Lynne d Johnson



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09.25.02 10:20 PM

for the love of art and money

Back in August when I talked about visiting a titty bar in Miami—since my comments were down—I received various feedback via email. Some of that email made me think about sharing something about women who choose erotic dance as a profession. It was a story I wrote for Oneworld—some years back—about strippers. It is kind of long, so I might have to post it in three or four parts. I just ask that you keep one thing in mind, this story is not fiction.

Flesh for Femme
by Lynne d Johnson

Julia is attracted to women. But she didn't know it until the time her boyfriend took her to an L.A. strip joint. She went to watch him get off. She found herself getting turned on by the dancers. "Those women were physically perfect," she says. "But that's not what did it for me. They affected me mentally. I was really digging this one dancer. She had soft, firm, even-toned skin, a contoured, curved stomach, and this way of arching her back when she danced. She communicated something through her dance. It was very sensual, very sexy. She made eye contact with me. I wasn't too far from the stage and I watched her, intensely. I wanted her to make eye contact. I wanted her to see me. She could tell she had me open. I wanted to take her home. She knew. My boyfriend asked me if I wanted a table dance. I was really shy. He went and paid her and she came over to talk to me. I could smell her perfume. She smelled really good and it made me want her even more. She waited for a good song to come on and she got between my legs. She put her belly button in my face and her pelvis really close to my nose. I really wanted to fuck this girl." After Julia told me the story for the third time, she took me to a lesbian club.

Erotic dancers at women's clubs used to be mainly an underground, sporadic thing. Now the lesbian scene has gotten open, especially in New York City. Dancers are featured everywhere from dance clubs to house parties. In Manhattan there's a club where beautiful women exude high potent eroticism while dancing. Julia and I attended this club.

As soon as I walked in I saw a throng of women dancing together and a clump crowding around the bar. On the stage three scantily-clad, topless women moved in sensual rhythms. Wearing a black thong and thigh-high, black leather boots, one 5-foot 7-inch, caramel-colored, tightly-toned, petite-framed woman, with Jada Pinkett's face and Tyra Banks' ass and breasts, mounted a pole. She slid up and down, swung around, and like a cat, climbed upward. In a singular motion, she froze, wrapped her thighs around the pole and laid her back against it with her head hanging downward. It was artistic and sexy. Money-waving women surrounded the stage. She moved forward and bent down and let each voyeur carefully place a single or a five in her thong. And she let each one lightly, briefly, caress her thigh. I watched her with admiration and delight. Julia nudged me from my trance. "That's my friend," she said. "Isn't she good?"

When the show ended, Julia's friend made her way toward us, strutting confidently. Julia turned to me and said, "This is Mercedes." I shook her hand and Mercedes smiled. She and Julia shared whispers and giggles. Mercedes dashed off.

"She thinks you're cute," Julia cooed.

I followed Julia upstairs to a lounge with two-person tables and carpet-lined benches. "We'll wait for her here," Julia said. Just as I was getting up to check out the rest of the scene, Mercedes approached us and gently pushed me back down in my seat. She had a sensual smile on her moist lips and she opened my legs, positioning herself between them. Starting from the floor, she slowly grinded her way upward between my legs. When I looked up, her D-cup breasts were in my eyes. I could see the sweat glistening between her breasts. I could smell her salty and sweet aroma. I was being worked over. I got flustered. Then slowly, iniside, I began to burn.

To be continued...

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