"Short-Staffed? Make It Happen!"

"Ooh, that didn't work," said Rowan. "How about if you move your right leg forward so that your toes point upward while you're letting the skirt slide down your leg?"

"It won't slide far enough if I do that," I replied. "The distance between my feet will increase too much."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "Pull it back up for a second. Now let it go, and move that right lower leg."

To my surprise, the skirt did fall all the way to the top of my right shoe. However, it didn't clear the left shoe, so I wouldn't necessarily be able to step out of the skirt with the left foot and make the kick possible. "I might trip myself if I tried it that way during the performance," I said.

"I see that. But there has to be a way to make that kick work."

"These platform soles make the shoe so stiff I can't point my toes well enough to catch the skirt."

Rowan looked at the micro-skirt around my ankles. (Once again, I thought about how crazy this situation was.) "Those shoes go great with your costume, and you move well in them. We'll have to switch the skirt," she declared.

"This skirt's perfect for this outfit," I argued.

"Your shirt's white, your hair's black, your shoes are pink; just about any skirt should work with those basic colors. I've got a dark blue one I used to wear that I bet will do just fine."

"Won't it be too big for me?"

Rowan's eyes sparkled. I frowned, thinking she was trying not to laugh. "W-well, let's see if it will fit," she said, biting back a grin. "Back in a second!"

I tried a couple of different moves with the skirt I had while she was gone. But she returned quickly. She held out her skirt. Its hem wasn't as narrow as the micro-skirt's hem, and the length of the skirt was short enough to be sexy--it reached only to 7 or 8 cm below my crotch. The electric blue color did work with my outfit, I had to admit. The skirt had a slide clasp and a zipper, though.

"The way this skirt fastens: I'm not sure about this," I said.

"Just try it." Rowan turned up the music again.

The zipper took both hands and a little too much time to lower and still keep the dance on beat. Rowan looked disheartened. "I've got an idea that might work," I told her, pulling up the skirt again. I waited for the music. This time, I left the skirt unzipped, trusting the side clasp to hold by itself.

Sure enough, it did, and I was able to successfully snap-kick the skirt toward the corner table four beats later.

"Well done. What did you do?" Rowan asked.

"I didn't zip it in the first place," I said.

"Why didn't I think of that?" she wondered. "Costume problem solved!"

I worked through the rest of the performance routine, and things went fairly smoothly. I got sloppy with my movements a couple of times, but Rowan told me each time and I corrected the motions.

With the dance finished, I straightened and smiled victoriously. Rowan turned down the music and smiled back at me. "Nice work, Mom. Those boys at the party are going to enjoy the show!"

I smiled even more, happy to get such a compliment from my beautiful child. I started putting on my costume again. "Those girls, actually. It's a bachelorette party."

"For real?"

"For real. Our state allows same-sex marriages now, remember? We've gotten a few homosexual pre-wedding parties--both gay men and lesbians," I told her.

"Wow, that totally never occurred to me," Rowan said. "So this will be a new experience for you, huh?"

"No, actually. Remember, before you kids were born, I performed pretty often. I learned back then that even straight women sometimes request female dancers," I said.

Rowan's pretty pink lips twitched in confusion. "Why would they do that?" she asked.

"I never asked them," I said, chuckling a bit. "But I've got a guess or two. We're softer. We're lighter, so we can give lap dances to girls who want them. The way our society is, we grow up thinking women are nicer to look at. It feels extra naughty to some straight women to have tits in their faces and booties in their laps before they marry their men. Those are all factors, I'm guessing."

My daughter's eyes shone as she looked at me. "You know, Mom, you're pretty awesome. I can't believe you tell me so much; that's so cool of you."

"I think you can handle it," I said to her. "You're so much like your sister; she's really level-headed too. Most of the time." I hugged Rowan. "Thanks for your help tonight, honey."

"No problem!" she said.

I stepped back a few cm and looked at her, eye-to-eye. (I wanted to take advantage of being her height while I was wearing the platforms.) "So, why were you so sure your skirt wouldn't be too big for me?"

"Your hips--I mean, you've had three kids!" she said with a laugh.

"You brat!" I laughed with her, but I also swatted her butt.

+++++

After supper with Rowan, she took off for her best friend's house. I did a little schedule checking and texted Ashlynne and Katrine about the gigs Damiesha was going to perform and were now open during the next two weeks. I checked my email to see if any new customers were trying to book us.

I heard the door. Edward was home. I got up and met him at the door. He bent down and I stretched up and we kissed. "How are you doing, darling?" he signed.

"I'm fine. How are you, love?" I signed to him.

He rolled his light brown eyes. "Tired," he signed. "Why can't these business functions be about business? Tonight was almost a total waste of time. But I did talk to Dwight Jackson and Rita Santangelo. Maybe they'll keep us in mind next time they have HVAC problems."

"I hope so," I signed.

He looked around. "Where are the kids?"

"Rowan's at Terrie's house. Eddie should be back soon; he went to the new action movie."

"That's in town?"

I smiled hopelessly. My husband's an avid fan of action flicks. I'm not a fan of them, but I often go just to keep him company. I signed, "Are you going to it?"

"Probably. Maybe tomorrow evening. Will you be my date?"

"I'll have work."

"Work on Saturday? What good is being the boss if you've got to go in on Saturday?"

"It's a party and none of my performers can do it. Just this once, I'm taking it myself," I signed to him.

He looked only mildly surprised. "Birthday, bachelor party, divorce party?" he signed.

"Bachelorette."

He looked a little more surprised. He signed, "So will there be a male dancer too?"

I shook my head. "It's the last party before a lesbian wedding," I signed.

"Damn, that never occurred to me," he signed.

I laughed, thinking about Rowan saying the same thing. "It's not the first one we've had, and it won't be the last," I signed to him. "But it will be the only one I personally work."

His eyes twinkled. He took my hand and gently kissed it. "You were a gorgeous dancer the day I met you. You still are," Edward signed.

"You flatterer!" I signed back at him. "Do me a favor and don't tell Eddie about this."

"He knows you used to dance," Edward signed.

I glared at him.

"Kidding!" he signed. "Don't worry, I won't tell anybody."

"Rowan knows," I signed.

"I won't tell anybody else, then," he signed to me.

+++++

0730: time to wake up and take my shower. I was the first one up, as I always was on Saturdays. I got out of bed and almost tripped over my platform shoes.

That's right, I'm performing today, I remembered. Shower, eat breakfast, then practice. I had a lot of practicing to do.

I'd been working for a little while when I heard quick, heavy footfalls. The front door opened and closed. Eddie must have been going to work or to have fun somewhere.

At about 0930, my husband made an appearance in the doorway of the dance room. He whistled when he saw me. I laughed and turned to face him.

"I'm going to shoot a round of golf," he signed to me. "I'll have lunch while I'm out there."

"Have fun!" I signed.

"Watching you might be more fun, but I promised Ray and Leshawn," he signed.

"Thanks, love!" I signed to him. He waved and disappeared.

Half an hour or so after that, Rowan came to the dance room. She was in her workout clothes, but she didn't begin stretching. Instead, she watched me as she had the night before. I was pleased that she had so little to say this time. I had felt like I was making progress. The routine must have been shaping up as far as she was concerned too.

When I finished the performance, I decided to take a break. "What do you think, honey?" I asked Rowan.

"You're polishing the routine," she said. "It's smoother and more natural than it was yesterday. Can I join you when you start again?"

"As long as you keep your clothes on," I told her. We both laughed.

+++++

In the late afternoon, I thought I was as ready with the routine as I could be. Rowan had gone out. Eddie had come back and gone again. Edward had come back and gone again too, but in his case, it wasn't about recreation; a building that had one of his systems had apparently developed an early-shutdown problem. He had to go and check the system, because it was running very inefficiently because of this bug.

I showered, set my alarm, and lay down for a nap.

+++++

At 1830, I got up. I felt pretty good, energetic but calm. The message on my phone was from Edward; he was bringing Chinese takeout for dinner. When I left my bedroom, I found that Rowan was home, and Eddie came back to the house a few minutes later.

Once Edward got home, bringing the evening meal with him, we went to the table and had dinner. The family didn't get together for a meal every day, so it was lively when we did. There was a lot of signing and talking back and forth--and I really enjoyed the egg foo young, as always.

It was nearly 1930 when we finished; I had to get ready for the performance. Edward sensed that. He turned to Eddie and signed, "Did you like the movie you saw yesterday?"

"Yeah, it was good," my son signed.

"Good, because I was thinking of seeing it tonight."

"You should; the twist near the end is crazy!"

"What are you going to do tonight?" Edward signed.

"I was planning on playing Madden NFL," Eddie answered. "Markus built a new Falcons team and he challenged me."

"Okay." Edward stood and leaned toward me. "I'm going to take off in a minute to catch the show," he signed.

I signed to him, "I hope it's a good movie."

I got up from the table. Rowan got up at the same time. "Do you want me to help you with hair and makeup?" she asked.

"I think I'd better do it; you don't have any experience producing the required look," I told her.

"I suppose performance makeup is different from everyday," she said. "In that case, can I see how you do it?"

"Sure," I told her. "It will be nice to have another pair of eyes to judge how well I've done."

We went to the master bathroom. I did some eyebrow tweezing, heavier-than-usual foundation, heavier-than-usual mascara, fairly heavy glittery pink eyeshadow, pearlescent magenta lipstick--

"--Aren't you putting it on a bit thick?" Rowan asked.

"That's what you need for a performance," I explained. "Everyone's got to be able to see, even if they're 5 or 10 meters away, even when the lights are dim."

"Oh, that makes sense."

"So why don't you turn off the room light, step back, and tell me what you think?"

She turned off the light. The hall light was the only illumination now, so it was a little dimmer than a performance room usually was. Rowan studied my face. "It works; I can see even the eyeshadow from here!"

"Good, thanks," I said. I got some hair pins and started pulling back my straightened black hair.

"We'll leave after you're done with your hair?" Rowan asked.

I twitched in surprise. "You're not coming along," I told her.

"But I coached you. Don't I get to see how well you do?"

"This is work. Having you there wouldn't be professional. Besides, I'll be done way after your curfew. Sorry, honey."

She looked upset, but she didn't argue with me.

I finished my hair and got my keys. "I'll see you tomorrow," I told her.

"Break a leg, Mom," she said to me, and she pouted only a little when she gave me a quick hug.

I went to work, left my car in our fenced parking area, and drove to the party address in a company car. As I got to within a block, I could see I was in the right place. Loud music and one of our DJ's cars told me that "Delectable*W*MC" (I call her Jenny) was on the job.

The rented recreational facility had a couple of parking attendants, but there was also a stocky woman with light brown hair present. When she saw the car, she motioned me over to her.

"You're the dancer?" She looked me up and down the moment I collected my bag and got out of the car. "Cute, but I expected someone taller." She laughed as though she'd had a drink or two. She offered her hand and I shook it.

I patted my bag meaningfully. "I am taller! In my performance shoes!" I said.

"By the way, I'm Carolyn, mother of the bride...well, mother of one of the brides, you could say!"

I laughed with her. I said, "You can call me Lorelei." (That was the stage name I'd used to dance years earlier.) She led the way into the long, three-story building.

+++++

While I said hi to the DJ and Carolyn showed me where the "dressing room" and the main room where I'd be performing were, there was something else going on. I knew nothing about it. I only learned the whole story the next day, after having a talk with Rowan.

The instant I'd left the house, Rowan called her 16-year-old friend Amina. Then Rowan had gone to the bathroom she normally used and changed her hair from the swept-back style she normally wore to a free-flowing style that made her bangs hang down past her eyebrows. She used spirit gum to fake a nose piercing. She put on dark purple eye shadow, heavy black eyeliner, and black lipstick. She put on a dark purple party dress I'd never seen her wear, and covered that with her brother's black leather jacket.

Then she texted Irin's cell phone. "Mom left sumthing bhind. Gotta bring it 2 her. Wheres the party?"

And my partner bought it! She simply texted the address to Rowan.

Amina arrived and Rowan jumped in her car. On the way, she explained that she wanted to see me dance. She swore Amina to secrecy--and apparently, Amina was curious enough to go along with Rowan's idea. So Rowan gave Amina a wig with long, curly burgundy hair for a disguise. The two girls put the party address into a navigation app and took off for my gig. Rowan was smart enough to tell Amina to park a block away, and they sauntered into the place without anyone noticing they weren't invited. They went right to the main party room and waited near the corner.

Rowan saw the entire show.

+++++

But I knew nothing of my daughter's clandestine operation. I just went to the temporary "dressing room" and got changed. I touched up my makeup a bit. There was a speaker in the room, so I listened for the DJ to announce me.

"...You're getting married to a beautiful woman tomorrow. But tonight, Kristina--your last night of being single!--your friends wanted remind you that you've got one night of freedom left to you! To help you enjoy that freedom, here's!...the lovely!...Lorelei!"

It was as though I hadn't taken a 17-year break from dancing. The music pumped, my adrenalin surged, my body responded, the audience appreciated. Irin had been right; the young ladies (and two or three middle-aged ladies) in the crowd hooted and cat-called while I gracefully worked my way through the opening of my routine.

While I strutted and shimmied, I began to look into the eyes of each woman in the first row. I started with the bride-to-be, of course, and she looked boldly back at me. Most of her friends did the same: I wondered how many of them were gay or bi and how many of them were straight but bolstered by liquid courage.

The intro finished, I put my hands on my blouse. I heard a couple of whistles and shouts while I undid the knot the held the skimpy white shirt together. This was a good crowd, and I was working well with their energy. I kept swaying and stepping with the beat. The noisy audience and I produced synergy; I began to energetically add twists, lunges, and shakes to my dance.

The music thumped. Time sped up, as it always did when I enjoyed myself during a dance. A piece at a time, I shed my costume. I enjoyed the claps, stomps, and yells of the excited women. They were having as much fun as I was.

I put my fingers under the waistband of my sparkly pink g-string and pulled it a little higher on my hips.

"Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!" the ladies chanted.

I had explained when I had initially taken the booking for the gig that our dancers never got fully naked. Kristina's "best woman"--likely her best friend--was the woman who'd been on the phone with me that day. I knew that I'd told her, because I tell every prospective client. And I mentioned it again to Carolyn this evening when I'd followed her to the temporary dressing room.

But my performers had told me that at least half the time, audiences want them to get totally naked. I told my performers in response that our company policy is that we keep on our panties. I strongly implied to them that if they, the performers, go fully nude and get caught, they will have to pay the fines themselves. Our official position is that we comply with the laws and ordinances of the state and city.

I knew that Damiesha and Katrine went fully nude pretty often, and I suspected J.L. did almost as often. They didn't mention it and neither did I. Jenny--or Delectable*W*MC--and our other DJs also never talked about it. And I was Jenny's boss; I wasn't worried about her blabbing.

The fine was $56 if someone tattled on me. I saw four Andrew Jacksons in the hands of the ladies in the front row.

"Take it off! Take it off!" they kept cheering.

The math worked.

I slid my thumbs under the skimpy sides of the thong. I spun completely around, putting myself half a meter in front of the bride to be. I bent at the waist, giving the audience sharp lines to enjoy and my flexibility to admire. I pushed the shiny costume panties over my hips and down my slim legs in one long, lazy motion. I didn't see her reaction, but I knew I'd treated Kristina to a detailed view of my rose-tinted chocolate pussy lips protruding from between my thighs. While the party-goers shrieked and applauded, I stepped out of the g-string, scooped it up, and playfully tossed it at Kristina. She caught it and rubbed it against her cheek, grinning at me all the while.

Jenny had talked about Kristina's freedom. That applied to me, too. When I dance topless or naked, I feel free. I get a thrill out of playing to the crowd.

I cavorted my way through the last couple minutes of the routine. How silly I'd been to worry about my body: the throng of cheering women loved me.

Now came the part I hadn't talked about with Rowan. I sashayed up to the bride-to-be and fastened a lusty look on her. She smiled hungrily back up at me.

I kicked high and wide. With a powerful, sudden burst of motion, I hooked my knee over the back of her chair and pulled myself onto Kristina's prominent chest, then slid slowly along her body, down to her welcoming lap.

(Here I confess that if I had to choose between lap-dancing for women or men, I'd pick women. Women tend to feel softer and warmer and they tend to smell better. Men usually wear rougher clothes and have hard things like masses of keys and wallets full of plastic and multi-tools in their pockets, which make lap dancing uncomfortable or downright painful. Guys may have wiry stubble that can irritate a dancer's skin. Guys are more likely to be wearing way too much scent. I could go on!)

I lightly ground on Kristina's velvet-clothed pelvis and upper legs and playfully rubbed my bare breasts all around her silk-clad chest. I stared deep into her eyes, and slowly moved my hands to the front of her shirt, giving her every chance stop me if she chose. I saw only desire on her face. I got her shirt unbuttoned, her bra unhooked and out of the way, and I sensually slid my tits against hers again. The rigid nipples of her large breasts felt wonderful whenever they made contact with mine.