place to live. And she hadn’t run home or cried to her brothers. That was the main thing.
She’d lost a semester of school, but she’d get there eventually. In the meantime, she’d learn from real life, as Jackson had said. She felt mostly relieved. Uneasily, she realized she should be less content about her limbo, but what the hell….
The bikini-clad babe on the Corvette caught her eye, looking as though she wanted to get laid right there on the hood. So would Heidi. Right here on the couch. She felt ready. Eager. Ripe. Sex sounded so… delicious right now. She stretched out on the sofa, feeling her body respond to the idea, her sex tightening into an eager knot.
I’m not what you want, Jackson had said. Because she was, what, young? Not that young. Twenty-five to his thirty. She seemed naive, probably. She hadn’t known a men’s club was a strip club. And there was her desperation to consider. Maybe he thought she wanted to fall in love. He couldn’t be more wrong. She certainly wasn’t falling in love with the first man she slept with in the city. Heavens, no. She expected to have many sexual adventures before she settled down.
And she wanted them to start right now, dammit.
Jackson didn’t see it, though. She must not seem confident enough. If she were a dancer, he wouldn’t hesitate. She remembered that when she’d shoved off her panty hose in the Moons break room, Jackson had dropped a jaw as though the action had turned him on.
Why not go that way? Do a simple striptease. Nothing fancy. Just a little wiggle and shimmy and a slow peeling off of her clothes. Acting sexy, she would feel sexy. Be sexy.
She wouldn’t have the same skill as the dancers, but she’d put more feeling into it. The strippers’ expressions were cool when they performed, as if their emotions were turned inward. And no wonder. Strange men were getting aroused by the women’s moves and bodies, not their personalities or characters. It was a performance, an illusion, completely impersonal.
For Heidi, this was very personal and her emotions would be fully engaged and directed at what she wanted—sex with Jackson. She’d show him all she wanted was a good time.
Her heart sped into high gear and she pushed to her feet, then had to grab the sofa arm to steady herself. She was just buzzed enough to shrug off any remaining inhibitions.
She headed for her closet to find something to take off.
The fake snakeskin halter dress would be hard to shimmy out of and the bikini top was big enough to hold three sets of her breasts. Jackson’s friend had been stacked.
She settled on a spangled tube top and a pair of red spandex shorts that cut her in the crotch. She had to go without panties, since the unsexy petunia-patterned granny panties she’d bought at the drugstore—two for two-fifty—were too voluminous for the skintight, high-cut shorts. She pulled silk drawstring pants over the shorts and covered the tube top with a black gauze see-through blouse with satin ties. She could strip herself of the pants and blouse and still be covered by the tube top and shorts. She’d get to the naked part after Jackson succumbed to her erotic dance. In bed. Where she’d be more confident of her jiggly thighs and puny boobs.
The finishing touch was the pair of black stilettos from the closet. They were too big and slid off her heels, but she clenched her toes and figured she could hold them on long enough to give Jackson the general idea.
She checked herself out in the bathroom mirror. Not bad. She tilted her head, tried a sultry look, then released the ribbon ties one at a time. Decent…Now a little shimmy. Her breasts jiggled okay for their size. She’d just make sure he saw plenty of her best feature—her butt. She turned to check it out. Excellent. She pulled her hair up with a few pins so she could shake it down like in shampoo commercials. Then she redid her face—heavy on foundation and color to counteract the lopsidedness of
Yenthu Wentz
Aneesa Price
Suzanne Weyn
Mary Marks
Craig Johnson
Patrice Michelle
Kate McMullan
Sherryl Woods
Steven Savile
Hallie Swanson