Sweet Gwendoline

The next morning I grabbed a quick shower, dried off and sat down at the breakfast table with a mug of coffee and a bowl of raisin bran.

Julie was also sitting at the breakfast table and staring at me with a manic smile.

It was really creepy. Nobody should look that happy at 6:58 in the morning.

I tried drinking my coffee, and hoped that after I had some caffeine in my bloodstream, the smile would disappear from Julie's face, however six sips of coffee later, the smile was still there.

"What?"

I finally asked, when I couldn't stand it any longer.

"I'm just so happy for you," Julie replied, holding her own mug of coffee up near her lips, "I mean Lyndsay is just so perfect for you, not only did she buy you all those clothes yesterday, but she brought you to three screaming orgasms last night."

She took a sip of her coffee and then added, "It's rare that Gabriel can bring me to even

one

orgasm that's intense enough to justify screaming like that."

"Oh, hell," I said softly and felt heat creep into my face. I had been so desperate for sexual release, I had never even stopped to consider the consequences of letting Lyndsay eat my throbbing sex while Julie was just down the hall.

"You heard all that," I added, flushed with embarrassment.

"Heard it?"

Julie beamed, "I'm pretty sure you shook the walls of the apartment. I know for a fact that the windows were vibrating."

"Oh God," I said miserably, "I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be," Julie said insistently, "I'm actually jealous. I'd kill to have a lover who could make me scream the way you were screaming last night."

I laid my head down on the table and attempted to regain my sense of calm. Julie was being a real sweetheart about the whole thing, but I found it embarrassing that she knew I had had sex with Lyndsay the night before. I had just recently discovered that I was a lesbian, shortly thereafter I got outed to Julie and now

she even knew how many orgasms Lyndsay gave me last night!

And then with a certain amount of horror, another question occurred to me. I raised my head off the table and asked, "How many of our neighbors heard me last night?"

Julie put a spoonful of raisin bran in her mouth and chewed slowly, apparently taking her time while she considered her answer to my question.

"Ballpark estimate, about a dozen people," Julie finally replied, "We've got really thin walls in this apartment building. Also you called your girlfriend's name out like six times, so some of our neighbors are going to want to know who Lyndsay is."

Before I had time to moan about how embarrassing it would be for a dozen of my neighbors to know I had three screaming orgasms last night, Lyndsay ambled into the kitchen wearing one of my t-shirts. I think she was naked underneath it, but it was a really, really large t-shirt and it came down to mid-thigh on her.

Her smile was almost as big as Julie's. Seriously, how can people look

that

happy so early in the morning?

And then; almost as if she were reading my thoughts; Lyndsay flipped my question and asked, "Gwen, how can you look so grumpy so early in the morning?"

"Apparently I called out your named half a dozen times during sex last night," I groaned.

I planted my face back down on the dining room table and added, "Now my neighbors are going to be asking me who Lyndsay is."

Still cheerful as ever, Lyndsay's voice countered with the question, "So, what are you going to tell them?"

I was in agony at the prospect of telling them the truth, but I couldn't see any other option. I had vague memories of calling out Lyndsay's name last night and it was with a desperate, wanton, reckless tone of a woman deep in passionate, sexual abandon. There was no way I could explain it away as calling out Lyndsay's name in anger or some sort of heated discussion.

Suddenly inspired, I raised my head up off the table and asked,

"Hey!

Isn't Lyndsay one of those unisex names? Guys can be named Lyndsay, right? I could tell the neighbors I was having sex with some

guy

last night and called out

his

name!!"

"Don't you

dare,"

Lyndsay admonished me, "I put a lot of time and effort into mastering the art of pleasing a woman! There's no way a boy can bring a woman to the same heights of pleasure that I do!! Don't you

dare

give credit for all of my hard work to some immature, unskilled, inept

boy!!"

"But Lyndsay,"

I pleaded, "What about my reputation? Most of my neighbors think I'm straight! I don't want them to think that I'm a lesbian!!"

"Hey, you need to think about

my

feelings too," Lyndsay insisted, "If you hide my existence from your friends, family and neighbors, I'm going to feel devalued and insulted! Besides one of your neighbors saw us in an affectionate kiss last night! Your secret is out!"

I gasped and exclaimed,

"Mister Pak!"

I had forgotten all about him!

"Right, Mister Pak," Lyndsay confirmed. "He's probably told half the second floor about me by now, so the days where you could keep me hidden away as a guilty secret are over. You may as well start planning your speech for when you tell your mother about me."

"My mother?"

I gasped.

"Oh, please! Lyndsay! I couldn't!"

Lyndsay still had that pleasant smile on her face. She didn't seem to be the least bit upset by my distress.

"Relax Gwen," Lyndsay said calmly, "I'm not saying you have to tell her today. I'm not even saying you have to tell her this week. But I think it's inevitable that she find out, and it would be better if she heard if from her daughter rather than from one of your neighbors or from one of the apartment building employees."

I felt a sense of panic in my breast, but Julie attempted to calm me by saying, "I could help you with talking to your mother. I'm taking both English Literature and Creative Writing in college. I could help you write up an excellent speech. I'll write it so it makes you sound brave and heroic for telling the truth."

"Thanks, Julie," I said despondently, "I'm sure that will be helpful."

Honestly, Julie's offer of help didn't really calm me. My heart was beating like a Temim Fruchter drum solo and I was breathing too fast. I felt like I was on the verge of a panic attack, but I tried to hide my emotions. Lyndsay was right, if Mister Pak knew (and he did), soon the whole building would know. I wasn't going to be able to keep my sexual attraction to girls a secret no matter how hard I tried.

"I only have one class today," Julie added helpfully, "When I get home from school, I'll have plenty of time to work on your note to your mom. You can proofread it and make revisions when you get home from work."

I thanked Julie weakly and got ready to go to work without breakfast. I was just too tense and anxious to eat. Lyndsay insisted that we shower together and then she helped me to get dressed for work. Julie seemed amused by the way that Lyndsay insinuated herself into my morning rituals.

Traditionally showering and shaving my legs is a private affair, however Lyndsay insisted that she was a "full service girlfriend" and she'd assist me in showering and shaving every chance she got. She even insisted on shaving my pubic area. I was frightened and embarrassed at the idea of another person taking a sharp razor to my loins, but Lyndsay insisted that she wouldn't really be a good girlfriend unless she helped me out with intimate tasks like this.

For myself, I just didn't have enough energy to object. I was overtaxed emotionally and all the fight had gone out of me.

Then Lyndsay helped me to get dressed, picking out my clothes for the day and helping me into them, holding out my panties for me to step into, fastening the hook and eye on my bra, zipping up my skirt and buttoning up my blouse. I felt almost like a Barbie doll that Lyndsay could amuse herself with by dressing it up.

"Oh, I'll have to drive you to work this morning," Lyndsay informed me. At first I wanted to object, but Lyndsay reminded me that she had driven me home the night before and my car was still at the bank.

Predictably many of my coworkers saw me get out of Lyndsay's car and just as predictably many of them asked me who the beautiful woman was that had driven me to work.

I tried to make my answers vague and uninformative, however I was sure it was just a matter of time before everyone at work knew I was sleeping with her.

"Um, her name is Lyndsay," was my standard response, and if that wasn't enough, I would add, "She's a friend."

Technically both were true, however I was leaving out a lot of pertinent details.

I had a hard time concentrating on my job that morning. I kept thinking about Lyndsay's tongue working enthusiastically between my legs, licking and probing, her hot breath on my clean-shaven vulva, her perfect teeth trapping my swollen clit while she sucked on it, I was hot and feverish and distracted all morning long and a total klutz as my hands started shaking with sexual tension.

I had this weird, paranoid idea that all of my co-workers knew

exactly

what I was thinking and knew that I had this powerful sexual attraction to Lyndsay and they knew that I had sex with her last night. There was no logical reason for me to believe that, however it seemed that everybody at the bank was looking at me differently. Why were they looking at me so differently if they didn't know about the changes in my life? Did I look different now? Did I look like a lesbian? What do lesbians look like? Are there telltale signs?

By the time I got off from work, I was a nervous wreck and could barely concentrate well enough to drive myself home. There were half a dozen near collisions and I had a hard time focusing on the road as I was awash in a storm of powerful emotions.

When I got home, Julie read me her first draft of the letter where I was supposed to come out to my mom as a lesbian. I didn't hear most of it. My heart was pounding so loud it seemed to drown out the sound of Julie's voice.

Finally, Julie quit reading and said, "Gwen, is something wrong? You seem troubled."

For a few seconds I couldn't even respond. I mean, how do you explain to somebody that your entire identity seems to have changed and now you're a complete stranger to yourself and you don't know how to handle it?

"I don't think I can work at the bank anymore," I finally answered, "Everybody looks at me different now. It's like they know!"

"Know what, Gwen?" Julie asked innocently.

"Everything,"

I shouted exasperated, "Me having sex with Lyndsay, the lingerie show I put on for you and her, the screaming orgasms last night, the way I'm planning on becoming a stripper!

Everything!"

Julie put down her handwritten notes and stared at me calmly and said, "Well, I doubt they know all that."

And after a few seconds, she added, "Although, you're clearly nervous about them finding out. Maybe you should just quit your job now."

"What?

Quit without having a new job lined up, first? And what about giving two weeks' notice? Employers

hate it

when employees quit without giving two weeks' notice!"

"Okay, employers hate that," Julie agreed, "But you're a nervous wreck right now. This has pretty much become a health issue now. You're going to give yourself ulcers or a stress disorder or something if you keep going into work and you're distraught and on the verge of a panic attack all day long. You should just go in tomorrow and tell your boss that you have to quit, due to health reasons."

"And what about money? It's all well and good to say I need to quit the bank for my health, but how am I supposed to pay bills without a job? Becoming a stripper is going to take

time.

Lyndsay said so!"

Ever the unmoving rock in a violent emotional storm, Julie remained calm and suggested a solution. "Look, you have a glass of wine. I'll call Lyndsay. I'll explain to her that you're a nervous wreck, all stressed out and I can probably talk her into paying your bills until you're gainfully employed again."

"What? Seriously?"

I asked, retrieving a wine bottle and a wine glass, before she even had a chance to answer my question.

"She comes from a wealthy family, remember? And she adores you. I'm sure I can get her to agree to help you out."

By the time Julie had gotten off the phone, I had actually downed three glasses of wine, but in the end, Lyndsay agreed to financially support me while I was unemployed and I resigned from my job at the bank the very next day.

* * * * * * * * * *

The staff at Riverside Entertainment were polite and professional, however I still felt nervous about applying for a job where I would end up stripping naked for dozens of customers. And I got even

more

nervous when I realized I'd have to strip naked in order to make it through the job interview.

"I can't send you out to jobs and expect you to entertain clients, without evidence that you have some idea what you're doing," Miss McVay explained to me, "Show me what sort of show you would put on if we sent you out to one of our paying customers."

Miss McVay was polite about it, however I felt like I was being objectified, stripping naked for her, while she sat at her desk, fully clothed in a respectable-looking skirt-suit, watching me as I danced and stripped naked. Her gaze was intense, studying my every move, evaluating my naked body, judging me with her eyes.

When I was finished, I looked at her expectantly, naked and hoping for praise. I knew I had a great body with firm thighs, a flat tummy and a sculpted butt. I was hoping to hear her sing my praises, but when I looked to her for praise on how perfect my body was, she looked aloof and unimpressed.

"You've never done this before, have you?" were the first words out of her mouth, when she finally spoke.

"What?

Why would you say that?" I asked, feeling somewhat embarrassed. Here I was standing naked, in front of this woman, showing her everything, showing her my pink erect nipples, my shaved loins and making no effort to cover myself (despite the fact that I really, really wanted to) and she was insinuating that I was no good at this line of work!

"Your dance moves," Miss McVay explained, "You dance like a ninja that's trying to sneak up on somebody and use your bra to strangle them. You don't smile, you never made eye contact with me once, you took your clothes off much too fast and your dance ended shortly after your last piece of piece of clothing hit the floor."

"Okay, I'm sorry about that," I said meekly, "but if you give me a few days-"

Miss McVay interrupted me and wrote something down on a pad of paper.

"This is the number of a choreographer we sometimes send our girls to. Tell her you were sent by Leslie McVay over at Riverside Entertainment. She'll teach you some basic dance moves and how to work those dance moves seamlessly into removing your clothes for an audience. We'll pay for your training and when she says you're ready, call me and we'll set up a second job interview."

I took the piece of paper from her hand and looked at it. The phone number was for a dance studio in Culver City and the choreographer was named Sandy. While I was looking at the piece of paper, Miss McVay picked up the receiver of her phone and told her receptionist to send in her next appointment.

Apparently I was dismissed. I got dressed in a hurry and exited her office.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sandy was a cute, athletic woman with a tiny waist, firm thighs, boyish hips, small breasts and a boyish haircut. She had endless energy and a youthful cheerfulness about her. In my mind, she seemed like a cross between Tinkerbell and Peter Pan.

"Gwen, I don't want you do be nervous," was one of the first things she said after I arrived at her studio, "Riverside Entertainment has sent a lot of women my way, and they've all shown dramatic improvement after I've coached them. You're going to be fine."

I went to the locker room, changed into one of my old t-shirts and yoga leggings. The yoga leggings were one of the pieces of clothing that Lyndsay had bought for me at Erotische Dessous. It clung to me like a second skin and the shape of each individual buttock; and the furrow between my buttocks; was clearly visible through the skintight material.

I came out of the locker room and Sandy had me do some stretching exercise before we began actual lessons, I think mainly because she saw I was nervous and a series of long, slow stretches will tend to bring most people into a more relaxed state. It certainly worked on me.

Also, according to Sandy, flexibility is important to a stripper. Pulling a muscle while you're trying to do a dancer's split is not sexy and strippers that have to cut a performance short so they can go to the emergency room don't tend to get repeat business.

Sandy started me off with simple stuff. There was what she called "the stripper walk" which was a slow walk with a lot of exaggerated hip movement and shoulder movement. It's the sort of walk that makes a girl really, really aware of her hips and pelvis.

"Okay, and as you walk forward, make eye contact with me and smile. Make me believe that you're being drawn irresistibly towards me. Lead with your hips and arch your shoulders back as much as possible."

The stripper walk was easy for me to master and soon I was doing it like a pro. I made me feel all shameless and indecent, and I wondered who my clients were going to be. Who would see me walking like this, advertising my genitals as I pushed them forward with every step?

Once I had learned the basic stripper walk, she also taught me "the cat walk", then "the forward grapevine" and the "side-travel grapevine". These grapevine moves were basically designed to have the dancer display her crotch by taking long steps that left her legs far apart as she walked across the stage. I could only imagine how exposed I would be doing this naked. Christina had commanded that I keep my pubic area clean-shaven, so my pubic lips would be wantonly on display whenever I did any of these grapevine moves.

Then she taught me a move called "the butterfly" which basically involves squatting in such a way that your thighs are far apart and your crotch is practically in the customer's face. You lower your hips down very slowly, present your crotch, wait for a few seconds and then slowly raise your hips back up again.

The whole thing seemed so naughty and so indecent, I could hardly believe I was learning this so I could improve my chances of acing a job interview!

She also taught me how to do "pelvic circles" which was a way of wagging your hips provocatively. It was the sort of move that could be combined with a lot of other dance moves and it was something that tended to hypnotize teenage boys and middle-aged men alike.

"Your hips are your friends," Sandy explained to me, "Use them well and use them often. Men love to watch a woman move her hips, and I'll be showing you all kinds of ways to move them."

She also taught me the "grab your ankles" maneuver, which is pretty much what it sounds like. You bend over with your ass to the audience and grab your ankles, while keeping your legs far apart and as straight as possible. I could really feel the strain on my hamstrings as they were stretched to their limit, but it was nothing I couldn't bear. I was actually quite flexible.

It wasn't so much that I found the move physically demanding, it was more that the move made me feel utterly sexualized and exposed. It's a move that really shows off the dancer's buttocks and even her pubic lips if the customer is close enough...and the dancer is naked.

I felt so wanton and so shameless, and I was fully clothed and my only audience was my dance instructor! How was I going to feel when I did these dance moves naked and in front of a horny audience?