11:20. Just after our third or fourth (I lose count) round of lovemaking over the last hour, and Jaid is going to be late, soon. She is an exotic dancer at Passions, on the East Side which is across town from us. Cheesy name, but the club is a huge draw, which can mainly be attributed to its nightly featured act  my wife.
Met her when we attended the same college. We stayed together; no clever backstory to tell, really. But, I like talking about her. Jaid's a complete knock-out. When she is dancing, but also in the way she carries herself: feminine, smart, confident. Fun to be around, good conversationalist. And, needless to say, there is the sex. My wife has always had a rather potent sexual appetite; she's like some kind of engine, revved up and ready for the next fuck before I've even caught my breath. She feeds off her own energy, taking our heat with her on stage, which is in turn fueled by the charge she gets from a crowd, and so most mornings she will come home as horny as when she left. It's tough keeping up, some times, but I do enjoy the challenge.
Hard to tell how a woman like her stays faithful, actually. And, I can't even be sure that she does: Jaid doesn't like me coming to shows. Too much pressure? Which I can certainly appreciate, but still. When I'm cooped up in our miniscule one-bedroom, and it's two in the morning and she's in that environment, my mind wonders. About fidelity. Not that I'm insecure, or maybe I am a little. I mean, sure, I may have one or two adequacy issues. It goes back to the old adage about being able to have anyone, so why settle; because Jaid could, and why does she. Or, does she? She's beautiful, desirable, almost too much for one man to  fuck it, I'm digressing.
I hear the shower cut off. The bathroom has become thick with steam, and then she emerges like a vision in a cloud of it, wearing a towel. This is when she looks her sexiest, no question: red hair damp, slicked back over her shoulders, away from her flawless face, high cheekbones, those inviting lips in full pout, beads of water and sweat that remain on her face and neck. She looks not unlike Lexus Locklear, if I had to make an actual comparison. Edible. I sit up in bed, and watch as she drops the towel and stands in front of the mirror, getting herself ready. Body spray; lipstick, eyeliner, the complete Revlon line.
She notices me staring, in the mirror. "What?" she asks, brushing her hair. Her ass is heart-shaped, perfect. Her figure is slender and curvaceous, 35-24-35, spine just barely visible in ripples of olive-complected skin.
"Just looking," I say, staring.
"Yeah, I noticed."
"Well, I hope you don't mind, because I can't seem to look away."
Finally, she swings around, still brushing. "So, this staring thing could last a while, is what you're saying?" She saunters in my direction. Drops the hairbrush. Moves onto the bed, on her knees, and inches her way forward, until she is just over my chest. My fingers dangle just at ankles. "How's the view, now?" Her voice is sultry and seductive, when she says this, trying I can only assume to get me going, again. I move my hands along her calves, and to her hips, and then run them down over her thighs; I'm going, again. She relaxes her ass onto my crotch, on top of the bed sheet, drapes her body over mine, and we kiss. Her tongue plunges into my mouth, and we lay french kissing. I'm unmercifully hard.
Jaid breaks the kiss, props up with her elbows to either side of my head, coursing her fingers through my hair.
"Got to go, hon," she says.
"No, don't. Call in well, take the night off. You've got me all aroused, here. "
"I know. And, that's a subject I mean to take up with you a little later on. Think you can hold out, for me?"
"I'll try."
"Yes. Try." she says, slinking her body downward, pulling the bed sheet with her, "real." she puts her hands on my waist, leans her head down and gives the head of my now fully erect cock a quick lick, "hard."
"Ohh..!" I groan, in disappointment, as she backs off the bed, and disappears into our walk-in closet. Tease. But then, what can I reasonably expect, at this point? We've already fucked a record ten times, tonight, including the aforementioned three or four times, and I'm not lying, And, she does have to work. And, my cock hurts, and probably wouldn't be able to take it, anyway, at least not for another few hours. So be it.
She returns to the room, fully dressed in stripjoint garb; tonight, it's red, studded leather bra and panties. She sits down on the floor, slipping on her stockings and zipper boots.
"What'cha doing on the floor?" I ask, sitting back up. My penis is sensitive, and it makes me cringe rubbing against the cloth of the sheet that covers it.
"Getting pretty," she answers, zipping up the second boot.
"Getting?" I ask. She stands up, hands on her hips.
"Hey, now, you keep sweet talking me like that, I'll have to pounce you, very soon."
"Lovely angel." I begin, somewhat flustering for a follow-up compliment, "temptress of mine, let me praise you, and." uhh, "stuff."
"Alright. That's it Â" she says, jumping onto the bed on top of me. "Roll me over and fuck me hard," she says, in a slightly mocking tone. So, I roll her over. She starts laughing.
"I'm kidding," she says. I wasn't. I raise up off her body, with a look of disappointment.
"Ahh, you poor thing. You can't possibly want more, already."
"You're one to speak," I say, self-referentially. Seriously, the woman never sleeps.
"Be nice," she says, grinning. She gives me another quick kiss, and pushes me away. "See you around 4, babe."
"Right."
She turns before leaving, blows a kiss, and is off. I lay back, arm over my face. Hard-on receding. And, imagine Jaid with another woman. Imagine her still here; her mouth on my cock, that warm moist. Jaid and another woman and me. Basic cliché male fantasies. She'll do anything; has. I'm satisfied.
I get up, run a shower. The lukewarm jetstreams hit me, calm me. Take a deep breath, head hung low, water drenching my hair and spilling down over my face and backside. She slides the glass door open, steps inside with me. Gets under the water, pulls me closer until we both are sharing it. She kisses me, softly; just tender pecks. She covers my mouth with her own, finds my tongue with her tongue, water running in through the tiny corner where our mouths don't quite meet. She licks my lips, sucks my chin, kisses my throat. going down. her lips and tongue are on my chest. lower.she is on her knees, the tip of her tongue tickling my navel. her hands on my thighs, my hardening penis, and balls against her left cheek. she moves her hands around, squeezes my ass cheeks, moves her hands further down until she has my inner thighs, just under my anus, spreading my legs apart. she gives me eye contact from below, and gently moves her head closer, tongue to the base of my cock. she licks down, over my scrotum, sucking each ball one at a time. her tongue lingers there, a moment, before moving back up, along the underside of my cock, stopping at the engorged head, teasing the piss slit; I shudder. she smiles up at me, and then takes the cock in her mouth.
Stroking me, my hands in fists at my side, that urgent gimme-it expression on her face.
Shower off. I step out, dry myself. Back in the bedroom, put on some music; "Becoming X" by The Sneaker Pimps.
Put on a pair of boxer briefs, socks, t-shirt. Can't lay in bed, all night.
Mousse my hair, get it just so, at the mirror. I think part of me wants to go out; yes, subconsciously I am preparing to do so.
Open one of the drawers, take out the glass tray with the coke we were doing, earlier. I snort two lines, one with each nostril. Sniffle; making sure to get it all in there. Swallow; that bitter numb. Bump.
Wired, kind of, I get myself in clothes more appropriate for going out, and call a cab. We only have one car, which I take to Mullins Publishing where I work during the day, and then Jaid takes, where I'm going right now. I want us to move out of the apartment, which is big only enough so the two of you don't feel like you're bouncing off one another at all times; and plus, I mean, I'm at work till 6, and Jaid leaves shortly before midnight, usually, giving us, what, 5 hours and some for sex, or talking, or whatever. It's a good arrangement, don't get me wrong, but on my salary and her's  her's being slightly more than mine (her tip intake is unmatched)  we can afford more space.
The cab drops me at the corner of 5th and Somers. Was hoping for a line, so Jaid wouldn't notice my being here (?), but there's not one, so I'm able to shuffle in sans a wait. Get carded. Again. Fucker knows me, but. Whatever.
Inside, the music is loud and driving: "Bah Wit Da Bah", by Kid Rock, I believe. There are six mini-stages, with multi-colored lights for effect. Tables surround each one, and each of the stages and tables are occupied; men get lap dances, others are lined up to slip the performers a buck. It's 12:02, and Jaid has not yet made her appearance or else this place would still be reeling. The place is wall-to-wall tits - some big, some natural  more females undressed, than dressed. Wouldn't expect anything less.
Song ends. The veejay reminds patrons that all dancers can be available for a private (if you can call it that) Å’session' for only $20, and please welcome our featured act of the evening over on stage 4, Mistress Jaid. She got the name Jaid because of her eyes, and her private sessions are $40, and that might seem a bit steep, but get a dance and you will know where the money went.
Following her intro, Jaid comes out to a raise-the-roof uproar of applause and hooting. Even the women in the audience seem to be mystified by her. Her routine is lithe; she moves to the music  an in-your-face number, "Nookie" by Limp Bizkit, which has recently became her favorite accompanying track, because it's only about three minutes in length, which gives the guys and girls just a taste of what she's capable of, leaving the rest of her stint spent lap dancing  with grace and style. She has attitude to spare, and it's infectious for male and female audience members, alike. They love her. It's electrifying to watch, even I have to admit, even now, still today, when I've seen it a hundred times, both here and behind closed doors.
I try and walk to one of the tables in back, unnoticed. I'm not here for personal attention; I'll get that, later. I'm simply here to. not sure why, exactly. Check up on her? Keep an eye out, if there must be an answer. And, it's not a lack of trust on my part, you see, it's more of a voyeuristic thing. I guess. See what goes on when I'm not around. Selfish, yes, but I can't help it. Being here, knowing she doesn't want me here, is a turn on. I am intrigued, encouraged, to do that which I shouldn't. Seems a bit obsessive, possessive. So what.
She remains at the opposite end of the room, for the most part. I sit back, order a drink, smoke a cigarette. Get offers from the other girls, Danna, Vixen, Jenny; even a two-girl. I cordially decline them. People-watch. Am joined by another girl, Cora (perfectly attractive, but who here isn't), whom I've never seen and I think she may be a waitress, or something, who just wants to talk. Order us both tequila shots, myself a Jack and Coke as well. Smoke another cigarette. She informs me her shift ends in half an hour, if I'd like to go elsewhere for drinks, shoot a game of pool, continue our conversation which I have not been participating all that much in, or just whatever. Can't. Married, but otherwise, sure, why not. And, she's gone.
2:50 AM. Working on a pretty substantial buzz, but I cannot let it get out of control, so as to be ready for when my wife will surely want to fuck. If I'm passed out, beyond recovery, she'll be pissed; she gets that way. No problem. One more drink's not going to hurt, right?
3:30 AM. Where did the time go. Jaid starts for the dressing room area, and I have to duck under the table. Shit. I wait there a few moments, have to remind myself how stupid this is. I take a peek around, to find the coast clear.
