The Reality of Fantasy

I tried not to look lost as I made my way through the lounge, passing two bars and numerous tables that had groups of people who varied from appearing to be bored, to hanging off their chairs with excitement. I didn’t want to sit at a table by myself, so I continued walking, surprising myself when I got as close to the stage as possible. I was almost exactly in the center and likely to be one of the first people the performer saw when they came out. People started to surround the stage as a digital sign above the curtain counted down the seconds before the next performance. A fog machine generated a thick layer that covered the stage, then the lights dimmed, and the music began.

The dancer burst through the curtain with confidence and grace, making her way to the front of the stage where I could see her clearly. The stage lights were bright enough to make her skin glisten, and dim enough to accentuate the smoothness. Her body was moving in rhythm with the music and the short, flimsy skirt on her hips bounced, occasionally revealing a thong that concealed nothing. 

I watched her, my eyes were roaming over her body just like my hands wanted to do. I wondered if her skin was really soft and smooth and if the lusty expression would still be on her face if I had the chance to touch. She made eye contact, encouraging me, and unsurprised to see me. I couldn’t look away.

She broke eye contact and moved to dance closer to the people who were yelling the loudest, and placing large amounts of money on the stage. She made a point of getting dangerously close to those patrons when picking up their money and giving them a mini private dance before moving to the next one. 

What in the hell was I doing? I was supposed to be home making dinner for my family, the trusted staple of spaghetti. There was a gallon of milk and snack sized cups of applesauce in the trunk of my car. I was the type of person no one ever expected to see in a club like this, and I should not have wanted to stay. But it didn’t cross my mind to leave.

As I kept watching her, I was getting turned on in a way that had never happened with my husband. Never. She wasn’t a stranger. She was a second year law student who was renting our basement apartment. After several occurrences of hearing her arrive at the house in the early morning hours, curiosity made me ask how she could keep up with school while staying out so late. She told me about her dancing and how it helped her pay for school. There were no feelings of shame, and no pleas for keeping secrets. She even invited me to stop by the club, saying that it was a fun environment and that plenty of women came in there all the time. 

This evening’s trip to the grocery store ended with an intentional detour to the club. The same club that my PTA group tried to block from setting up in the area, with my voice having been one of the loudest and most negative towards the proposed business. I could only imagine what the members of the group would be thinking if they knew that I had willingly walked through the double doors to get inside. The entire group could have walked through those club doors while I was there, and I would have made no effort to hide. I was just there to watch. I saw her dancing, and I only wanted to…watch.

Cheers and clapping rose above the volume of the music. She was topless, throwing the sheer blouse she had on towards the back of the stage, while moving so everyone could see her firm breasts. The blouse had not left much to the imagination, but when I saw her bare breasts, my body reacted.

I wanted to touch myself. Caress my breasts, glide my hands down my stomach and let them continue to move lower. I wanted her to watch me as I did it, then let me touch her in the same way. She would also be touching me at the same time, alternating between the soft caresses of reverence and the strong grips of desire. I imagined that her touch would be gentle, and rough, and deliberate, not clumsy and desperate. We would start moving to the music while our touch kept us connected. Our bodies would rub together as we embraced and whispered  promises of the things we could do to each other. 

She made eye contact with me again, mesmerizing me as she moved while doing beautiful and obscene things to the pole in the center of the stage. I was sweating, trembling, and breathing fast. I’m sure that my dilated eyes made me look absolutely crazy to anyone who happened to notice me. My mind was so over-stimulated from the loud music and blinking lights that I needed to briefly close my eyes and take deep breaths to keep from fainting. When I opened my eyes, she had moved the closest she had been to me during her performance.

She was watching me, and I wondered if she was thinking about me the same way I was thinking about her. Her gaze made me feel like I was the only one in the club and I thought my heart would bust through my chest. But isn’t that how she was supposed to make everyone feel? That was what she got paid for doing while on the stage, and the better she was at creating the illusion, the more money people slammed onto the stage. Could I really expect and hope for anything more than just the opportunity to watch her dance? I was feeling both relief and sadness as she slowly walked to the back of the stage. There were dollar bills hanging from the waistband of her skirt and the tops of her high-heeled boots, as she disappeared behind the curtain.