Juliet Gladstone: Twice As Nice

Jeff Clausen sat at the tiny table in the dim room and watched the girl on the stage. She'd begun with a slow tempo, sensual and sinuous. He'd found it exciting; and as the girl picked up speed and began the featured part of her dance, he felt the familiar pressure between his legs, his cock pressing and straining inside his tight pants. Christ, this was a hell of a place to get a hard-on.

He watched the girl. She was naked now, every curve and movement of her body erotic and meaningful. He'd seen a million topless and naked dancers, and he should be used to them by now, but he wasn't. They still turned him on.

It had been three months since Rhoda had left him. The lawyers were still haggling about dividing up the property, and the actual divorce was still months away. Jeez, the way they'd been fighting these past couple of years, he'd thought he'd be glad to be rid of her. He envisioned himself as leading a wild, swinging bachelor life, with as many girls as he could handle whenever he wanted them. It hadn't worked out that way.

He sighed, licking his lips and draining the watered drink in front of him. Maybe when you get to be forty-five you're living on memories…

The girl on the stage moved toward him, her hips swaying and her legs apart. She was dancing to a calypso beat, and her huge tits bounced and jiggled like a couple of ripe melons on a vine. He figured her for about forty-four at least, big jugs that made his mouth water. She was bending back then, arching her body so she could move under a limbo stick.

Christ, his balls ached! He could see right into her pussy when she spread like that, see the red, wet lips that seemed to wink at him invitingly. Her snatch hair was thin so it didn't hide much of the view. He licked his lips and lifted the empty glass to them. He needed a cunt, Christ how he needed one!

Jeff glanced around the room but no one was paying any attention to him. Every eye in the place was on the girl-that's what they'd paid their money for and that's what they were watching: He wondered if the girl would go to the hotel with him, if he bought her a couple of drinks. She probably got plenty of invitations like that. Did she accept them? Was every man in the room thinking the same thing?

He shifted in the chair to try to ease the pain in his groin. If he didn't start getting some regular pussy, his balls were going to burst. What the hell was the matter with him anyhow? It wasn't as if he'd been true blue to Rhoda for the twenty years they'd been man and wife. Hell, he'd had chicks on the side, a number of times. During the last couple of lousy years when they'd been really drifting apart, he'd carried on an affair with a secretary from the office for almost a year. Why couldn't he get back into action now? Since the breakup with Rhoda, he'd only had his nuts taken off four times-four lousy times in three months!

The girl on the stage had lowered the limbo stick so that her body had to be only inches from the floor to clear it. He stared at her, still thinking about her pussy. Actually, he'd had a better view of it when the stick was higher and she could spread her legs more. Now her knees blocked part of his view. He wished he had a table right in front.

A spotlight came on and bathed the girl's cunt in soft red light. Jeff's breath caught and almost strangled him. She was under the stick, turning now without rising, giving everyone in the room a good look at what she had. He moaned softly, but no one in the barroom noticed. Every man was having the same problem.

Jeff was sweating by the time the dance finished. The house lights came up and he stumbled away from the table, pushing out through the curtained doorway of the backstage room and to the bar it-serf. He ordered a double shot and gulped it neat. Then he looked toward the door that had to lead to the dressing rooms behind the stage.

No one stopped him as he went in and down the short hall. The place was grimy and dim and smelled of sweat and make-up, with an overlay of booze odor from up front. Most of the doors were open and he glanced into each room, looking for the girl who'd just come off the stage. What the hell was her name? It had been on the poster outside when he'd stopped to look and been drawn into the bar.

Dawn Flame. Yeah, that was it.

She was in the last room on the hall, a place the size of a small closet. She was sitting at a dressing table that was covered with jars and tubes of make-up and creams; everything was dusted lightly with powder. Clothes hung on hooks along the walls, over chairs, and over the lid of an open trunk crammed into a corner.

She saw him in the mirror and looked at him questioningly. "Yeah?"

"I-I saw your dance." He felt like a stupid kid, his face warm and his voice stammering.

"Yeah?" Her eyes moved down his image in the glass, as though she wanted to check him over. Did the gaze linger at his crotch or did he imagine it?

"You're very good."

"Thanks." She began wiping cream on her face, glancing from her own reflection to his from time to time.

He forced himself to go on. "I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed it. I was wondering-" He broke off as her gaze met his and held it frankly.

"Wondering what?"

"Can I buy you a drink?" he blurted before he lost his nerve.

She laughed and the sound was pleasant. "Sure, why not? Gimme a couple of minutes to get dressed. That was my last show." She got up and the robe she had pulled over her nude body when she ran from the stage fell open, giving him another glimpse of that full ripe body. She saw him stare but she didn't bother to cover herself. Hadn't he just seen more than that a few minutes ago on the stage? If there was one thing Dawn Flame wasn't, it was shy about her assets.

She grabbed a tissue from a box and began to wipe off the cream, rubbing at her cheeks with fresh tissues until her face shone and was devoid of make-up. She was older than she looked on stage, Jeff guessed maybe thirty or close to it. She didn't seem to care that he was seeing her without the painted beauty she needed for her profession. When she finished with her face, she crossed to the trunk and pulled out a few filmy garments, then dropped the robe from her shoulders and let it fall across the chair. For a moment she posed unconsciously and let him admire what really had attracted him-her figure. Then she began struggling into a very lacy bra that did little more than caress her tits and push them upward even farther. Next she donned a pair of black lace pants that covered her ass and crotch without hiding them. The lace looked like a dim shadow on her flesh.

Jeff felt the pressure in his loins again. He wanted her, and he wanted her bad. He was amazed at his luck so far; now if it would only hold…

They had two drinks at the bar, and he knew that he was paying top booze prices for soda pop for her, but he didn't care. They talked, and she seemed friendly and willing, so he finally got up enough courage to ask her if she wanted to have another drink at his hotel.

Her cool green eyes appraised him, then she grinned. "Why the hell not? You're all right, Jeff."

There was no pretense of detouring to the hotel bar when he'd parked the car and they entered the lobby. She turned toward the elevator at the merest touch of his hand to her arm, still smiling. In the room, she dropped her purse and the thin shawl she'd draped over her shoulders to a chair and stood at the window staring out over the city.

"I like L.A.," she said, turning to look at him. "You from here?"

"No, San Francisco. I came down to visit my sister for awhile."

"Oh?" Her face was full of questions she didn't ask.

Yet he felt compelled to explain. "I just went through a lousy divorce and need a change of scene."