I saw him in the used book store, and did a double-take. Yes, that was him. About 6' 2", pale skin, light blue eyes, hair so blond it was almost white. White-blond beard, trimmed short, but full. El Fantasma.

Our Ghost was a man of mystery, and here was an opportunity to find some answers. I decided to do just that.

I walked up to him as he was studying a book rack. "Hi," I said, brightly. "Haven't seen you in a couple of days. How are you doing?"

He turned and looked at me. His expression was puzzled; he obviously had no idea who I was, though his frown held a trace of recognition. After a moment his eyes got very wide. Yes, he remembered me.

"What's the matter?" I should have expected this reaction, it isn't uncommon. "Didn't you recognize me with my clothes on?"

A middle-aged woman with a sour expression looked at us with distaste and turned to walk quickly away from us. My Ghost's face flushed, and I regretted what I had said.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, "I shouldn't have said that. It's just that... no, I'm really sorry. That wasn't called for."

"It's okay," he said. He had a deep, slightly scratchy voice. I realized I had never heard it before. "I'm sorry I didn't recognize you sooner."

"I still feel guilty. I'm glad there weren't more people around. Will you let me make up for my rudeness a little and buy you a coffee?"

"You don't need to," he said, smiling slightly now, "but I'd like that."

There was a coffee bar in the bookstore, or I would probably have simply apologized and let him go on his way. I took my stack of books to the counter and we ordered coffee.


We had seen him first about three or four months earlier. He must have been coming to the club for a little while at least, because we noticed when his face became familiar. Amy was the one who christened him "Ghost". It was partly his coloring, but also the fact that he seemed somewhat apart from the usual crowd. He would bring a group of men with him, always a different group, but when the others would watch us, he'd sit back with half-closed eyes and affect to ignore the stage.

I knew he wasn't completely ignoring me, because I'd occasionally see him surreptitiously hand one of his companions a bill to tip me with. None of the other girls had mentioned this.

Letitia didn't immediately understand "Ghost". When Amy explained it to her, she said "Oh, fantasma!", and that was how we knew him.


We sat. "I'm Alison," I told him. "Ally."

"I know," he replied. "I'm Eric."

I didn't tell him I knew that.

We sat and sipped our coffee. Now that I had brought him here, I didn't know what to say. "So, are you a connoisseur of strip joints?" No, hardly a conversation starter.

He solved the problem by looking over my book selections. Some detective fiction. Easy reading, but no trash. A do-it-yourself plumbing book. And Umberto Eco's 'Foucalt's Pendulum'. His eyebrows rose at that.

"That's the guy who wrote 'The Name of the Rose', isn't it?"

"That's him. Have you read it?"

He looked a little sheepish. "I saw the movie."

"Me too," I responded. "The book's better."

"I thought it looked a little heavy." There was a twist to the way he said it that implied too heavy for me.

"I used to be a teacher. I like heavy, sometimes. When I don't feel like heavy..." I indicated the mysteries.

"You did? Why did you become... umm..."

"Why did I become an exotic dancer?" I watched his face as he nodded. "Politics, mainly. Not being allowed to teach. Administration. No discipline. Usual reasons." I paused for a moment. "Less people trying to screw me, now."

That got a chuckle out of him.

"Let me ask you something," I said, still watching him carefully. "Why do you come to see us? You don't seem to enjoy your visits. Your companions have a better time than you do."

He looked uncomfortable. "That's why I bring them," he responded. "I'm a salesman. I'm entertaining them. Most of them are oilmen. They like a lovely body."

"You don't?" I challenged.

"Yeah... yes, I do," he replied, slightly huskily. "I wouldn't bring them if I didn't want to come myself. I just... I just don't see things quite the same way, I guess."

His eyes were moving around, avoiding mine. Suddenly the significance of the tips became clear.

"You come to see me, don't you?" I asked, softly.

He still didn't look up at me, but he nodded his head slightly.

I reached out and squeezed his hand. "That's really sweet. Thank you. Then why do you always seem so troubled to see me?"

He looked up at me, finally. He waited for a long while before speaking. "It's what you do."

"I figured," I said. "I get a similar reaction when I have to explain 'no, not a ballet dancer'. You think exotic dancing is one step away from prostitution. If it's even that far." He started to protest, but I cut in. "Would it help if I told you that I do this because I like to do it? Would it help you to know that I turned down an offer from a good private school when I quit the school system, or that I'm studying part-time for my masters' degree?"

He looked uneasy. I continued: "You assume that a woman who takes her clothes off for a living is some kind of low-life, and you hate finding yourself attracted to someone like that. Am I right?"

"No," he protested, "but... well, yes, perhaps. Not so stark as that, but I think you've got the right idea. I'm finding myself surprised, maybe even shocked, that you're intelligent, as well as being..."

His voice trailed off as he realized he didn't want to finish his sentence. I had to grin at his embarrassment.

"It's okay," I said, and squeezed his hand again. "I'm not really offended. Listen, tonight's my night off. Would you like me to take you to the club and introduce you around? I think you'll find we're not what you think we are."

He turned his hand over and returned the pressure. His eyes were bright. "Do I get a backstage pass? I wouldn't mind saying hi to that blond girl, too..."

"Don't you go flirting with Amy, or I won't take you," I told him. "Hmm. Amy. By herself, Amy would probably destroy your preconceptions. Her biggest fear is that someone from her church's congregation will see her there."

"No shit?"

"No shit. I told her that anyone who sees her isn't likely to be in a position to tell her pastor. It seems to have helped a little."

"Damn. And she's such a..."

"Yes, she is, isn't she? You'll like her. She's quite shy when she's not on stage. Pick me up at six, and I'll introduce you. Just remember that it's me you've come to see."

He smiled as we stood. I paid for my books, and headed home.


About a month ago, Amy asked Big John to see if our Fantasma was trouble. She was concerned he might be stalking one of us.

John has connections in the police department, and, with information from the Ghost's membership card, looked into his background. Nothing but an old speeding ticket. No aliases, the name on his card, Eric Davisson, was his real name.

We really hadn't expected anything else, but it was reassuring.


Selecting what to wear didn't take long. There was a deep green dress which had been calling to me. It was cut low, with a very short skirt. Not a dress for work - under normal circumstances. It was a little snug, but it looked great.

Eric arrived just before six. Complete with flowers, which I certainly hadn't been expecting - I had to scramble to find a vase for them. I thanked him with a brief kiss. I wanted more, but didn't want to push my luck.

We stopped for a drink on the way, while I outlined the club's personalities and eccentricities. Frankie (really Francisco), the owner, has kept the club away from the influence of other club owners, and (we suspect) the mob. He's kept it sufficiently upscale to be attractive to its clientele and staff, while keeping a low enough profile not to attract the attention of the various city councilors and special interest representatives who thrive on vilifying sexually-oriented businesses. It's a fine balancing act, but the result is almost a family atmosphere for the staff. We enjoy working together, and we appreciate what Frankie has built.

"The bouncers are Little John and Big John," I continued. "Little John has been with us for ever. Longer than me, anyway. Big John is fairly new. We went through a succession of guys who didn't quite fit, then Frankie found Big John and we all feel very safe with him."

I took a sip of my Margarita. Eric nursed his Scotch, and watched me attentively.

"Then there are the dancers. There are eight of us right now, but only four core girls. The others are part time. College girls, usually. Sometimes we've had problems there. Frankie won't keep girls who do drugs. We get girls who think it's part of the lifestyle. They don't last. The current crop seems fairly straight.

"The core girls are Letitia, who's Mexican. She hasn't been in the States for long. Amy, you know who she is, and get that look out of your eyes... Beverly, and me. Beverly is the only black girl right now."

"And you - what made you start dancing?"

"I was one of the college kids, years ago. I enjoyed it."

Truth to tell, I always have liked dancing. I enjoy having men watch me too, but I wasn't about to tell Eric that. In a way, I'm flirting on a grand scale, but I don't feel that I'm teasing. The customers know the rules when they watch me. I can turn them on, which they want. Perhaps I like the element of power that gives me. I like to see the look in their eyes. The look that says "I want you." I don't think I'd want to be a ballet dancer, and not have that rapport.

Then there are times that I'm glad Little John is around. I'm sure ballet dancers don't have the same fears.


We finished our drinks and continued on to the club. We entered in the back, immediately encountering a half-dressed panicked-looking Amy.

"Good, you got my message," she began, then noticed Eric. She jumped and instinctively covered her breasts, then realized where she was and what she was doing, and lowered her hands, turning bright red.

Eric developed a sudden cough.

"Amy, this is Eric. Eric, Amy. What's this about a message?"

"Penny, the new girl," began Amy, "she called a little while ago. Something went wrong with a ride, and she won't be here for a while. Beverly's on vacation. I wondered if you'd fill in." She looked up at Eric. "But I'll try to find someone else."

"No, it's okay, Amy, I'm here, I'll do it." I too looked at Eric. "Would you mind? I guess it won't be for very long." Amy agreed that it wouldn't be for long.

"No, that would be - interesting," offered Eric.

Amy thanked me and trotted back to the dressing room. "She has a face," I hissed at Eric.

He grinned back at me. "I hadn't noticed."

"I know. I noticed you not noticing."

I took Eric's hand and led him to the dressing room. One of the bouncers was in the hall, taking a smoke break. At this time of the evening they rarely have anything to do.

"Evening, Ally." The voice was quite high, with a dry tone. As usual, it seemed to come from a few feet above my head.

"Evening, John."

Eric held out his hand. "You must be Big John."

John took Eric's hand, but shook his head, while I explained. "He was nicknamed after Little John in the Robin Hood tales. At his height," John was about 6' 5", "I guess 'Little John' was a natural choice. Big John's shorter than you."

Eric frowned at me. "Then I refuse to ask why you call him 'Big' John."


John choked on his cigarette smoke.

"You'll see," I said.

We entered the dressing room. Amy had donned her negligee, but she still blushed when Eric looked in her direction. I had forgotten how pretty she was when her shyness took hold. It had been a long time since she had been shy on stage.

On the other hand, she wouldn't take Eric home and do with him what I wanted to do. Still, it wouldn't hurt if I distracted him...

I leave a spare teddy in the changing room in case I ever forget to bring my working clothes. I retrieved it and started to unfold it.

"Help me out," I instructed Eric, and turned my back. He took a little prompting. "Unfasten me." That would be guaranteed to distract him, and would help me to ease out of the dress.

He fumbled a little at first, then unfastened the buttons on the back of my dress, as I straightened my outfit and looked it over for stains and damage. I shucked off the dress, and stepped out of it. The bra that I wore underneath was an extremely low-cut, thin, underwired article designed to accompany a low-cut dress. It barely obscured my nipples, and otherwise left very little to the imagination. Eric seemed unable to tear his eyes from it.

My grandmother is from India. From her I've inherited large brown eyes and a skin tone which looks closer to Greek than that of most American Caucasian women. More than anything, it looks like a perfect, medium tan. Of course, I have no tan lines, and my breasts are a uniform light brown, which men seem to find very exciting.

"Keep going," I said. I'd swear I felt his hands shake as he unhooked my bra. He slipped the straps over my shoulders and held on to it as I slid my arms out. He looked a little sheepish holding it when I was through, and I had to grin at him, but his eyes were wide and dark. I took it from him, picked up my dress, and folded them neatly together.

After a short consideration, I decided my panties were okay with the negligee. I wasn't quite ready to change into the thongs in front of Eric, and we didn't usually go topless until later in the evening. If Penny arrived soon, I'd be okay.

Sneaking a look at Eric, I noticed from the shape of his jeans that his eyes hadn't been all that had been affected by the nudity. He seemed quite relieved when I cleared a space for him to sit beside me. Amy still glowed when she looked at him, but I figured his mind was fixed on better things. Better, that is, from my point of view.


Lettie came bouncing into the room in her barely visible black outfit, and looked around for her successor. When she saw Eric, she blurted out, "El Fantasma!" Eric was puzzled, and I had to dance, so I asked her to explain. I guess she took her task to heart, because when my set was over, I returned to find her sitting where I had been, leaning against Eric, who looked quite content with the arrangement.

In mock frustration, I addressed the room: "What is it? Can't a girl bring a guy to watch her undress in peace anymore?" I pointed at the chair being vacated by Amy, and Lettie meekly moved. When I sat, I took Eric's hand, and Lettie smirked at us as he tightened it around mine.

Amy's rediscovered shyness served her well. When she returned, still slightly flushed, she had collected tips in her waistband more in line with the later evening's topless work. Lettie and I both raised our eyebrows, and Lettie traded places with Amy.

Penny's arrival rescued me from a second set. She was followed almost immediately by the other two girls who would increase the numbers for the later evening. The dressing room rapidly got crowded, and we were in the way.

Slipping off the negligee, I unfolded my clothes. Eric cleared his throat, and I looked around.

"It's getting crowded in here, and I think I'm making things uncomfortable. Why don't I wait for you outside?"

"Sure, that's a good idea. I won't be long." As Eric stood, I caught his arm. "Before you go - what do you think of this?" I waved my arm, trying to make an expansive gesture, but having to avoid a couple of the girls. "Is it fun, or are we exploited sex workers?"

Eric grinned. "It isn't what I expected. Everyone seems so - so nice."

I put my arms around him and hugged him tightly, my bare breasts squeezed against his shirt. I looked up, seeking his mouth, and it was right there, ready for me. We kissed. His hands waved in the air for a moment, he didn't know quite where to put them, finally settling for holding my waist. I closed my eyes. His beard scratched my chin and made me shiver with pleasure.

I didn't become aware of the cheers and whistles from the other girls until we finally broke. He grinned at everyone and left, while I struggled back into my bra and dress.


I left the dressing room to find Lettie flirting with Eric - there was barely room for her skimpy nightwear between the two of them - and Big John, who had heard the dressing room noise, and had come to investigate. I peeled Eric away from Lettie and introduced him to John.

"Pleased to meet you," said Eric, and held his hand out gingerly. Everyone does who doesn't know John. He's slightly under six foot, but looks half football player, half sumo wrestler. Linebacker build, perhaps. What isn't obvious when you first meet him is that he's one of the gentlest men you could hope to meet, at least if you haven't done something stupid like starting a fight or cornering one of the girls. Then you don't want to be in his way. As it is, he's happily married to a small, slender Korean lady, and they have two kids whom he loves dearly.

Eric was surprised when his handshake was returned firmly but not painfully, and the two of them talked for a moment while I gave Lettie a quick rundown of the day's activities. Eventually, Lettie went into the dressing room, and Big John turned Eric back over to my care, with a wink - to which one of us, I'm not sure.

I asked Eric if he'd like to look around some more, or if he'd prefer to come back go my place for coffee.

"Given those choices," he said, "can I take a rain check on the tour here?"

I slipped my hand back into his and led him back out of the club.


Eric drove us back to my place, and I brewed coffee, as promised. I kept my hands off him, kept him at a safe distance. Telling myself that it would be worthwhile wasn't easy.

Coffee in hand, he followed me through to the living room. After I seated him on the sofa, I took up station on a chair across from him. His eyes betrayed disappointment; he had been hoping for more. That was good. I studied him. After a while, he looked away.

Between sips of coffee, I broke the silence. "So," I began. "do you have any lingering reservations about what I do?"

"No, not really," he replied. "Not that it would be my concern, but no. I think you're doing exactly what you want to do. And doing it very well," he added. I hid my smile.

"Will you be able to enjoy watching me perform now?"

"I've always enjoyed watching you. I just felt guilty about it."

"Good," I said, decisively. "I hoped you'd feel that way. Because now, I think it's my turn."

Eric looked nervous. "I don't follow..."

"It's straightforward enough," I replied. "I want to watch you perform for me. That's fair, isn't it? I want to see you weaving that sexy body around. I want to see you gyrate your buttocks, and flex your muscles. I want your eyes to look into mine and say, 'Imagine, I could be doing this for you.' Except that you will be. That's what I've done for you all this time. We both enjoyed it. We'll both enjoy this, I promise."

I knew I would. I was getting turned on just thinking about it.

He started raising objections. "I don't think I can..."

I cut him off. "Of course you can. I'll help. Finish your coffee, and I'll show you."

He did, and, obviously uneasy, he followed me into the study. This was a sparsely furnished room. It had a stereo system, a TV, two slender wooden chairs, and my "judo mat": a thick, soft, padded mat I use for practice.

We removed our shoes, and I showed him some of the basic dance moves, then put the CD on and helped him get synchronized. It didn't take him long to pick up the movements. This was real beginner stuff, but it looked impressive. After I danced a little with him, touching and moving him to get him through the patterns, he started to enjoy himself, and moved more freely.

"OK, you're doing good," I said. "It's time to become liberated from unneeded clothing." I tried to show him how to appear coy while unfastening his shirt buttons. He looked mechanical.

Turning my back, I offered advice. "Watch. You won't be able to do this exactly, but you can get the idea."

Reaching behind me, moving to the music, I unfastened the buttons of my dress. Then I turned around. "Now, flourish, but don't flaunt." I slid my arms out of the straps, but held the front of the dress up against my breasts.

Inspired, Eric managed to make removing his shirt look quite sensual. I raised my eyebrows. "There may be a future for you in the ladies' clubs."

"Thanks. I think I'll keep my day job," he retorted, but I could tell he was getting into the game.

"Now flex a little," I said. "Hands on hips, same movements."

I repositioned his arms one-handed, still holding up my dress with the other. Maneuvering him through the motions, I couldn't resist running my hand over his chest. I made an appreciative noise, then let him continue. I stood back and watched him for a moment.

"Now the part which will have all the women in the club standing on their chairs and whistling." Especially me. I ran my hand around his belt. Standing close to him, I continued, "something like this."

I lowered the hand holding my dress, so that it slowly fell away from me. I held the dress at my waist, and, rocking my hips to the music, eased it down, a little at a time, until it was at my thighs. Then I lowered it, and, still holding it, stepped out. I flourished it slightly, and draped it over Eric's shoulder. Then I slid it down his back and threw it onto a chair.

When Eric finally dragged his eyes away from my the contents of my bra, he unfastened his belt and slid it out, throwing it onto the chair, over my dress. He unfastened and unzipped his jeans slowly, and eased them over his boxers. He had the hip movements down quite well, for a guy. His shorts were noticeably deformed at the front as he slid his jeans down his thighs. When he reached his knees, he dropped his pants, stepped out of them, and kicked them to the chair. They didn't miss by much.

I chastised him as he stood still, and got him moving again, saying, "This is the part we ladies want to see. Don't give up on me now."

I showed him a new pattern, then put my hands on his shoulders and danced with him. This was a sensuous, twisting movement, and it was making me uncomfortably hot. It was having a visible effect on Eric, too.

I broke away. "Looks like you need to get yourself under better control before you're ready for the ladies clubs," I said, looking at his boxers. "They don't allow that in this state." Then, changing the subject, "Can I get you a drink? I'm overheated, I'd guess you are too."

Eric agreed to a gin and tonic, and I brought a couple through, plenty of ice and plenty of gin. We sipped our drinks and relaxed. I put my arm around his waist, surreptitiously studying the changing patterns in his shorts; noticing the slight dampness that seemed to have developed.

"Where were we?"

"I thought I was through," said Eric, plaintively.

"No way," I replied. "I'm enjoying the view."

We put our drinks down, and I put my hands on his shoulders and led us back into the last, arousing, movement. I stroked his skin as he held me by the waist. I spoke quietly. "There's another item that I think you'd like to remove; one that you're not wearing. Go ahead; liberate me."

I felt his hands slide up my back and work at the fasteners, then the tension vanished, and he was stroking my bare back. He slid the shoulder straps forwards, and I lowered my arms and let the bra fall to the floor.

His eyes were large and soft, and fixed a few inches below my chin. "Nothing you haven't seen before," I commented, quietly.

"Context is everything," breathed Eric. "From twenty feet, even from three feet at the club this evening, they're beautiful, but now - they're still beautiful, and they're here." He brushed his fingertips along my breasts, and my stomach tingled.

He cupped my breasts in his palms, and I pulled his face to mine. The kiss at the club had surprised us both (and the other girls!) with its intensity, but this was at another level. We were both so completely turned on that it was more a feeling of joining than a pleasure. We devoured each other. I stroked his tongue with mine as he kneaded my breasts. Each movement of his hands fed the flame of desire within me.

He released my breasts and pulled me against his chest. I held the back of his head, trying to consume as much of him as possible. We both were breathing heavily.

Slipping my hands into the back of his underwear, I squeezed his cheeks and pulled him tightly against me. We had abandoned any pretense of coordinated movement, and were moving against each other in an erotic slow dance. I felt his erection stroking against me.

I pushed down the back of his shorts, and slid my hands forward around the waistband to free the front. Eric broke our kiss.

"Unfair," he said, hoarsely. "You always keep your panties on during your act."

"Then I think it's time you remedied that oversight."

He didn't need any urging. He had lowered my panties and was squeezing my butt while I was still trying to stretch the waistband of his underwear to fit over his erection. I finally had to push his cock back with my thumb to get his boxers over it. Then I dropped his shorts to the floor and finished removing my panties and hose.

Drawing him back to me, I felt his cock nestling against my pussy. I squirmed against him, twisting my hips, feeling his erection slide to and fro against me.

Eric stopped caressing my ass, and gripped the sides of my breasts, still firmly squashed against his chest. He kneaded them for a while, then I moved away slightly, allowing him to cover my breasts with his hands. I reached down and took his cock in my hand, brushing it slowly against me.

He broke our kiss at last, and lowered his face to my breasts. Using both hands and his mouth on my left breast, he took as much of it as possible inside his mouth, sucking, stroking with his tongue and kneading with his hands. My muscles tensed with each rhythmic motion, and my arousal became tangible as I felt myself get wet.

He transferred his attentions to my right breast, then put his arms around me, pressing my breast into his face. I arched my back as he held me against him. Holding me with one hand, he reached with the other down, stroking my ass, the back of my thighs, between my legs, finally brushing my overheated pussy. He stroked gently as I sighed.

As he set me on fire with his finger, and poured on fuel with his tongue on my breast, I knew that I needed him inside me. I pushed him away, and motioned for him to lie down.

Crouching over him, I put my hands on his chest for support, and lowered myself onto his cock. We both gasped in aroused joy as he entered me. I slowly took his whole length inside me, pressing myself down around him. Then I relaxed, and reached for his hands. I twined my fingers in his, and closed my eyes.

Breathing deeply, I visualized him inside me, and felt for the signs of his presence. I tensed my muscles around him, sending waves of pleasure up my spine. Focusing on the source of the pleasure, I tensed and relaxed my sex around him, bringing myself so close to orgasm that reaching the crest became a powerful need. I shuddered as I pulled myself away from the precipice; not quite yet.

I opened my eyes. Eric's eyes were fixed on me. He was bemused by the sensations I had induced in him, and very, very turned on. I moved Eric's hands to my breasts and placed them there, holding them against me. As he caressed and squeezed, we started moving, slowly, gently.

I was high on passion. I felt that I could slip into orgasm whenever I wanted, which would be whenever Eric was ready, but that every minute delayed would make the goal more worthwhile.

My breath caught, and I fought constantly against the driving need to come. I released Eric's hands, and brushed my hair back over my shoulder, still looking into his eyes. I put my hands on his hips, still moving myself slowly against his cock. For a time we lost ourselves in this peaceful transfer of passion - peaceful except for the ongoing battle to keep my need manageable. Eric's constant stroking and squeezing of my breasts made this increasingly difficult but also increasingly worthwhile.

I stopped moving, and lifted myself gingerly off him. I didn't want to push either of us over the edge before we were ready. I held Eric's hands as I straightened my legs out and slowly sat. He gasped as I took him back deep inside me.

I put my hands behind his shoulders and lifted him. I guided his mouth onto my left breast, and pressed him to me. We passed a brief eternity rocking together, delighting in the growing intensity of our feelings.

Eric held my hips, drawing me to him. I was more than ready when he started grunting and pulling me harder. I thrust against him, and we both moaned as we drove each other into ecstasy.

I don't know which of us came first. I cried out so loudly when I came that I didn't hear Eric groaning for several seconds. He put his arms around my lower back and dragged me against him, driving into me as fast as he could. I could feel his cock spasming powerfully inside me, as I was still contracting strongly around him. I sobbed, trying to catch my breath, completely overwhelmed with the strength of my feelings.

Even after his climax was ended, Eric kept me high with powerful strokes. He sucked on my right breast and spurred me into a second orgasm. I pulled him away from my breast and sought his mouth with mine as I slid into a third.

Thinking the best was over - for a while - I relaxed. Eric had other ideas. He took charge. He lifted me off him and laid me on the mat. Then he lifted my legs over his shoulders, and buried his face in my pussy. With both of our juices to contend with, his task can't have been pleasant, but he got his tongue inside me. The feel of his wiry beard against my pussy was exciting. I quickly found myself fiercely aroused, and I thrust against his face as he tongued me briskly to another climax. After that, he kept up the pressure so effectively that I stopped trying to react, and lost myself in a constant stream of peaks of passion.

When he finally allowed me to rest, I slid alongside and slightly over him.

"Damn," I said, finally. "That ought to carry a government health warning. I'm certain it's addictive."

"I hope so," he replied, stroking my breast.


At some time during the night, we adjourned to bed, though we didn't get much sleep. As exhausted as we were, I thought we'd need more rest, but somehow the promise of passion of such intensity overcomes a good deal of fatigue. We didn't reach quite the same height again, but what we did was still glorious. The look on Eric's face as I slowly, slowly, made him come with just the tip of my tongue - it took about twenty minutes, and he was certain it couldn't happen - thinking about that look still turns me on.

He left at about dawn, and I slept the day away, barely waking in time for the evening's show. That night I ached, and thought that my performance would be stiff, but somehow my tips amounted to almost twice the normal level. If Eric had been there, I'd have suspected him of rigging the tally, but he stayed away from the club for a couple of days, though he called me several times. I think he needed more time to recover than he admitted to.

We still call him our ghost at the club, though it's hard to see anything ghostly about him, now that his outgoing nature isn't masked and we all know how much stamina he has. (I haven't told the girls everything, but knowing how fit I am, and how tired he can make me...)

He no longer seems to have any hang-up over looking at my body, which he does with great enjoyment both at the club and afterwards, in private. He doesn't seem at all restrained watching the other girls, either. He tips them well, and I've noticed Letitia watching him covertly. After working so hard on Eric to adapt his attitudes, I can hardly complain if he takes pleasure from her body - as long as it's with his eyes only. I'm going to have to keep Lettie under surveillance.

But I think that I know how to keep Eric's attention on me quite effectively.