The Lap Dance Ch. 03

There was no need for further games, for either woman to leave a license or to ask the bartender to hang on to it. There was also no need for an umbrella. The power of attraction compelled Stephanie to run to her car in the deluge as Laetitia had done minutes earlier.

Screw being sensible in the rain. Her panties were almost wet anyway after the kiss that didn't happen. She figured a brief soaking would not upset the balance of the universe. There was nothing balanced about her own world.

Once there, she willed herself into the driver's seat and left the door open for a moment. Stephanie let the downpour attack her legs for another minute. She was too exasperated, horny and shocked to do anything reasonable. When she finally shut the door and pressed the lock button, she decided to sit there for 10 minutes and listen to the rain. The occasional claps of thunder kept her alert, whereas she otherwise might have been down for the count in that parking lot.

What am I doing? What have I gotten myself into now?

A strange impulse began to manifest itself there, in an almost empty parking lot but still in public view. A part of her wanted to start the engine, hug the gas pedal and floor it. That part of her was also tempted to throw Laetitia's number out the window and never revisit this unexpected fantasy-turned-almost-reality again.

For reasons she could not explain, she listened to the other half. Her left hand glided slowly toward her black pants. She used two fingers to undo the button and lower the zipper, revealing her wet white cotton panties. In one swift motion, she shoved her left hand into her panties and let her painted fingernails forcefully find her clit.

She pictured Laetitia getting into the car and the two having sex right there. Her middle finger found what felt like the G-spot and went for the kill.

Her rational mind was the only element of her body fighting the eventual orgasm.

Just wow, Steph. This is a new low. You are masturbating in a coffee shop parking lot. Who are you, anyway? Maybe you should go work at the strip club!

After about a minute of self-pleasure, she had managed to synchronize her moans with the infrequent thunder claps. The rainfall, for a moment, allowed her to believe this was a sexy, even acceptable activity.

She forgot about space and time again and lost herself in the sensuality of it all. At any moment now, the thought of Laetitia's lips meeting hers would cause a violent climax.

A loud knock interrupted the atmosphere.

Her left hand retreated from its comfortable position and she looked up, in horror, to see the coffee shop manager banging on her window.

Not knowing any better, she lowered the window about 3 inches.

"Hey, you OK in there?" he asked.

"Uh, yeah, of course," she said nervously.

"You shouldn't hang around in this parking lot all night," he replied. "You should probably go home. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you this late at night."

"Gee thanks," she responded, realizing he was, indeed, just there to confirm her wellbeing. "I guess I will go home."

"Alright," he said, as he began to walk away. "You have a good night."

By the grace of a higher power, he hadn't said anything about her lewd act. Even better, he didn't try to join in or inflict any harm.

Phew! THAT was close.

When the store manager reached his adjacent car, he shook his head before entering it.

Stephanie had to wonder now, given how she frequented the place, if she would forever be known as the mid-20s girl who masturbated in the parking lot during a thunderstorm.

"Oh God," she mumbled. "Maybe they'll call me the 'clit tickler.' Ugh."

She zipped up her pants, redid the button and fastened her seatbelt for the longer-than-usual ride home. All the way up to her driveway, she juggled thoughts of another erotic moment with Laetitia stopped dead in its tracks and the humiliation of getting caught in the act.

When she plopped on the bed, she fell asleep instantaneously, not leaving any time to finish her orgasm from earlier. That would have to wait until next Saturday.

Throughout her first encounter with a strip joint, she questioned the wisdom of her curiosity. Why not just leave thoughts of these so-called "titty bars" to the imagination? Why not let the horny men at work do all the picture painting? For most of her adult life, that had been enough. She was content to let the company's misogynists and pill-popping Viagra fiends recant tales of elongated lunch buffets and women with massive breasts. There were always, always enough boys around to answer nudie club queries. They didn't need solicitation to start talking.

The urge to discover her own truth was too irresistible to ignore. Until Laetitia commanded the stage, Stephanie was ready to dismiss the male ritual of throwing money at bare-breasted women with fake names as pointless and mind numbing.

The men at "The Palace" didn't seem to value selectivity. They gawked and hollered at all of the women, rarely showing more appreciation for one set of boobs over another. Those creeps just liked boobs in whatever form they could get that night.

I'll bet some of those losers would have flipped if I took off my clothes and danced for them. Why did I get roped in by this pathetic scheme again?

Laetitia. Oh, right! God, I'm a fucking mess.

Stephanie managed to keep her hormones and horniness at bay until Wednesday, which felt like a Herculean accomplishment. She hadn't thought of someone this way since her first boy crushes in middle school. The difference this time, other than gender, was the ferocity of the feeling. This wasn't a cute sixth grade infatuation headed for a Valentine's Day card swap in fifth period. This felt like a submarine losing its sonar capabilities in untested waters.

Wednesday night, she snapped. She couldn't take it anymore. She had to find a way to release the sexual tension inside. She bottled it up until the cork refused to stay in the neck. It cried for release. Stephanie had to respond.

A week ago, she did not imagine she would ever set foot in a stripping establishment. Now, she was really going off the deep end.

She tended to chuckle when browsing the adult channels available on her cable service. Were they serious with these titles? Butt-Fucking Redemption? Lady in the Tramp? Voluptuous Vixens Get Naughty? Really?

On this night, as the urge to let off sexual steam reached a boiling point, one title caught her eye: Lesbian Striptease.

Oh geez. I'm about to order a porno. First, I masturbate in a parking lot. Now, I'm volunteering to pay a ridiculous fee to watch adult sludge. Who does that? I do, I guess.

After many minutes of trepidation, she mumbled "fuck it," and pressed the order button. It was eerie beyond description that a movie about girls messing around in a strip club happened to be available. She gritted her teeth and braced for whatever, or whoever, would come next.

The two female stars of this film -- India Summer and Lisa Ann -- were more attractive than any of the predictable duds at "The Palace." Yeah, I can get off to this, she thought.

The film, if you can call it that, wasted no time getting to the sex. Stephanie wasted no time shoving her right hand into her pajama pants.

From what she could comprehend of the cockamamie plot, the female characters were the two most popular strippers at a club and -- get this -- secret lovers.

Jesus, are these people spying on me?

Soon, Lisa Ann's character began caressing India Summer's character's breasts. A minute later, they began a wild kiss, locking lips and sharing tongues. As the action progressed, Stephanie imagined she was the shy India Summers and Laetitia was the no-holds-barred Lisa Ann.

The women on screen fondled one another and devoured each other's breasts for several minutes. Stephanie had to pull her hand away from her vagina to prevent a premature climax.

Oh no! What if I embarrass myself when I fuck Laetitia? We are fucking on Saturday, right? Sure. Man, my panties are so wet.

Her attention drifted back to her television when Lisa Ann's panties slipped down her legs and flew across the bedroom. India Summer then had herself a bodacious pussy dinner.

Her tongue seemed to touch every inch of Lisa Ann's sensitive area. Stephanie found herself moaning in unison with the porno characters, balancing the urge to touch herself with the other to take notes for Laetitia.

After a few minutes, Stephanie lost control of her right hand fingers, which were going to war on her overstimulated clit. When India Summer managed to stick three-fourths of her tongue into Lisa Ann's drenched vagina, Stephanie lost it completely.

She felt a lake of cum evacuate her just as the characters themselves were moving into another kiss after a loud orgasm.

"Ooooooooooooooh!" Stephanie couldn't be sure the windows did not shake during that wet episode.

It took her a moment to realize her panties were now soaked as if she had been standing in a deluge, and a pool of her juices was spreading on the hardwood floor.

She quickly punched the off button on her TV remote and sprinted to the kitchen to fetch some paper towels.

Fucking gross but also fucking hot. Mostly fucking gross.

Why sprint? She knew, or at least hoped, no neighbor would ever know about what just transpired in her now stained living room. The blinds were drawn and all the doors locked. Yet, insecurity enveloped her.

She brushed her teeth three times that evening, as if the repetition would mask how far she had crossed over to the supposed dark side. It was on now. At least she wasn't bursting with enough sexual tension to fill a shopping cart.

It would, of course, refill later. Laetitia was that gorgeous.

Saturday evening arrived, and so did the dilemma of what to wear. Stephanie wanted something sexy that didn't necessarily scream, "Fuck me the moment I walk through the door." She wanted to look classy without showcasing antiquation.

Her black dress that stretched to her lower thighs was too funeral-y. Her spaghetti strap red dress was too slutty, even if she was meeting to have sex with a stripper. After a few minutes of closet digging, she found it. The dress.

The J Crew collection floral sheath she picked showed off the back of her beck, her slender shoulders and just enough of her intoxicating legs. It was perfect for the occasion and wouldn't give away her destination.

People may look at me, but they probably won't guess I am heading to fornicate with an exotic dancer. Hey, I like this woman. Shame on me.

She polished off her irresistible look by slipping on her favorite pair of heels and splashing herself three times with Chanel.

"Nice, Stephanie," she said to herself in the bathroom mirror.

"I'd fuck me," she mumbled.

"Ew," she caught herself, "I'm worse than the guys at the Palace now. Did I just cat call myself?"

Nah, forget it. I'd fuck the shit out of me.

She waltzed out the door, her hands tingling and her head spinning.

Here goes nothing.

After about 30 minutes of weaving through side streets and admonishing her once trusty GPS, she arrived at Laetitia's complex, just in time to not be late. "406," she mumbled. "This must be it."

Laetitia's directions and parking instructions were surprisingly easy to follow. Before she could even consider running back to her car and forgetting this fling altogether, impulse took control and she knocked.

Just then, a neighboring door opened and a mid-40s man appeared. As he was locking his door and walking away, he glanced at Stephanie, shook his head and whistled.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

Before the next thought could form, the beige door in front of her swung open to reveal an angelic sight. There was Laetitia, in a breath stealing charcoal short sleeve, short lace by Emerald Sundae dress. The wow factor would have made even the most insulated and unfeeling fashion designer faint.

Breathe, Stephanie. Just breathe. Don't hyperventilate. Don't stare. Act like you've been here before. Oh wait...

"Hiii, Stephanie," Laetitia said in a way that was even sexier than the encounter at the club.

A pause followed.

"Um, you there Stephanie?" Laetitia giggled.

"Oh my God, so, so embarrassing," Stephanie blurted. "I don't know why I didn't answer. You just look so—"

"Hey, you brought wine," Laetitia interjected, as if to clear the tension a bit.

"Of course. I wouldn't forget that. This is a 2007 cab, so it should be amazing."

"Come in, silly."

As Stephanie stepped in and the door closed behind her, perhaps Laetitia had her first full view of her company's "perfect" attire.

Laetitia gently reached for Stephanie's right hand and kissed it. "You look astonishing tonight, Stephanie. Welcome to my home, small as it is."

Yep, we are definitely fucking tonight, and it will probably convince me that magic exists. I can't believe I even thought about chickening out on this one.

"What is that smell?" Stephanie inquired.

"Can't you at least wait five minutes before you insult my cooking," Laetitia responded with a chuckle.

"No, it smells wonderful. I would never insult anyone's culinary skills. I have the fire department on speed dial, and they're tired of hearing from me."

The two women cackled.

"I figured a woman with French heritage needs to know how to cook at least one French dish," Laetitia said. "Coq Au Vin, or for the uninitiated, chicken in a red wine sauce with vegetables. I'm not a chef, but I think I have this one down pat."

"But," she continued, "We may have to call the fire department about that dress. Girl, it is on fire. Whoa."

"Wow, thanks," Stephanie said, unsure how to respond to the compliment that made her tingle. "Your dress is, uh, a forest fire."

Oh, fuck. Why did I even allow that to leave my mouth? Maybe we won't have sex tonight. I may just embarrass myself out of this apartment.

Laetitia erupted in laughter.

"A forest fire?" she asked. "You are hilarious."

"I was trying to think of a c-c-clever way to tell you that you look beautiful beyond description," Stephanie answered.

"I think you just did. Don't be so nervous, Stephanie. You're safe here. I can tell you're worried about impressing me. Don't be. If you actually started a forest fire in my apartment, I wouldn't be that upset."

"The forest fire comment was kind of stupid, though," Stephanie said.

"Hey, it's better than what most of the unwitty guys yell to me at the Palace," Laetitia added. "'Oh my God, dude, you are so hot.' 'Sugar, you are the sexiest thing I have ever seen.' Boooooring and so insincere."

"How do you put up with that every night? I couldn't handle it. I'd snap and quit after five minutes."

"You probably would," Laetitia quipped.

"Hey!"

"You wouldn't survive there, Stephanie. You're too classy. A strip club is a sad place. I dance for the moment because it does enough to help with the bills, but I obviously don't love it. I can't do this long term."

"I think you're really classy, Laetitia, and you can't think that highly of me. I threw money at you just like those piggish males."

"Yeah, but you were different. I've stripped long enough that I can spot the outsiders. There are women who occasionally come in and act as lewdly as the men, but I knew you weren't one."

"How?"

"It was easier than getting some horny guy to buy me a drink at the bar. You were so nervous. I didn't know what your element was, but it clearly wasn't a strip club. You looked like at any moment you might run out of there."

"Until I saw you," Stephanie said.

"Well, thanks. I'm glad your first trip to a nudie joint wasn't fruitless. I'm really glad you're here, Steph. Can I call you that?"

Can you call me that? Are you kidding me? Sure, you can call me Spot or Mr. Clean if you want.

"Sure, most people don't call me that, but I like it. I mean, I didn't like it when my last boyfriend said it so hurtfully, but I got over it."

"Cool."

"So...uh...if you don't mind...please, please don't be offended...but...uh..."

"You want to know what I do when I'm not stripping, right?"

"Um, yeah. You haven't told me yet."

"You didn't ask. Why would I be offended?"

Laetitia pointed to a canvas bursting with color propped up against a bare living room wall.

"Wow," Stephanie exclaimed. "You painted that? You're an artist?"

"Yep," Laetitia said sheepishly. "It's my thing."

"I mean, just wow, that's amazing. It's better than anything I have hanging at my house."

"Thank you. Most people wouldn't be that kind. Some of my family members and co-workers think it's a stupid dream."

"You have a gift."

"You work at an insurance company, right?"

"Yep, but it's not exciting. I'd probably put you to sleep talking about it."

"Well, we can talk about it over that smelly dinner."

After a brief tour of Laetitia's picayune but not cramped abode, the two sat down for a scrumptious dinner and sumptuous wine.

As the dinner headed for its conclusion, the confessions again began to freely flow.

"I have to be honest, Stephanie. I've been struggling to compose myself tonight. You look really beautiful. I don't know how to handle it."

"Really? I'm the one stammering and comparing your dress to a forest fire."

"I guess I've learned to hide it. I just don't want you to feel nervous, or like you have to do anything," Laetitia said. "What do think will happen after dinner? What would you like to happen? I mean, you can be honest."

"Honestly?" Stephanie asked.

"Of course."

"Uh, I'm kinda hoping we do it."

"Do it?"

"Like, you know, the nasty."

"Oh, Stephanie, you have a way with words. Wow. You can leave now." She pointed toward the door to add authority to the statement.

Shocked and full of regret, tears began streaming down Stephanie's face. "I'm so sorry."

Laetitia immediately smiled then laughed.

"I'm so kidding," she said. "I totally want to have sex with you, Steph. I'm just messing with you."

"Damnit, Laetitia, I thought for a second you were serious. I'm going to throw this last piece of chicken at you if you do that again. Fuck."

Laetitia stood up and walked to Stephanie and huddled behind her. "Sorry, I shouldn't have messed with you like that."

She let her hands massage Stephanie's exposed arms and kissed her left ear lobe and neck four times. The bewitched guest allowed a few satisfied moans.

OK, I guess we're doing this now. My God this is amazing.

"Finish up, and I'll quickly do the dishes."

"We can both do the dishes."

Not ten minutes later, the table was clear and the kitchen clean.

"You are a dish washing expert, Stephanie."

"Well, if I had to call the fire department every time I did that, well, that would be really embarrassing."

"I have to be honest, too, Laetitia. I was worried that maybe you didn't really find me all that attractive and that I'd come over with the wrong idea."

"Oh, honey, I get tingly just looking at you in that dress."

"I'd say something about your dress, but I'll just stumble all over myself."

"Yeah, I think I've had enough dress compliments from you tonight."

They giggled again.

"I probably shouldn't admit this, Laetitia, but that night at the coffee shop, after you left, I sat in my car and began to masturbate about you. I was so excited about tonight, I guess, that I even ordered a porno."

"Shut up," Laetitia said hysterically. "Was the porno any good?"

"Of course not."

"Well if it makes you feel any better, every night at the Palace since, I imagined everyone I danced for was you. I've touched myself more times than I care to admit."