The President and the Starlet: A Forbidden Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  So one such night when my song came on, I strutted onto the stage, smiling beneath the hot lights. It’s hard to see out into the crowd, but my eyes could make out some regulars. There was Tim Lewis, whom we called Tiny Tim because he really did have a bad leg. And tonight, he was here with his co-worker Adam Morrow, who drank girly cocktails all night like cosmos and Manhattans. Over in the corner was Jake the Snake, with his oddly beady eyes that you could see gleaming even in the darkened room.

  But I put it all out of my head. I was here for a job, and that was to dance and show these guys a good time even if on the inside, I thought thinking about mundane stuff like bills and what I’d be having for breakfast. So I closed my eyes, running my hands through my long brunette locks and parted my lips slightly, as if in ecstasy.

  Heeeere she is! sounded the announcer’s voice over the PA. Let’s give our girl Pearl a hand!

  And slowly, my hips began to sway to the left, and then to the right. My hands ran up over my waist, slipping up to cup my gigantic Double Ds. Because when I left Littleton, I was in pretty good shape. Cheerleading helped keep my glutes tight, and athleticism was natural to me.

  But the thing is that once I got a desk job, the pounds came piling on. I sat at the circulation desk all day, doing nothing except eating snacks while helping people find books. So now, I’m no longer “athletic” or “trim.” I’m officially a curvy girl with lots to spare in every direction. My boobs are out to there and my ass has plenty of junk in the trunk.

  But the truth is that customers seem to like it. Guys like having luscious flesh that swings this way and that, even if they can’t touch. So if anything, the extra weight has made me an even bigger draw at the Flamingo, and now I’m the show opener on Tuesday nights, competing with girls who’ve been here for years longer.

  But I wasn’t focused on the competition right now. I was focused on letting the music flow through my soul, and with my eyes closed, I shimmied a bit to my left, hooking my leg around a shiny golden pole. Ah, the pole of goodness. Lasciviously, I leaned towards it and winked at the crowd before licking up the hard metal suggestively. Ick, it didn’t taste good but sure enough, dollar bills started raining down on the stage as guys hollered their appreciation. Good. That’s what I like to see and hear. I take pride in a job well-done, no matter the circumstances, and my dancing was no exception.

  Slowly, I twisted my torso to the left, and then to the right with one knee still hooked around the pole before hoisting myself upside down. This isn’t easy. It’s like being an acrobat, but fortunately even though I’ve put on weight, some of the muscle memory from cheerleading has stuck and I’m still limber and adept. So upside down, I slid down the pole, my assets jiggling and full, almost dropping out from under the tiny bikini.

  But when my head was about six inches away from the stage floor, something caught my eye. It wasn’t the money on the ground, or the funny gyrations of Geezer Coots, a dude who likes to dance along with the music. It was the gleam of an expensive watch from a man who sat in the back, half-hidden in shadow. What in the world? Most guys here are middle managers and don’t wear a lot of finery. Or if they do, it’s gold-colored Rolexes that are as thick as a brick and stuck with rubies and diamonds. Not the subtle, distinctive gleam of true wealth.

  Because this man was different. His silhouette was imposing and massive. I could see broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, plus long legs crossed casually at the knee. He wore a perfectly-cut suit that hung from that broad frame, highlighting the strength, power, and assertiveness of the male within.

  What in the world? This guy wasn’t our usual customer, that was for sure. So righting myself, I shimmied again suggestively while peering into the darkness. But I couldn’t see much except for a strong, hard jawline and a pair of blue eyes that made my heart literally flip for a moment. He was looking at me, and liked what he saw. The air between us shimmered with electricity and I swayed again, dancing for his eyes only.

  Slowly, I saw those hands raise up and clap. No, he didn’t throw dollars my way, nor did he approach the stage. But again came the glint of that expensive watch as the man applauded, egging me on. My heart pounded in my chest, cheeks flushed. How could a stranger be doing this to me? But in my soul, I knew he was different. This was no Cooter, no Geezer, no Marky. This was someone at a completely different level, who frankly, didn’t belong at the Flamingo.

  And helpless before his gaze, I threw myself into the dance. Turning around, I ran my hands through my long mane again before lifting it off my shoulders and peeking at him suggestively over one shoulder. This time, I saw the gleam of white teeth as he smiled.

  With my back still turned, my hands slipped up to my bikini tie and suggestively pulled the long gold string. The material began to come undone and a collective gasp rose from the audience. Oh yeah, the Pink Flamingo is a full-nudity type place, but even though the guys know they’re going to get it, they still love the teasing and anticipation. So I pulled the tie slowly, stringing out the wait.

  And finally, the gold bikini top slithered down my body and fell to the floor, revealing my luscious Double Ds.

  There you go! hollered the announcer. Pearl has the greatest pearls doesn’t she? Hardy har har!

  I barely kept from rolling my eyes at the ridiculous banter while swaying to the music. They needed to replace Mickey D, he just wasn’t doing a good job as an MC. But fortunately, the dark man in the back didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he made a circling sign with his finger, and I knew exactly what he wanted me to do. Slowly, I rotated until I was facing him, both boobies out, luscious and full. Oh yeah, my nips were hard and pink, already pebbled for his gaze and I caught them in my hands, pushing the creamy mounds up and out as if in offering.

  He smiled, those white teeth flashing before indicating what he wanted next. But I was going to do him one better. After all, I’ve been on this job six months now, and it’s clear what gets guys going. Slowly, I lifted my breasts to my mouth and never dropping his gaze, licked one hard nipple before licking the other. The man jerked silently in his chair. Oh yeah, he liked it. That’s one of the great parts of having huge ta-ta’s. You’re able to suckle yourself, and right now, I could tell that the man wanted to kiss my breasts desperately.

  But the Flamingo is a no-touch type of place, so I smiled at him once again before letting my fingers slide down to toy suggestively with the sides of my g-string. And with clever fingers, I plucked one side open, and then the other, the gold lamé falling to the floor and leaving me completely nude.

  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 h
and 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 his 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.