This story is loosely based on a true story provided me by a Lit reader. He told me to do with the information what I wanted and to write a story about it. It's a romance and I will provide it in five parts.
Main Cast
Dennis, 25 years old, 5' 11", 175 lbs, brown hair, blue eyes.
Jill, 30 years old, 5' 7", 120 pounds, brown hair, blue eyes.
Gina, 30 years old, 5'6", 140 pounds, auburn hair, green eyes, Jill's best friend.
Denise, 25 years old, 5'1", 105 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, Dennis' friend and works with Dennis.
Mike, 27 years old, 5'10", 190 pounds, black hair, brown eyes, Denise's boyfriend.
Jeff, 33 years old, 6', 190 lbs, brown hair, brown eyes, Dennis' brother.
Previously:
After meeting with Jill's therapist, who she had been seeing for three years due to her rape and becoming a stripper and problems with men, we agreed to have a date. The psychologist said that she wanted us to date and discuss and talk about everything; all our secrets. I did feel much better now that things were in the open, but I was still thinking about what it meant to feel this way about a woman who had made guys cum in their pants by dry-humping them in nothing but a g-string; although I got hard thinking about her doing that to me. Oh, well. We'd find out over the next couple of weeks.
Chapter 8. We Try Dating
December 30th, 2011
Our first date was an easy one. We both went to happy hour and everyone else tip-toed around the subject of the two of us and we didn't say anything. When we left, however, I know that there must have been a lot of discussion of what was going on between us. We left together and went to dinner, which added to the rumors of our break-up and then reunion.
Things went well and we discussed everything except what we really needed to talk about. Finally, as we were paying the check, Jill looked up at me. "Want to go for a walk?"
I agreed and we went outside. It was a little cold and I could tell that Jill was going to get cold so I stopped us at the entrance to the restaurant and did the last three buttons on her coat. She stared at me. "What?"
She smiled. "I remember reading in one of those girly magazines that when a man buttons up a woman's coat it means he's a good guy, and cares for the woman."
"Girly magazine?"
"Yeah, I think it was Cosmo. You know Cosmopolitan? The one that also publishes all those lists about who wants what in bed and the results of all those sex surveys?"
"Yeah. I've seen it on the newsstands. Pitiful."
Jill smiled. "Yes, I agree." She took my hand. "Thanks for buttoning up my coat."
"You're very welcome."
We walked out along the sidewalk in front of the collection of shops and restaurants that were in the complex. I decided to start the serious talk. "So, Jill, can I ask you some of those tough questions now?"
She turned to look at me, her face a mask to me in that moment. "Sure." She didn't sound sure.
"I want to know about your stripper years."
Jill turned to me. "How about we call what I did exotic dancing? Can we just call me a dancer? I'm still trying to get over that part of my past and stripper just sounds too, I don't know, vulgar now that I'm out of it. At the time, it was no problem, but when I'm trying to put it behind me, well, how about we just say dancer."
"But isn't it vulgar?"
"Well, it doesn't have to be. Everybody sees nudity everywhere. It can be beautiful until you put leering assholes out there, who treat women terribly and want table dances while they slobber all over you. Can you please just say dancer?"
"But isn't that what strip clubs invite? Don't they invite men to look at women like nothing but sex objects? Don't they draw those types of men?"
"Yes, I guess they do. When I was 18, I never thought of it that way."
I conceded the point about dancer. "Okay. I want to know about all those awful things that I hear about in connection with dancers. What about prostitution, drugs, terrible boyfriends, etc.?"
Jill took a deep breath. "You mean you want to know if I did any of those things."
I glanced over at her as we continued to walk. "Well, yes."
"I have never prostituted myself. I never had a boyfriend while I was dancing, and I did try a couple of drugs with Gina, but it wasn't what I wanted to do with my life, so after I tried them, I never did them again."
I thought about that. "What was it you wanted to do with your life?"
She pondered that for a moment and I felt that maybe she was thinking too much and trying to form what she thought I wanted to hear, but then she answered. "I wanted to get out of that shithole. I wanted to get away from my mother, that neighborhood, and that fucking life. I wanted to get a college education, get a decent job, and maybe have some kids that I would raise better than anyone in my area ever did. I knew all along that I had to get out of there before it consumed me."
I stopped and looked over at her. "You want to have kids?"
She gave me a weak smile. "I did. I'm not so sure anymore. I have a good job and I'll be 31 next month, so I guess I'll have to change my goals."
I thought about it. "So did you ever date or go out with anyone from the strip club?"
She looked at me carefully. "Yes. I did date one guy who I knew from working at Wendy's who started coming in because he knew me and Gina. I dated him for about three dates. After he realized that 'dancer' didn't equate to 'whore', he left and I never saw him again."
"Oh, sorry." I pulled her hand to keep her walking and before I could ask another question she asked me a couple.
"Have you ever done drugs? How many women have you had sex with?"
I stopped again. "I have never done illegal drugs. I was always playing sports and it was important to me to stay clean as an athlete. I also had a good friend who got completely messed up with drugs in high school so that turned me off to them." I took a deep breath and thought about the second question. "How many women? Let me see...." I started counting on my hands and made several round trips before she understood that I was joking and trying to lighten our conversation.
"Stop!" She giggled and slapped at my hands.
"In truth I think it's about 6. I was always a one woman at a time kind of guy. I was always involved with the women I had sex with. All my sexual relationships were ones with women I ended up dating for 6 months or more. I didn't go out with someone just for the sex, plus, I was never good at picking up women."
She looked at me seriously. "Same number for me."
I stared at her. "Really? Only 6?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "My job didn't allow for it at the club, and then at college I had a few boyfriends, but I was trying to graduate. Then when the one guy I was really interested in told his friends, I stopped dating and have only had sex with one individual since then – you."
I stared at her. "Wow! I mean, I thought that, well, you know, as a dancer...."
She sighed resignedly. "I know, everyone thinks that dancers are out fucking everyone. They pick up the rich guys from the club and fuck them for money. Or they are sleeping with their girlfriends and then hook up with hot guys so that they can have those DVD grade threesomes. Yeah, I know, I've heard it all before. Some actually do that, but most of them I knew did not."
"Sorry."