Polly Want a Secret?

"Sometimes I really wish I had a secret life." Polly Marks pouted into her coffee.

Marilynn Sylvester blinked in surprise. "Masked and caped crime fighter?"

"No, that's silly. I mean something that actually could happen."

"International spy? Mysterious jet-setting femme fatale?"

"Nah, spying's too dangerous and being a jet-setter takes money. I need a secret life that someone else pays for." She took another sip.

Marilynn carefully put down her cup. She and her husband Mark had a profitable secret life as hobby whores providing cheerful depravity to the movers and shakers of their medium-sized Midwestern town. A few seconds thought about what might happen if she admitted it to Polly produced a definite mental shake of the head—but that did seem to be the direction her neighbor was taking.

"I imagine this secret life would be a secret from Stevie, too?"

"Hey! I love my husband. He's sweet, considerate, does half the housework and is a better cook than I am. It's just that . . . ."

"He's on the road a lot and you get bored and lonely."

"Right! I do the accounts for Bingham's, do my workouts at the gym, have sex with Stevie a couple of times a week and knit while he watches sports on television. And it's only going to get worse when we start a family. That's why I need a secret life. Not very often and not extreme, just something that's mine and mine alone."

"Well, all those workouts gave you a dynamite body, girl, how about nude modeling at the college art department?"

Polly refilled her cup. "Hmm—that's tempting. I'm not quite sure it's exciting enough but that's an idea. Did I ever tell you I spent a year as a dancer in a bikini bar? It got pretty sleazy after a while and I quit but sometimes I kind of wish I hadn't."

Marilynn raised an eyebrow.

Oho! Bit of an exhibitionist, are you? Maybe there is a place for her in Shirley's stable

. "Well, depending on how wild you want to be, I might know someone who'd be willing to help."

"You do? Ohmigawd. Really? Gosh, I don't know whether to be excited or scared. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut but—Stevie's going to be in Thailand for the next two weeks, right through Halloween. All our friends know it and who's going to invite a lonely married woman to a party? I wish his company would pay for both of us to go. I hear Changmai is beautiful."

"So? Do you want me to ask?"

Polly put her cup and saucer down on the coffee table. Conflicting emotions ran back and forth across her face. She sucked in both lips and bit down, indecision obvious. "Well, I can always say 'no', can't I?"

"Of course. It's not a good secret life if you have to be kidnapped at gunpoint to live it."

"Okay, then. I've got to do something to break up the routine or I'll snap and turn into Lizzie Borden. Let me know what he says."

*****

'He', as it turned out, was a 'she', Her Honor Shirley the mayor and dominatrix

par excellence

. She sat in the official impressive leather desk chair, leaning back with her fingers steepled in front of her face.

"I don't know, Lynn," she responded after hearing Marilynn's account of the conversation, "adding a lithe, athletic little body to the quarterly Entertainment is tempting but Axel Bingham is a member of our play group and I don't think he'd be at all comfortable fucking his bookkeeper. Money is terribly important and it's very hard to reconcile probity with licentiousness. So I really doubt that your Polly should be a hobby whore as her secret life—at least not locally."

"Somewhere else? She should hustle off to Chicago or New York whenever Stevie's on the road and take up the life of a part-time call girl?"

"Not Chicago or New York. And not quite a call girl. I believe something more exotic is called for here and I think I know just what. Polly has no idea who I am, right?"

"It would be highly unlikely. Part of her problem is her narrow view of life. Work, gym, domesticity—that's all. She wouldn't need a secret life if she had a real one."

Shirley chuckled. "Fortunately for her I have a lewd enough imagination for both of us. Have her meet me at Rafaelo's for lunch a week from Thursday. I don't have any official activities going on in the afternoon so I think I can dine and wine her into slightly tipsy compliance and get her started. Stevie's going to be gone for Halloween, you said?"

"Mm-hmm. That's part of what she's unhappy about. No parties without hubby."

"Hmpf! Silly idea but possibly in her social circle it's true. Where's he going?"

"Steve's a CNC consultant for his company's customers. They make digital controlled looms and he's off to Changmai to help set up a new one for a factory there."

"A silk weaving company? In Changmai? Did she say what it was called?"

"I can't pronounce it in Thai but in English it's called the Magic Loom."

"No! Oh that's just too delicious. I know the owner, Mr. Sanpoomijani—very well—

and

his wife. He's a brilliant fabric designer and shrewd businessman. She's tiny, elfin delicate, demur and the most notorious seductress in Southeast Asia. I'll give them a call. Polly's initiation into her new 'secret life' may take longer than she thinks. I'll let Axel know he needs to give her three weeks off for Halloween. Steve won't be back until November 7th, at the earliest. In the meantime, I have a few phone calls to make."

*****

Lunch had been, as usual, superb and Polly was well into her third very large glass of

Chianti reserva

. She hiccupped genteelly after listening to Shirley's deliberately opaque description of the proposed 'secret life'.

"But in order to keep it secret, I need to be disguised, don't I?"

"Of course. But the disguise is dependent on the circumstances. By day you will be just another pretty girl but when the lights go out I can fix it up so that no one will have the slightest idea who you are."

"How do you do that?"

Shirley rose from the table and nodded at their waiter. He bowed in turn and simply made a notation on the bill. The mayor had a standing account at Rafaelo's and simply paid up at the end of each month. "Come out to the car with me, sugar, and I'll show you."

Arriving at a large, complacent house in the town's most expensive neighborhood, Shirley unlocked the door and let Polly inside. Leading her down the hall, they entered a room where a large examining table and three tattooed women waited.

Polly froze. "You want to tattoo me? But what about my husband . . . ."

"Oh hush" Shirley looked annoyed. "Polly, there are tattoos and there are tattoos. Show her, Megan."

A blonde with bright green streaks in her Mohawk turned off the lights and produced a black light. Turning it on, she ran it over her calf. Color leaped into view. The normal tattoos on her skin receded into invisibility beside the brilliance of the newly visible patterns.

"Ultraviolet inks, Polly. The earliest ones still showed up tan under visual light but the newest ones fade out in about a week. You tell Mr. Bingham that Shirley says you need three weeks off. Put Steven on the plane and come here. Within a week you will be covered in tattoos from head to toe and a week after that, about Halloween, no one will know except the four of us. When you enter a room naked with black lights on, all people will see are your tattoos. They won't be able to make the least connection with your daylight appearance."

"Naked? Well, I guess I could if no one will know me, but—but that much tattooing is expensive!"

"Didn't you tell Marilynn you needed a secret life that someone else paid for? Sign this contract. The tattoos will be paid for and all you have to do is show up at specified places and times for a year."

Polly read the contract carefully. It seemed fairly straightforward and did have repeated clauses promising "protection from any bodily harm and abuse" but was remarkably vague about what would be required of her at the specified times and places. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach that it would involve sex, probably lots of it. But she would have an amazing secret life! She would have an invisible costume that would allow her to do outrageous things without being recognized, so long as she operated strictly in black light. She chewed her lips, tightened her muscles, weaved from side to side but finally took a deep breath, picked up the pen and signed it.

*****

"You have to sit up while we do your boobs, Polly. The designs will be distorted if we do them while you're lying down."

Two days earlier the three tattoo artists had started with Polly's face. Working with the speed of long practice Megan and CJ had each done a side of her face, neck and one arm while Misty worked on her back. That night Polly had looked in the mirror at the elaborate patterns that now covered her. She didn't have a black light so they just looked tan but given the elaborate jungle tendrils, the birds, insects and flowers she could see, the girl knew that when the UV lights came on she would be riot of color. Now they were starting down her body and once both breasts and thighs were done they laid her on her back with her hands over her head and did shins and torso.

"Are—are you going all the way down?"

"Mm-hmm. At least as far as can be seen when you're standing up. There's no point in doing your snatch because when a dude's eating you out his nose is in the way and he usually has his eyes closed anyway."

CJ laughed. "And when he's not eating you what he's using can't see. So we just leave the tenderest parts alone. Spread your thighs. We need to do the insides. Tomorrow we'll do your ass and the backs of your legs. In another couple of days your face will be back to normal and you can go out with no one the wiser."

I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I signed that contract. But I did and now I'm bound by it. I wonder who put up the money and what they want me to do. I'm not supposed to be hurt or put in any danger so it shouldn't be too terrible but—but—I'm going to end up cheating on Stevie. I know I am. I just hope I can get through the year without him ever finding out!

*****

Halloween morning Polly answered the knock on her door to see Shirley standing on her porch.

"Go pack an overnight bag, Polly, we're going to a party."

"Now? But Halloween isn't until tonight."

"That's why I said pack a bag. We've got a ways to go and you won't be home until tomorrow night, at least. Go on, scoot!"

Bag packed, Polly got into Shirley's Mercedes and half listened to the mayor's trivial chatter until they arrived at the local airport and drove up next to a Gulfstream corporate jet that was parked discreetly off to one side. Shirley handed the car keys to an attendant and ushered her charge up the steps and into the jet's tastefully luxurious interior.

"Where—where are we going?"

"New Orleans. Your 'sponsor' is throwing a party and you will be a major part of the entertainment."

"Do—do I have to do anything but dance?"

"At the party? No. At least not this time. At other parties, perhaps. I rather suspect that the gentleman would prefer to reserve your favors for himself this trip. After all, this is your

secret

life."

Polly stared out the window as the plane took off and raced her south. Shirley wisely made no attempt to engage her in conversation but did see that her wine glass was kept filled at lunch. When they landed an extended black limousine was waiting.

Inside the car a very large Creole man in an impeccable suit greeted them. His manner was courteous and gentile but his shaved head and iron-grey, satanically pointed beard gave an ominous impression.

"Polly, dear, this is Jefferson Bigswell, publically known as Mr. B and intimately as Biggsy. He is New Orleans' most respected crime lord."

"C—crime lord?

Respected

crime lord?"

The big man chuckled deeply. "That's right, Polly. I decided as a young man that drugs were a chump's game and that dealing them was a good way to get killed. So I built up an empire of kinder, gentler illegalities. Surreptitious gambling casinos, a bit of racketeering, discreet call girl rings and a touch of loan-sharking—all these are things that my notoriously corrupt city finds amusing. And since I am scrupulous about my taxes, the federal government ignores me."

"You're my sponsor?"

"I am. I've been thinking about a UV girl for some time but none of my ladies was the least interested. So when dear Shirley," he gave the tall woman's thigh a lewd squeeze, "told me about your wish for a secret life, I was quite happy to oblige. Your duties won't be onerous. I have business interests in various cities, some of which are even legal, and have to entertain partners, investors and the occasional politician. The coming year shouldn't require you to travel more than seven or eight times. And when the year is up you are free to go, though you may give some thought about renewing—for a negotiated price, of course."

"I can get paid?"

"Polly," Shirley was stern, "you are unique. If there is another go-go trained dancer in the world who is covered in black light tattoos I don't know about her and neither does Biggsy. So of course you would get paid, rather handsomely in fact. Tonight there will be a big tip jar in front of the stage where the guests can show their appreciation and the contents are all yours. After your contract is up, you will get fees on top of the tips. But don't worry about that. Tonight you just dance and have fun."

****

The limousine pulled into the valet parking of the Harrah's New Orleans where the uniformed men in attendance almost fell on their knees welcoming Mr. Biggswell and his guests. They were ushered up the elevator and down the hall to the corner suite and bowed in. Polly was agog at the luxury of the room with its plush upholstered furniture and white coved ceilings hung with crystal chandeliers.

"Wh—where will the party be, Mr. Biggswell?"

"Downstairs in the meeting room," the large man rumbled. "The party is a charitable affair to support the New Orleans Free Clinic. Because attending supports a good cause and because the host is certifiably naughty, the entry price was a thousand dollars per head and tickets sold out within hours. There will be about three hundred fifty people there tonight. It's one of the secrets of my success, discreet crime and overt charity. It makes me popular in a whispering sort of way. And because the host is a known crime lord people have even fewer inhibitions coming here than they normally do in N'ahlins. I suspect that most of the rooms have been booked for the night and that very few of them will be occupied by married couples."

"Or at least, couples married to each other" Shirley clarified.

"Now," Mr. Biggswell continued, "Shirley will see to it that you have several costumes and make sure you are well fed with enough time to have it digested before you go on. I must go downstairs and make sure that the preparations are going as planned." He bowed slightly and departed.

Polly put her bag down on a table and sank into a plush sofa, still amazed at her surroundings. "Shirley? These costumes. They're for me to strip out of, aren't they? When I was a bikini dancer I thought about becoming a stripper and got some DVD's on how to do it. I never got any farther than practicing in front of my television but there isn't any point to my having all these tattoos if no one can see them, right?"

Shirley grinned. "You're getting excited about this, aren't you?"

"I—I am. I'm not sure this is really what I had in mind for a secret life but now that I've got it, I kind of like the idea Although—I am a little nervous about the idea of spending the night with Mr. Biggswell."

"Honey, Biggsy is a great lover. Trust Shirley on this. I've had hundreds and he's right at the top of the list. Just relax and let him take the lead and by morning you'll be thinking one night isn't enough. Now, since it

is

Halloween, let's take a look at these costumes."

*****

Polly's performance had been amazing. The lights had gone out. Black lights played over the stage and the MC had announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have someone really unique. For her world premiere, let's give it up for

Youvie!

"

As the crowd applauded she'd strutted out onto the stage and started to strip. Her first number had been restrained and teasing. She'd wagged her finger to tell those closest to the stage they were naughty but had winked and stuck her tongue out. For the second strip, the music had turned earthier and more provocative. This dance's bumps and grinds were sinuous and displayed her body's delights in all their lascivious charm. If the crowd had applauded and cheered the scintillating, sparkling dancer the first time, by the second one they were cheering, whistling and pounding their hands raw. The tip jar started to fill and not with small bills.

The third dance began with complete darkness and when the black lights came on, Polly was in center stage. This dance was raw and unrestrainedly lewd. Between flaunting herself, Polly had encouraged the audience to start pairing up. With gestures she suggested that it was time for them to go to their rooms and she made it very clear what they should be doing. By the time Polly slithered offstage, the room was bedlam.

Backstage, two heavyset security men held a satin robe for her, helped her into a pair of matching pumps and an elaborate Farfallina Papillon mask. Shirley escorted her down the back ways to the freight elevator and rushed her up to the fourteenth floor and down the hall to the Corner Suite. Inside, Mr. Biggswell greeted them in smoking jacket and pajama bottoms.

"I watched your performance on the closed circuit television, my dear. Tomorrow it will be the talk of the city. We made sure no one had a cell phone or video cam in the ballroom so your anonymity is secure but you can be sure that the entertainment sections of all the local papers and magazines will tell of nothing else. You have made me proud and I am most grateful to Madame Shirley for referring you to me."

He blew the mayor a kiss. She returned it, winked, swayed to the door and left. Polly felt her stomach start to twitch nervously as Mr. B. took her by the hand and pulled her gently toward the darkened bath.

Inside, the tub was full and steaming. A few candles lit the room gently until Biggswell threw a switch and black light flooded down. Polly's tattoos blazed up. The man undid the tie at her waist and shook the garment off her shoulders displaying the riot of color that covered her. At once Polly relaxed and once again became Youvie.

My secret life! Whatever I do is secret.

With a sideways glance at her sponsor, she slipped off the pumps and sat on the edge of the huge, claw-footed bathtub. Mr. Biggswell smiled back, undid his jacket and let the trousers fall to the floor.

Polly's eyes swept up and down the man's body. Big he may have been but there was not an ounce of fat on him.

I don't know what his workouts are but omigawd the result! And it looks like all those stories I've heard about black men are not all just stories. Steve's a stud but this man is a stallion

.

Biggswell stepped into the tub and lay down he motioned his new mistress to join him and pulled her face up onto his chest. He reached up and ran a wet finger across the soap bar and then began to run slippery circles around a nipple. The other hand first palmed and then massaged the other breast. "My dear," he breathed in her ear, "since you still have your mask on, are you still Youvie or have you switched back to dear Polly?"

Polly shuddered at the touch. "Oh, I have to still be Youvie," she whispered, "Polly would never dream of spending the night with any man but her husband. Is—is that okay?"