of my elbow,” I corrected. “I win.”
“You do not!” he said. “We both got it wrong. You didn’t guess mine either.”
I enjoyed the playful banter between us so much that I wanted it to continue more than I wanted sex. It had been so long since I felt so energized and playful with anyone. Any thoughts of nervousness or tension were completely gone. I wanted to play and what’s worse, I wanted to win.
“Is it my turn to spin?” I asked.
“Yes.” Manny slid back against the chaise.
I spun the wheel. It landed on a section labelled Action. I picked up the first card on that deck. “Do a sexy striptease for your partner.” I sat back on the chaise away from Manny. “Can I pick another one?”
“Why? Seems pretty simple, you just do a sexy striptease.” Manny folded his arms, a faint smile curling his lips.
“Most of my clothes are off already!”
“Okay, so you forfeit?” he said and smiled reaching for a favour coupon.
“No!” I grabbed his hand to stop him.
I put my blouse back on and began to wish we had started drinking before opening the game.
It’s not like I hadn’t ever seen a strip tease before. During my first year of university, my entire dorm floor had decided (with Mahjong’s guidance) to visit an after hours club and take in a strip show. By the time we got to the club most of the girls were already at their drunken saturation point. I wasn’t close enough to mine to plunge as easily into the noisy room like the others. I was convinced I would run into someone I knew, or worse, someone my mother knew. I surveyed the club to see if there were any brown faces I might recognize until Mahjong screamed at me to let go of the front door frame forcing me to give in.
Our group took up an entire table at the back. The centre stage was empty and the club was alive with screams from women who were being goaded by the D.J. The lights dimmed, music began to crescendo from two loudspeakers hidden in the dark when suddenly a tall, very well built blonde came charging out of the back curtains wearing red and orange fire fighter cover ups and no shirt underneath. He began to gyrate and swing his plastic helmet about much to the delight of the frenzied women in the club. With deliberate skill he removed his uniform piece by piece until he was standing in only a pair of loose boxers with red and yellow flames on them.
“I respect the attention to detail,” I shouted to Mahjong commenting on his shorts.
“I want to see his hose!” Mahjong screamed.
Several rum and cokes later, I began to feel the energy of the crowd infuse me. I whooped and hollered with the rest of them even when I wasn’t sure what we were yelling at. Mahjong was happy to see me so animated. She encouraged me to call “Officer Pete Pecker” over to our table. I raised my arms over my head and started to flap them around to get his attention which caused me to accidently elbow a nearby dancer in the groin. He doubled over in pain, lunging towards a server with a tray of drinks that ended up flying through the air. We were asked to leave immediately. I have never been to another strip club since.
“I’ll put music on,” I said as I did up my buttons slowly to stall for more time. My top was long enough to drape down to almost mid-thigh though it was badly wrinkled from being shoved in my slacks at work all day.
I walked over to our stereo system at the side of the big screen and pushed the power button on. As it fired up, my mind started to race again. What can I play that’s sexy?
I glanced over the compact discs but nothing seemed even remotely appropriate. I picked up Anne Murray’s Greatest Hits, got temporarily distracted by some of the tracks on the back, but decided in the end she wasn’t the right choice. I loved Anne, but her music only conjured up images of snow birds and spring time, not sex poles and strippers.
My well worn Air Supply disc wouldn’t motivate me to do anything more than sit on the sofa with a box of chocolates and cry like I did for months after my break up with Nick. I put it back.
In a flash, I remembered a George Michael disc I had just purchased and put it in. I moved the selector over to track eight. I vaguely recalled thinking the song “Freek” sounded like something my mother would hate, which meant it must be provocative and sexy.
I pressed play, took a deep breath and stared at the wall in front of me away from Manny.
The song started out slow for a brief and awkward ten seconds until the tempo jumped slightly with a heavy pounding beat. I turned to Manny who was sitting back in his chair, one leg propped up and the other lying flat. He had one hand behind his head, the blindfold resting on his temple and the other hand on his thigh.
I tried hard not to look him directly in the eye at first because I knew I would lose my nerve. Instead I focused on the music, attempting to move my hips back and forth in time with the rhythm. I smacked the fabric of my top in patches at first. When I realized it looked like I was swatting flies off my blouse I stopped. Manny looked bored. When I slowed down the strokes, his expression softened.
What else do strippers do? I walked in small circles until I ended up with my back against the door frame. I leaned back against it and saw Manny’s eyes widen slightly. I slid down against the wood slowly, then more vigorously so I could scratch the itch in my back. On the way up, I got a mass of my curly hair caught in the dimmer switch. I turned sharply trying to yank it free which in turn eased the lights down but cost me a wad of curls.
With the basement not as bright, I felt more empowered by the music, more in the mood. I walked over to just in front of the chaise and began to touch my arms, shoulders, breasts and the top portion of my thighs. What I intended to look provocative ended up looking like I was giving him baseball signals in slow motion. Manny was unimpressed and I was nervous. It was time, like it or not, for some clothes to come off.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and turned my back away from Manny slowly unbuttoning my blouse out of his sight. I looked over my shoulder to see what he was doing causing the blouse to slide half way down my back. His eyes widened. I bent over and flung my head down between my legs to peak at him while giving him a long view of my sizeable underpants. I saw him smile slowly and lean back farther into the chaise, his hand moving up his thigh to his lap. When I flipped my head back up, I felt a rush of blood course through me, the dosa in my stomach churning in revolt to the disruption of its digestive process.
I winced and rubbed my belly. His gaze became more intense. As the dosa settled, I slowly undid the buttons of the bottom half of the shirt. I was still clutching the fabric close to my chest allowing him to only see the top of my underwear. I let the shirt slide back over my shoulders again slowly revealing my bra one breast at a time, the dimmer pot lights gently gleaming off the safety pin on the side.
I swayed closer and just barely missed nicking myself in the knee on the coffee table. I straddled it deciding it was easier to do that than to stop to move the table over to the corner and continue. There were probably a whole field of dust bunnies under it anyway. What would Manny do if I stopped my version of an erotic dance to grab the vacuum and do a quick clean up? The thought was so ridiculous it made me smile. When I looked back at him his eyes looked more intense, the dome of an erection peeking through his boxers again.
I felt more confident so I dropped my blouse to the floor. I crawled over the long part of the chaise toward Manny like a cat, feeling my tummy drop loosely in the cold air. In an effort to minimize the droop, I twisted my hips backwards rocking my body like it was in a boat on choppy water. All the writhing made my hair clip suddenly pop loose. In frustration I started to wildly toss my head back to get the hair out of my face and just as I was mentally cursing such a long song choice the music finally drew to its climax and ended. The room was silent for a brief second as the c.d. moved to track nine.
I lay on top of Manny who slowly raised his hands to my bare back.
“Good job,” he said in my ear.
“I felt like a fool.”