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11-03-02, for Eli
Exploring the delights of the private lap dance.
“Got your attention, didn't it? Much better, I think, than my normal 'a-hem'.”
“And now, folks, that I have your attention, let me change the scene a bit. Sir? Dim the lights please? That's much better, thank you. Now. A spotlight, if you please? Red, I think, would be best for this announcement. Ah. Perfect.
“Now for some music. Just a piano. Simple. Slow. Sultry. Ah yes. A little cool blue-note for a hot birthday announcement. Enjoy the music, ladies and gentlemen, while I slip into something a little more comfortable.”
Our nymph slips behind the curtain, wrapping the red velvet around her gossamer wings (and, truth be told, tripping her up just wee bit), emerging moments later resplendent in red sequins and low-cut satin. She moves with the music for a few bars, swaying hips and breasts (where does she hide her wings?) before taking the hand of a generous patron to step from the stage to the Taverna floor.
She works her way through the tables, stopping here for a quick finger stroke across the highly-strokable hair of a patron clad in black, pausing there to whisper something seductive into the shell-like ear of another. As the music slows, she comes to a stop before the gentleman who is, obviously, the object of her attention tonight.
With delicate movements, she steps up on his chair, placing one silk-slippered foot on either side of his thighs before lowering herself over his lap, hovering. With tiny, nymph-fingers she strokes the full, salt-and-pepper beard of the lucky man.
“So, Eli,” says our Nymph, in a voice just loud enough to carry across the hushed mummurs of the Taverna patrons, “It's your Birthday. How about you take me in back and show me if what they say about bearded men is true?”
