisons progressed. She could not believe how many orgasms she was having now. From a couple a month to several in one day sometimes. Maybe it was being on top that did it, Mark always wanted her on top. And she was more than happy to oblige. She’d perfected the art of the light, post-coital wash. An activity that would rid her of the strongest smells that might betray her lunchtime activities, but without her smelling so strongly of soap that the cover-up would be obvious. It was a good job that Philip never went near the washing basket, as her knickers would have given the game away instantly.
Anyway, Philip was more than happy for the moment. For some reason, the lunchtime sessions did little to fully satiate her appetite, and she would often find herself treating her husband in the evening. When he did comment once on this increase in frequency he was easily discouraged from questioning further when she asked him if he would maybe rather go back to the old ways.
Although Philip had always been a considerate lover, there was always room for improvement. She now felt a new confidence that permitted her to guide Philip through the needs of her body. Mark seemed so much more experienced that Philip, despite being considerably younger, and when Mark managed to bring a new response from her body, she felt obliged to teach her husband what she had learnt about herself. A few well timed moans, a gasped ‘Yes’ as he did something right, and sometimes a little firm physical pressure to move his tongue, lips, finger or cock to the right spot, and then movement timed to encourage the correct rhythm. “You have to let a man know when his random, scattergun, fumbling attempts to please you are on the right track,” she was once told by a girl friend. “He'll never work it out unless you tell him.”
China found that the weekends were the most difficult. Her body had become so used to the regular multiple servicing, as she like to think of it, that the at-most once per day supply she could get from Philip on Saturdays and Sundays simply wasn’t enough. She feared she was turning into a nymphomaniac. She had heard of sex addiction but had thought that it was a condition that only applied to men. She had never thought that she might have to worry about herself falling into that same category. Surely addiction was only a problem if it was destructive, and so far she had only got pleasure from this dependence. She wondered if this was how alcoholics felt. The addiction was pure pleasure, she had to admit, and based upon a deep-seated need for validation and admiration that empowered her. And it was so much fun.
But the weekends were a struggle. On the rare occasions that Philip went out on his own at the weekend, China would often find herself needing to do something about her desires. She had been bought a vibrator as a secret-Santa joke present years ago, and had kept it hidden away from Philip in the bottom of a drawer on her side of the bed where she kept clean sheets. She knew Philip would never look in there. The vibrator, a long, thick, slick black column that was frankly rather alien and scary looking, had sat in its box until just recently. Now, when Philip was out, China would use the vibrator while she thought of Mark, not her husband. The vibrator was more reminiscent of Mark’s physical characteristics than Philip’s. Apart form the colour of course.
By this method China was able to make it through the weekends and keep herself and Philip very contented. Their marriage felt stronger than ever, and Philip was the happiest he had been in years, due in no small part to the amount of action he was now getting. He’d even stopped trying to encourage her to feed his pet fantasy. Which was ironic, she thought, given that now she had some actual material to work with.
One Monday lunchtime, as China and Mark sat naked and sweating on the edge of the bed after a particularly exhausting session China suddenly remembered the pictures he had taken of her, and asked Mark if she could see them.
“Oh yes. Of course. I’m sorry, I should have shown you earlier.”
“I was worried they were too rubbish to be seen.”
“Not at all. Here, let me show you.” Mark led her into the other room and retrieved his MacBook Pro and placed it on China’s lap, the sudden cold metal on her legs making her shiver, and opened its silver cover. He navigated to the Images folder and started a slideshow. China was amazed. He had made her look quite beautiful. The elegant black and white, the soft lighting, the contrast, all went into creating images she could indeed feel very proud of.
“I don’t scrub up too bad do I?”
“You’re stunning. In fact, these photos don’t do you justice.” She was getting used to his compliments but would never tire of them.
“You haven’t shown these to anyone else have you?” A brief moment of doubt entertained. He might sulk but she needed to know.
“I’m an artist and these images of my private muse are for my eyes only.” To her relief he took her question in good spirit.
“A good answer,” she replied, kissing him. Her eyes strayed to the large photo framed on the chimneybreast. “I wish I could pose like that though. Somehow she just hits all the right angles to make the perfect image. She is captivating.”
“You could do that easily. But she does have a distinct advantage.”
“What’s that?” she asked feeling strangely defensive and a hint of jealousy.
“She’s a professional dancer. Well, a pole dancer actually. So she is quite used to posing naked in front of people. She has a confidence I wouldn’t have expected from you anyway. And it’s your shyness and vulnerability that make those photos of you so enchanting.” She loved the way his words danced from his mouth when he complimented her.
“That’s ok. But now I’d like to be able to give you some images more like that.” She gestured towards the framed photo. She wanted Mark to capture her newfound confidence. He could chronicle her growth from insecurity to confidence. She wanted to show him that she could do anything that a pole dancer could do. “How do I learn to do that?”
“Well, I could take you to a lap dancing pub I know one evening, if you’d like that.”
She wasn’t sure if she did like the idea. But she was feeling more adventurous lately so she acquiesced. “Ok. My husband is out with his workmates this Thursday evening. Let’s go then. I presume it’s ok for women to go into these places?”
“It’s not unusual,” he said. “You won’t see women visitors in there every night, but sometimes people bring their wives, partners, girlfriends along.”
“That settles it then. Thursday evening. I’ll meet you in The Dog and Duck at seven thirty.”
Chapter 22
China really wasn’t sure how to dress for going into a lap-dancing club. If she dressed too sexily she was worried that she might be seen as a fellow lap dancer, or even worse, a hooker. If she dressed too conservatively she would pale by comparison to the dancers, and she didn’t want that either. Not that she was trying to compete with the girls. That would be silly. Conflicting arguments ran through her brain. At work she could resolve complex issues faster than any of her colleagues, but this one was stumping her. In the end she decided upon some stretch jeans and a white t-shirt, with a smart leather jacket, tailored to pull in tight at the waist. Middle ground. Safe ground, she hoped.
She was excited to see what the inside of a lap dancing club was like, and what the girls really did do. She had no idea, and she hoped it wasn’t too extreme. She had seen strip joints in films and programs on the television and they seemed fairly tame, if a little sleazy, but real life wasn’t always truly or fairly portrayed on the small screen. Philip had never been to one, or so he claimed, although China did find that a little difficult to believe. As she walked to The Dog and Duck that Thursday, she was alive with anticipation. She wondered if she would just be too ashamed to even look to see how the girls posed and performed.
Mark and her walked East and ended up in the Bishopsgate area of London where he promised her there was a whole range of these types of establishments, ranging from the down and dirty sleaze pits to the more classy. “So what do you fancy, China? Sleazy or classy?”
&
nbsp; She always loved the way he growled her name in his multi-cultural accent. “Definitely not sleazy. I’m not ready for that. Somewhere in the middle.” She was worried that she could not bear the comparison of standing in too classy a place, where she imagined the highest echelons of the strip world performed. Like her clothes, middle ground seemed the safest approach.
“That’s fine. In sleazy the girls try really hard. You’d see some amazing moves, but you’ll also see some pretty extreme stuff too as they try to outdo each other for attention from the punters. At the classy end the girls are elegant and beautiful, but there’s a certain distance, not just physically. Personally, I’m with you. I know just the place.”
When they entered the pub the first thing China noticed, and was horrified by, was that there were no other normally dressed women. Amongst the throngs of men, many in large groups, and most looking like they’d come straight from office jobs, wandered heavily made-up women in various states of undress. They chatted with the punters in a friendly way, often draping an arm over a shoulder or around a waist. They seemed quite familiar with some customers, even knowing them by name. They were all very attractive, and all looked incredibly fit.
“What amazing bodies,” she said.
“You’ll see in a minute the kind of workout they get every night. It’s no wonder they’re fit.”
One of the girls approached Mark and spoke in an Eastern European accent. “Hi, handsome, we haven’t seen you in here for a few weeks.” Mark glanced over at China but she just smiled at him. What was it to her if Mark came to these places? She had no right to any sort of jealousy in this relationship. The girl looked about twenty years old. She was short and had long straight dark hair framing an angelic face. She was dressed in scarlet underwear with a lacy red gown that left little to the imagination.
“Been a bit busy, Esta.”
“Too busy to come and see us. That makes me sad.” She tipped her head to one side and pouted.
“No Zilda tonight?” Mark asked. “I haven’t seen her in weeks.”
Esta looked worried. “We haven’t seen her for a few weeks either. Or heard from her husband, Alexandru. I must admit, I thought you had stolen her away from this life.”
He laughed, a little sadly China thought. “No. The last time I saw her was when she posed for me. I thought I’d see her tonight, get the chance to thank her. I wanted to give her this.” He pulled a small envelope out of his jacket pocket and slipped out a printed photograph, the same one that adorned his wall, with his signature in black marker pen scrawled across one corner.
“Ahh yes. Zilda is so lovely. Would you like me to take it? I’m sure we’ll see her at some point.”
“Yes please, Esta. Thanks.”
“And will you be looking for a private dance this evening?” Esta glanced over at China as she asked this, no doubt hoping that her presence would not reduce her profit this evening. Esta’s eyes lit up as she thought of something. “Or maybe your lovely lady would like to see my special dance?”
“That’s not a bad idea,” said Mark, to China’s horror. She wasn’t sure she was ready for a one on one private dance. Mark noticed her expression. “We’ll let you know a bit later. We’re going to have a drink first.”
“Ok. But don’t forget your little Esta when you decide. You know my dances are very special. The best.”
Mark laughed. “You all say that.” When Esta pouted again at his response he added, “But of course, in your case it’s true.”
She wagged a finger at him and looked comically stern as she walked away and sought out her next potential customer.
“Don’t worry,” he said to China. “If you don’t want a dance from Esta that’s fine. She won’t be the last to offer that to us. It is their job after all. Let’s have a drink.”
Sipping her Vodka at the bar, behind the crowds of men that gravitated towards the raised stage whenever the music was turned up, China began to see why all these girls looked so fit. The central, gleaming pole offered a perfect workout station for the body, especially when used in the ways that these girls used it. They were almost gravity defying. China could hardly believe that muscles could be so well honed to hold the body in such seemingly impossible positions on the chrome pole. The thigh and stomach muscles didn’t shake as the girls, one after the other, displayed gymnastic tendencies that China felt wouldn’t be out of place in an Olympic stadium.
“If they wore more clothes this could be an Olympic sport. It’s basically gymnastics,” she joked to Mark.
“True. It’s amazing to watch.”
China had to agree. There was an elegance and beauty in each performance. The lack of clothes only served to emphasise how amazing these girls’ bodies were. There was an anatomical appreciation to be had besides the pure sexiness of watching a naked woman expose herself at different angles. The girls were proud of their bodies, and rightly so. The hard work that must have gone into creating such works of art. It was a kind of understated bodybuilding. But whereas bodybuilding could create a monster when taken too far, this was pure sculpture, to a perfect vision. Some of the girls were noticeably curvier than others, but even then they looked strong. The extra weight was carried with such grace and poise that China could see the punters were just as appreciative. The variety of shapes, sizes and colours on display only made each girl more special as they represented a different but equally valid vision of beauty.
“What do you think?” Mark asked her.
“It’s not what I expected. Less…” she searched for the right word. “Less, pornographic. It’s really surprisingly artistic.”
“Exactly,” he said, with some enthusiasm. “I wish more women would come and see this. They’re not all skinny beanpoles, they’re not prostitutes, they’re not druggies, and they’re not just lying there opening their legs for customers to drool over.”
China had seen quite a few of the girls presenting the last pose that Mark had mentioned, but she did have to admit that it was just a small part at the end of the act. It almost seemed to be a final reward thrown to the boys watching at the end of an otherwise classy display of artistic posing. Another thing that China had noticed was the steady stream of girls leading men to the back of the pub and through a curtained doorway. A few minutes later the men would re-appear, followed by the girls just a couple of moments after that.
“I presume that’s where the private dancers perform?”
Mark nodded, hardly taking his eyes off of Esta who was now performing on stage. She was one of the shortest girls present and now her body was free of the scarlet underwear she had been wearing earlier, China could see she had an almost boyish figure. She obviously had hardly any body fat because her muscles were perfectly displayed as she contorted herself around the pole to the strains of a hip-hop track that China didn’t recognize. China understood why Mark was so entranced by Esta. Her body flowed effortlessly from one pose to the next, and she remained elevated halfway up the pole, switching between poses without touching the ground or looking awkward. The muscles of her thighs held her aloft at one point, and then it was her armpit, then her calves as she hung upside down and arched her body away from the pole, reaching her arms out in a swan-dive pose. The audience gasped, as did China. “How does she do that?
Although Esta was completely naked at this point in her act, China felt no shame in staring in wonderment, along with everyone else in the room. This didn’t feel sleazy at all, and China started to understand why men appreciated such places. Beyond the pornography that men could find easily enough on the Internet, there was a beauty here that was borne of confidence. A beauty that she couldn’t imagine experiencing anywhere else. It was an art form.
After her dance, Esta slipped back into her outfit and wandered over to Mark, slipping an arm around his waist. But it was China she was looking at. “What did you think? Am I good?”
“You were amazing,” China said smiling. “How do you do some of those things?”
Esta’s laugh was genuine and contagious, “A lot of time in the gym. But I can eat what I like. That’s good. I need chocolate for energy,” she joked. “And pizza. And wine. It’s a tough life.”
“Well I wished I looked that good on chocolate, pizza and wine.”
“If you did that every night,” Esta said, nodding her head back toward the now empty stage, “you would in very short time.”
China suspected that was no joke. Having seen the girls perform she knew that the bodies they all so proudly displayed were hard earned.
“But I think you look great as you are. We are all different. Are you ready for special dance now?” Esta asked China. China blushed. “Tis no big deal. Wives and girlfriends have them all the time.” China wondered which of those two categories Esta had placed China in. She wondered herself which category she fitted into tonight.
“Go on,” said Mark. “You will enjoy it. I promise. You wanted to learn how to pose, and Esta here is one of the best. You’ve seen her.”
China could not argue with that. Esta had performed the most spectacular routine of the night so far. Maybe China wasn’t ready for the depressing concept of trying to pose like the best of these girls, but she had to admit she had come here for a lesson and she might as well get it from a friendly face. Some of the other girls were quite intimidating with their stark offer of sexual allure. Esta must have noticed China’s hesitation because she reached out and took China’s hand and pulled her toward the back of the room. China was intrigued about what went on back there, and how it could be any different to what was publically displayed on the stage.
Behind the curtain was a line of private booths, each cubicle behind a thick burgundy curtain. Esta led her to one of the empty booths where the curtain was pulled back. As she passed each occupied booth, through narrow gaps in the curtain China caught glimpses of writhing flesh that made her stomach churn with fear, excitement and anticipation. She felt like she needed to wee, and her breathing became more rapid. China had never had a panic attack before, but this felt like the start of one. She started to shake.
