Hi everyone! This could be considered a companion piece to my series "A Tribute to my Daddy." It deals with another character's emotions and motivations. Anyway, it's a strictly lesbian story that hopefully I'll be working on more as time permits. If you take the time to read it, please vote, even if you only decide to give it a 1. Also, any feedback is appreciated, either anonymous or direct. Thank you!
*
If only he knew what I was up to, I thought. He'd have a heart attack. Of course, when I was having this fleeting thought, my head was buried between the legs of a gorgeous girl who I'd just met. More specifically, a gorgeous blonde twenty-something who worked at the strip club a few blocks from work. After all, we girls have to have our fun, don't we?
I should probably explain who "he" is. That would be my husband. We've been married almost twenty years, and for most of it, I'd been pretty happy. But on my fortieth birthday, back in January, one of my girlfriends, Jenny -- the innocent kind of girlfriend, mind you -- had decided that I needed a wild night of partying, to help me recapture the old days, before I was, in her words "growing mature."
So, we put on the sort of clothes we would have put on when we were going out trolling for men in college: short skirts, low-cut tops, slutty heels, the works. After we hit the third bar, most of the places in town were closing, but neither one of us felt like going home. "There's one more place open," she had told me, and with those words, we had ended up at a fairly sleazy strip joint at about two in the morning. It was a Thursday, and hardly anyone was there. If we got any funny looks when we paid our cover charge, I didn't notice them. In fact, from the moment I walked in, my eyes were on the girl dancing.
She was hot. There's no other way to put it. Maybe she wasn't a stereotypical Hollywood sort of beautiful, but she had sex appeal. She was shorter than I expected a stripper to be, with black hair cut in a bob, and perky, but natural, breasts "Let's hear it for Amber," the announcer said as she walked off stage. I gave Jenny a look along the lines of "why on Earth are we here?" but she just smiled at me, and bought me another drink. It was my birthday after all.
I think I had a few more drinks before I made it into the cab. On the ride home, all I could think of was that these women, or as I really thought of them, these slutty girls, stirred something in me that my husband didn't. Sure, he was a good provider. Sure, he took excellent care of me and my daughter, who'd be off to college in the fall. But something wasn't clicking in our sex life anymore. It wasn't as if we weren't trying; we still had sex frequently, and we both tried hard to include new things and keep what passion we had alive. I had to be honest with myself though: after my birthday, I wasn't sure that I didn't want to see what girls like Amber had to offer.
After that, my habit started as innocently as it could. I'd go into work an hour early, work through lunch, and then head out about an hour and half earlier than I normally did. I'd spend those ninety glorious minutes at the strip club, ogling the girls, slipping them a few bucks here and there. The really cute ones -- like Amber -- might have gotten more than a few. I wasn't spending enough money to make my husband suspicious, just enough to keep the girls intrigued. I'd read somewhere that most strippers would rather be with a woman; maybe they were sick of all the male attention. Or maybe the statistic was a lie and I was just doing some wishful thinking.
On my fourth or fifth visit to the club, Amber finally came up to me. "I see you here all the time, babe, and I'm beginning to wonder." I swallowed, a little nervous, worried that my secret was about to come out. That I wanted to see what would happen with the little pixie.
"Wonder what? If the ribs are really good enough to keep a woman like me coming back? Or if there's something else?" I tried to play it cool, but flirtatious. If I could play my cards right with this girl, I was going to. I'll be honest; the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to feel a woman licking my pussy, rather than my husband's well-meaning, but less than gentle attempts at it. I can't help it if the man grows stubble faster than he can shave. Just one time, I wanted to know what a woman's touch felt like.
Amber rolled her eyes at me. "You don't have to play coy. I know you've been tipping me more than the other girls. But, I have to say, I think I know your type. You've been married for fifteen, maybe twenty years -- even though you don't look old enough -- have a couple of kids, boys probably. Mothers of girls don't typically come round here. They get the worst ideas." She grinned. "I proved my mom right years ago." Her smile was something else. Two rows of white teeth, glinting in the dim lights of the club. "Maybe you kissed a girl in college, maybe you didn't, but what you want is a one-time thing with a girl you don't have to care about."
Her self-righteous speech had made me a little angry, not just because I felt it was wrong, but because I was worried it might actually be right. "Actually, I have a daughter. One daughter, going to college in the fall. And you're right, I've never done anything with a girl, at least not yet. I'm not sure what I want, but I'm not the type of woman to just...dabble in this sort of thing. Don't insult me."
She smiled at me again, with just a hint of a patronizing look in her eyes. "Well, if you're serious about wanting some grade-A pussy, I have a friend that might be just right. She loves being a girl's first time. I think she'd absolutely adore you. I could introduce you?"
I nodded, half in eagerness, half in disappointment. I didn't want just some girl, no matter how hot she was or how good she could make me feel. I wanted Amber, then and there. I just wanted to suck on her tits, dive between her legs, feel her fingers slip inside me. And, this conversation had left me confused about her. Was she straight, and trying to put me off on another girl out of compassion, or was I too old for her, or did she just not want to get involved with a patron, or what? What did she want, and how could I give it to her. "I'd like to meet her. What's she look like?"
"You know that blonde dancer with the long hair, Olivia? It's her sister. She doesn't work here, but I've been over to her place a couple of times. I left in a much better mood than I went in, if you know what I'm saying. I'm not quite sure how to describe her, but to be honest, she licks pussy like it's keeping her alive."
