by Joanna Angel
The original man who came to the store—the alleged friend of Sandy—took it upon himself to just climb up on top of the front counter to make an announcement. I was desperately afraid of it breaking, and watched him nervously.
“Sorry about the confusing space, everyone! Don’t worry, Joanna will be doing her special LIVE SHOW in about fifteen minutes! Follow Dennis,” he pointed at the second sweatpants guy, “he will show you where she will be performing.” The store full of people clapped and cheered. Some of them had open containers of alcohol. In unison they all repeatedly chanted “JO-ANN-A” in three equal syllables.
There was definitely a severe lack of communication among the various men in the sweatpants. Every time I asked any of them a question they went to yell at someone or something on their cell phone. I went to the storage room in the back and pulled out my laptop. I plugged the flash drive in and downloaded the songs onto my computer. There was a mix of Slayer, Metallica, Mötley Crüe, and then a slew of other bands I’d never heard of that loaded up images of black albums with complicated dark script titles, and hand-drawn pictures of burning churches and upside down crosses. I guessed it would be kind of a dark show.
When all of the files had transferred, I brought the laptop over to the speaker system behind the counter. There were a ton of wires in the back of it and there appeared to be a USB port. I took an old spare Android phone charger that Sandy kept in the store, I dismantled the cord from the square thing, and attached it from my laptop to the speaker. I crossed my fingers and pushed play; loud, brash metal music started filling the front of the store, eliciting cheers from the patrons who hadn’t gone to the stage yet. Success! It worked.
I asked the least busy-looking sweatpants man to carry the speaker and my laptop into the stripper pole room. The room was awkwardly packed with a bunch of people waiting around with no music on at all. They seemed pretty restless. He found a proper corner to put it in, on the table that displayed the lube and the tissues. It seemed good enough.
I rushed to return to the “dressing room.” Shit. I completely forgot about getting Joanna a water. I didn’t want to go back in there without it. I ran back to the register and grabbed a bottle of water I happened to have in my purse. I had drunk only a few sips out of it. It was better than nothing.
I ran back to the “dressing room.” Though the door was closed, I knocked. Joanna opened the door, looking like a completely different character than the short girl who entered the store in leggings and a cut-up T-shirt. She was in a black latex nurse costume, with glittery red eyeshadow and lipstick. She had a stethoscope and a giant syringe that glowed in the dark, and she towered over me in incredibly high stiletto boots.
“Hey!” I said. “Is, um, everything okay?” I asked. “I got you a water!” I slyly pretended to open the bottle of water for her before I handed it over, even though it had already been opened. I turned an embarrassment into an act of magnificent chivalry.
“Thanks so much!” She took a sip. “Did you give my music to the DJ?”
“I think I’m the DJ, actually. But, I got it!” Joanna seemed annoyed, but she smiled.
“A cute, young, girl DJ—that’s a first for me!” She giggled. Then she frantically looked through her suitcase, throwing numerous thongs, open-toed, hot pink shoes, school-girl outfits, and other things across the room. “Shit,” she said. “I forgot my lotion at the other club!”
It was humorous the way she said “other” club, implying that this was also a club. But if that’s what she needed to believe to keep going that was fine. She handed me a squirt bottle that looked something like a ketchup dispenser from a 1950s diner.
“Can you fill this up with half water and half lotion please? And hand it to me on my last song.” She flipped her head upside down and sprayed it with hair spray; some of it burned my eye, as I stood in the corner holding her squirt bottle.
“Yeah, got it, sure,” I said. I admittedly enjoyed being bossed around by a latex nurse.
I ran back to the store area, looking for something reminiscent of lotion. I could have sworn we had some, though I was having a hard time finding anything but lube and massage oil. In the small bachelorette party section of the shop, we did in fact have some kind of shaving cream that was called “Coochie Creme” that several women swore was a wonderful cream that left them with no razor burn in their bikini area. I guess that would have to do. The cream was rather expensive, close to $20 a bottle, but I justified the cost; 100+ people were, albeit illegally, paying to get into the store that would make up for the loss of any products we had to use. I took it into the bathroom, dumped it out into the squirt bottle, and mixed it with water. I had no idea what this science experiment would amount to and what it had to do with being a nurse but I was excited to find out. There was no time to waste! I ran back to the stripper room, pushed through the crowd, and headed straight to the corner. A sweatpants guy was guarding the speaker and the laptop. He had some kind of headset/earpiece on and he spoke into it: “Bring her out, we’re ready,” and he looked at me and nodded. I assumed this was the go ahead to play the music, so I plugged the laptop into the speaker and hit play.
The first song on her mix was titled “Bio Music,” an in-your-face instrumental song. It filled the room like a fog, setting the stage for a sexy evening. I suddenly remembered that piece of paper with her credits she had called a bio. I had it stuffed in my pocket. I pulled it out, I looked at the screaming crowd stuffed into this room, and I looked at the sheet of paper and I listened to the guitar instrumental blasting through the speaker. Okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly blasting because the speaker really wasn’t powerful enough for this, but I could still hear it.
When I jumped up onto the platform where the stripper pole was, everyone quieted down.
“Hello everyone! Welcome to the—” I paused, “Joanna Angel special feature stripper show!”
Everyone cheered.
“She, um, she’s an AVN Hall of Fame person. She is a porn star. She is the owner of BurningAngel Entertainment. She was the first tattooed centerfold of Hustler magazine. . .” I continued to go through the list of accolades and I read them off in my best impression of an announcer voice. I sounded ridiculous but the crowd was so restless and rowdy no one seemed to care. One of the sweatpants men looked at me and gave me a thumbs up.
I was just about finished with the list when Joanna entered the room. The room filled with cheers and applause. She was escorted in by the original sweatpants man who first came into the store; she jumped up on the platform with ease, shaking her ass to the loud metal music. I sincerely hoped my laptop wouldn’t run out of batteries before the music ended because I didn’t bring my charger to work.
She held onto the pole like it was the love of her life, twirling around it, holding herself against it, doing anything she could to please it and earn its affection. People threw dollar bills at her. The sweatpants guy picked them up as they fell to the floor. She smiled at the men in the audience and seductively licked her teeth; this was for them, but also for herself. Her task was her ego, and it wasn’t complete until every brain in that room lit up with desire for her and only her, until all of their dicks saluted her in ultimate devotion. She head-banged to the music, using the heavy beats as an excuse for exaggerated movement, but that alone wouldn’t hold the attention she needed. Slowly she began to peel off the stretchy dress she had on, revealing her bare body inch by inch. The collective eyes below followed each pulled-back layer as it rolled down her breasts, her chests, her hips. Finally, she threw aside the dress like a shed skin, showing off a sparkly bikini top and matching thong. She had perky, natural breasts; you could see the smooth tops of them almost spilling out of the bikini top, luring people in, screaming you there, yes you, I know you want to touch me. She bounced them up and down to the beat of the music, which was impressive because the music had a ridiculously fast tempo. I had known several men in my life pretty intimately, and I never knew what they jerked off to—yet
here were a bunch of strangers who practically admitted that she got them off. It was fascinating how much of themselves they would reveal in exchange for live boobs and naked skin. It was almost as if everyone in the room was stripping.
She undid the elastic in the back of her bikini top and she motioned for the crowd to yell louder if they wanted to see her top off. She wasn’t saying anything but she conveyed that message pretty clearly. One of the sweatpants men stepped up to the plate to be her interpreter.
“If you wanna see Joanna take her fucking tits out, make some noise!”
The crowd roared, almost drowning out the music. Joanna jumped around and motioned for people to get louder and louder. She aggressively threw her top off and it dropped to the ground, like it was a jailor who’d been keeping her breasts locked away from the rest of the world and she’d finally gotten their freedom and vengeance. I saw one of her fans try to run and grab the top, but I rushed over and intercepted him and saved the bikini top! Joanna looked directly at me and mouthed thank you. I smiled. I felt like I was uh, doing my job, whatever that was tonight.
The song switched, a more rock-type beat filling the room now. Joanna climbed to the top of the pole (her upper body strength must be incredible) and flipped upside down. She made a shocked, open-mouthed face, like she was saying, Oh my, how did I get up here, and what will I do now? But then she smiled, affirming her seductive control, and kicked her legs up even higher above her head. Using her feet and hips, she started to wiggle to the beat and grabbed the edge of her panties, slowly and deliberately sliding them off while suspended from the pole, flinging them off with a flourish. I instinctively knew to follow the panties’ airborne path and I grabbed them before anyone else could. If her bra was almost stolen, I could only imagine what could happen to these panties (and from having a vague knowledge of shiny panties from my brief stint of working here, these were not cheap panties).
Joanna was still hanging out at the top of the pole upside down, now completely naked. She took her one free hand and used it to rub her pussy. People cheered, as much for the act as it was for the release they felt at finally seeing her body. Hooray for upside-down masturbating here at Dreamz!
The rock song winded down, and the third and final song came on the speakers: a sensual metal ballad. Joanna shimmied down the pole, and she stuck her hand in her mouth and drooled all over her tits. She looked over at me and I remembered that I was supposed to hand her the lotion. I grabbed the bottle and handed it up to her, making slight contact with her hand. She winked at me, then turned and went to the middle of the stage. She reached her arms up, like a conductor signaling the big crescendo. Then she dropped to the ground, put her whole fist in her mouth, felt herself up and down aggressively, and then she grabbed the bottle of lotion and squirted it all over herself. I get it now. In the dark lighting it looked a lot like a bucket of cum was raining down on her, a collective finishing visual for the masses.
She let the lotion linger on her body, moving her torso so the light illuminated the cream. She rubbed it into her body, spreading lotion all over her tits, her stomach, her thighs, her ass. She rubbed it in, apparent ecstasy on her face, and she even let a few select members from the crowd help, showing them how to use their full hand to uniformly spread the substance. Eventually, she shooed the rubbers away, and slowly lowered herself off the stage. Then she walked around, showing off her shiny nakedness and demonstrated to the crowd the scientific fact that if you stuck a dollar bill to her greasy body, it would stick. People surrounded her and stuck dollar bills to her. She cheered and smiled, parading around and enticing more and more dollars to be put on her skin; she quickly became an animal, with cash for fur. Once her body was completely covered, she walked over to the security guy and shook the dollars off into the collection bag that he held open for her. But she wasn’t done yet; there was still a bit of lotion in the bottle. She grabbed it, leaned forward against the stage, opened up her ass cheeks and squirted the remainder of the lotion directly into her asshole. A big fan—meaning, he was large in size and was also a very enthusiastic admirer of hers, it seemed—ran up and stuck a hundred-dollar bill right in there. She turned, a playful, shocked look on her face, then threw her arms around his neck and gave him a passionate, very wet kiss. The crowd went absolutely nuts, and it made sense—that was a whole lot of ass money!
The music faded out, leaving the room feeling a little empty, but the audience still cheered for Joanna. She took a large bow, droplets of lotion falling off her body, blew a kiss to everyone, and was rushed back to her makeshift dressing room by the heroic men in sweatpants.
I immediately took my laptop that literally had about one percent battery left in it and returned it to my backpack that was in the storage room of the store. My mind was still on the dancing; I can’t believe we pulled that off; I can’t believe I did! I couldn’t wait to see how much we made off the show. I imagined handing a cool bag full of cash to Sandy, saying, “Yeah, we had a porn star dance in here while you were gone; it’s no big deal, really.” In my mind she was thrilled about it; I hope real life was as kind. As my thoughts raced, I checked my phone. I suddenly snapped back to reality.
On my screen was a text notification from Amanda.
Wow. I hadn’t thought about her at all during the event chaos. Even though an event in the store was technically her idea, this one fell so suddenly into my lap that I didn’t even realize I was doing what she had suggested. That is, until now. I opened the text, half-excited to hear from her, half-annoyed that I’d done exactly what she wanted me to do without her even being here. I opened her text:
“Holy shit, is Joanna Angel at your fucking store right now? I just saw something on her Facebook page.”
“Yeah,” I answered. “You told me to do an event and I did.”
“I’m impressed! That was fast.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t do it for you ;)” I answered. I saw a bunch of blue dots appear and disappear in the little circular bar at the bottom of my phone. That implied that she was trying to think of what to say but didn’t know what to say. Holy shit! I couldn’t believe it. The ball was currently in my court and I was going to leave it there by playing the same game she played with me and not responding. Or maybe I would, in just a little bit. At the moment, I had some expensive panties to return to its rightful owner.
To go back and see Taryn host a swingers party in the store, Click Here.
Continue with Taryn in this fantasy, Click Here.
I signed up for a login for the “Tampa Lifestyles” message board and several minutes later I was approved. I officially gave myself a promotion and made myself the events coordinator of Dreamz. Events (plural) was probably a bit presumptuous because technically, I was only planning one event, but no one else needed to know that.
I picked a date, a few weeks from today, and made an official thread on the message board. “Dreamz Come True—April 23” I posted as the title.
“Come and play at Dreamz! Lingerie, toys, lube, XXX movies, private rooms, and more. Meet new people and have some fun! Drinks and refreshments will be provided, no entry fee. 9:00 P.M. - midnight.” With slight hesitation, I posted the note. I had no idea what the response would be. I could always delete the post if several days went by and no one replied; I could swipe this from the internet like it never existed with a click of a button.
Amanda are you proud of me? I did it! I did something. Now come and bend me over in my bed and put one of your various dildos inside me while you kiss my lips. Please? I did my homework. I think.
And just then, my phone buzzed. It was on the other side of my bed since I was legitimately engrossed in my own research instead of waiting for the phone to ring. My distraction led to an interaction. Did I successfully play hard to get by not texting? If so, great, but I couldn’t keep it up any longer. I dove across the bed to retrieve my prize.
My phone blared its notification: 1 New Text Message, from Amanda. I opened it.
�
��Just saying hi. ;)”
My stomach turned, and my hands shook. I wanted to scream. What did this mean? I felt so giddy. I—I had to respond. I had to tell her how much I missed her, how I could still feel her body on mine, how she quickly became the driving forces of my ultimate fantasies. Wait. No.
I had to tell her about the event.
I took a screenshot of my posting, and sent it to her as my response. I eagerly awaited for a reply. I saw those little dots appear and reappear on my iPhone screen. Was she just as nervous as I was? She seemed to be thinking carefully about what to say. I eagerly awaited for the dots to turn into words.
“Damn! You did it!!!!!!” Along with several “clap your hands” emojis. She was proud of me!
“You didn’t think I would?” I replied.
“Honestly? No. I didn’t,” along with the emoji that has its eyes staring up. You know, the one that looked like it just got away with murder.
“You said you would come help me! I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” I texted back.
“I know! I’ll be there,” with another happy face. But not an emoji. Like an old school manual with a semicolon and a parenthesis. Which doesn’t show nearly as much emotion as the emoji.
“I miss you,” I typed. My fingers moved faster than my brain.
The dots appeared and disappeared several times and there was no response. Ten minutes went by. Twenty minutes went by. Thirty minutes went by. Ugh. It was like a dagger in my gut. Maybe, her phone died. Maybe she was in a different time zone. Or maybe she didn’t miss me at all.
To continue to the swinger party, Click Here.
