I've spent every Friday and Saturday evening over the last three months sitting at a small table near the corner of the stage at the Magic Dancer Club. I have a few drinks and enjoy the show as the various ladies strut their stuff on the big stage. It's a very nice club if you happen to be into exotic dancing. It's an upscale club with an affluent white-collar clientele. The floor is covered with expensive deep-pile carpeting, except in the lobby, which has fancy marble flooring. The tables are fine oak with comfortable matching high-back chairs. The place reeks of money. Hell, a domestic draft beer served to your table by one of their sexy little bikini-clad cocktail waitresses will cost you six bucks plus tip.
The stage is a large curved four-foot high platform tastefully decorated with
genuine-artificial
plants, soft lighting, and red-velvet curtains with white-lace overlays.
The whole place has a quiet, relaxed atmosphere unlike any other club I have ever been in. Even the music the ladies dance to is soft; almost background music. You can actually carry on a conversation at the height of the show and not have to raise your voice to be heard above the music. But with those sexy ladies prancing around on the stage, who the hell would want to be talking? If any patron becomes a little too loud or does the unthinkable and makes an ill-mannered remark to one of the dancers, they are warned to control themselves,
once
. A rather large bouncer; or late-night host as Magic Dancer calls them, issues the second warning to them as he escorts the patron out the door. There is no such thing as a third warning. Actually, when you think about it, there is no second warning because you don't get that until you have already been escorted out the door, after paying your tab of course.
#
Three months ago I paid my first visit to the place with a wealthy client of mine. I didn't even know the place existed prior to that evening. My client said she liked the place and wanted to close our deal there over a few drinks. What could I do except join her? Hell, if she wanted to pay my company two-hundred thousand bucks to redesign her lingerie company's ad campaign, who was I to tell her I didn't like strip clubs?
We closed the deal over twelve-dollar a piece martinis in about an hour. My client had to leave shortly thereafter to catch a flight back to LA. I would have left with her, probably should have, but something on the stage had me riveted to the chair and kept me there for another three hours.
That something was a majestic lady by the name of Megan Devall. She was on stage as my client departed. Megan did a six-minute dance routine once each hour from 9:00 p.m. until 1:00 a.m. I stayed to watch them all.
I could not have cared less about the other nine exotic dancers performing that evening. Don't get me wrong; they were all nice looking gals and did some pretty sexy routines, but Megan had moves the others could only dream of.
Her moves were not all she had going for her. She was absolutely the most gorgeous woman I had even seen. She had a long sensuous body with curves enough to tempt a preacher from behind his pulpit. When Megan danced her long slender arms and legs flowed like long silk drapes on a gentle breeze. She was the perfection of motion.
Each of her four routines was different. Her final number for the evening was and still is my personal favorite. I've never been able to determine if it was the way she danced to that particular music, or if it was the outfit she was wearing. I guess it really doesn't matter because I've seen her perform that number at least a dozen times now and whatever it is about it still sets my heart ablaze every time. On nights Megan dances that routine, she usually saves it for last because she knows it sends the patrons out the door wanting more.
As soon as her music for the routine starts, the entire club becomes quieter than a mute-librarians' convention. When the first note of Santino and Johnny's "
Sleep Walk
" is struck, all eyes are riveted on the stage and Megan's gorgeous body, as she performs a dance worthy of jealousy from a prima ballerina with the Metropolitan Ballet Company.
The outfit Megan wears for her "
Sleep Walk
" routine is the real turn-on. Her well-tanned flawless skin makes her white-lace bra and panties almost glow. To these, she adds a white-lace garter and white nylons with a feather-pattern lace up the sides, reminiscent of a white peacock. She does this dance on white, four-inch spike heels. Now add to all this her waist-length nearly white, blonde hair and you'll have a fair picture of what I consider to be the most luscious hunk of femme fatale ever to grace this fine planet of ours.
#
I was at my usual table last Friday evening drooling over the beautiful Megan as she gave an unusually superb performance of the "
Sleep Walk
" dance. After her number ended all the patrons were preparing to leave. It takes them several minutes to get themselves together enough to leave after Megan's finale; seems they always have rather protruding lumps in their trousers when she dances. I remained seated, mesmerized as always, to watch her until she would finally disappear behind the plush red-velvet curtains. I didn't want to miss a single step that woman took, on or off the stage.
Friday night, she didn't disappear as usual. She stood peeking around the edge of the curtain watching everyone leave. I was the only non-employee in the Magic Dancer at the moment, but that was about to change. Godzilla, the late-night host, was on his way toward me to escort me from the premises.
Megan stepped out from behind the curtain. "She's okay, Jake. She's with me."
"Sorry, Megan. I didn't know," the monster replied, returning to his other closing-time duties.
I was dumbfounded. I didn't know what to say to the most exquisite creature on Earth when she approached my table. Only thing I could think of was, "Thank you." Now, I'm sure that must have sounded really eloquent.
"No problem. I wanted a chance to talk to you," she said in a voice so sexy it nearly melted the elastic off my panties.
"Me?" I tried to say without stumbling over the one word. I wasn't very successful. Besides, sitting there with my mouth hanging wide open was probably a dead giveaway. I guess the sight of her standing right beside me, in her sexy white-lace lingerie had me all flustered.
"Yes, you," she replied. "I've been seeing you here almost every weekend for the last couple months."
"Ah, no Ma'am. That's
every
weekend. I wouldn't miss one of your shows," I managed to get out. "I've seen you perform all four of your shows twenty-six times so far."
"My shows? What about the other girls," she smiled.
"Not to sound rude, but I only come to see you dance," I replied.
"Why, thank you; I'm honored," she purred. "May I sit down?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, please do." I nearly fell over trying to pull a chair out from under the table for her.
"Let me grab my robe. I'll be right back," she said turning toward the backstage ramp. "Now don't you leave before I get back."
"I wouldn't dream of it," I replied. Hell, Godzilla, and all his cohorts couldn't have dragged me outta there right then.
A minute later Megan returned wearing a short white-silk kimono with a curving silver dragon embroidered over each breast. She let it hang open when she sat down next to me. I could see, among other things, conversation on my part was going to be difficult at best.
"Ah, can I buy you a drink?" I asked. That's the normal line in places like that and the only thing I could think of to say at the moment.
"No thank you. I don't accept drinks from customers. They sometimes get the idea you owe them something if you do," she explained. "But I'd love to buy you one."
"Sure, if you think the walkin'-talkin' bulldozer over there will let me stay long enough," I replied tossing a glance in the late-night host's direction.
"It's okay as long as you're with one of us. Hold on a second. Hey, Jake, would you mind asking Connie to make me a drink and one for my friend?" she called out.
"Sure thing, Ma'am," the huge man replied with a big grin.
Moments later, he personally delivered the drinks to us. "Here ya go, ladies," he said, placing them in front of us. "Just let me know if you need anything else."
