27. A Friendly Strip Tease
TWENTY-SEVEN
a friendly strip tease
Wesley
It’s late into the night when Dahlia lights up my phone with a video chat. I scramble to make myself look like a sensual, sleepy cowboy, though I probably look like a dope.
“Is that the one and only Dahlia Damsel gracing me with her presence?”
She sticks her pink tongue out at me. “Hello there. It is I. Watcha doing?” she asks.
“In bed, waiting on you.” I realize that sounds extremely intimate. “Your call, waiting on your call. How was work?” I love when I speak to Dahlia and all twenty-eight years of learned speech fly out the window. She makes me nervous in the best way.
“Okay, Casanova, chill.” She rewards me with her tinkling laugh and immediately I smile like the fucking simp I am. “I wanted to update you on the proposal. Plus, I like talking to your awkward ass self.”
Tongue in my cheek, I nod at her to proceed with her update.
Her admission has me wanting to bang on my chest and scream to the world she likes talking to me, but I refrain.
Dahlia goes on to tell me all about the professor’s feedback and offers to help out.
It sounds like we’re actually in great shape.
“Proud of you, Dahlia. Let me know if you need anything else. I finished those drawings of you by the way.”
“Show me, show me!” I text the pictures over to her and her eyes are as wide as saucers as she looks them over. “You took some liberties here, huh?”
I assume she’s referring to the succubus straddling the cowboy. While that one isn’t super obviously Dahlia, the resemblance is pretty clear. “I have an artist’s imagination. Plus, it’s hot.”
“You got that right. I love them. Speaking of your artist’s imagination,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Have you ever thought about doing anything with your drawing? Like selling your work or something?”
“Mmm, sure. I don’t know where I’d start though.”
“You could do it. Ooooh, or what about tattooing? That would be sick. I could be your practice skin! Think about it. Or character art? One of the other dancers at the club does illustrative work for books. That could be cool as fuck.” She gets like this sometimes after work, going a mile a minute.
“Anyway, I wanted to ask if you wanted to come hang out for a weekend? Maybe do some tourist-y shit with me?” She’s biting her plush fucking lower lip and I’m helpless to her pull.
“Of course. Tell me when and where and I’ll be there.” Our conversation only lasts a bit longer, Dahlia is exhausted from school and work and I’m ready to knock out too. Her sweet smile bids me goodnight and I melt into my bed, exhausted and eager to hang out.
Between Dahlia’s school schedule and work, we hadn’t been able to nail down plans last weekend which was a bummer.
She did email me a copy of her professor’s feedback and edits, and there wasn’t a ton to change.
It’s all exciting to think about, and kinda crazy to think what the future of the farm might be like.
I do some digging on social media too. Dahlia shared the page of her dancer friend and their work is badass.
They do a mix of scenes and portraits—illustrations of romantic declarations and kinky eroticism—I’m impressed as hell.
Dahlia offered to introduce me, but for now I stick to liking all their posts and wondering if this is something I could eventually do too.
We agree to get together next weekend and on one of our video calls when I’m already fighting my hard cock, she asks if I’ll come watch her perform Friday.
“I was thinking it could be fun to add a volunteer element to my sets sometimes? Like pull someone up from the crowd for the tease? Some of my friends have done it and it’s a huge hit.”
Something green and thorny roots in my chest—jealousy at the thought of her dancing on someone else.
“Ah.” I try to sound contemplative and not like I’m about to throw myself at her mercy.
“Ah.” She smiles.
Fuck it. Might as well simp to my full capacity. “You could always have me up there with you too.”
Her sweet smile is a trick, because she looks smug like she was hoping I’d offer. “Sounds good, Wes. Hope you don’t get stage fright.”
The thought of spending the weekend with Dahlia is the fuel I need to get through the week.
Jasper tries to give me shit for leaving again, but I tell him it’s to work on the grant some more.
It’s not a total lie. I’m sure we’ll talk about it some, but my main motivation is the goddess bounding down the stairs towards my truck.
Clad in an oversized hoodie and boots, she leaps up into my truck.
Her sweet scent fills the cab and I’m gripping the steering wheel in an effort not to yank her towards me.
At the club, she shows me where I can park in the manager lot and we part ways at the hall between the dressing rooms and the main area of the club. I decide to sit at the bar before the show. A drink appears in front of me and I turn to find Daphne staring me down.
“Wesley. Funny seeing you here.” Her voice is suspicious.
“Howdy, Daph. How are you?
“Fine. Jasper here with you too?” She’s craning her neck to look around me, as if Jasper’s big ass could hide.
“He’s not. You curious about your mortal enemy?” I joke.
She’s shooting me daggers now. “I don’t give a fuck what the jacked asshole gets up to.”
Clearly, the Jasper comment struck a nerve, I’ll have to ask Dahlia about it later.
“You treating my girl right? She’s a good soul, Dahlia.
She needs someone to nurture and love her like they understand the true angel she is.
She’s my best friend and I’d do anything for her.
I like you two together and you make her very happy.
As self-appointed Dahlia-guardian, I need to put the fear of god in you before I give you my blessing.
” She reaches a hand across the bar and yanks me towards her with a surprising amount of force.
“If you hurt her in any way, shape, or form, they’ll have to identify your body with your dental records, capisce? ”
“I would die before I hurt Dahlia. I’m glad she has you, even if you kind of scare me.” Daphne gives me a sly smile. I thank her for the drink when the lights dim. The DJ booms over the crowd.
“Y’all there’s a Damsel in distress. She needs a big, hunky cowboy to come save her.
” The spotlights roam the crowd. “Someone who can sweep her off her feet—a man who can handle a whole lot of woman. He’s gotta be strong.
He’s gotta be sexy. Willing and able to rescue our Damsel with his capable coc—hands! Who will it be?”
Suddenly a light up cowboy hat is dropped on my head from behind, and I turn in time to see Daphne point to me, yelling she’s found the cowboy.
Two absolutely shredded dudes in Speedos with bandanas covering their faces appear at my sides, arms out for me to link mine through.
I’m cracking the fuck up because I definitely didn’t expect this level of commitment to the show.
The two naked bandits haul me up to the stage where a metal chair awaits me in the spotlight.
I can’t lie, I’m nervous as all fuck at the thought of being on this stage in front of so many people, but again, I’d do anything for my Dahlia.
My nerves evaporate when the lights dim and the music builds. As the guitar chords play, the lyrics start to register—it’s a rock song about watching someone get off, the thrill of having a voyeur.
I feel Dahlia before I see her. She slinks behind me dragging an arm across my chest, before she tilts my head up to her. The crowd is eating this shit up by how loud it is, and Dahlia’s smile tells me she is too.
She lets my chin go and saunters to the front of the stage in front of me where she bends to touch her toes before dragging her hands slowly up her body.
She’s wearing cutoff black shorts and a skin-tight white tank top outlining her massive tits in just the right way.
I’ve never been more jealous of an item of clothing in my life.
Dahlia turns to face me while wrapping an arm around each side of the shirt like she’s ready to pull it over her head.
Is this real life?
I’m sweating bullets and shifting in the chair.
My movements catch her eye and she shakes her finger at me, making me feel like a very naughty boy.
She walks slowly towards me when she straddles my hips and I’m recalling every embarrassing memory of my life to keep my dick from unloading in my jeans right now.
As the song plays, she’s mouthing the lyrics to me when she grabs my hands and holds them right above her hips.
The raspy voice sings about the excitement to look when you can’t touch and I’m vibrating with need.
Before I know it, she’s hopping off me to pull the cutoffs down her thick thighs.
I didn’t realize before, but she’s wearing her hair in pigtails—the innocent style a contrast to her seductive moves.
I don’t know what I did to deserve such a sinful display of pure beauty.
With the shorts tossed aside, Dahlia dances around, moving in a hypnotizing way in only the white tank top and a black G-string.
She comes to kneel in front of me, doing some sort of extremely talented movement with her ass cheeks before she pops up and sits on my lap.
She plucks the cowboy hat off my head and leans back with it on her head at the final beat of the song.
We’re both breathing heavy, even though I haven’t moved a muscle the entire performance for fear of coming in my pants at her touch. She wraps an arm around me for a hug and I scoop her up bridal style, carrying her off the stage to the chorus of her laughter.
In her dressing room, she throws on her robe and turns to me. “So, what did you think? Ready to run away and become a two person burlesque troupe? I think the audience loved it, there was so much money on the stage.”
That’s news to me. I didn’t see a single thing past Dahlia during the performance.
“I didn’t hate it, not one bit. You are quite talented in the ass jiggling department?” I say it like a question because I’m not sure why the fuck those words left my mouth. “I mean the audience seemed to really enjoy that move.”
She rewards my awkwardness with a smile. “They do love that move. So do I. Ready to head out?”
The short drive back to Dahlia’s apartment is filled with her giggles reminding me of her passenger princess status. She guides me to a sketchy parking lot at the end of her block. Dahlia proudly tells me how the building manager lent her his spot for the weekend since he’d be gone anyway.
We make the short walk to her building and head up to her apartment where she takes a shower and I scarf down the PBJ she made me. I’m still hungry as all fuck because I’m a big dude, but I don’t tell her, grateful for the sweet gesture.
Dahlia comes out and I swear every time I think she can’t get any prettier, I’m proven wrong.
This version comes in the form of a bare face and damp hair, hanging in long waves down her back.
She’s got pink fuzzy slippers on and an oversized Fata Morgana shirt.
She plops down on the futon next to me. Dahlia says Daphne texted she had plans after work, so we have the place to ourselves for now.
We sit cross-legged facing each other talking about everything under the sun, well into the night. When Dahlia starts to yawn, she says she’s going to put her head down for a second and then she’ll go to her room. I agree it sounds like a good idea and lie down next to her.
Within moments, she’s out like a light and I’m not far behind her, not bothering to wake her up. I press a kiss to her temple and fall asleep on the world’s most uncomfortable futon, but I’d sleep here every night if it meant she was next to me.