Two hours later, stuffed to the gills and quite tipsy, Celia leaned back in her chair and laughed as Reagan finished her story about her first time skiing. It had involved a collision, a fall from the chair lift, and meeting the most engaging man, whom she ended up dating for two years. She amazed herself at how comfortable and easy this evening had been. Garrett and Reagan were truly wonderful people, and a kinship had grown between them.
Garrett laughed and, as the story concluded, took the opportunity to bring the dinner to a close.
"After that charming adventure, I believe it's time to hit the road."
The three moved toward the door and the front of the restaurant. The check had arrived earlier, and Garrett dropped his black card onto the silver tray without looking at the amount.
Stepping outside, they were greeted by the gentle warmth of a New Orleans evening.
The limo pulled up. Barton hopped out, opening the door for them. Garrett stepped back and let Celia and Reagan enter the car first. She heard Garrett say to Barton, "Let's hit the club."
Garrett climbed in as the door closed behind him.
The open Zinfandel seemed to speak to Garrett. He picked up a glass. "Can't let this go to waste now, can we?" He poured three glasses, draining the bottle.
To Celia's surprise, it tasted even better than before. "Wow, this is amazing. It's even better now."
"Yes, when you expose wine to the air, it oxidizes, and that changes the flavor. It's called 'opening up.' Sitting out here for a few hours allowed it to reach its full flavor potential. It's why they decant wine, to expose it to the air." Celia pursed her lips and shook her head in understanding.
Good to know.
Garrett settled back and took a sip.
Celia's leg began to tremble, a sure sign of her nervousness. The part of the evening she had been anticipating had arrived: they would head back to the hotel, and she would find out Garrett's true intentions.
Garrett looked at Celia with a mischievous grin. "When we first met, you told me about a strip club with a girl on a swing. I did a little research, and sorry to say, it's no longer here. However, you seemed intrigued with that experience, so I thought we might recreate it for you, if you're up for it."
Celia glanced at Reagan, and she blushed. "I was here once before with my ex-husband. He took me to my first strip club. My only strip club now that I think about it."
"Darlin', you can't come to the Big Easy and not hit a strip club. It's un-
American." Reagan laughed. "It'll be fun. No worries."
Celia took a deep breath. As scary as it sounded, the possible adventure thrilled her in a way she couldn't have anticipated.
There is absolutely no reason I can't do this. I came all the way here, didn't I?
Why stop now?
"Ahhh, what the hell? I'm only young once, right? Garrett, this better not be amateur night!" she teased.
Reagan laughed and leaned over to hug Celia. As she did, she took Celia's hands and squeezed. "Oh, this is going to be fun, fun, fun."
Celia squeezed back as the two women continued to chuckle, falling into the childlike innocence of a shared adventure.
Celia tittered, "I'm feeling a bit naughty about this. It's kinda exciting!" Barton pulled the limo to a stop outside a dark building. A single neon sign hung over the entrance. Shaped like a giant high heel, the name "The Big Easy" curved upward inside the outline of the glowing pump. The B was fashioned to resemble two breasts. It flashed in rotating red, blue, and purple. As they stepped out of the car, the sign cast an eerie glow over the trio, heightening the charged mood and adding to Celia's excitement. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and she couldn't help but stare.
"If they could see me now," Celia blurted, then laughed. Reagan took her arm and squeezed. "Are you ready to let loose?"
Oh, my God! What am I doing? She laughed at herself.
Garrett stepped between them and took their arms. "Let's do this. What do you say?"
Several single men, along with a few couples, stood in line to the right. It ended at the front entrance, where a large, burly man controlled the velvet rope. Despite her trepidation, Celia worried they wouldn't be able to get in.
Garrett escorted them directly to the front of the line, and with a knowing nod, the bouncer removed the velvet rope. The three walked in like royalty.
I should have known better.
A concierge approached them with deft professionalism, introducing himself.
"Good evening, Mr. Tyler. I'm Lamaro, and I'll be your guide for the evening. If you would follow me, please, I'll take you to your suite." Lamaro had a mid-European accent that Celia couldn't place.
Celia rolled her eyes. "To our suite. Of course, we can't mingle with the common folk now, can we?"
Reagan laughed as the three of them followed Lamaro.
Inside, the club pulsed with energy. The main stage dominated the center of the room, while two smaller stages were positioned on either side, each hosting its own dazzling performance. The music throbbed, lights danced across the crowd, and the atmosphere erupted with excitement and possibility.
Dynamic and theatrical effects filled the room—spotlights swept across the main stage, casting the performers in dramatic scenes, while colored beams danced through the haze, painting the crowd in shifting shades of red, blue, purple, and green.
On the stage to Celia's left, a topless redheaded performer hung upside down, supporting herself by one leg wrapped around the pole. Her arms moved fluidly in front of her. Then, in one quick, well-rehearsed motion, she flipped off the pole and landed in a split. The athleticism and acrobatic skill fascinated Celia.
"These women are amazing," Celia said with deep admiration. There were probably a hundred people in the room, each engaged in either watching the performers or talking to the girls who weren't onstage. One of the women took a man's hand, then led him to another room off to the side. They disappeared behind a curtain.
Leaning into Reagan, she asked, "Where do they go when they head out over there?" She pointed to the curtain.
Reagan smiled, "Lap dance. There are special rooms where the girls can take the guys so they can give them lap dances. You'll see."
"I'll see?" Celia said, surprised, her voice rising as she spoke. Reagan laughed. "This way."
Following Garrett and Lamaro, Celia and Reagan climbed a grand staircase that led to a balcony level above the main floor. A dark hallway, lined with large pictures of beautiful, scantily clad women, led them to a polished, wooden door. Lamaro opened the door and gestured for the three to go in.
With a tentative look at Reagan, Celia entered. Three overstuffed swivel chairs sat in front of an opening that overlooked the main stage. A fluffy couch lined the side wall, and a small coffee table rested in front of it. Red velvet wallpaper covered the walls, giving the room a sensual, old-world aura.
I've seen this in a movie, somewhere.
Plush purple carpet covered the floor. If it had been any thicker, Celia couldn't have walked on it. Had she been wearing high heels, they certainly would have gotten stuck in the deep pile.
Celia crossed to the window and looked down at the mayhem on the floor. They were actually closer to the main stage than if they had sat at a table on the floor.
Lamaro followed them into the room and let them settle. Garrett walked to the front, swung one of the overstuffed chairs around, sat, and pivoted back to face the main stage.
Reagan came up behind Celia and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, pushing her breasts into Celia's back.
"What can we get you to drink, darlin'?" she asked.
Celia shivered.
Okay, this is interesting.
"I'm thinking it's time for a cocktail. Can I get a lemon drop martini?"
"Coming right up." She turned to Lamaro. "Lamaro, would it be possible to get us three lemon drop martinis?"
"My pleasure, ma'am. Can I offer anything else? We have an assortment of appetizers and snacks," Lamaro replied.
"Oh God, no. We just finished dinner. But thank you."
Lamaro left the room. Reagan plopped into the overstuffed chair next to Garrett. Both were eyeing Celia.
Looking out over the main floor, she was mesmerized by the decadence of the scene before her. The constant motion, lights, and music combined into a massive sensory overload. She didn't know where to look. The excess reminded her of sitting in a sports bar, trying to watch four baseball games at once.
"See anything you like?" Garrett asked in the voice that rich men use when they are about to grant a wish.
Celia plopped into the remaining chair. "Hmm, that blonde in the center, the one with the red G-string, she kinda reminds me of me. That's pretty freaky." Garrett looked to the stage, and she saw him make a mental note.
"Anything else?" he asked.
Celia scanned the dance floors. Almost immediately, she pointed out a brunette with a large shoulder tattoo and fishnet stockings. She performed a series of leg wraps and drops that impressed the gawking Celia.
"Look at her! She's amazing. I never thought about the skill level it takes to do this. It's incredible," Celia said with sensual exhilaration.
Garrett nodded his head again.
"Reagan, any thoughts?" Garrett asked.
Reagan gave him a sly smile and said, "Surprise me." Celia looked at Reagan and got the impression they had done this before.
"What's going on here? Are you two up to something?" Delight grew inside her.
Reagan reached out and took Celia's hand. "We're just taking care of you, that's all."
Celia looked at her sideways and said, "You guys are up to something.
What's going on?"
The two of them exchanged a calculated glance but remained silent. "Okay... but I'd be lying if I said I'm not finding this exciting." Celia shimmied and turned her attention back to the stage.
The door to the suite opened, and Lamaro walked in, followed by a waiter carrying a serving tray with three lemon drop martinis.
As the waiter passed out the drinks, Garrett motioned to Lamaro, who leaned over. He whispered in his ear.
Lamaro stood up straight and said, "Excellent, sir. Enjoy." He ushered the waiter out of the room, closing the door behind him.
"A toast!" Garrett said, holding up his martini. "A toast!" Reagan repeated.
"To Celia and her triumphant return to a New Orleans strip club."
Celia chuckled, "I'll drink to that." She licked the sugar off the rim of the glass as she took a long, slow sip. The combination of the lemon's tang and the vodka's cutting taste added to her exhilaration. She took another sip without hesitation.
A few minutes later, the door opened, and three women walked in. The blonde dancer Celia had thought resembled her entered first, followed by the brunette in the blue, sparkly G-string with the shoulder tattoo, and a Black woman with blonde hair. They all wore G-strings and skimpy bikini tops.
"Oh wow! Looks like we have company," Reagan said with mock surprise.
It dawned on Celia what had happened. "Garrett, did you invite them up?" Celia ran her tongue along the sugar rim of her drink.
Garrett stood, always the consummate gentleman. "Ladies, welcome. Would you be so kind as to introduce yourselves?"
The Celia look-alike stepped forward and said, "Hi, I'm Gwendolyn. Nice to meet you." Her accent flowed with Cajun ease.
Holy shit, that's sexy. Wait, what??
She performed a pirouette, her arms moving as though a nest of snakes wound around her.
Garrett executed a low bow. "Very nice to meet you, Gwendolyn. And you, young lady?" he said, gesturing to the brunette.
The brunette stepped forward and smiled, "Hi, y'all, I'm Cherity, and I'm from Fort Worth, Texas. The greatest state in this union." Her proclamation ended in a pirouette and a back walkover. Celia noticed an outline of the state of Texas imprinted on the front of the blue sparkly G-string. She gasped in surprise.
"I'm from Texas, too. Houston first and now Austin."
Cherity replied, "I love Austin. Let's keep it weird." They both laughed.
The Black blonde stepped forward and said, "Welcome to The Big Easy. I'm Moonlight, and I hope to make you smile." Moonlight performed a high kick and slid down into the splits on the balcony carpet.
Garrett applauded. "Well done, ladies. I thank you for your excellent showmanship. Gwendolyn, I'd like to introduce you to Celia. You're right, Celia, there's a striking resemblance, actually."
Gwendolyn slithered over to Celia. She leaned over, placing her cheek next to Celia's and gifted a small kiss. Celia inhaled with surprise. She pulled her face back, looking straight into Gwendolyn's hazel eyes. Gwendolyn smiled with practiced ease and placed her hands on Celia's shoulders; she swept behind the chair and dragged her hands over her shoulders and neck.
Garrett then said, "Cherity, I'd like to introduce you to Reagan."
Cherity stepped to Reagan and slid into her lap. Reagan reached up and caressed her with no hesitation. Cherity let out a light laugh, leaned in, and kissed her on the lips. Celia's eyes popped open. She found herself considerably more excited than she would have ever thought.
"Oh boy," Celia muttered.
Garrett then sat and said, "Moonlight, I'm Garrett. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Moonlight dropped to her knees and crawled to Garrett, rubbing her head up along his thigh as she crawled into his lap.
Garrett let out a laugh and said, "Ladies, enjoy yourselves." As he said it, a new song blasted from the main stage. Responding to the music, the three women began the lap-dance ceremony. Celia had heard about these things but had never seen one in person, much less received one. Her nervousness spiked as Gwendolyn ran her hands down Celia's biceps and back up over her neck and face. Celia tensed. She had no idea how this worked or how to react.
Gwendolyn leaned over and pressed her cheek against Celia's. It seemed that she could sense Celia's apprehension, and she whispered, "Is this your first lap dance?"
Celia didn't move her face but, in a high, squeaky voice, said, "Yes, it is.
What do I do?"
Gwendolyn slid around in front of Celia, put her thumbs into the waistband of her G-string, grinding her hips. She reached behind her and untied her bikini top, tossing it aside. Her breasts stood strong and firm. The nipples were pale and petite but erect.
Leaning over, she whispered into Celia's ear, "It's simple. You sit. I dance. You can't touch me, but I can touch you. If there's anything that makes you uncomfortable"—she paused for effect— "too damn bad. You're in my chair now." Gwendolyn bit Celia's earlobe and laughed.
Celia's body responded involuntarily, and she felt herself getting wet.
What the hell? Do I like this?
Gwendolyn ran her hands up the outside of Celia's arms and brushed both of Celia's breasts on the way back down. She dragged her hands over her waist and down each thigh. When she came to the hem of her skirt, she teased as she slid her fingers under it and pushed forward. Celia's breath caught and her butt tensed as the hem of the skirt started to rise. Gwendolyn smiled. In a single practiced move, she swung around and planted her ass square on Celia's lap. Her thighs were the recipient of a grinding of Gwendolyn's butt. With her legs between Celia's spread knees, she stood and reached over to touch the floor. The movement put Gwendolyn's ass right in front of Celia's face. Gwendolyn bumped Celia's nose with her ass before coming back to a standing position. The soft skin against her face made Celia flush.
Gwendolyn continued her swaying, brushing against Celia whenever possible. She raised her left leg high and swung it over Celia's head. The motion exposed her crotch to Celia's face. Celia saw the outline of her wedgie and a few razor bumps around her inner thigh. Without thinking, she reached up and touched the inside of Gwendolyn's thigh. Gwendolyn looked toward the back of the room, checking to see if anyone was watching them. They were alone.
Standing in front of Celia, Gwendolyn took Celia's right hand and placed it on her left knee, palm down. Gwendolyn pulled Celia's hand up her thigh, all the way to her pelvis, stopping just short of the G-string. Celia was certain that Gwendolyn was about to have her cup her coochie. Instead, the dancer glided Celia's hand over her stomach and onto her other thigh. Celia now had her right hand on Gwendolyn's right thigh; her arm crossed over her body. With practiced ease, Gwendolyn took Celia's left hand and ran it over the right, across her G-string, then down her left thigh. Celia's arms crossed, each hand holding Gwendolyn's inner thigh. Squeezing her thighs together and trapping Celia's hands between them, she leaned in and kissed her on the lips. Celia's face flared. Her breathing became short and shallow. She didn't taste cherry ChapStick; Gwendolyn's lips were hot like molasses and just as slippery. She rubbed her cheeks over Celia's, letting their lips brush against each other as they swayed.
Gwendolyn released Celia's hands and took hold of her shoulders. She leaned in and, with significant intent, brushed her bare breasts across Celia's face. Gwendolyn slipped behind her once again. Using her hands as though they were paintbrushes, she covered Celia's chest with strong, silky strokes. Her hands traced around Celia's breasts until finally she covered each breast thoroughly and tweaked her nipples through her bra.
Celia's anxiousness exploded.
She threw her arms up in a defensive gesture and pushed Gwendolyn's hands away. Celia leapt to her feet and backed away from Gwendolyn. Flustered, she said, "Okay, you're fucking gorgeous. You smell amazing, and I'm sure you're a wonderful person, and I don't mean to be rude, but I'm not so sure this is for me. Thank you very much, but I'm good."
With that, Celia fled the room and ran down the stairs. She didn't stop until she burst through the front entrance. Disoriented, she searched for Barton and the car. Finding him parked beside several other limos, she yanked the door open and jumped into the back.
Rattled, aroused, and confused, she looked for something to drink. Grabbing a handful of ice, she threw it into a tumbler and poured a healthy shot of vodka. Sucking down a long swig, she fell back against the leather bench and shook her head.
"What the hell was that?" Bewilderment enveloped her. "Wow!"
She looked down to find her hand cupping her crotch.
Oh, for chissake!
For the next twenty minutes, she sat, staring into space, trying to make sense of the dozens of jumbled and conflicting emotions coursing through her. Her coochie dripped, and her nipples rubbed against the inside of her bra, erect and screaming for attention. She plastered her hand over each of her breasts in an attempt to quiet them. Just then, the door opened. Garrett and Reagan climbed in. They both had very pitiful expressions on their faces. Reagan spoke first.
"Hey, how ya doing? You okay?" Reagan said, with as much sympathy as she could muster. "Did you go into overload?"
Garrett spoke before she could answer, "I hope that we didn't put you in an uncomfortable position. We just thought you might find it intriguing, you know, fun."
Celia shook her head and took another gulp of her vodka. In a measured voice, she said, "I just wasn't really prepared for that particular experience." They both leaned forward to respond, but Celia held up her hand, silencing everyone, as though she had something important to say. "But it's okay. I'm all right. I hope I didn't ruin anyone's evening."
The car began to move. "Where are we going now?" she said with surprising urgency.
Garrett smiled. "Heading to the hotel. It's been a night, hasn't it?" He reached over and patted Celia on the knee.
Reagan smiled and fell back against the bench. "That it has, no doubt about it."
Celia looked at the two of them, their faces filled with contentment, and wondered what the hell she had gotten into. Sitting next to her, Reagan took her hand and held it tight. Celia stiffened a bit and looked over at her.
Reagan smiled. "You did the right thing. Anytime you're uncomfortable or have had enough, it's always okay to leave. Remember that. No means no. I hope we haven't crossed any lines with you."
Celia managed a weak smile and flopped back on the bench. The lap dance had brought with it intense emotions, most of them pleasant, but at the same time scarier than hell. They rode in silence for a few moments.
In total disbelief, the image of Gwendolyn's hands cupping her breasts clouded her vision. Blinking and shaking her head, Celia said, "What the hell was that?" She started to laugh. "I don't even know what to say. You guys! Wow!"
Reagan started to snicker, then Garrett joined in, and the laughter became contagious. Garrett said, "You never know until you try, right? Again, I got a little ahead of myself. My apologies if you were offended."
Still chuckling, Celia replied, "Offended? No, not at all. Confused, aroused, bewitched, intrigued, certainly, but not offended. Surprised more than anything." Her emotions had gone in a direction she would never have expected.
She let out a deep, satisfying sigh. "Actually, thank you for an adventure I would have never thought to take myself. We're good. All of us." She looked at Garrett, reached out, and patted his hand. "I'm a big girl. Don't worry about me."
After they arrived at the hotel and said their good nights, Celia got the key from Garrett and stumbled to her room. Garrett graciously said good night and stepped out of the elevator, sparing them any awkward moment. Barton had brought her bag upstairs. It lay open on the bed.
This room impressed Celia the second she walked in. A sitting area, work desk, and a bed perched on a small, raised pedestal filled the space, each element thoughtfully arranged to evoke comfort and luxury. A small balcony overlooked the vibrant heart of the French Quarter, offering a glimpse of the city's lively spirit.
Opening the French doors to the balcony, she breathed in the night air as a warm, content smile spread across her face.
"Okay, this isn't so bad."
A half hour later, as she tossed and turned, unable to come down from the adrenaline high, she slipped her hand down over her t-shirt and onto her pubic bone. A pressured pass told her all she needed to know. Slipping her hands under the band, she shocked herself; she was still wet. The conclusion of this night had only one outcome. Her fingers began rubbing, and within thirty seconds, she came hard and fast.