“You want me to take this off?” She asked.
The girl’s hands clutched her tight lycra shirt, hugging it protectively against her bosom as she danced. Hoots and cat-calls came from the group of guys packed into chairs and sofas around her. To their delight, she began to work the thin material up her body, exposing a toned belly, and above, the bottom curves of her satin bra.
In the background, Mia Parisi quietly arranged trays of cold cuts and sliced fruit. After catering a number of bachelor parties, she was used to ignoring this scene.
And secretly, overt displays of sexuality made her nervous. A dancer was clearly comfortable with her body, and confident enough to tease men with it. In Mia’s mind, it took a woman to do that, and in many ways she still felt like a girl. So, all things considered, it wasn’t too hard for her to tune out the hubbub.
But then the room fell silent. Mia glanced up.
The music had slowed, and the dancer was swaying like a willow in the wind. Her top was off, and her hand was traveling slowly across her upper body. Moving gently, almost in slow motion, she touched her bra, running her fingers across the curved satin cup. Then she touched the flesh above, tracing a little pattern across her breast.
Her fingers found the bra strap, and followed it upwards. She caressed her smooth shoulder, moving in little circles, finally easing the strap off her body. As it fell, the bra sagged under the weight of her breast, her cleavage straining against it's compromised support.
The men were enraptured, their cat-calls momentarily forgotten. The dancer basked in the warm, electric silence. Sensing the collective trance her body had induced, she smiled.
The smile was contagious. Mia found herself grinning, too. She forgot about the catering for a moment, letting the energy of the room wash over her. It gave Mia an odd feeling in her belly – a nervous warmth, which spread up to her chest, and down between her legs.
But something else was there too, swimming in her insides. Something painful. Mia probed it, searching for the source, scanning the scene before her. As she watched, the dancer continued. She was half-naked now in front of an audience of strangers, and yet her every move was full of womanly confidence.
And just then, Mia knew what she was feeling.
It was envy.
~o~
In the hotel hallway, an athletic young man staggered, grunting with strain.
The cooler, laden with drinks and ice, was surprisingly heavy in Brendan Green’s hands. He was also trying to balance a stack of red plastic cups on top, and they wobbled dangerously back and forth as he walked.
Brendan stopped in front of a sign that read ‘Bachelor Party – Invite Only’. He had seen that sign hundred times working as a caterer. Tonight, though, it took on new meaning. Soon Brendan himself was getting married, to his beautiful fiancé, Mia.
But Brendan didn’t really want a Bachelor Party. Secretly, he was afraid of them, afraid of what he might do. He had seen it happen, many times. After a few drinks, the groom inevitably wants the dance to turn into a lap dance. And the lap dance sometimes turns into...other things.
No need to tempt fate, Brendan thought. Because after all, a dancer was deliberately hired to tempt the groom into one more romp. It was her job. And Brendan rarely saw a stripper turn the sexual advances down – it came with the territory.
Suddenly, a strange image flashed in Brendan’s head. It was of Mia, his fiancé, the caterer. She was at a Bachelor Party. But instead of being in the background, she was in front of the men. She was the dancer. Her clothes were off, she was surrounded by strangers, and she was being coaxed into...other things.
Brendan shook his head, dissipating the image.
“What the hell was that?” He said to himself. A fantasy? Or a premonition? It had the qualities of both, and it left a trace of excitement and fear in his blood.
For a moment, Brendan was almost afraid to open the door in front of him. He knew Mia was on the other side of it. And he knew she was probably behind the tables, arranging cheese and crackers, just like always.
But what if she wasn’t? There was something eerily real about the image he had seen.
He laughed out loud. It was probably just his over-active imagination. But as he reached for the doorknob, his hand shook just a little.
~o~
Brendan lugged the cooler inside the Event Room, his eyes adjusting to the dim lighting.
Music pulsed. The dancer moved rhythmically in front of the seated men. Both her bra straps were off, and as she danced she carefully worked to keep the cups from falling forward, showing just enough flesh to keep the guys excited, but little enough to keep them frustrated and wanting more.
Against his will, Brendan’s body was aroused. Such overt, confident expressions of sexuality were an incredible turn-on for many men, and Brendan was not immune. All the more reason not to have a Bachelor Party of his own, he thought.
Then his mind went back to the image he had seen in the hallway, of Mia dancing like that. He smiled. Watching a real dancer at work, the idea became absurd. The dancer was so confident in her sexuality. She held the attention of the room in her hands like a scarf, twisting and sliding it across the curves of her body. Mia just didn’t have that kind of stuff in her nature. She wasn’t a prude, just...girlish.
Where was Mia? Brendan’s attention shifted away from the dancer, peering into the shadowy rear of the room. And sure enough, Mia was there, like always.
And yet, something was different. Brendan looked closer.
Mia hovered behind the catering tables, but her attention wasn’t on the food. She was watching the scene in front of her. Her big green eyes were half-lidded, as if in a hazy dream. Her body swayed gently back and forth, a muted mimic of the dancer’s gyrations.
For a moment Brendan almost didn’t recognize his fiancée. The look in her eyes, the way her body was moving - she looked like...a woman? It was an entrancing sight, and he momentarily forgot about the heavy cooler in his hands, and just admired her.
Mia’s beauty had always been of the ‘quiet but stunning’ variety. She didn’t wear a lot of makeup or revealing clothes. Tonight her long, silky black hair was pulled back in a functional bun, held in place with a pencil. For catering work she dressed in formal slacks and a blouse, a white apron over all.
But the slacks couldn’t completely hide the toned legs - the dark material hugged the tight curves of her thighs and rump. The blouse did a good job of leaving her arms and belly a mystery, but it couldn’t hide the swell of her bosom under the apron. The minimal makeup only seemed to accentuate her heavy lips, her olive skin, and the liquid green of her eyes. Her Mediterranean ancestry had flowered beautifully in her body.
Yes, Brendan thought, Mia had a body built for sin – which made her sweet, innocent nature all the more difficult to understand. But it wasn’t really her fault - Mia had been raised in a strictly religious home, gone to private school, worn a uniform for most of her adolescence, the whole bit. And though she had grown apart from her history in many ways, sex and her body remained areas of quiet tension.
