SEXIS WRONG

urlesque moves but it didn’t satisfy her. Spreading her legs
in a thong bikini in front of her guest-room mirror seemed to
do the trick.
She started experimenting with costumes—red evening
gowns, pink spandex, and feather boas. She became an expert
at taking off her top and tossing it effortlessly into the
air, revealing her newly firm breasts. She’d smirk and a little
spark in her eyes would go off whenever she did this maneuver,
making it even more of an event.
After four months, the time had come. I told Rose I was
throwing a party and would like her to dance there. Other
people were go-going and she was definitely ready. I knew
my friends would love her. Flattered that I would invite her,
she asked all kinds of questions, like what should she wear?
Should she show up in costume or change when she got
there? How many sets should she do? Was she to strip completely
naked? Would people be tipping? All sensible stripper
questions.
The affair was a glamorous one at a small club in Soho. A
designer friend made metallic dresses for some of my girlfriends
to wear. Some of the boys were wearing vinyl pants
or suits. Many ladies, including Rose, arrived wearing boas.
I guided The Rose to the platform and helped her up. Once
she got her balance, she squinted at the colored lights for a
millisecond before her exhibitionism kicked in, then she gyrated
like nobody’s business. Blue and red lights showered
her body as she danced. Running her hands over her black
lace catsuit, she did the wave. Slithering sensuously, she held
the wall and stuck her ass out, a move I never taught her, but
it’s a classic. Several people gathered around to watch. She
definitely looked like an older woman, but she was so sexy
that it made me wish I had an army of older strippers dancing
on platforms around the room, surrounding us in experience
and sensuality. A few men and women went up to tip her.
“She is hot!” my friend Paul said.
“There’s no way she’s 71,” my friend Val said.
“You go, girl!” her friend Daryl said.
She slid the catsuit down over her shoulders to her waist.
Then she pulled her bra straps over her shoulders, holding
the boa over her breasts. She popped the bra and threw it
into the cheering crowd, eyes glinting mischief. With much
finesse, she lifted the boa up in the air, revealing her toplessness
and rose tattoos. More cheers, applause, and dollars
thrown her way. The Rose was a hit.
Slithering sensuously, she held the
wall and stuck her ass out, a move
I never taught her, but it’s a classic.
She came with Daryl, who was there to cheer her on. Girls
were already shaking it on the platforms when she arrived.
Rose picked a seat on a red velvet couch right next to the gogo
girls and deliberately studied their moves.
“You can get changed in the back when you’re ready,” I said.
“But first, you need a stripper name!” We decided to call her
“The Rose.”
An hour later, after careful observation, The Rose changed
into this black lace catsuit with a black bra and thong underneath.
When she emerged from the dressing room, a lot of
men were staring. Not in a “who does that old broad think
she is?” way, but in a “who is she?” way.
After her dance, she covered her deflowered
breasts and thanked me profusely for the opportunity.
I could tell from the sweat on her
brow and the glow from her face that she was
buzzed from all the excitement. Several people
asked her questions and complimented her bravery. When
she got dressed, she thanked me again.
She later told me that before she got on the platform, she
was in a state of terror. But she made herself do it anyway.
A total stripper trait. The reaction from the crowd, she said,
was unexpected but inspiring. She went home very satisfied
and eager to do it again. She also told me that she had made
$12 that night. Unfolded them on her living-room couch and
stared at them for hours. Rose said she didn’t think she could
ever spend them. Not in a million years.
52 EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ABOUT SEX IS WRONG