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The spectacular views also caught their attention. The doctor, like Jack, was transfixed by the view from the living room of Alcatraz. Motioning the couple to our bedroom, his lovely wife commented on the view of the square from our bedroom.
As we turned, I panicked. No!! The butt plug that I had found earlier was still on my night stand. I glanced at my three guests. The couple was discussing the size of the room and were oblivious to my misdemeanor. Benito meanwhile, looked directly at me with a glib smirk on his face. I blushed deeply as I shifted where I stood to block his view of it. When the three of them exited the bedroom, I stayed behind for a moment in order to hide the plug, just in case they decided to return for a second look.
I despised Benito even more after that. Slime bucket. After all, this was our home. We live here and if I had a butt plug, it was my business. This was our private world; a world that I did not want Benito to be a part of.
We toured the rest of the condo, which included the measurement of closet sizes. I got the feeling this couple was downsizing, perhaps moving into the city from a larger home in the suburbs. As I walked them to the door, they politely thanked me for the intrusion, and I was happy to be left alone again to continue my day.
When my phone beeped closer to noon, I assumed it was Jack. To my surprise, it was Lexi, our stripper friend. Being a late-night dancer, she was probably just waking up. Today was going to be the first of our dance lessons. Strange as it might sound, I was a tad nervous. I had taken dance lessons as a kid, so I wasn’t terrible, but I certainly didn’t know all the classic stripper moves. I mean, those girls’ bodies were so flexible. Ordinarily I would never have done something like this, but I was glad Jack encouraged me. I let myself imagine a future show where I would be showcasing for my husband, his slutty dancing stripper wife. Jack would get everything that he paid for. I was glad she suggested we do it down in her condo.
I had a quick salad and carrot soup, put on my Lululemon exercise outfit, and off I went. I found her condo and stood nervously at her door before knocking. Lexi answered greeting me with a smile and a warm welcome. She immediately put me at ease.
Her condo was furnished nicely, pretty blue walls with modern white furniture. Lexi was dressed in tight exercise shorts and a t-shirt, casual and comfortable. She didn’t waste much time, after all, we were paying her to do this. Picking up a remote, the condo was suddenly filled with loud vibrating music. In the centre of the living room, she had one of those portable stripper poles. I knew they existed, but it was my first time seeing one. I was a little shy at first, not wanting to look like a loser, but she was so reassuring I found myself relaxing. I was learning to love it. She would describe a move, demonstrate, and then I would copy her. This was much more difficult than I thought. A gentle critique would surely follow Lexi’s words of encouragement, but with her talent and my determination, I was well on my way to rocking my husband’s world.
I learned the grinding move, where I would draw a circle with my hips. Lexi kept reminding me to keep my back arched and upright as much as possible, using her hands to pronounce my arch. The key was not to lean forward. She illustrated that turning around must be done like clockwork, at a slow speed, so slow that your lover barely notices. And that arm movements are essential when spinning around. Gracefully and with precision, this really was an art form.
I had to bite my tongue when Lexi taught me about the classic ‘slap your ass’ move. I couldn’t help but think of the number of times Jack had taken his hand to my ass. With this move, I had to look back over my shoulder, coquettishly, then stroke and slap my bottom.
Of course, there were also specific lap dance moves. This was where my lesson turned, shall we say, interesting. Lexi pulled over a dining room chair and asked me to sit down. At first I thought, great, we were taking a little break. Then I clued in, she was going to perform a lap dance for me. Lexi took her hands and spread my legs apart. She said that was how men sat and she gently positioned herself close to me, nestling onto my inner thighs. While the music played, she seductively danced for me.
Her song was over. Now it was my turn to perform my first lap dance, and Lexi became my male customer. I slowly danced for her as the music and my libido guided my every move. I pushed my breasts toward Lexi’s face, or what would be Jack’s face. She showed me how he would be able to nestle his nose into my cleavage. We were enjoying the moment, and then, the music suddenly ended, and our lap dance was over.
Lexi grabbed my hips and moved me aside as she stood up. We were moving on to the proper use of a chair. I sat back down on the chair and Lexi stroked my legs and moved on to various body slides. She had more to show me, so we decided to save those for the next week’s lesson when we had more time. I think I passed my first class, and the teacher liked the student.
Lexi was a gracious host and politely offered me an iced tea. I was grateful, dancing was exercise after all. We engaged in a little light conversation, and I was impressed with her quick wit and articulate nature. Yes, I liked her.
Next on my agenda for the day was to meet my friend Holly for a late lunch. We decided to meet at a Starbucks, for a tuna wrap and latte. It brought back an old memory. I remembered the first time Holly and I tried coffee. We were about eleven years old, and fairly new friends. Coffee was such an adult thing to drink. We weren’t sure if my parents would allow us to make some, so we made it while my Mom was taking a nap. I remember, we searched everywhere on the packaging for instructions, but there were none. Somehow we figured it out, and not surprisingly, we found the taste bitter. We added sugar, some milk and giggled while we drank it. Then, my Mom woke up, and the first thing she said was ‘I smell coffee. Who made coffee?’ Holly and I confessed, knowing we were busted. Within a month, Holly was addicted to caffeine.
We laughed about that story for years, and in a way, it was a sign of what was to come. We, like most other teenagers, experimented over the coming years, and then shortly thereafter, Holly couldn’t do without. There was the first time we smoked a cigarette. Then the first time we tried weed.
She was also the first girl I ever kissed. There were no crushy feelings between us. We just felt comfortable experimenting, therefore did so with each other. She was my BFF. I was there to give her a hug the night she lost her virginity, and she was there to give me a hug the night I lost mine. We had a close friendship right up until I went off to San Francisco State University, and she enrolled in the City College. Soon, her addictions started getting the best of her.
“Do you remember the first time we tried coffee?” I asked her, when Holly strolled into the Starbucks more than twenty minutes late.
“Of course,” she responded, “I still put too much sugar and milk in it, just like then.”
We caught up on each other’s lives. I was careful not to go on about how wonderful things were with Jack. When we talked about Holly’s situation, she was more open than usual. She admitted to still using, but with real conviction suggested she’d actually started researching rehab facilities. She just needed to wait for the timing to be right. I’ve heard that one before.
As we started to say our goodbyes, the inevitable question came up: “So babe, seeing as you’re rich now in that fancy condo of yours, could you spare a little extra cash for me?”
“You know why I won’t do that, Hol.”
“So, you’re gonna send me out there, where I have to suck some idiot’s dick, so I could sleep on his couch?”
“You had to say it that way, didn’t you?” I scolded her.
I stood my ground and refused to give her the money. Moreover, I convinced her to come spend the night. Maybe seeing what a normal existence was like would trigger her to finally book a stay at one of those rehab clinics. I knew Jack
wouldn’t mind. He was easy going, and always supportive of my friends.
We made our way over to the condo, and the night was lovely. We ate and had some wine. Jack crashed early. I gave Holly an extra pair of my pajamas and a thick wool blanket. Strangely, she felt more comfortable sleeping on the couch than the spare den with the pull-out couch.
The next day, we let her sleep in and spend the day while Jack and I went off to work. I texted our house sitter a couple of times, and all seemed well. Until I got home, that is.
My heart sank the minute I walked into our condo. Holly was gone; I knew it from the second I walked in. She was gone, and it was obvious she’d rummaged around before leaving. What could she steal? What could she steal? Tears were already forming in my eyes when I looked into our bedroom. FUCK!!
I wish she had found my jewelry box instead. But no, she looked in the top drawer of Jack’s nightstand, and that’s exactly where he kept his watches. No, no, no, no…
The next hour was a blur. I didn’t dare call the cops. I wouldn’t, I just couldn’t, do that to Holly – despite everything. Somehow deep down in my heart, I knew Jack would be okay. He was more than okay. He was a dream. I apologized, and yet, Jack kept reassuring me that I had nothing to apologize for, that I had done nothing wrong. I still felt like shit, but at least Jack said all the right things. How many men would have been as forgiving and understanding as my adorable husband was?
Lesson learned: in a moment of weakness, the allure of a drug can supersede the love of a friend.
Chapter 8. Sadist in the Building
Jack’s View:
Meanwhile, development work started on the street-level shops and services planned for the first floor of our building. Benito had designed it well. The full gym including swimming pool and sauna area were completed earlier, as he knew those amenities would attract buyers such as Canace and Shanyn. Now that the building was further along, and almost eighty percent occupied, he turned his attention to the commercial side.
