One Night at Rachael's

Carol and I passed by "Rachael's Orlando" about once a week on our way to our favorite lunch spot, The Porch. We always joked about it because honestly, eating steak while a stripper dances over your ribeye seems like a strange combo.

Rachael's boasts an award-winning restaurant supposedly on par with the world's finest steakhouses, but everyone knows the real draw: adult entertainment in the form of female strippers. It is conveniently located on the way to Orlando International Airport (MCO) just off the Turnpike.

We're pretty much homebodies, Carol and I. But one night, after several glasses of cabernet on the back screen porch, the conversation drifted, like it tends to do when you're relaxed, drinking good wine and the stars are out.

We got to talking about whether I'd ever been to a strip club. I admitted I had, but it was way back in my twenties, it had been decades. I considered most strippers mercenaries and only in it for the money.

I don't remember exactly how the conversation turned to Rachael's, but it did.

I asked Carol if she'd ever been to a strip club, male or female. She laughed and said that back when she was a model in her twenties, working the Orlando circuit, there were times between shows when the Chip-n-Dale dancers would perform at the same venue. I asked her if that ever turned her on.

She smirked. "It was a damn shame. Most of the male dancers were gay."

I laughed. "Well, that would take the edge off the fantasy, wouldn't it?"

Then wine talking, I got a crazy idea. I raised an eyebrow and said, "How about you and I go to Rachael's this Friday as a couple and have dinner, I dare you."

Carol rolled her eyes. "OMG, that place? You're kidding, right?"

"C'mon," I nudged. "A fillet, club music... maybe a little harmless fun?"

"More like fake boobs and dollar bills," she said, but her smile gave her away.

We both laughed, but I saw it, that spark in her eye. The same one from our early days, back when she'd say yes just to see what would happen. Like the time we stumbled into that Aqua drag show in Key West or took salsa lessons on a whim in Tampa even though we had two left feet between us.

She leaned back in her chair, twirling her wine glass. "You're really serious, aren't you?"

"As a heart attack."

She took another sip, eyes narrowed playfully. "You just want to see if you can handle seeing silicone and stilettos."

I chuckled. "I'm more interested in the steak. The... atmosphere is just a garnish."

"Uh huh. Sure." She glanced into the yard like she was considering it. Then she looked back at me. "Alright. Friday date-night. But we dress nicely, no cargo shorts and no flip flops."

"I wouldn't dream of it, but you don't have to disrespect my cargo pants" I said, jokingly, grinning like a teenager.

We made plans for the following Friday.

That evening, Carol stepped out of the closet in a little black dress I hadn't seen in a while. "Too much?" she asked, smoothing it down.

"Too much, hell? It's perfect. You'll be the best-looking woman in the club by a mile."

She really did looked amazing, and she always flattered me by wearing the sexy panties and bras that I purchased for her.

"I better be. I'm not sharing my husband with some girl named Destiny or Diamond."

I pulled on my jacket, freshly ironed for the occasion, and we hugged and kissed. "Let's go shock our routines."

Rachael's was not far from our house. When we arrived, the valet opened Carol's door before I could even shoot her my "You sure about this?" look. She stepped out with more confidence than I expected, and I loved that about her. Always full of surprises.

Inside, the place was not what either of us imagined. The lighting was soft and ambient, more five-star lounge than sleazy dive. Jazz mixed with a steady bass thump. Men in pressed shirts sat at linen-covered tables while female dancers in six-inch heels worked the room like choreographed athletes.

We were led to a table near the stage but far enough away to eat in peace. Our server, who could've doubled as a soap opera star, handed us menus that felt more like high-end restaurant wine lists.

"Okay, this is not what I expected," Carol said, scanning the options. "It's like Cirque du Soleil with lap dances."

"I told you. Award-winning steak. And Destiny is surprisingly flexible."

She snorted into her wine glass.

"Careful love, cork in the ripple? I knew the name Destiny would get a laugh."

Dinner was excellent, Carol had the filet; I went for the ribeye. We sipped wine, people-watched, and traded commentary like undercover critics. Occasionally, a dancer would wander over and make conversation. One redhead even flirted with both of us.

Carol leaned in and whispered, "She's got a great pitch. You should hire her to sell cloud services."

By the second glass of wine, we were both laughing more freely. It was weirdly... fun. More like an adventure or a shared secret.

"You're enjoying this," Carol said, swirling her wine.

"You are too."

"Maybe a little," she admitted. "It's kind of fun. Strangely empowering."

I gave Carol a slow once-over, letting my eyes wander up and down her curves. "Classy," I teased, my voice low.

"Hey, if I'm doing this my love," she said, gently poking my leg with one of her spiked heels, sporting a wicked grin, "I'm doing it my way."

Two drinks soon turned into three, and the air between us shifted, we grew bolder. That's when we met Alyssa, a dancer who approached us like she belonged to the room. Tall, radiant, stacked, oozing confidence and glitter-dusted skin, she leaned into Carol with a sexy smile.

"You've got an amazing energy," Alyssa purred, her gaze unyielding. "You'd kill it on stage."

Carol let out a laugh, one part flattered, one part slightly disbelief. "Me? Please."

Alyssa just grinned. "You've got the look, sexy. The walk. That quiet confidence that makes people stare. You should let your husband see what he really has, under the lights, on stage."

I laughed--nervously. Was she serious? But before I could say a word, Carol turned to me with a slow, crooked smile that made my pulse quicken.

Carol asked me with a mischievous smile, "Hey, I wonder what would you do if I actually danced on that stage tonight?"

I stared at her, caught off guard. "Probably lose my mind, maybe step on my tounge," I said honestly, lowering my glass. "But baby... you've never stripped before. Do you think..."

She leaned in, lips brushing the rim of her wine glass. "Well let's see. I've modeled on stage. I've danced on stage and I'm a quick learner."

There was a new edge in her voice, not reckless, but charged. Curious. Controlled.

"I might surprise you," she whispered, then nudged her empty glass toward me. "More wine, my love."

The tension between us shimmered, playful but electric.

Alyssa, who hadn't wandered far, returned with a timely fresh round, draping an arm around Carol's shoulders like they'd known each other for years. "Still thinking about what I asked?", her voice low, coaxing. "Just try the stage. You don't have to get naked. Just walk on stage a bit for one song. See how it feels."

Carol looked at me again, then at the stage.

She bit her bottom lip, her smile growing. "Why not?"

We followed Alyssa toward the wings. Carol disappeared behind the velvet curtain with her, and I stayed behind with my wine, heart pounding. I didn't know what Carol would do next. Maybe she'd just walk across the stage and laugh it off.

But ten minutes later, I found myself at a small table near the footlights, impatiently waiting.

And then, Carol appeared on stage.

No heels, barefoot. Hair down. She was wearing only her bra and panties.

No heels. Hair loose. Moving with a deliberate, unhurried grace that sucked the air out of the room. She didn't mimic anyone. She wasn't performing.

I almost fell out of my chair. She was as close to naked as you could get. Her lingerie left almost nothing to the imagination.

Was that my wife Carol up there?

She was losing her inhibitions right then and there.

She moved toward me and began a slow sensuous dance. Then she squatted down in front of me, eye level and grabbed the collar of my jacket and pulled me into her kissing me on the lips.

And then... she locked eyes with me.

I knew I was in trouble for sure, instant hardon.

Carol stepped to the edge of the stage in nothing but her matching bra and thong, black silk, elegant, sexy, and stopped just a foot away from me.

Carol's eyes sparkled with mischief as she sat on the edge of the stage and slowly raised her leg, resting her bare foot on the arm of my chair. She held it there, an offering, a dare. I didn't move at first. I couldn't. I was stunned. Every nerve in my body was buzzing.

Then, gently, she nudged her toes closer, brushing my chin, coaxing me to kiss her her delicious bare foot. I could smell her musky sexy odor of her foot as she held it inches from my mouth. I kissed her on the arch of her foot.

And she smiled, with a confidence that was making me wild with desire.

But just as quickly as she gave me that moment, she shifted direction.

Effortless. Graceful. Cruel in the most exquisite way.

She turned her attention two seats down, to a handsome stranger. A man in a tailored shirt, nursing a cocktail, clearly not expecting to become part of the performance.

Carol stalked toward him, slow and deliberate, her hips swaying like she was gliding through water. And then, with all the casual grace of a seasoned performer, she slid her hand down his shoulder, letting her fingers linger. She dipped low, whispering something only he could hear, her lips brushing just shy of his ear.

He laughed, flustered, completely caught in her orbit.

And I felt a spike.

Not anger. Not exactly.

It was jealousy, sharp and hot. But a helpless, aching need to pull her back to me.

She was electric.

And even though her body was turned toward someone else, her eyes, those sexy eyes, kept glancing back to mine. Checking. Testing. Reminding me.

This moment is mine, she seemed to say, but I'm still yours. I've never stopped being yours.

And somehow, that made it even harder.

She didn't just own the stage, she owned me.

She sat down on the edge of the stage, in front of the handsome stranger, and with a teasing arch of her foot, traced her toe slowly across his chest, watching me the whole time.

He nearly dropped his drink.

At this point all eyes in the club were on Carol.

She didn't just hold the stage.

She was killing it.

After teasing the gentlemen for a few moments, Carol stood up and walked to the center of the stage. She looked back at me with a teasing smile. She mouthed the words,"I Love You"

I never expected her to say yes to dancing on stage. Not really. But there she was, up on that stage, the soft pink and blue lights cutting across her sexy body as the DJ played music soft and low.

Carol had never stripped a day in her life, but you wouldn't know it by how confidently she moved on stage.

Carol walked over to the stripper, started out slowly. One hand on the pole, the other casually dragging down her side. Her hips rolled to the beat, natural, fluid.

Her eyes found mine. A flash of that same mischievous smile she gave me when she said "I do", only this time it said watch this.

She ran her fingers through her hair and tugged at the waistband of her panties, teasing their removal.

The audience went wild cheering Carol on.

I was drooling into my wine glass.

This woman was married to me, but she was now lit up in a way I'd never seen.

She turned her back to us, hips swaying, and unclasped her bra and let it slip to the floor, now wearing a black silk thong and nothing else.

The spotlight kissed her skin. She didn't flinch. She embraced it.

Carol worked the pole, slow and elegant, not trying to imitate the dancers around her, she just was. Strong. Confident. Playful.

Then came the moment that made my stomach flip.

She walked to the edge of the stage, knelt down in front of a man near me, some stranger in a business suit and with one perfectly arched foot, she traced a line from his knee to mid-thigh. His mouth dropped open.

I stiffened.

She saw my reaction, her lips curled into that smirk and then she pointed right at me.

"That one's mine," she said to the man, loud enough for a few nearby to hear.

And just like that, she got up, turned, and walked off stage like she owned the damn place.

The crowd clapped. Someone handed her a robe. She tossed it over her shoulder like an afterthought and came straight to me.

She kissed my jaw, slowly and lingering.

How's that for teasing you, baby?

Just when I thought the night had peaked, Carol looked at me with a devilish spark in her eye.

"I want to try something," she said, brushing her fingers down my chest.

"What kind of something?"

She leaned in close. "You watch. That's all. You stay right there--and you watch."

Before I could ask what. She stood up, walked over and, she slipped her hand into that of the man from the edge of the stage, the one she teased with her foot. He looked stunned, clearly unsure if he'd just won the lottery or walked into a setup.

Carol led him toward the velvet-curtained hallway labeled Champagne Rooms, glancing back only once, motioning me to follow and make sure I was watching.

And I was.

One of the staff waved me toward a small private viewing alcove just beside the room, the kind of VIP setup where the glass is tinted, and sound is muted. I sat, heartbeat in my throat, as Carol and her guest sank into a plush leather couch inside.

The lights were low. The room glowed gold. A bottle of champagne waited on the side table, but Carol didn't bother. She stood in front of him, already swaying to music only she could hear, slowly untying her robe.

She let it slide off her shoulders and drop at her feet.

Her body was pure tension and fire. She was dressed on in a pair of black silk thongs, the G-sting ran up her cute ass. Confident. Erotic. Not performing for him but for me.

She straddled his lap and began to move slow, smooth circles of her hips. Her hands trailed down his chest. He sat perfectly still, respectful but visibly overwhelmed. Carol leaned in, her lips a whisper from his ear, saying something I couldn't hear, and he nodded, eyes wide.

I felt something between jealousy and awe. This wasn't just a game anymore. This was Carol in her element, commanding attention, controlling the energy in the room with every roll of her hips.

She looked toward the glass. Right at me.

She knew I was watching. She wanted me to see her like this.

She slid down his lap, then back up, using only her thighs. Her bare tits brushed his chest, barely. Her fingers danced along his jaw, teasing but never kissing.

Then, after one last slow grind, she pulled back, stood up, and turned her back on him completely.

She walked toward the glass, the robe now draped over her arm, and with her mouth barely moving, she mouthed, "Come get me."

I didn't hesitate.

The door opened before I even touched the handle. She stepped into my arms, flushed and breathless--not from him, but from owning the moment.

She looked up at me. "Jealous baby? Was that enough jealousy for one night?" she whispered into my ear, pressing her body against mine.

I couldn't even speak.

I wrapped my arms around her, walked her to the changing room. "I can't wait to fuck you at home, lets get out of here."

"I thought you would never ask," carol replied.

What an amazing night.