Edited by NaughtyMike
Duane and I continued to date after our memorable visit to the Strawberry, but nothing more was mentioned about the possibility of my performing a strip-tease. He had no way of knowing that I was very busy practicing my dancing and experimenting with various music and clothes.
We saw each other several nights a week and made out at the end of each date. I allowed Duane reach up under my top and caress my breasts through my bra, but I always stopped him when he tried to slip his hand down my pants. As much as I wanted my kitty petted, I was saving it for a special occasion.
After two weeks of dating and increasingly desperate kisses and fondlings, I finally told Duane that I would spend the night with him at his place, a double-wide he shared with a guy named Darby. The few times I'd been by, Darby had either been out or had not bothered to come out of his room to visit. He had only nodded and mumbled a semi-polite greeting when we were first introduced. A more charitable soul than I would probably have called him shy. I just called him an unsociable cuss. Take your pick. But no matter, I was confident Darby would not be in the way on the “Big Night”.
On the appointed evening, Duane and I went to a movie and then came back to the trailer. I'd told him I had something planned, but I refused to elaborate, no matter how Duane tried to sweet-talk me. Oh, I how loved being the Woman of Mystery!
The first thing I did when we got inside was to have Duane show me how to work the stereo. He had a fairly big new model that looked complicated enough to drive the space shuttle. He said he'd paid just $150 for it, but he didn't seem eager to say just how he'd managed this wondrous feat. I got the distinct it was in some way illegal, immoral, or fattening.
Once I had the basics down, I arranged the three songs I had chosen to dance to, without letting Duane see what they were. Then I got him a beer from the fridge to keep him occupied, and I took myself and my duffel bag into the bedroom to change.
On the way, I tapped on Darby's door, stuck my head in and said "Look Darby, me and Duane are alone out here, got it?" Darby didn't even look up from his computer, just shrugged and muttered "Yeah, yeah, I heard you, whatever." Satisfied that he was out of the way, I headed on in to get dolled up.
When I emerged from the bedroom, Duane was sitting on the couch drinking his Budweiser. When he saw me, he did a double take and stared. "What are you supposed to be?" he wanted to know. I just smiled mysteriously.
Duane had good cause to be startled. I'd gone into his room looking like I usually did, in tight-fitting camel toe jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers. But I'd come out in a short white skirt, a red, white and blue floral-print blouse tied beneath my breasts and my favorite bright-red four-inch stiletto heels. I was quite the sight if I must say so myself.
I picked up the TV remote and channel-surfed with the volume off until I found one of those Japanese cartoons on cable, the kind that's mostly those flashing colored lights that can give you seizures if you look at them directly for too long. That was the closest I could come to disco lights, and with the room lights turned off, the effect wasn't half-bad.
As I turned on the stereo I looked at Duane to see his reaction. The penny had dropped and so had his jaw. I think he'd probably pretty much forgotten that he'd suggested I strip for him, but he was remembering now.
The first song I'd chosen was Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me." As it began, I suddenly felt nervous, a little stage fright, butterflies in the stomach. Duane was staring at me so intently with those amazing icy blue eyes of his, I felt like I had a big camera and spotlights trained on me. To keep from freaking out, I pretended to myself that nobody was actually watching me. It was time to set the butterflies free.
I moved around the center of the room, concentrating on the music. Every so often, I'd let my fingers brush the inside of my thigh, on my ass or across my breasts as if by accident. Once, as I got more comfortable, I put my finger in my mouth, sucked on it, and then ran the wet finger down between my breasts. Toward the end of the song, I removed my first piece of clothing. I turned my back and bent forward slightly, so that Duane, if he cared to, could see up the back of my skirt and catch a glimpse of my red panties. They were tight against my ass and pussy. I was sure he could see an outline of my swollen lips through the red satin material.
In that position I undid the front of the little blouse and stood up, turning as the garment slid off my shoulders. Underneath it I had on a white lace underwire bra, the fabric so thin that my peach-colored nipples were plainly visible, made even more so when I rubbed them between my fingers to get them to perk up. I think I heard Duane sigh longingly at this point, and I risked a glance at him to check his reaction. He was watching me with his full attention, and thee was a noticeable lump in the front of his to-tight jeans. I was clearly having the desired effect. The butterflies had clearly left. Come to think of it, my own Miss Kitty was beginning to wake up and take an interest in the proceedings.
My second song was now starting. It was that old standby, "Cradle of Love" by Billy Idol. It has a fast beat and is perfect for stripping. I picked up the tempo and really got into it, bumping my hips and wishing I had tits big enough to bounce around. But I think that when the angels were handing out jugs, I thought they said mugs and wanted mine small and cute.
Dancing around in my bra, it was now it was time to shed my skirt. I undid the button at the top and teasingly shimmied it downward, a little bit at a time. Finally I stepped out of it with my left leg while keeping it on my right. Then came the move I'd had to practice for ages to get it as exactly right. I extended my right leg, at waist level and twirled it a little, like a can-can dancer, letting the skirt sail off my high heel and fall onto the chair where I'd dropped my blouse-perfect. Of course I would've stood a good chance of falling and breaking my neck if hadn't strategically placed myself next to the TV so I could brace one hand on it while I did it.
I was now clad only in the heels, my barely-there bra and my tight red panties which had some notable dampness at this point. I'd worked up a bit of a sweat dancing, and my skin glistened under the purple and red flashes of light that were just then emanating from the TV screen. Duane’s eyes were glued to my every move. He watched me as I shook my ass and rubbed my pussy while I danced. His eyes followed my hands up to my breasts as I squeezed them together to form some cleavage. I then rubbed my fingers again over my peachy nipples as long as they were there. Duane didn’t miss a move. I decided that a little audience participation was called for the next step.
"Are you still with me, Duane?" I asked rhetorically. His nod and drool signified that he was. I walked over to him, (I'd intended to employ the ubiquitous ass-in-the-air stripper's crawl here, but thought better of it when I saw the state of the carpet) leaned over and said "Then help me off with this, would you?"
