The Erotichronicles V 02: Ch. 01-03

(This is a novel in three volumes, published elsewhere in 2019, revised for publication here. This is the second volume, titled THE DANCE GAME. You may need to suspend disbelief to an extreme degree, and brace yourself for a steady barrage of fantasy-level sex. This includes the treatment of the life-and-work conditions of women in adult entertainment as much more favorable, and lucrative, than they are in reality. All sex acts involve only people who are at least 18 years old. The corporate designation 'Eroti Entertainment' used in this story, is not real.

(At this point in the story, the strip club TopHeavy is in its second shutdown to expand and improve it. Gabe has helped engineer a social media uproar to defend Hibiscus's revolutionary dance, continuing to annoy Eroti Entertainment boss Mark Darrendahl.

(The three volumes were originally published separately, and these starting chapters look back on the first book's events. The look-backs may seem redundant if you're reading this right after finishing the first volume, but I've chosen to keep them, in case there's a return to separate-volume publication in the future.

(Details are in the tags. This volume has 22 chapters, and will be published here in ten parts. The story began in Volume I, MEGA PLATINUM VIP, which has already been published. Enjoy!)

***

Chapter 1: Next Time Maybe We Do Some Spanking

***

I (Gabe) cum eight times: A blowjob, two pussyfucks, a titfuck, another blowjob, another pussyfuck, a handjob/titfuck, and an assfuck, with two women, one of whom cums four times and the other three.

***

Giselle tore my shirt open. Fortunately, it has snaps.

I got a hand inside her blouse. Thumb and forefinger found the release of her front-closure bra, which quickly slid away. I squeezed her right breast, a DD or E-cup natural. I held her firmly around her back, and kissed hard. Her tongue pushed past mine.

Her left leg angled around my right. My swelling dick made me wonder why I bother with underwear. Her arms, which can support her entire body upside down on a stripper pole, clamped me in place, hands traveling inside the waistband to my buttocks. My own arms, able to dead-lift more than three hundred pounds, made space for my hands to pull away her remaining clothes, and reveal the freckles scattered on much of her body. I picked her up, levered her onto the bed, and set my mouth on the protruding clitoris of a body-strengthened woman. "Finally!" she said hoarsely. "Real sex with Gabe Morton!"

She yanked away my pants, and the boxers retreated with them. Then I was out of her reach as I knelt on the floor to bury my tongue between her legs. "Up here!" she cried. "Gimme that prick!" I hauled our bodies around so that we could sixty-nine side by side. Her grip on my balls almost hurt, and her suction molded the inside of her mouth to half of my nearly-eight-inch erection. Her clit swelled along my tongue.

Giselle Baumholtz, who danced under the moniker of Ginger X at the strip club TopHeavy, was the strongest woman with whom I had ever had intimate contact. She's a sweet lady, but her desire to skirt the rules in the club's private rooms had put us on the brink of a security alert. That forced me to stop going to the rooms, with their not-exactly-legal non-penetrative sex. Now, at my townhouse and free to do whatever we liked, Giselle was reveling. I wondered if I ought to be a wimp and ask her to go easier.

I got two fingers into her quim and walked them back and forth as I licked and sucked her clit, and tongued her pubic hair into it. She howled, taut gut stretching against my chin. Her mouth released me long enough for her to say "Yeahhhh! Eat me, big man!"

Let me go on record as saying that I never asked for her commentary.

After more rapid sucks, she spat free my schwanz and licked its full length, continuing to the back of the balls, repeatedly. My free hand found a breast, so soft and huge, and rolled it along her torso. I wanted to match her energy, partly for self-defense. But a few times lately, frenzied sex had taken me dangerously close to a loss of self-control, and a risk that I'd cross a partner's boundaries.

"Uhhwaaaa!" she said, a hand gripping my hair. "Finish it, f-f-YAAAAAHH!" Her huge clit throbbed in my mouth.

Moments later, for the first time since she entered my home, some tension began to leave her body.

But not for long. Once her orgasm had subsided, she grabbed my shlong with both hands and vibrated her tongue against the head. In her pole dance routines she kept her musculature only lightly flexed, so her contours appeared womanly--except when she did insane things like support her body upside down with her hands on the pole below her. Now, she flexed whatever she wanted and didn't care who noticed. She said, "Gimme your spunk!" and gulped about six of my inches.

Now, I was enjoying this. I could have held back and made it last, but I was worried that she might try much harder. I let loose, accessing a lot of pleasure and maybe sparing my testicles from bruising. She sucked all the scum.

"Need to spit?" I asked.

"No. God that felt good."

Her stroke on my prick, as she drew away her mouth, was comparatively gentle, maybe because I was still almost entirely erect. I 'suffer' from something like satyriasis, or priapism, or both, and can continue to fuck and ejaculate several times in one session. Giselle got me flat on my back and mounted me cowgirl style. The feel of her slick vaginal walls spiked my pulse.

What an amazing sight she was. Indeed a ginger, with light reddish-orange hair past her shoulders, and those freckles that beg to be kissed individually. I prioritized the ones on her lovely breasts. I brought her globes to my mouth, gently tonguing each nipple. I had given her a breast orgasm in the private room, at her request. When she also tried for a clitoral orgasm with my prick between our bellies, I had to clamp a hand over her mouth, to keep her from yelling.

This time, though, she pushed her breasts firmly into my mouth. "Just suck 'em, and nail me good!" she hissed. I fucked many dancers, and thus was accustomed to entering vaginas that can crack walnuts. I had a full-scale boner, and gave as good as I got. My mind seemed clear (to the extent that it ever could be, as I shoved and withdrew my cock within her sheath while slobbering on massive tits), with no danger of lost control. Giselle started moaning. I settled into a rhythm and kept her that way.

Her hands gripped my shoulders, which were among the strongest, hardest parts of my body after months of daily workouts and improved diet. I held her buttocks firmly and continued driving into her, feeling higher and better all the time, but not yet close to spewing. She wanted this, and I wanted to give it to her.

She wrenched up. I lowered my jaw in time to prevent my teeth from grazing her escaping nipples. Her mouth dropped open. Some semen escaped with her drool, onto my collarbone. Her elbows dug in hard just below my chest. "Whuh-huh! Yeah baby yeah!" she said breathily. "God yes, fight back, stretch my pussy!"

Then her head tilted back and she let loose the yell I had to deny her in the private room (although at that time she did get the orgasm). I might have to talk with the neighbors later, no big deal. I felt her vagina clench around me five times, each grip stoking me, and the last making me gush. I added a yell of my own. I don't know if the net effect was dissonance.

Finally her body spread limply across mine. "Feel so weak," she said. "Hold me, please."

Ginger X? Weak? Maybe she found the experience novel. I put my arms around her, gently but firmly. She stroked my face, kissed me sweetly.

As always after sex, I welcomed my partner to the open shower in the large bathroom. We cleaned each other up, and then I offered another fixture: a whirlpool bath. I was eager for this after her rough handling. We cuddled, and she became the Giselle I knew at the club, pleasant and calm.

"Thank you," she said. "You're helping me make the most of my hall pass. I already gave my husband his. A three-way, last night."

I said nothing. Giselle had long declared devotion to her husband, but she seemed like a candidate for couples counseling. I'd never met the man, so I couldn't judge.

I ventured, "Do you need to get home soon?"

"Oh no, he's out with some buddies. At LadyGarden." She laughed. "Watching Molly."

What made this funny, sort of, was that Molly Finneran, who danced under the name Selena, had been my main squeeze for more than three months. LadyGarden was one of the strip clubs owned by Eroti Entertainment, and with its biggest operation, TopHeavy, closed this week as part of a massive expansion project (insert your own silicone jokes), TopHeavy's dancers had been sent out to boost the attendance at the other, less popular, clubs.

Was I cheating on Molly by banging Giselle? Nope. Molly and I are polyamorous, to use the high-falutin' term for sleeping around. Molly and I were, in fact, deeply in love, and pledged to one another, and whenever I write about this I'm frankly amazed.

"So I can continue to enjoy your lovely presence for a while?" I asked, smiling, stroking her back.

She smiled and nodded, sliding those fascinating freckled breasts along my torso. "And one more fuck, missionary I think, and some titty fun for both of us."

"You must keep your husband pretty busy."

"He's such a sweetheart," she said dreamily. "Treats me so gently. I really appreciate that, after all the muscling up I do at the club."

I wondered: Had I hallucinated for the last couple hours?

"Did I... not treat you gently enough?"

"Oh, you were fine. That was a lot of fun. A little something different." She moved her hand along my gut. "Speaking of different, I can feel abs in here now."

I couldn't help a smug smile. "I might be twenty, thirty pounds from goal weight. If nothing else, I can see my feet when I stand up."

Her hand continued to my groin. "I'm ready to bang you again."

Because of the drying effect of the whirlpool we needed lube when we returned to the bed, but the missionary went fine. Her breasts roll around nicely when she's on her back, and my hands and mouth visited them several times, to keep them out of her armpits. She started playing rough again, locking her legs around mine and wrenching them, but I was able to keep focus, and we had orgasms that were edifying but less dramatic.

Finally we arranged a titfuck for me at about the same time as a nipple orgasm for her. This took longer than I expected, but any time with her breasts is well spent. Once I got her off with various fingerings and tonguings, I shamelessly drove my prick up her cleavage, which completely surrounded my cylinder, with overlap. She rubbed them up and down, together and alternating, and the inch of prick that rose above the tops splattered her neck. Which impelled us to take another shower, and enjoy our bodies one last time.

The net effect on me of our session was wildly positive, but before she left she gave me cause for concern. Her parting words as we hugged, fully clothed, were "Next time maybe we do some spanking," and she gave my left glute something to remember her by.

***

What you've just read is the kind of thing you'll get through this whole book. There's a real story going on, but there's also a lot of sex, with a lot of different people, much of it described in lavish detail. The story has unfolded for a while, in a-whole-nother book, which is why I kept interrupting the explicit sex, and fond descriptions of Giselle's freckled knockers, to mention stuff that happened earlier. And that wasn't nearly enough to tell you what's going on. Go read Mega Platinum VIP, Volume I in what Molly and I call The Erotichronicles.

The sex acts here are among consenting adults. Some acts turn out to be disturbing, and lead to regrets, but everyone moves on. If what you want is to read a lot of hot sex, and also see the people who had the sex punished by the fates (or micro-organisms, or government agencies), you'll be disappointed. You can get vicarious thrills, but not holier-than-thou smugness.

Eroti Entertainment is one of the six largest and richest 'adult' businesses in the world. It started as an x-rated website, then expanded into more specialized sites, nudie magazines on paper (now all defunct), video/film production, 'novelty items,' and places that some people persist in calling 'gentlemen's clubs.' The internet operation drives the whole thing, but lately the boss, Mark Darrendahl, has moved to depend less on something that can be hacked. He's focusing more on live venues (hence the TopHeavy expansion), and sex dolls modeled on Eroti superstars.

Molly and I were both getting money from Eroti, in different amounts and for different reasons. As this part of the story begins, though, we've been sorta-kinda working against Darrendahl's interests. We're hoping to encourage people to think differently about sex (and especially about women). And maybe not throw away so much of their money and time on unrealistic expectations.

What a load of yadda yadda yadda. Time to boost the lower-body blood flow of male readers (and lady-loving ladies) with a description of Molly. She's a natural redhead, hair darker than Giselle's (no, this isn't a fetish of mine, and in fact they are the only redheads I'd fucked), with the other most obviously Irish things about her being green eyes and a snub nose. The rest of her face is a nice balance of delicacy and exoticism (eyes widely spaced, full but tapering cheeks, thin lips on a mouth that can go from medium at rest to wide when in loving use). And lordy, what a body. My beloved is 5' 8" and has natural F-cup breasts with dense tissue that keeps them nearly horizontal on her torso when she's nude. She is now at her most staggeringly beautiful, thanks to exercise and diet that she adopted after several months of apathy and depression. Great legs, skin, ass, you name it.

Let me now slap down what you're probably thinking. Yes, my initial desire for her was physical. She, in turn, started out digging me only for my big long-lasting pecker. Yet both of us have changed over time. I can now state flatly that if she got breast cancer and had a radical double mastectomy, with hair loss because of treatment and an end to all her interest in sex, I would still love her and be with her and do everything possible for her and, yes, give up sex with other partners if that mattered to her. I gained all of my emotional maturity within this year when I turned 27.

Unlike many performers who could get by with their exterior gifts, and just strip and be done with it, Molly is a terrific dancer who pushes herself physically and thematically. From her youth in Irish step dancing through her teens as a gymnast to adulthood as an exotic dancer, she has maintained a love for what she does, and can do. This transcends the fact that now it's for the purpose of arousing men. Her physical energy carried over to her libido, and her discovery that she is bisexual, which led to her complete break with her traditional, conservative, Catholic family.

Now for a less interesting bio. I'm the love child of two rich people who wanted to hide the fact that I happened. I have trust funds from both parents to keep me from ratting them out. This gives me an annual allowance of $240k per year, out of an $8 million total that I can't get my hands on. I may be maladjusted because of this. I've never had to do real paying work, and until four months ago I spent my life as a worthless masturbating slug, thanks to being really ugly and (until then) quite fat.

I'll just say this for real: I had no idea why I wasn't aborted.

More interesting, with sex, is how everything changed. One night at TopHeavy there was a touring guest performer: Morima, Japan's leading large-breasted pornstar. Because of my Mega Platinum VIP membership in Eroti, I had access to a private-space titfuck from her. She was so impressed by the size of my dick that she and her accompanying mentrix, Tomiko (also a large-breasted pornstar), then gave me incredible sex in the dressing room. My recover-and-repeat penis was used for the first time in my life with real women. (I fucked Tomiko standing up, holding her free of the floor, and then lifted her and licked her pussy while she was in mid-air.) (They finished me with a four-tit-fuck.) (There was lots more.) (Don't you want to read the first book and get all the details?)

This porn-fantasy-come-true knocked down many trains of dominoes, ranging from my eventual pairing with Molly to a potential threat for everyone at TopHeavy to be jailed for prostitution. That's probably too much to wade through right now, so let's move on to more sex, which also gets us into some of the story.

***

Giselle and I fucked on Friday, November 1, 2024. The next morning I went to a loft in an artsy part of town to 'star' in some porn films. This 'career' was another line of tumbled dominoes from my night with the Japanese ladies. I had allowed myself to become an Eroti novelty act, a big ugly guy who can fuck like crazy and satisfy a woman several times. By agreeing to this, I hoped to keep Eroti from posting and selling the video with Tomiko and Morima. Also, to be honest, this got me even more fucking. I 'earned' $1000 per uploaded video and could fuck a lot of terrific women with no strings attached. Molly was okay with it. Yeah, living the dream.

"We'll walk through first, to get the camera blocking down," I was told by the producer/director, Hannah Weinstock. "You're not the only one who's going to be doing new things. So are a lot of the crew." That crew now had eight people in the shooting area, plus a makeup artist in the adjacent bath/shower. My previous shoots had been fairly simple, with me almost all the time lying on my back and letting the ladies do things to my shlong. Now I was going to be moving around, in different positions both in the space and related to my partner.

I said to Weinstock, "Congratulations on your star vehicles. I understand they're going over big." Eroti had just released three high-quality, romantic videos of Hannah (as Calypso, her performance moniker). There are many actions and interactions with her co-stars, but an emphasis on her beautiful back/hips/ass, and her ability to take a substantial buttfucking.

She didn't try to hide a smile. "Thank you. Did you express your appreciation as you watched?"

"The same way that most men did, I'm sure." I'm not a fan of anal sex, watching or providing (and no thanks ever on receiving), but I like Hannah a lot, and I'm pleased to have her as a sex partner. In her videos she got the full star treatment she'd never had previously, with a wide array of provocative costumes, and hair and makeup that accentuated her positives. There was even acting (good by her, adequate by the men). Hannah did plenty other than get assfucked, and I enjoyed masturbating to her.

Yes, I still masturbate. If I think I need an excuse, I claim that it goes with the satyriasis. Molly has no trouble with this, noting that despite her sex-positivity she must, after a while with me, invoke The Law Of Conservation Of Pussy. She also sees my other amorous activities (porn, cavorting with many ladies) as reducing her total obligation to get me off.

Weinstock had us do the fully-dressed walkthrough twice, to make sure all the equipment and the people using it would keep themselves out of camera view. Then my co-star went in for a touchup of the makeup already applied, and I showered. After I left, she stripped and sponged herself down. She hadn't started any conversations with me, so I let her be. She seemed pretty nervous.

Working under the name of Stella Darling, she was a tall, big-boned (almost lantern-jawed) blonde with B-cup breasts. Her skin and muscle tone struck me as perfect, and I expected them to look great on video. The eye makeup helped distract from facial features on the harsh side of plain.

The script called for me to take a sexual grand tour of Stella: Ejaculating in her mouth, vagina, hands/breasts, and anus. Condoms for two penetrations, but not the blowjob. We were both up to date and clean on our testing. Because this video, like all of mine thus far, was from the lucky male's point of view (POV), one of the cameras was on a band around my forehead. Another camera would also be directly behind me and over my shoulder, and a third would add establishing shots from other angles. Two boom mics would get sound. Diffusers evened out the brightness of the lights, so there were no sharp shadows and everything could be seen in detail.

If necessary, there would be two shoots, and a potential need for me to blast semen eight times.

There was a brief setup, with fully-dressed Stella walking up to me, smiling, and eagerly letting me disrobe her. Weinstock's preference was for these encounters to be consensual and enthusiastic. Stella had me convinced she'd be happy to fuck.

The blowjob was with me standing, and with her sitting on a bed, with our space surrounded as usual by white drape. One of the cameras shot Stella at her level, showing her face and torso and fellatio technique. This would provide a break from the POV, which would show only her head and my prick. As required, I held back until signaled by the crew that I could unload. Stella let the spunk spill out of her mouth on all sides of my putz, as intended by the script.

Almost immediately, thanks to my bounceback ability, I wiped clean, put on a condom, and fucked Stella in several positions: missionary, side by side, doggystyle, cowgirl, and standing, with her completely off the floor. She was the largest woman I had ever fucked this way. Despite my muscle building, I was glad I didn't have to follow with the 'lady-lift' I'd done with several partners (starting with Tomiko), raising her high enough for me to lick her pussy. I got through all this until, on cue, I spewed. After I set her down and we separated, I made sure the cameras got a view of the filled condom. On each previous position change during the pussyfuck, it had shown as empty

I then ate her pussy for a while, with the POV rule again bent a little (with one of the other cams to show my mouth and tongue, and her large, shaved crotch). Then I got flat on my back and she combined a handjob with a titfuck, making best use of her breasts by having them come down from above. I jizzed on cue, all over our torsos.

Then she wiped off my thrice spurted cock, jerked it several times, and put a condom on it. As Weinstock herself had once done, Stella lubed my dick, turned her back, and settled her anus onto it. Weinstock had parlayed that video of her and me into her star vehicles, by showing Eroti HQ an ass that ass-lovers love, and its ability to welcome a large penis. Stella, like Hannah, had a broad butt, nicely curved from her waist in the way that surely inspired violin-makers of yore.

Whether Stella could have taken me at my greatest extent didn't have to be tested. While I felt fine, my fourth erection in less than an hour was sufficient but not excessive. This was only the second rectum I had ever entered, and I still didn't have much experience on how I'd respond--but I didn't spooj early, and when I was told to do so, I did.

The shoot finished, as most of mine do, with the lady lying next to me, and a camera on both of us. We hugged and kissed and smiled, showing the world that the guy who performed these stallion feats was way ugly. It's my porn trademark. My videos are very successful.

Because of the panoramic effect of how the cameras were blocked, Weinstock herself was out in the hall watching the cam feed on monitors. Her assistant Penny, moving around to stay out of camera range, had given us the hand signals for what to do when. From out in the hall we heard Weinstock say, "Cut. Lunch and testicle recovery break."

I had made a mess of both of us. I offered Stella the first shower. Looking relaxed for the first time, she smiled and said, "Won't you join me?"

In this loft's shower, I had learned much about the porn business from my partners, proving that I can process information while fondling a naked woman. "My first pro shoot," she said. "I hope for your sake we don't have to do it again, but I'd like it just fine."

"I think I could manage," I said. Then, following up on her wording, I asked, "Did you do non-pro?"

She semi-grimaced. "Boyfriend's idea. He said we'd always make rent. If he saw any money from that, none of it ever got to me." She rubbed up against me playfully. "Are my tits too small?"

I had to choose words reeeeallly carefully, because I knew what came next. She'd say she's considering implants. Given her frame, she could take huge ones and look spectacular, and maybe be a big star. But implants carry health risks. I was part of the problem, because men's breast obsession led to women getting implants.

The breasts Stella had now were widely spaced on a broad chest, making them look smaller than they were. I held her close, slid my chest across hers, and said "I think you look great right now, and I have my fifth erection to prove it."

She laughed. "Coward. I know all about you and Selena. And that dancers at TopHeavy all want to fuck you."

My hand slid from a butt cheek down her thigh. "Are you a dancer?"

"I've tried. I can do some athletic, but not much artistic. The money for dorky pole moves at cheesy clubs isn't much, and some of those places are dangerous." She stroked my shlong. "I should behave. I came three times." Probably this meant that she can bottle up her real orgasms and do the fakes when cued. Thinking back, though, I figured that one of the cued ones had been real.

Glad that the subject had changed, I said, "I think you'll like working with Hannah."

"She's the best. Everyone in town wants to do porn with her. And banging you is a career maker for me. So my ex can take his revenge porn and shove it."

Dressed, we hung around in the loft while Weinstock and her top aides, Penny and Nathan, went over the images and the sound. I had been able to let my shower boner fade, unrequited. I ate a small amount of some alleged food that would add protein but do nothing for the basic hunger I'd lived with for almost three months. After a while Nathan looked up and said, "Gabe, you're done. Stella, we need a few more extreme facial expressions."

"I stay until everybody's done," I said. "But if you need me out of the way, I'll stay in the hall." There were some cheers. Stella smiled. I was part of a team, after all.

***

That night I went to another Eroti club, PoleSitter, where Molly and her roommate, Jennifer Crowley (who dances as Wildfire), performed a duet--rare, in the usually solo world of pole dancing. It debuted in September and knocked for a loop everyone who saw it--in the audience, throughout the Eroti empire, and even outside the porn universe. The dancers began dressed and made up as men, and their dance was competitive to the point of the start of a fight. They tore each other's clothes, and revealed that they are women. (Jen is, in her own way, as much of a knockout as Molly.) In the rest of the dance, the competition becomes more seductive as they complete the disrobing of each other, and they finish in a fully-nude embrace, kissing.

This was the sixth time they'd done this dance. Video of earlier performances had spread far and wide, but the effect on this audience was still stunning. I saw people there who might never set foot in a strip club otherwise. Couples. Women, singly and in groups. Men who had none of the dress and behavior markers of the usual patrons. The house was full and reservations had maxed three days ago, with a waiting list of fifty left out. I denied one of them by using my VIP membership.

Molly and Jen came out to the floor later for meet-and-greet and selfies, dazzling as always in their evening gowns. Jen was a full-time housegirl at PoleSitter, and now its main resident dancer. The duet had been worked up for PoleSitter during TopHeavy's first renovation hiatus, and was choreographed by Sherry Mozelius, who danced at TopHeavy as Hibiscus. Sherry's recent edgy, barrier-blasting creations had brought Eroti a lot of attention and money, and at the same time infuriated Darrendahl, who at his core thinks that men should always rank first in the world, and believes that all of the customers agree.

I had only a few moments with Molly and Jen. "You can't have her tonight," said Jen, grinning. "She's all mine." This dance always sent their Sapphic selves through the roof. They'd been lovers since long before I was on the scene.

Molly leaned on me, with fatigue that was only partly jokey. "LadyGarden again tomorrow, then a three-day weekend."

"Backrub on demand," I told her. We weren't all that bereft. She'd had a day off Thursday and spent it at my place, where she's moved in some of her clothes and stuff. We had plenty of fun sex.

That gives you some idea of where things stand, as TopHeavy gets set to reopen after its second construction break. Except if you haven't read the first book, you don't know about Bella, and the sex doll modeled after her, and her house's video-recording security provider, and its connection to a secretive multinational corporation, and you've missed a whole lot of sex scenes. Hint hint.

***

Chapter 2: This-Is-Me-Loving-You Actions

***

I (Molly) cum nine times: A shared pussy grind, a cunnilingus, a dildo fuck, twice in a pussyfuck, a nipple orgasm, once in another pussyfuck, and twice more in still another pussyfuck, with one woman who cums three times and one man who cums four times.

***

Oh great, the book starts with a whole chapter of Gabe fucking. Most of the first book was like that, until I made him realize the important parts of the story can't get the yadda-yadda-yadda treatment. That's why I started writing, about me. Fucking. But doing a lot of other things too, like dancing better than a stripper needs to, and making Eroti appreciate what I and the other ladies do.

Any document about turning an adult entertainment empire inside out should have a woman's perspective. Women are the main laborers in the male masturbation industry. Those of us with extremely large breasts, and the willingness to expose them, get extra attention from men. Sometimes we even get their eyeballs away from video games (except maybe the games with animated porno women who are even more outrageous than we are).

Anyway. Right into the story, and right after Gabe left off. Jen and I returned to our apartment and did what we'd yearned to do since we had performed our (Sherry's, really) ground-breaking, thought-provoking, raunchy dance: We sat on the sofa and scrolled through messages.

If you must know, right after leaving the stage at PoleSitter, we standing-tribbed each other nicely in the shower. It was now A Thing, for us to assume from the waist up the same posture we'd had at the end of the dance. Hugging and kissing with tits mooshed together, but also what wasn't allowed in the club's public space, with our lady parts in direct, wet, dizzying contact.

We did what longtime, familiar lovers do. She ran her tongue between my upper lip and teeth. I fingered one of the dimples above her butt. The actions themselves were not arousing, but they reinforced that we made love with someone who knew, and cared about, and would ensure the safety of, her lover. Quickly enough we orgasmed, cleaned up, and dressed nice. Then we could mingle politely rather than tear Gabe's clothes off.

On the sofa, Jen was in the phone-gazing posture that will someday cause millennials spinal issues. She asked, "You going to Gabe's tomorrow night?"

In the same posture (despite knowing better) I replied, "Yeah."

We continued scrolling. Our cat, Chlamydia, a longhaired orange tabby, jumped lightly onto the sofa and began shopping for a lap, settling in Jen's.

"So Greg can come over here?" asked Jen, referring to her new boyfriend, a bouncer at PoleSitter. (See? I get it, the whole thing about bringing in stuff from the previous book in small doses.)

"Yeah," I said, showing not only that brevity is the soul of wit, but that redundancy is the hallmark of word economy.

From the lap, Clammy started batting at the underside of Jen's boobs, architecturally stabilized in an underwire. I enjoyed a better-her-than-me smile while it lasted. Clammy would eventually decide that my F-cups offered more opportunities than Jen's D-cups. Which was in many ways the story of our lives.

"Next week he's going off to a tech school," said Jen. "When he comes back, he'll be qualified as a trainer."

I actually looked up from the phone. "To train other bouncers?"

She nodded. "Confinement holds, situation management, CPR, disarming, separation of hostiles." Which sounded odd coming from Jen's high-pitched, girly voice.

"I'd like to know more about this," I said, "like, where the tech school is, and who runs it." I'd wondered for a long time how Eroti finds so many poised, respectful, observant, even-keeled, dangerous men, to staff its corps of bouncers (who are also bartenders). I hoped to chat with Galen Fordyce, TopHeavy's security chief, about this and other things, but he had no time. The club expansion included a massive upgrade to his security and video operation, which now took up the entire third floor of our converted movie house. Making sure that the new gear didn't have bugs and secret nastiness was more than a full-time job.

Jen glanced at me, then looked back at the phone, with a little smile. "I think Greg's shy around you."

"I've noticed. It's refreshing. But if he talks to you about this, I'd like to learn more."

As far as Clammy was concerned, I'd called too much attention to myself. She trotted over and jumped on top of my breasts, which were also in an underwire and thus made a nice sturdy shelf. Having succeeded in blocking my view of the phone, she promptly went to sleep.

Eventually I freed myself and Jen and I undressed each other and kissed and fondled and munched carpets and had a very nice time with the Flexi-Squeeze Double Dildo With Two-Way Adjustable Straps. Now now, Gabe, you've had two threesomes with us. When we weren't bestowing upon you favors that made your eyes roll up in your head, we did in your presence many things two female bodies can do for their pleasure. You'll have to let our fun with our appliance be our secret. Use your (yikes!) imagination.

***

Gabe has sketched some of the events of July 13 (When! His! Life! Was! Transformed!). Since he hasn't detailed how I factored into that, I'll do it. Maybe I'll find it therapeutic, although I really am over this now.

Several months before then, I went through a really bad breakup, from a guy who wanted me to marry him and stop stripping and stop fucking anyone else and stop having hot fun with women. Silly me, I thought that wasn't reasonable, just as I did about my parents' demands. Sillier me, giving him up tore me apart. Downward spiral began.

Lezzing with one of the TopHeavy dancers, Galaxia, helped a little, until I saw her ambition against the other dancers to be poisonous and had to give her up. Lezzing with Jen wasn't a good idea then, because she was already down. She saw her life as nothing more than stripping in front of obnoxious guys and doing nude webcam shows for other obnoxious guys. We reinforced each other.

I then made big mistakes choosing men. I stopped taking good care of myself. I slacked off on my dancing. I guess I didn't hit bottom, because booze and drugs were never involved, but I got to where I thought Gabe Morton, an ugly loser who was kinda nice and had a big dick, could get me through the night. I propositioned him while he was waiting to fuck Morima's tits. He looked like he'd won the lottery and promised to escort me home.

An hour after he should have met me, I found him in the guest dressing room, in bed with Morima and Tomiko. And I thought, I can't even land him?

I hated his guts. And my guts. And the guts of every creature that has guts. I was launched into my stereotypical Irish redhead rage, which I call The Mad, because it may have a life of its own.

Gabe scurried up to me, naked, and said he'd still escort me. I may have never looked worse in my life, but he gave up two porn superstars to beg me to let him walk me to my car. And I had really wanted a good fuck that night. Maybe I was on the way to letting yet another bad choice speed up the spiral, but I agreed.

And then, things happened. Lots of things. I'll get to them later, or Gabe will. But, ridiculously enough, that choice (which part of me was sure at the time was awful) turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life. (My! Transformed! Life!) Gabe showed me that he loved me, and that his love meant a lot more than desire. He won me over. And I fell in love with him. And, I think mainly because of me, he became a functional human.

As for how physical this is, I'll respond in kind to his speculation about me getting breast cancer (and yeah, thanks loads, Pal, for bringing one of my greatest fears front and center, so to speak). If something were to happen to his whoopee equipment, and he could never get another erection for the rest of his life, he'd still be the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I had to slap down my own shallowness about showing the world that I love a non-handsome (okay, anti-handsome) guy. The Gabe Morton who has developed through our relationship is the person I want, as we put it with each other, to be near always.

Yes, the sex has been really, really good, right at the beginning and all the way up to now. That helped us hang around each other and work things out. If I weren't a libidinous 27-year-old, that might not have happened.

***

But libidinous and 27 I am, and now also happy, and excited about dancing, and interested in many things, and intrigued by recent accomplishments in what could easily have been an ordinary whack-off joint, and especially fond of one guy in particular, who opened his door and let me in on the night of November 3.

Kissing him, I made lots of lip contact with parts of his face that, he admits, are hard on the eyes. But like with Jen and I having those little this-is-me-loving-you actions, I want him to think of this as something only I do for only him. His mug has quite a few bumps and indentations, but no acne, skin conditions, or anything prone to leaking pus. He also has good, even teeth, likely thanks to the money available for his support as he grew up.

Some of what's on his face seems like scar tissue. I haven't asked, he hasn't volunteered. Each of us has a someday file on the other. No rush.

He now shows affection for a whole woman, especially a dancer. His hello hug included kneading of my back, which he extended to my legs once I was on the sofa. He is far advanced from his days of getting hands and mouth first on tits and noticing the rest of his partner later.

Soon I was lying prone, nude, while he massaged some pretty damn good legs, back, hips, and feet, with my boobitude only a suggested swelling beyond my sides.

It's not like I wasn't eager for sex. Dancing almost always lights up my board. Gabe wasn't in the crowd tonight because LadyGarden is a small space and every paying customer was needed. It's easy to think of him as boner-on-demand, and once my dancing muscles were placated, I turned to him, undressed him, and had him lie on his back on the old narrow weight bench that was now in his living room. I straddled his head and we enjoyed a foreplay sixty-nine.

This was the shaggiest my pussy had been, since he and I started banging. LadyGarden specialized in what had become a rarity in exotic dancing, pubic hair. (In theory, hairy armpits, legs, and upper lips are also encouraged at that club, but few dancers go in for that.) I usually shaved it all and would do so again at TopHeavy, but I did what I could to go along with the venue's theme. My week's growth was barely noticeable, and probably nobody in that crowd cared. This club wasn't doing well--it had gone through a number of formats that hadn't worked out--and Eroti might ditch it any time. I think most of the crowd tonight was TopHeavy regulars, taking advantage of the lower cover charge.

Gabe prefers a shaved pussy, but he also gives his oral best to bush growers. His tongue-rolling attempted to bring some of the hair into clit contact, but it was too short to have that effect. Still, I welcomed his determination, and his combination of strength and tenderness. He could give lessons to my other lovers, including ladies. That could happen if I got us into more threesomes.

He was already erect, so mostly I licked lightly and spread drool, plus some tongue fun around the head, to challenge his schwing control (which is now very good). He kept focus throughout, with his mouth and fingers compressing my labia near my clit, giving me more than tingles. I enjoyed that almost too much, so it was time to mount his promontory.

Lately I've brought up a video of a tropical beach on his flatscreen, and look at that while we fuck. I want to fuck him on a beach someday in real life, even though the mixed drink called Sex on the Beach doesn't impress me. Beach banging is still pretty much a fantasy, and one I can't even sustain, because once we're going hot and heavy I welcome him to take over my senses.

That started while I was bringing that reliable tool of his into my cavity, to where the base of its head got just past my first muscle ring and then I pulled it back out, getting the harpoon effect that Clammy might have had before she got hauled in and spayed and adopted by pole dancers. The initial entry still felt the way it had when I first let him fuck me, when I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of any response but still got swept fairly soon into a clitoral orgasm.

And now it was so much more intense. Cowgirl on the narrow bench, and his slimming body, let me arrange my legs with feet on the floor, which I couldn't in bed. I swooned to different waves and flashes of pleasure. And, oh yeah, he finally got his hands on my tits. Stroking here, squeezing there, making his prick even bigger, and throbbing as he drove it into me. My first cum jerked me so much I almost lost the effect of his massage. That cum stayed, and stayed, flexures making him cum, which zoomed me even further. Maybe vaginal orgasm coming in on top of the clitoral. But, y'know, it's tough to be analytical at a time like this.

I slumped towards him, with enough control to get my gazongas to his mouth. He moaned into them, and soon started another round of cumblasting, spasming upward his butt, which is actually becoming sculpted and grabbable, as men's butts go. Through that, he was gentle, kissing and licking my breasts. I would have been okay with this continuing for several weeks, and it seemed like it did, as I pussy-clenched on his softening putz and ascended to boob heaven.

Then we just held each other and kissed, and gradually became aware that we were on a narrow rubber-coated piece of wood, and that most of our body parts that weren't involved in sex were uncomfortable. We separated, and he picked me up as a groom does to carry a bride across the threshold, and took me to his whirlpool, where we could hug and kiss more pleasantly.

See what I did there? I used a wedding simile. That's a subject we keep in the someday files. We already consider ourselves pair-bonded for life, perhaps to the annoyance of our outside sex partners, so the traditional fuck license may not mean much to us. A couple weeks earlier, though, I raised the possibility of offspring, noting that I'm aware of my biological clock. Gabe wasn't thrilled about the topic, but didn't reject it out of hand. He understood that this someday file entry had a shelf life about as long as my current contract with Eroti, which would end in October 2026.

"I can hang out here until Thursday," I told him, "With some trips and errands."

"I'd like to see Jessie's return," he said.

"Yeah, we're definitely there for that." Jessie Corcoran was the talent coordinator at TopHeavy, using an online MBA to step up from the dance corps. She danced under the moniker Doublevision, referencing her natural E-cup breasts and virtuosa tassel twirling. She planned a comeback all along, spending her downtime in strenuous diet and exercise, with physical therapy to overcome old injuries. Jessie had been on the dancers' side in recent confrontations with Darrendahl, but clearly she liked the corporate ladder. To ascend it, she might make choices favoring only herself.

Her comeback dance was set for Wednesday. Promotion was heavy. A black female executive was going to strip nude. So far reservations weren't required, because the latest round of construction provided more room for customers in the club's main space.

"You hoping to fuck her?" I asked. It's the sort of thing a polyamorist can say, and mean, nonchalantly.

"Of course," said Gabe, "but not then. It's still your weekend. She's teased my prick a few times, I think to mess with me. She may like keeping me from knowing if she's interested."

The conversation drifted to other topics, and I was getting really relaxed, and it was also very late. We put ourselves to bed and relished some cuddly sleep.

***

Here's some more background. Gabe not only went all sex superman on Tomiko and Morima, he was videoed doing it. For many reasons, some good and others not so much, almost everything that happens in TopHeavy is recorded by a vast array of cams and mics. The video was circulated within the club and up the chain at Eroti, and everyone was amused until the club people realized that if it went public, TopHeavy could get busted (ha ha). A wedge seemed to develop between the web site people, who saw the vid as a great novelty and a potential moneymaker, and the club people, who could get jail time for prostitution. Gabe did what he could to prevent the vid's release, and thanks to Tomiko's opposition (through her contract with Eroti), the web people gave up.

The club people, notably Cliff Remington, the manager at the time, also felt the need to placate Gabe, since the vid had been circulated without Gabe's permission. Several libidinous ladies working at the club saw the vid before the club firewalled it, and got very interested in what Gabe could do. Remington enlisted them to make Gabe happy. Separately, Remington set up Gabe's porn career. Since then, Gabe has entertained many women, and whatever his porn audience is.

I had alerted Gabe to the existence of the video, and we spent more time together trying to figure out how much of a problem it was and what to do about it. Which also got us to having more sex, and me getting deeply affected by the attention he paid to me (because of how it contrasted from the attitudes of the yo-yos I'd been bedding), and still more sex.

Gabe got me out of my torpor, and I regained my love for dancing and took it to a much higher level. One night my featured dance was so hot that it drove every customer up the wall, and the video was sent up the chain. It was posted on the main web site and got me a bonus. Word spread locally and attendance at TopHeavy hit new highs. The club people then had to make sure that the revenue wasn't drained away by corporate, leading to the expansion plan which, to our surprise, was approved by Darrendahl.

In short, everything had gone as well as we could hope. Which had us all worried.

***

We awoke Monday to indulge in some giggly grabass that led to a nice doggystyle fuck. Then into Gabe's laundry/utility room that was also full of workout gear. I jogged the treadmill while he got all iron-pumpy on the new weight bench, then we switched so I could use the leg-lift attachment to keep the tone of my main problem area, the ass and thigh-backs. I had been at goal weight for a month. I now looked good enough to deserve the attention I got from the dance back in July that made me a star.

Then we showered, with some more grabass, and then a minimalist breakfast that helped us stay on our health kick but eroded our will to live. Then we put in time writing stuff like this, and reading what the other person wrote, and challenging our memories and interpretations of past events. What, you think these books just happen? For me, the main purpose is to track our encounters and dealings with Eroti, so we can plan our next moves. Gabe claims that this is his purpose too, but he also gets off writing and reading the sex scenes. And, yes, I'll admit it, the sex scenes are pretty hot. Mine and his.

***

I had spent the previous week dancing at Eroti's other clubs in town. This reminds me to do what we completely blew off in the first book: Describe the entire local adult entertainment scene.

In the city and suburbs, there are (I think) eleven establishments where dancers expose body parts to an extent that is not-okay-in-public. Four of them are the kind referred to by Stella Darling: Iffy operations with dubious ownership where the dancers' safety isn't a priority. Two more are 'gentlemen's clubs' owned by small chains, with somewhat higher profiles, groups of skilled, full-time housegirls, and visits from fairly well known nude models and pornstars.

The other five belong to Eroti. The exact history of all five and Eroti's involvement in them can mostly wait until later (or maybe never), but bear in mind we're talking about strip clubs. Most of their histories include bribery, extortion, prosecution, conviction, civil suits, broken promises to dancers, and ownership changes under extreme duress. Eroti's ownership has provided the clubs stability (and deep pockets, and a legal department). It also provided a sort of brand consistency, based on two words run together, each beginning with a capital letter.

The cleanest club, as far as its history and what it presents, is NewBurlesque, which arose from the modern burlesque movement of the 1990s. It occupies what had once been a chain family restaurant that went under in 1996. NewBurlesque features strippers (of all genders), and also variety acts (jugglers, aerialists, others with circus skills) and comedians.

My work there, on Monday and Wednesday, was limited to pole moves, some high-kick dancing on its small stage, and a lot of tassel twirling, because the dancers can't go nude (but try to make that a positive with clever art and design on their pasties). My usual tassels, and a thong, kept me within the license. I did four short dances a night, with a separate admission for each, to increase turnover in a space limited by fire code to 150 people.

There's been several mentions of PoleSitter, here and in the previous book. It dates back to the 1980s and had various mobbed-up owners and patrons. Like TopHeavy, its entertainment is entirely pole dance strippers, who are available in private rooms for lap dances and such. There were several prostitution busts, because there was a lot of fucking and sucking. When Eroti picked up the pieces from a heavily-indicted ownership group, it put in place the no-penetration rule also in use at TopHeavy, so that patron-dancer external contact can lead to male jollies into a condom, public health is upheld, and law enforcement is persuaded to look the other way.

For various reasons, Eroti wanted its own guy in charge of TopHeavy. The opportunity arose when the manager of PoleSitter groped so many dancers (including Jen) that he got times-upped. The longtime manager of TopHeavy, Art Lourdis, was sent to PoleSitter to provide integrity, or something. Art wasn't happy, because PoleSitter is a smaller club, and the crew he put together to make a really good dance corps at TopHeavy didn't come with him.

My only trip to PoleSitter last week was on Saturday, in the duet with Jen.

WorkingMen has a multiple personality. Five nights a week, its male dancers cater to a gay male crowd. On Tuesdays, the same dancers tweak their acts a bit for a hoped-for girls-night-out audience. This is the same formula that flopped at what is now LadyGarden, but this club seems to be getting by.

An odd act was tricked up for me on Friday, with guys carrying me around in ways reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe. It was originally proposed that my own strip would reveal me wearing a strapon, but a close examination of the club's license showed this could be problematic. I wore a thong, but let the boys see all of my boobies, which a whole lot of gay men appreciate.

There's already been some mention of LadyGarden, where I danced Tuesday and Sunday. The place was full both nights, but mostly with TopHeavy regulars. There's enough performance room that I was able to do my usual featured dance, which I now end by taking off my heels and doing a backflip off the pole.

As for TopHeavy itself, Eroti bought it in 2019 after huge success generated by the club's first superstar, Bella. She exceeded the usual athleticism in pole dance stripping, and at times came close to artistry. I will never deny that she worked very hard on her dancing (under the guidance of Lourdis and the tutelage of the club's creative director/'den mother,' former dancer Marge Catalano), and thanks to surgical procedures she has the face and form to turn any man's groin.

I was 22 then, a pretty good dancer, and I didn't mind that Bella floated the boat for the rest of us. She even inspired me, showing that there were possibilities in this kind of dance that could make it more interesting and challenging, even if it affected the average patron only between his legs. For all of us at TopHeavy, she was the counter-argument to what we had heard all our lives in our dance classes: No woman with large breasts could ever be a great dancer. Still, I couldn't help but silently resent Bella's imperious attitude towards the rest of us in the dance corps.

How the club, and the dancers, got through COVID-19 is too big a subject to address here. It isn't a factor in the current situation. I'll get to it later.

Around the start of 2024, when Art Lourdis was moved to PoleSitter, Remington showed up as manager at TopHeavy. Gabe did some image mapping, which revealed that Cliff is a longtime crony of Darrendahl. Remington was heavily involved in the rollout of Eroti's first full-sized, several-ways-fuckable (sort of) sex doll, a replica of Bella. He then left to take charge of developing the rest of Eroti's sex dolls, and franchising TopHeavy to other cities (which hasn't happened yet). He was replaced by Donna Pendergast, previously Eroti's Director of Live Entertainment, originally sent here as Eroti's liaison to the expansion project. Donna, like Jessie, played a key role in facing down Darrendahl's opposition to Hibiscus's choreography. As Donna put it, she was proud to join the inmates in running the asylum.

Ohhhh, has the poor reader put up with too much yadda yadda yadda? All right, I'll end this chapter with some sex (after a little buildup).

We had hung around Gabe's place most of Monday, during which I was able to decompress. In the afternoon I dragged him along while I shopped for clothes. I tend to pinch pennies, but my new contract with Eroti has allowed me to loosen up. I needed a few more outfits, and while normal retailers wouldn't be much help with the kind of cocktail dress/evening gown stuff that I wore in the club for meet-and-greets (which have to show a lot of leg and cleavage), they had plenty for a woman out on the town who didn't want to declare herself as a stripper.

Gabe has the standard guy discomfort in places devoted to women's wear, but he got past it. He actually was thrilled by this, because it meant that I was getting more comfortable being seen out in public with him.

That night, we were back at his place and, as always, trying not to think about food. Lunch and dinner, despite intriguing spicing and flavoring, left us no better off than breakfast. We resorted to our usual way to distract ourselves.

I put on one of my new buys, a sleeveless high-necked purple dress in which I could wear a minimizer without showing straps. I added some heels. I sashayed around in front of him, as I had done at the store, where he could only sit and tell me what he thought of the clothes. I bored my green eyes into him and said, "What would you have done if you could follow me back to the fitting room?"

Showing great respect for both me and the dress I had just bought, he stood and reached around me to get to the zipper. I got a naughty little thrill as he undressed me, even though I have no interest in fitting room porn, and it's not high on his list either. Still not making much contact with me, he undid my minimizer smoothly, if not very quickly. As always my boobs went thank god don't ever do that to us again.

With both the dress and the bra straps in hand, he lowered the garments, leaving me in lacy green bikini-cut undies. He knelt, pulled down the pants, and kissed my crotch.

No quick rush to the bed. He settled in, with one hand on my butt, the other fondling a tit, and his mouth firmly on my pussy with his tongue lavishly feasting inside. I wondered if there might be merit in the motto eat pussy, not carbs. I almost swooned, but then flexed my legs, feeling the calves rounding from the effect of the heels.

I put hands on his shoulders and pulled at his shirt. He shook his head. I said, "No, I want you!" Which meant more body contact. Being worshipped has its moments, but it's lonely on the pedestal.

And so to bed. I got fabric off of a male body which was now about 80 percent terrific. We sixty-nined, and I stroked his legs and back as I lightly licked his cock and balls. He would have pressed on, but I again pushed my own agenda and got myself under him. I know what the sight of my naked body does to most straight males, but Gabe shows a certain kind of awe that dawns every time, after more than a hundred moments like this. We both came almost immediately, and we kept at it, and came again later, bigger.

Then we showered and cuddled and yadda yadda yadda, and we talked about one of our sorta kinda projects, to make the world a better place for happy sex. We should try to counteract the conditions that make so much sex unhappy, or nonexistent, with the hope that happy sex would stop people from obsessing about it and encourage them to balance their lives. You'll be reading more about that. Maybe more than you'd like.

***

Chapter 3: But Really, We're Both Prostitutes

***

Gabe and Molly stay sex-exclusive, for a little while.

***

Sometimes we have to speed this up and summarize things over several days. Otherwise there's just too much to write and read.

Tuesday, November 5. From Gabe:

Tonight Molly and I attended a performance piece by Brenda Hunsaker, who was in my third porno video. In that video she had delivered a monologue, a harangue against her cheating lover (me), while getting nude and fucking and doing what's necessary in porn. In her live show, performed in a black box theater in an arts district, she got nude (a few times) and delivered a monologue, but didn't fuck. That stayed within the local, legal definition of acceptable activity in a live show.

Brenda is a young, healthy brunette with even skin tone, nice round breasts in the B-C-cup range, a slender trunk, and plain facial features which usually look harsh, because of the generally negative expression with which she performs.

This show gave her more variety than her porn. She portrayed different characters, with different moods, connected by their involvement with prostitution: A longtime call girl with a drug habit, a single mother taking in clients to boost her income, a street pimp, a high-end escort service manager, a john looking for action his wife refuses to give him, another john who prefers the risks of prostitution to the stress and rejection of seeking sex online, a hotel concierge who connects clients to escorts, and a vice cop who goes easy on hookers who agree to blow him.

Brenda puts a lot of thought into her work. The whole piece was interesting (she did a decent job portraying the male characters as well as the women), but she tends to be strident, which can put people off (even in the artsy bohemian crowd). Also, this audience was probably already on the side Brenda took, that criminalizing sex-for-sale does more harm than good.

This still made for some debate in the post-show discussion (with Brenda on stage facilitating those audience members who chose to remain). At issue was human trafficking, and whether legal prostitution might make that worse. I have no knowledge or experience, and found myself taking the side of combined legalization/licensing with (somehow) upholding the rights and freedom of sex workers.

Brenda made a point of greeting me and Molly after this after-event. "I'm so glad you could get here," she said. "What I did with you is still bringing in money, to support my projects."

I asked, "Is Eroti, or anyone else, interested in giving this show wider distribution?"

"We've videoed it for web content. One of the erotica-for-women sub-sites is showing interest. I'm holding out for actual money, enough for me and the crew. And even if Eroti gets an exclusive, I want it to be linked far and wide."

"You may be negotiating a long time," said Molly. "Eroti will pay for content, but it wants control." She had prepared for the evening by making herself as plain as she could: No makeup, tied-back hair, her big glasses instead of contacts, featureless dark sweater and pants, minimizer bra, flat shoes. She still seemed to draw every eye in the building.

Molly looked at me and said, "Maybe Chris Nardullo could help." Chris was a lawyer at the firm that oversaw my trust funds. He had helped both me and Molly on contracts with Eroti.

"Great idea," I said. I told Brenda about Chris and said I could at least have him start work gratis, as part of the trust fund codicil that gave me access to free legal assistance.

"I really appreciate that," said Brenda. She hugged both of us, though she didn't strike me as someone who hugged routinely.

"I'm still a pretty useless guy," I told her, "as far as making a difference in the world. I think you may have given me a purpose. This fits in with what Molly and I have talked about, trying to make sex more positive and less of a problem for people."

Brenda smiled. "You'd be working in your own best interest. You and I have both taken money to perform sex acts. The third-party aspect keeps it from being strictly illegal, but really, we're both prostitutes."

***

Wednesday, November 6 (into Thursday the 7th). From Molly:

The latest renovations allowed TopHeavy to bring in more money from the normal activities in the club. The public space was larger, with more tables. All of the eight new private rooms had been added, and six were fully furnished, so 'customer-contact personnel'--stage dancers, table dancers, and waitresses--could satisfy all requests for more action, thus far without waiting lists.

Along one wall, starting at the end of a bar, was a glass-walled space that will soon connect to a new restaurant. The kitchen for the restaurant already exists, and is being shaken down by providing food for the also-enlarged VIP Lounge.

While the dressing room has more space now, and lockers for all female employees (full and part-time), it is meant as a ready room (including hair styling and makeup) for performers. Hanging around is to be done on the second floor, which has performer lounge space as well as the large, varied practice room. There are both wide stairs and an elevator connecting the two spaces, and full bathrooms and showers on both floors.

Doublevision once had a good-sized following, among men of all races, but it had eroded along with her conditioning. She nonetheless had a big crowd for her return to the 8 p. m. Wednesday featured dance. One grandstand was in place, and it was nearly full. The floor around the stage was at least two people thick.

She took the stage in a shimmery white gown, with long stringed beads along the legs, and white heels. This differed from her original plan to come out in a business suit, reflecting and mocking her management role. Her wavy, shoulder-length hair was loose, and in what may have been a new attempt to play on her workname, she wore oversized, lensless glasses with thick red rims. She eased into a single one-hand spin on the pole, then added the other hand, tucked close to increase angular momentum, and fanned her legs out to swing the bead strands and show skin, a strong contrast of her brown with the beads' white. She left the pole in a move in which her back was towards the floor, but she settled lightly with her momentum leaving her upright. She could not have done these moves before her physical therapy.

She danced around the floor a couple times, arms and hips heavily involved, tossing her hair, hips swaying and popping. She put in some fairly high kicks, front and side. In a spin on one foot, she detached the beads and let them skitter to the stage by the pole, leaving the bottom of the gown covering her trunk in solid fabric. Then came another set of pole spins, short ones punctuated by short dance steps.

Then she positioned herself on the stage so as to be visible from the largest number of viewers, and tore away the top of the gown--to reveal a bra that matched the glasses, large red frames around opaque black fabric that concealed her breasts (and in this lighting, contrasted sufficiently with her skin). This got a good laugh. After a couple more dance turns, to show the bra to everyone else, she pulled a hanky out of her cleavage and wiped both the glassless glasses and her breasts, enjoying the latter. That got a bigger laugh.

Now she got serious with her pole work. With her weight down, and clearly built up in shoulders and arms, she put in long spins and turns, often with her legs and torso far out from the pole. She pulled away the rest of the gown, leaving a red thong over a taut belly. After three head-drop spins, she landed to work the stage again. During these dance moves, she straightened her glasses, then did the same straightening to the bra. Then, after a sharp pivot, she took both sets of glasses off simultaneously and tossed them aside.

With her natural E-cup breasts freed, she began the tassel magic that she had maintained even in her decline. Now every bit as sleek and toned as I was, 34-year-old Jessie Corcoran was perhaps more desirable than she had ever been in her life, but even the most erectilely functioning man watching her was (I think) mainly marveling at the tassels' twirls, stops, reverses, both-tits-left, both-tits-right, tits-in-opposite-directions, and even figure-eights.

Then she returned to the pole, and twirled tassels while spinning. The floor around the stage was now jammed. The crowd roar was at a level I've heard before only for me and Bella. She levered herself up the pole, held on with legs only, and twirled while upside down. I do that, but she's better. She undid the snaps on the thong and spun her body far out, scissoring her legs to kick the thong free. She got back to the stage, did one more blinding set of tassel twirls, then pulled them off her nipples, stuck them to her butt cheeks, and twerked them. Finally she tossed them away, did a vertical splitz up the pole, a cartwheel on the floor, and a sit-splitz. Then, with leg muscles only, she stood. She held her arms out in triumph, and closed her eyes against welling tears.

The crowd was totally insane and, I suspect in many cases, relieved of some protein-bearing gunk. Gabe joined me in the standing ovation, despite being obviously and perhaps painfully erect. I expected to have mind-boggling sex with him later, but right then I'm sure he wanted to wipe away Jessie's tears while giving her the boner she created, to do with as she liked. Hell, I would have jumped her, but she didn't swing that way.

Even with a bouncer escort, it took me a while to get to the dancers-only clear space that led to the dressing room. Rather than sitting and relaxing, or showering down there, Jessie was walking up the stairs to the practice room, toweling off sweat, when I got in. I barely had time to say, "Great dance, Jessie," and see her nod, before she was gone from sight.

Well now. There were showers up there, along with her office, where she could remove dance makeup, apply party makeup, and change clothes in calm privacy. Except.

When I found Gabe again in the public space, I said, "If this weren't a night we were going to be together anyway, we might be our last resorts."

"How so?"

"I'm not the only dancer here that John Alvarez likes." I told him about Jessie's retreat.

"Ahh. So he could have access to her office?"

I nodded. "He may not know what could happen to him. He'd be in the clutches of a dancer right after she's performed. And she's going to be higher than most, after that."

Gabe gave the subject a little thought. "And in your case... just lady fun?"

"Well, duh, guys aren't allowed in the open dancer space." Then I gave the subject a little thought. "I should ask for an office in there."

Six pavilions were set aside for Jessie's comeback party, their folding walls drawn back to make one large space. People started drifting in around 9 p. m. Much later she arrived, in her gold lamé wrap dress, looking serene and content. I was in the main circle of well-wishers, while Gabe held back. He told me later that he saw John Alvarez arrive about ten minutes later, smiling, but looking a bit winded for a fit, healthy, well-heeled fellow of thirty-one.

Gradually we dancers found ourselves giving way to male admirers, black and white, and Jessie's discussion topics edged towards the amorous. She called Gabe over to receive some flirtation, at one point saying, "Here's proof that there ain't no justice in the world. What I can see of you is above the neck, and that hasn't gotten any better. What I want to see is below the neck, which must be really fine now, but society makes you cover it up."

Gabe bantered back. "I'm frequently on display, and if you ask me nicely, I can make special arrangements."

She returned, "I don't want to be nice to you," with an undercurrent. Gabe let her have the last word.

I drifted over to John and smiled. So far, he and I had gotten along as swimmingly in bed as we had out of it. I had enjoyed his performance between my legs, and knew it to be strong and repeatable. "How are you tonight?"

His smile looked weary. "Very good, thank you. I always try to benefit from an educational experience."

Oh, it was so tempting to be a kitten playing with a trapped mouse! I resolved to go easy on him, mostly. "I'm sure you were an apt pupil. Maybe even teacher's pet."

A trace of smugness showed, but he tried to tamp it down. "I really shouldn't say any more." He was lean, dark-eyed, and had a basic confidence that may have existed before he developed the coding and tech patents that allowed him to retire early. I was getting a little too turned on to keep up this act.

"That's very honorable of you, and I hope it extends to all other confidences." I batted lashes at him and drifted away.

That night, Gabe and I both got off some of the antsiness that we felt towards other people, in our sixty-nining and cowgirling. In the morning, our sex was more clearly by and for us, with a doggystyle and then him giving me a nipple orgasm, and then me giving him a titfuck.

Then we worked out and showered and ate (sorta kinda) and wrote, and I began getting ready for work.

Gabe then added another new experience to his still-growing sexual catalog by walking in on a woman as she shaved her pussy.

"I could--"

"Stay put," I said, not looking up. I was sitting on the milk crate in the bathroom, legs spread. "To really worship my cooch, you must understand what it endures."

I was removing about a twelve-day growth, so this was actually a significant change.

There were now times when Gabe could be in my nude presence without getting an erection. This was not one of them.

Porn nerd questions took over his voice. "How often do you have to do it? How soon after can you, um..."

I shook my head, looking at the pathetic creature that a small part of him still was. "Answer one: Every other day during the work week is good enough for what I do. I rouge my pussy, so when my adoring public sees that, in that lighting, they tend not to notice tiny stubble around it. Answer two: For at least ten hours, this is a no-fly zone. That works for me. With other ladies, their mileage may vary."

"Is it easier when it's this long?"

"It is," I confirmed. It didn't hurt at all, maybe there could be fun in less than ten hours. But I'd still be at work.

When we parted company, and I began a work week, I knew I'd probably land John after work that night, while Gabe would have to deal with Jessie continuing to string him along. So the poor fellow would have to settle for taking home Kittykat, Moira, Chelsea, Gwen, Hibiscus, Caliente, or all of the above.

***

Saturday, November 9. From Gabe:

Yadda alert: At the request of club management, I've started a forum of TopHeavy patrons, requesting input on the club-going experience. More sneakily, I hoped to make their opinion of the dancers and other women more positive, more thoughtful, and more respectful.

I began with a chatroom on TopHeavy's own website (operated by club staffers, linked up ultimately to the main Eroti site and its related sites). I did a lot of emailing, texting, and social media dredging, to bring people in. I worked from Eroti's VIP membership lists, which I am on also. (In my pre-Molly days, I got pretty much all of my jollies, in clubs and online, as a Mega Platinum VIP member). Much of the club's recent boom in attendance, however, had come from walk-ins and others who hadn't spent a bundle up front, and I wanted them in whatever discussion I could drum up.

I sent word to local college fraternities and bachelor party organizers. I also got the club to promote the chatroom on the huge video board in the public space, which was used mainly to show the dancers available for private room visits, and the numbers for phoning tips.

Big surprise: A whole lot of men either didn't want to talk about going to a strip club, or tried to use online anonymity to be obnoxious, offensive, or threatening. As the moderator of this chatroom I blocked most of this, while announcing to the group as a whole that saying or doing things like that in the club itself would land that person on the wrong side of a bouncer, and that just like everywhere else on the internet, hiding behind anonymity is cowardice.

I was hoping to let the discussion develop, and allow people (that is, men) to get more comfortable with expressing themselves on a topic they found shameful. Because of the chatroom nastiness, however, I decided to move right away into face-to-face meetings.

At the risk of calling a meeting attended only by me, I set one up for this afternoon in a chain of pavilions, overlooking the club's private space. It was set for 2 p. m., before the club opened. The view through the one-way glass would provide anonymity that I considered acceptable, because it did not give anyone a free look at a pole dance.

The new kitchen provided some bar snacks. There was no liquor. There was, however, at my invitation, Moira, a waitress and table dancer, and Sam, a bartender/bouncer, to provide attendees some perspective from the club side. I had also leaned on two patrons who had no qualms about attending the club: Denny Yarborough and John Alvarez.

I kept some topics off the agenda, most especially the 'Call Me!' board through which patrons arranged for dancers to meet them in private rooms. I would also steer discussion away from what Denny, John, and I were routinely able to do: hook up with dancers. Was it unreasonable to expect customers to be satisfied with watching strippers and getting selfies? I tended to think it was.

To my sorta-kinda pleasant surprise, about 30 guys showed up. A few were VIP members with whom I was slightly acquainted. Some were friends of Alvarez, part of a large well-off bunch that started showing up after Selena's breakthrough July dance. The rest were a mix of races and ethnicities, with a fair number the kind of shlub I once was.

"I want to start by welcoming and thanking you," I said. "The easiest reflex for a strip club patron is to hide in the dark and hope nobody finds out you're here. Welcome to the light.

"The first thing I'd like us to discuss runs counter to the goal of getting more people to attend TopHeavy. For those of you in relationships, is it a problem for you to spend money and time here?"

There was silence and some looking around at others.

"I'm not surprised," I said. "Men with significant others were unlikely to show up here. And to anyone with real responsibilities, like raising kids, I would advise strongly against taking resources away from them."

I was so far talking to myself. I changed it up. "Okay, this is less heavy. Can I see shows of hands on what brings you here? You can answer more than once. Is it to see beautiful women?"

Everyone lifted a hand.

"Is it to see them dance in ways you didn't think were possible?"

Most of the hands stayed up.

"Is it to see them get naked?"

The rest of the hands rose again.

"Again, no surprise," I said with a laugh that everyone felt comfortable enough to join in. "Would anyone like to say something about the dancing?"

Bless Denny for taking the baton. "It's incredible, especially in the last few months."

"Does that make a difference in why you come here?"

"Definitely. There's good dancing in other clubs, but not like this. The women here are constantly challenging themselves." Okay, Denny was being a little selective. What he said was certainly true, but his recent heavy attendance resulted from his success with the ladies--especially Hibiscus, who comped his admission to prevent him from squandering his paralegal's salary.

Wonder of wonders, there was a voice from the crowd. "Especially Galaxia last night."

I solicited more. "Really? I wasn't here. Was that her midnight dance?"

The voice came from a young black man in what looked like designer-appropriated urban wear. "Yeah. Hope she does it again tonight."

There was a flatscreen against a wall. I found the remote. "This is from the club website, so I'm not giving anyone a freebie."

I brought in the video. It was the standard raw in-house feed from a single camera. This was the most energetic dance I'd ever seen from Galaxia (real name Diana Calvert), a knockout blonde who was on Molly's bad side because of toxic ambition. Diana did a move I'd never seen before: With her back to the pole, she raised a leg behind her to get a grip with the crook of her knee and her instep, and elevated her body onto the pole from that, without using her hands.

Maybe on the downside, she was extremely raunchy. She got completely naked pretty early, and might have gone beyond club standards in rubbing every discarded garment between her legs and fondling her breasts, raising one close to her lowered tongue. She rolled around the stage pretty close to the edge, offering her high heels for guys to touch, spreading her legs wide while on her back, nearly within arm's length. These actions have been common in strip acts for decades, but more recently avoided by dancers in the interest of their safety.

I knew what had probably inspired Galaxia. Ever since Molly had made her dance more challenging and innovative, other dancers had upped their game. Hibiscus had gained the opportunity to develop themed choreography, and most recently Doublevision's comeback showed what even a relatively older woman can do.

My group applauded and cheered as the dance ended. "That's a great dance," I said sincerely. "But I'd like to ask Sam here if it poses a problem."

He nodded. "Any time a dancer makes a move or strikes a pose that puts her very close to the audience for several seconds, Security has to assume that there could be improper contact. There were no incidents last night, but it was a new dance. Once an audience becomes familiar with a dance, the chance of someone crossing a line increases."

"What Sam is implying," I added, "Is that anyone who tries to invade the dancer's space will be dealt with, quickly and firmly, by bouncers.

"This brings us to the subjects of safety and respect," I went on. "Moira here is a waitress and table dancer, as I'm sure many of you know." There were cheers, and she smiled and finger-waved. She was dressed demurely in an untucked flannel shirt and jeans, and her straight black hair was tied back. Her face wasn't made up at all. She was still gorgeous, in her dusky, exotic way.

"Could you please tell us," I asked, "what makes for a good night on the job?"

"First," she said, "I just want to say I love it here, and I really appreciate you guys. Anyway, when I'm waiting tables, please be patient. You can see how busy we are most nights, and the bartenders and barbacks are just as stressed as we are. Phoning your order, and confirming it with me, will always make things work better. You can also phone your tips, but I can take cash or credit too.

"As for table dancing, when we start serving food in the main space, you'll have a choice: your table can have food, or a dancer, but not both. I can dance on a table with drinks, if you keep the glasses outside the neon-green ring on each table. The dancer needs the space inside the circle empty and dry." The club's rule on table dances was that breasts can be exposed, but the dancer will at all times wear loose, athletic-style shorts.

"Also, if you have loads of people at the table, give me space to get on and off. And please, do not touch me while I'm on the table. I'll do some moves that might seem inviting, and if I'm on my knees you might really like what you're seeing, but if something happens that I'm not expecting, I could fall and get hurt." She put on a low, breathy voice and a little smile. "And you don't want that, do you?"

A chorus of "No!" with some laughs. Moira was mostly saying what guys were told whenever they requested a table dance. She added, "No photo flashes during the dance. If you want a selfie, please do it after the dance is done. If you want my breasts to show, please ask, and I'll make sure I'm in the frame, but again, no body contact.

"If you want to tip in cash, please do it after the dance. Show me the paper and I'll take it from you. Sliding it under a garter can be a problem in close quarters, when I'm on a table. You can also tip by phone the same way you requested the dance."

Moira's talk made things more convivial. I opened the floor to general comments about the club. There were some complaints about parking, which patrons said became more annoying as the weather got colder. This led to a formal suggestion for attached, multi-level parking to be a part of the club's renovations. I said I'd pass it up the chain, but didn't promise anything. I noted that the club's valet parking was now able to use the lot across the street, which during normal business hours was used by TopHeavy's office workers. They had been moved to the building there when renovations began.

More likely to be approved was a request that dancers hang around on stage at the ends of their dances, to pose for nude selfies. I happened to know that some dancers already did this, although Molly didn't make a point of it.

After we adjourned (with everyone required to depart before the club opened), I approached the man who mentioned Galaxia's dance, to thank him for participating. His name was DeMarre Underwood, and he said that despite the lateness of the hour, Galaxia had done meet-and-greet in the public space after her dance. He praised her for that, and showed me the selfie he had taken of him with her. In the pic, she stretched aside her evening gown to expose completely her DD-cup breasts.

I smiled and said nothing, but my mind was all uh-oh.

(To be continued.)