You are seated at a candlelit table next to the tiny stage of the exclusive nightclub named Confessions, a secret venue, where only a member can invite a guest. Even the tattooed artists, musicians and writers who form your crowd have only heard rumors about this place. It took more than a year of detective work and dropping the right hints with the right people to finally get yourself here tonight.
A waiter brings you a glass of pinot noir. Before you've had a sip, a single spotlight illuminates the stage and the chattering crowd hushes. A woman steps into the curtain of light and you gasp with recognition, and not just because she resembles a 30-something Sophia Lauren. She's wearing a scarlet dress with a plunging neckline and a slit on each side all the way up to the bottom curve of her muscular ass. That's a tango dress. She's certainly built like a dancer. The slits reveal her long slender legs, and her ass, wrapped in scarlet, is a firm, ripe cherry. You notice she hasn't shaved her underarms, and the sight stirs something primitive in the basement of your brain.
It seems as if everyone in the place has leaned forward, eager to hear what this elegant beauty is going to confess. She's holding a microphone in one hand and the other hand is wrapped around the neck of an uncorked bottle of wine. She tells the crowd her name is Magdalena, but she doesn't raise her eyes.
"When I was eighteen," she says and hesitates, then tilts back her head and takes a swig of wine. "When I was eighteen..." She shakes her head and lowers the mike and starts to step out of the spotlight. The audience yells encouragement. "No! Don't go! Please! Tell us! We love you! You're adorable! We want to hear! We won't judge you! We want to know!"
Magdalena stays; but hangs her head as she whispers into the handheld mike. "When I was eighteen... I seduced my stepdad." She lifts her eyes to read people's reactions, ready to flee. A man in a very sissy voice says, "I did that too, when I was twenty-one." The audience laughs. The tension has broken, and Magdalena looks ready to go on. But first, she searches the audience until her big dark eyes lock on yours.
You're
her chosen confessor! She's going to tell her secrets to
you.
You nod and gulp.
"Mom was away at a conference for the weekend, and I got the crazy idea to sexually tease my stepdad. I was going to show him that he was not my boss, not my
real
dad. He'd only been in my life a few months, and I didn't have to take orders from him! I was going to make him wish he'd never grounded me for skipping high school and getting drunk with my friends. I was eighteen! It's not like I was a middle schooler! Let him find out how much power
I
could wield over
him
. Because when it came to my looks—my body"— she ran a hand down one luscious breast — "Every day I saw my power to grab the attention of men.
I
was the boss!"
"Honey, you
still
got it!" the gay man shouts, and everyone laughs again.
"Of course, I wasn't planning to take the sexual tease too far! I'm not evil. Or I didn't think so, then. Maybe I found out I
am
evil; I don't know. I just wanted to make my stepdad so horny he'd wish he was nineteen again!"
"The thing is... for a 40-something art history professor, he was damn good-looking! Tall, with broad shoulders, thick salt-and-pepper hair, square chin, blue eyes. He'd been a lacrosse star at Yale, and he was still in great shape. In public, women were endlessly checking him out."
She hesitates again. Takes another swig of wine. "And I could never tell anyone—not even my best friend—that I
envied
my mom when I heard them through their bedroom wall, really getting it on. I'd hear these muffled screams that I knew was my mom coming, with her head buried in a pillow. And sometimes she'd just go wild like she was getting fucked by superman or something, like he was giving her a super-orgasm!
Those
screams would go on and on. So, I knew my stepdad could get a lot more passionate in bed than he ever showed me and the rest of the world. He always acted so reserved, so buttoned up!
"He'd entered my life just after my eighteenth birthday, at a time when I felt achingly lonely and
way
hornier than I knew how to handle. And even though men of all ages reacted to my looks like I had knocked the wind out of them, inwardly I was an insecure wreck. What do they call it these days, "socially awkward"? I would flirt with strangers at the mall or on the subway, just to exert my sexual power, but I still felt lonely as hell. I'd had sex exactly twice, once each with two inept boyfriends. I'd been without a dad in my life since I was five, and I so badly needed my stepdad's male attention. But he wouldn't give it. Ever. Not even in a negative way, to criticize me. He was this mild-mannered Clark Kent art history professor, with his nose always buried in books. And I figured I just wasn't lovable enough to deserve his consideration.
"But my mom and he had this...
unh
... this sexual
chemistry
.
She
turned him into Superman. God, how I envied the looks he gave
her
! Her power to do that to him; the alchemy of her beauty. Mom really was so physically exquisite—the kind of beauty an art scholar could truly appreciate and give himself to."
"Darling, you are a
masterpiece
!" a woman from the audience calls out. There is a smattering of applause and murmurs of agreement.
Magdalena shrugs, deflecting the compliment. She goes on, "I'd gotten into..." She's still gazing right into your eyes. "I've absolutely never told anyone this." Her eyes are dark and soulful and hypnotic; it's impossible to look away. She takes a deep breath and lets it out in a sigh. "I'd gotten into... fingering my pussy while listening to them go at it through my bedroom wall, pretending
I
was on the receiving end of his passion. By the time my mom was muffling her screams in a pillow, I was pressing
two
pillows over my face. I can't tell you how many times my stepdad gave
two
women
at once
a long string of orgasms, and he never even had a clue!
"Of course, I felt totally guilt-ridden and ashamed of doing that, and I tried to stop, but it always felt so damn
good
! And since I could count on them having sex nearly every night, supplying the soundtrack to my fantasies of receiving my stepdad's devoted attention, I soon found myself in the habit of... well, really... the
addiction
... of
needing
that big orgasm, that huge release. I'd find myself thinking about it during the day at school, and the more I tried to
not
think about it, the more I'd think about it and the more aroused I'd get, which would make me despise myself for being such a shameful slut, not to mention a wicked daughter. But, somehow, all that
shame
would turn me on even stronger—almost like it was an essential stimulant in my excitement,
like caffeine in coffee
, and I'd go through a whole school day loop-de-looping with lust for my stepdad. And this had being going on all semester!
"Anyway, one afternoon, with my mom out of town, I paraded into the living room wearing just a T-shirt and panties. My stepdad was on the couch, shirtless, in sweatpants, his head buried in a coffee-table art book—no surprise—trying to pretend he was not even noticing me. I could smell a trace of his underarm deodorant because he always wore too much. I put on a hip-hop track with a deep, throbbing beat—not even asking permission to invade his space with loud music—and suddenly I'm on full erotic display, 'innocently' dancing, my gyrating ass toward him, my torso snaking in sensuous lines. But my stepdad wouldn't look up, not even in outrage at the dirty lyrics, as the rapper chanted, over and over: 'Check out da girl with da bubble butt! She be teasin'! What a teen-age slut! Don't just
gaze
at dat ass and let it go to
waste
! Pin her down; make her give you a taste!'
