I can remember the look in your eyes, the first time I suggested that we should go to one of those clubs; you weren't morally against it, but still you screwed up your nose, making an adorable expression. Of course, I knew it would stick in your mind; I watched it sink into your eyes, and settle into your mind. I saw it in your eyes when we fucked later, like animals in heat, rutting harder and harder than normal. You moved as though possessed, as though picturing yourself there; you, me, us, there.
The first one we went to was small time; this little place called Divas. It was a dive; had a mini tragedy every few nights, and tonight was no exception. You looked on bemused as I sank into a bad couch and wafted away in the chaos, you there, next to me, not bored at all but fascinated. You looked at the dancers; saw their satin, saw the hair extensions. You took in the slight pot bellies, and the smokers skin- and couch, when they moved too much. I saw it as your eyes lit up; I don't know how I felt, at that.
You had always been a little interested in girls. It was your suggestion that we should watch porn together; you never asked if I did, and I never told you or asked myself. So I went along, to a store, and bought what the attendant told me was safe porn; the sort for women, the sort for couples. It wasn't soft core; just arty, generally poor attempts at classy. Again, your nose turned up at the first few scenes; laughed at an absurd position, or at some cheep lip gloss.
And then the climax of the piece; a threesome scene. You were silent as it began. Your mouth opened, as the two began to kiss- properly kiss, not like normal porn kissing. No, these two girls wanted, and it showed. Your mouth stayed opened; you felt for my cock with one hand, and for yourself with the other. I have often wondered which hand snaked out first, since.
We kept going; kept looking for better clubs. Of course, we both knew exactly why what we looked for; I encouraged you, made it okay for you. It made it easier for you to fall away, to turn away.
It did not take us long, not really. The club we then began to attend was not expensive, nor was it cheap, or trashy. It was discreet, and the girls in it were good; it made it difficult for us not to get to know them, all of them, or to think of them as strippers.
Of course, there was some distance between me and them; I was male, and I was going to a strip club. That I was with my girl made no difference. But to you, it was amazing; to you, the lights drew at you, illuminating the blue in your eyes as though something there lay dormant. And they welcomed you; treated you as a sister, with something they recognised. You never felt the urge to dance, thankfully. That would have been too much to bear.
One night, you asked me if I could pay for you to get a private show. It had taken you six months to work up the nerve. I smiled, and asked you, did you want me there, and who would you like. I liked how open you were, how much we shared. I liked that you liked girls, too.
Oh no, you said. You most assuredly wanted me there. I nodded.
You picked a brunette; a blonde yourself, you wanted her. She had a slight asian cast to her eyes; I wonder if, now, you remember her name. I know I don't, but I think you would. You should, she was so important to us. The beginning of the end.
She wore a tight white tee, and long stockings, black and white thick stripes, running the length of your legs. Her hair was short, much shorter than yours; cut to end at her shoulders. It hung around her face, a silken mass, messy, desirable.
How could I blame you, for parting your lips, and sighing out desire that could not be contained or controlled within our relationship? How could I blame you for wanting, just as I had wanted? I stood in the corner, allowing you to take the seat; the woman eyed me cautiously before beginning.
She stalked towards you, her lips curving out, parting, forming a Cheshire smile. She wanted too, if her face was anything to go by; she licked her lips, bending down, and licking yours.
I start; that's not part of what a private show is. I have never gotten that sort of treatment. You jumped, too; you almost retreated. But you had come too far, much. You shut your eyes for a second- just a second- before exhaling, and steeling yourself.
She began to dance slowly, her hips circling; she bends down, over, in front of you, her face close. You can see down her top; I want to see down her top. I want to see down yours. I want her to watch me as I fuck you, and that's all.
But she straightens, her back curving her upwards, her hands moving to the hem of the cotton shirt. She toyed at the edges, playing; she looked at you, her eyes simmering. They're dark, struck without colour in the dim light, burning us both with their intensity. You struggled, shifting in the seat. She watches you, and slowly, slowly, lifts her shirt.
She caressed herself, her breasts, her nipples. She carved her ribs, just visible under her skin. She made her body break out in goosebumps, her nipples tighten; I saw you bite your lip, as I hold my breath. She sighed, loudly, and spins. She placed her body against you, her hands on the arms of the chair. She rubbed her ass against your groin; you place your hands there, to softly touch her. She pressed into your palms.
She straightened, and slowly deprived herself of her briefs. She left the stockings on; you gasped, and bit your lip. I saw your nipples tighten earlier; I watched you now, as your hand found its way across, to rub your breasts; the other, down, between your legs.
If she saw, she didn't let on. She places one leg high, her heel on the arm of the chair, granting for you the full on open view of her. You can smell her desire; hell, I could smell her, from the wall. I could smell yours. She thrust slightly, and ran her hand down; I couldn't quite see, but I'm sure she opened her lips, and let you look all the way inside her.
You had to stop; you lent forwards, unable to hold yourself away; she didn't withdraw, but she watched you, almost daring. She didn't move away. She didn't move at all.
You rose, and moved her leg. You almost made me leave, before I paid. You mauled me, outside. Neither of us were naked as you took me, fiercely, my cock so hard, so angry, so full within you. You wanted. You took.
We kept going, and every time there was a new show, with a different girl. We never went back to that club again, but that was fine. I paid for your lapdances, not objecting; I didn't want them for myself, only to satisfy this for you. And you were satisfied, and grateful.
Then there was the next time. We made love hard, fiercely, afterwards, but it wasn't the same. Your mind wasn't with me, on the end of my cock, even as mine was with you. You muttered to me, afterwards, that you wanted to try something. You wanted to do me, and a girl.
The perfect dream. Every man dreams of that in their girl; why did I feel something, uneasy, uncomfortable? I wanted you, just you, and I didn't care if it was only lust, or some archaic sense of possession. I didn't want her, or any other. But you wanted it, and everything and everyone I have ever met told me to go with it.
She asked me where I would look; I suggested a website. You shook your head; no, maybe a prostitute? I looked at you then, and you flushed. Maybe you felt something for me still, as something other than simply the facilitator of your desires. I hope so.
