Between The Sheets

BETWEEN THE SHEETS (A fantasy turns into a dare, & friends become FWBs)

It was the summer of 1995. I was a 23-y/o Illinois farmland transplant, living and partying in Northern California. I shared a three-bedroom house in a suburb of Sacramento with two other males: Mike was the owner of said house; I usually saw him in the mornings then he left around 9am to work two jobs. Jeff was the other roommate -- an introverted workaholic who spent way too much time at his psycho-possessive girlfriend's apartment. That gave me free reign to this tired, 1940's ranch-style house, and I enjoyed having the peace and quiet in the mornings.

One morning, I awoke to abrupt and loud laughter coming from the living room. I leapt out of bed like, what the fuck?!? Still tired from last night's shift, I didn't consider putting some clothes on; I just walked out wearing my grey gym shorts and bed-head hair to see what the commotion was all about. Mike was sitting on the worn out, burnt-orange wrap-around sofa which dominated the meager living room. He was preoccupied by drinking coffee and his mouth stuffed with half-chewed glazed donut. Sitting next to him was Kelli.

Kelli was a 5'5, Anglo-Latina with green eyes, a long mane of curly black hair, average build, and sported a tiny zircon nose ring on her left nostril. She was literally a clone of Marina Sirtis (Deanna Troi, on "Star Trek: Next Generation"). Kelli wasn't a 10/10 by any means, but she was still a looker -- her friendly, one-of-the-guys demeanor only amplified her attractiveness. She would often show up during the week, donuts and coffee in hand, and bullshit with Mike before he took off to his first job. I didn't think anything of her visiting, probably because I spent my mornings sleeping until noon (I worked evenings at a hardware store like Lowe's).

Now, I might've just woken up, but I was still alert enough to recognize that Kelli was giving me an "up-down" at this sudden sight -- a near-naked white male, 5'10, 175 lbs, stocky muscular build, with short brown hair and piercing blue eyes (I've been told that my looks resemble a young Howie Long). Her eyes quickly lit up, and she flashed a white-teethy smile.

"Wellllll... nice to meet you... want some coffee?" She offered eagerly. I sat down and took up the generous offer -- mostly because I didn't want her to notice the growing bulge in my sweat shorts. I would get awoken by her multiple times in the following weeks, in many ways that I'd never expect.

Kelli and I quickly developed a "partners-in-crime" type of friendship -- we both reveled in the Michael Jordan/Bulls dynasty, laughed our asses off at Pulp Fiction, and enjoyed Pearl Jam (it's the 90s, okay?). She knew that I often prowled a local nightclub in the next suburb over; it was a complete dive joint, but notorious for easy hookups. She would buy me a beer and cheer me on as I would bump-and-grind with some dirty thing wearing a mini-skirt and thigh-high stockings (I did say -- it was the 90s). The morning "convo and coffee" with Mike and Kelli became livelier now that I had joined in the ritual. And yet, once Mike left for work, Kelli would stick around. Our morning topics began to get flirty. Risqué, even. She would ask me how the latest conquest went, saying things like: "Dude, I heard you fucking that slut the other night, it sounded like you were splitting her in half! That is so hot!" We were a modern day "Bonnie and Clyde."

That summer, conversation was abuzz: "Have you seen that new movie with Demi Moore in it? She's a stripper and her tits are amazing!" That was an odd year, because it seemed like every week, a new strip club was opening. My male friends were giving dancers their money, and females fancied themselves as potential strippers. In Sacramento, the gender ratio was lopsided; there were five females for every male, so women became extra competitive and sexually charged to land, "their ideal man." Through it all, Kelli remained unfazed. Or did she?

One morning, Mike left early for work, which left me and Kelli in the living room per usual, drinking coffee and eating day-old donuts. Out of nowhere, the conversation shifted to strip clubs. She teased me about throwing money at strippers, then I asked her the question: "Do you think you could be a stripper?" Kelli seemed to stare into space and smiled. Giving me a sideways glance, she said something completely unexpected: "I would never strip... But I wouldn't turn down a lap dance from a stripper."

To say that I was stunned is an understatement. "Wait a sec... I thought you liked guys?!?!"

"Of course, I like guys, silly." She smirked. "But I think it would be sooooo erotic to have another woman grind all over me and seduce me with her body... while you watch."

I took a deep breath and adjusted myself. Holy shit, I thought to myself. I've got a bird in the hand. We just looked at each other, lustily grinning. We've now gone beyond flirting, and there's only one direction this is going to go.

"I'm calling your bluff," I challenged. "I'll buy you one -- tonight."

Kelli straightened up, somewhat surprised. "Are you serious?"

"Come back to the house around eight o'clock tonight," I announced. "Dress like you're looking for trouble." She didn't disappoint.

****************

Two minutes shy of eight, Kelli knocked on the door. My heart jumped at the sight of her -- black, knee-high skirt, black sheer hose, 3-inch heels, white blouse with black business blazer. Hair teased and styled. Plum-colored lipstick, black eyeliner, and burgundy eye shadow. She smelled liked jasmine. I stood there, staring at her for at least ten seconds.

"Wow!" I exclaimed. "Whoever you pick out tonight... she is gonna LOVE you!"

She blushed slightly, tilted her head sideways and smiled. "Not if she doesn't jump you first!" We hugged briefly, then walked to her car.

I was wearing my typical-night-out in the 1990s uniform: acid wash boot-cut jeans with a rip at the knee; black hiker boots; black button-down shirt; Eternity cologne. "Dude, your ass always looks good in jeans," she teased. Continuing to flirt with me, she said: "God, you smell so good, I might take you right here on the car hood!"

I stopped at the car door and looked her in the face with a shit-eating grin: "If this is your way of trying to puss out of this, dream on." She nodded, contorting her mouth slightly, as if she were thinking, Okay motherfucker, we'll see, won't we? We boarded her silver Toyota Camry and headed to Auburn Boulevard.

In the 80s, Auburn Blvd was nicknamed, "Gasoline Alley," because it was lined with miles and miles of used car dealerships. The Boulevard was also a renowned location for prostitution. When the 90s swung into action, it wasn't a surprise that strip clubs started dotting the landscape. I picked a newly opened joint named, "City Limits." It was a corrugated-steel eyesore painted gray with purple trim, situated on Auburn near Garfield and Manzanita Avenues (Note: The club was the first strip club on Auburn Blvd, and was open for twenty years; it closed in 2015 due to rezoning). There were multiple clubs, but City Limits had better-looking dancers. We parked at the side of the locale, away from the road, but near the entrance. We locked the car doors and slammed them shut.

"No backing out now," I quipped as we strode towards the entrance holding hands.

"Dude, shut the fuck up," she retorted playfully. "I've been anxious about this all fucking day, so let's do this!"

Since I was buying the dance, Kelli picked up the door fee. The two burly, square-jawed bouncers at the entrance gave us some strange looks -- shocked that a female non-employee was walking in a strip club, and mildly suspicious of the guy bringing her there. No turning back indeed, I thought to myself anxiously.

The club was dark, highlighted with deep blue lighting. Wall-height mirrors splashed behind the main stage. Alice In Chains blared thru the speakers. The room reeked of sweat, cheap beer, and desperation. Kelli was taking it all in, wide-eyed, and probably thinking to herself, what the actual fuck did I get myself into?

Then I saw her mischievous grin take shape: "Omigawd... This place is a full-nude club!" She turned to me with the excitement of a ten-year-old on Christmas. "Let's get a booth!"

I shook my head. "Nope. You're getting a lap dance... which means we get a table near the back, where we can have a bit of privacy."

She nodded, scanned the scene quickly, then turned to me: "I think I see the girl I want." She pointed her out, and once I saw the dancer of choice, I thought, Damn...Kelli has FANTASTIC taste.

Her name was Kristen. Wearing stiletto heels, she was easily six feet tall. Short blonde hair, in a Rachel-style haircut (popularized by Jennifer Anniston' character on the TV sitcom, "Friends."); fabulous long legs, tan skin, slender fit body, perky A-cup breasts, doe eyes, devastating smile. Without debate, she was the hottest dancer I'd ever seen (side note: she had done some modelling but took up dancing to pay her own way through law school).

"Well, hey handsome!" She smiled. "Looking for a dance?"

Well, here it goes, I thought to myself.

"I am paying for a dance, but it's not for me." I pointed to the back wall. "It's for my friend. She's always fantasized about getting a lap dance, so I'm buying her one." I flashed five crisp Hamiltons. "I'm willing to pay more than the usual charge."

Kristen looked over to where Kelli was seated and gasped with excitement. Her eyes darted at me: "Give me ten minutes. When the lights go red, I'll come over. Pay me when the dance is over!" She dashed to the back dressing room, as I returned to Kelli.

"So, what happens next?" Kelli asked, breathing with anticipation.

I guided Kelli to a chair slightly in front of a sticky bar table nearby. "You sit here, and face outward. I'll straddle you, seated from behind." I grabbed my chair and sat AC-Slater-style. I rubbed her shoulders. She looked back at me, quizzically. "Just relax and enjoy this," I reassured her. Nodding, Kelli took a deep breath, and glanced at the fully nude vixen writhing on the main stage. Just as Kelli started to ease into her surroundings, the entire club was bathed in deep red lighting, right on cue with the recognizable opening keyboard/bassline from the Isley Brothers...

((hey girl, it ain't no mystery... at least, as far as I can see... ))

Right on cue, Kristen sauntered up, and my jaw practically hit the floor -- she was wearing a slinky black vinyl bikini outfit, complete with fishnet stockings and black heels, and a black leather flat top biker's hat. Kelli's breathing quickened, and she just stared agape. "Wow, this is really going to happen, isn't it?" Kelli murmured, wide-eyed and giggling.

Standing about two feet away, the long-legged beauty was sex personified. She grinned at both of us. "So who's the lucky customer?" Kristen asked. I pointed at Kelli, and she sat up straighter. Kelli started to squirm slightly, she was giddy with anticipation.

Kelli breathed deeply. "This has been a fantasy of mine for a while now."

With the grace of a cat, Kristen strolled over to Kelli. She draped a tanned, smooth arm over Kelli's shoulder and stopped about an inch from her face. Their eyes locked on one another as Kristen whispered, "It's mine, too." She had a devilish smile on her face. She lifted one of her statuesque legs and straddled Kelli's lap.

((oooh girl, let me hold you tight... and you know, I'll make you feel alright...))

Sitting behind Kelli, I held her waistline and rested my chin on one her shoulders. I had a front row seat for one of the most arousing performances I've ever seen. Kristen came to rest on Kelli's lap, her legs fully stretched to either side. Her head directly above Kelli's, her blonde locks draped the sides of her soft feminine face. Their eyes were still locked in a lustful gaze, and Kelli was no longer smiling -- her mouth opened slightly, as the rhythm of her breathing deepened. Both of us were becoming turned on as this gorgeous beauty gyrated her body atop Kelli's lap. I breathed deeply as Kristen slipped her tongue into Kelli's waiting mouth.

((oh baby girl, just cling to me... and let your mind be free...))

Kristen swung one leg behind her and spun her body from Kelli's lap and bent over at the waist. Her long legs remained straightened and taut. Kristen easily flaunted her flexibility as she reached both hands to her ankles. She rotated her perfectly shaped ass in a figure-8 motion. I had to adjust my jeans while seated, because I felt my cock begin to grow. Before I knew it, my breathing was now in sync with Kelli's. Slowly her legs slid together, crossed her feet at the ankles, and she slowly gasped -- Kristen dropped to all fours, her ass remained in the air while her torso slowly slid to the floor.

((ooh, girl, I'll love you all night long... and you know, I've felt it comin' on...))

As Kristen remained on one knee, she brought her body upright. In one swift movement, her other leg shot straight out to the right, spun and faced us, and released her black vinyl bra. Her A-cup breasts revealed small but fully erect brown nipples. Kristen crawled on all fours, bringing her head between Kelli's thighs, and running her hands up the back of her calves. Kelli's eyes squinted, pursed her lips, and exhaled a breathy, ooooohhh, as both women maintained their gaze on one another. Kristen remained on her knees, leaned back, and pinched one of her nipples. She clenched her teeth, staring greedily at Kelli, and ran her tongue along the finger of her free hand.

((oooh, darlin' just taste my love... Oh, you taste so sweet...))

Kristen was truly a pro at her craft. She gracefully raised from the floor and sauntered towards her entranced couple. She made a quick glance to one side and noticed that I had my left hand planted squarely on my left knee. Stealthily, Kristen straddled my leg, and -- using Kelli's body as a visual barrier -- pulled her bikini bottom to the side, allowing her glistening pussy to leave a wet trail upon my extended fingers. I exhaled in pleasant shock, and she kissed me -- deeply. My eyes widened, my heart raced, and my cock ached. Kristen replaced her bikini bottom to its original position with one hand; with the other, she brought my glistening fingers to Kelli's mouth. Kelli eagerly stuck her tongue out and savored her juices off my hand.

The three of us were locked in a carnal performance that would shame any Hollywood production currently shown in theaters. Everything around us seemed to disappear. Still, I could sense other eyes upon us. I quickly took survey of our surroundings. About fifteen feet away, two older black men enjoyed our scene from the bar; they were smoking, staring, and one mouthed, GOD. DAYUM. Ahead of us, a white man in his mid-thirties had lost interest in the Main Stage performance. His Latino neighbor at the table next to him sipped his beer and gave me an envious glance, as if to say, you lucky bastard. In reality, our pseudo-three-way was enigmatic. We were so zoned into each other, the world could've burned away, and we wouldn't have noticed. Or cared.

((ooooh, baby, baby... I feel your loooo-ove surrounding me...))

Kristen reluctantly brought her performance to a close. She sat on my outstretched leg, with her legs draped across Kelli's lap. I half-folded the fifty dollars, happily thanking her for the memorable experience.

She leaned in between our heads: "I'm really not supposed to say things like this to customers... but he is fucking cute!" My face heated as my ego soared.

Kristen then turned to Kelli: "How long have you two been dating?" Kelli, fully flushed and clearly too stunned to answer, just looked at me while panting.

I decided to answer in her place: "We're not dating, we're just good friends," I replied.

Kristen looked at me, turned back to Kelli, then back to me. "Something tells me that friendship is about to take a wild turn," she laughed and exhaled. Dancers treat their performances like a job, but Kristen was obviously turned on by the scene. Her next comment threw Kelli over the edge. As Kristen stood, she smiled and slowly shook her head in bewilderment: "I wish I could leave with you two and watch...." Bare-breasted and paid in full, she strolled back to the dressing room, leaving Kelli and I amidst a myriad of wandering thoughts.

((Hey girl, what's your fantasy... I'll take you there, to that ecstasy...))

I looked at Kelli. She showed a mask of lust that I'd seen countless times on countless women before this moment; it looked completely different on her... probably because we formed a bond prior to this night. I ran my fingers through her onyx-black hair; her skin burned like fire. I rested my arm on her shoulder, with my forearm against the back of her chair. I brought my forehead to hers and looked in her glazed-over green eyes.

"So, what do you wanna to do, now?" I asked.

She reached behind my head and tugged my hair from behind. With the hungry stare of a rabid wolf, she growled: "Take me to your room and fuck me."

(NOTE: There are two moments that, in my fifty years of life, remain as the hottest words I've ever heard a woman say to me. That moment was one of them.)

****************

We quickly gathered our composure, pushed the flimsy chairs away, and dashed back to her car with the urgency of Black Friday crowd. As we made our escape, I heard one of the black men at the bar say, "Handle yo bidness, playah!" My facial expression couldn't hide my excitement. I thought to myself, I plan on it... multiple times. We still had twelve miles between our location and our destination, and it would seem like an eternity to reach the house. I was anxious, but Kelli was ravenous; she simply would not wait. Her burning urges within had reached a fever pitch and was too great to ignore. The Isley Brothers tune continued to play in my mind.

((Girl you really blow my mind... I'll always be your freak...))

Kelli tossed me her keys. "You drive. I have to do something." She was fierce and to-the-point, and I was rather surprised. I've never seen her act like this. I sat behind the wheel, adjusted the seat back for height difference, and started the engine. Backing the car from the narrow parking space, I look over at Kelli on the passenger side. She was propped up on one leg in the bucket seat, wrapping her long hair into a ponytail, never taking her eyes from me. Any living, breathing American male knows exactly what's coming next. I was happy to oblige, but (at minimum) I wanted to get on the road as quickly and safely as possible.

For a moment, a flash of logic took hold in my brain. We're on Auburn Boulevard, a stretch of road noted for strip clubs and hookers. That means there would be a police presence. We're in California. I warned: "Uh, Kelli... you might want to put on your seatbelt, we could get pulled over." (looking back, this was spoken in a rather high-pitched and bitchy tone)

"Fuck the cops," she barked. "They can watch me suck your cock while they write the ticket."

We turned on the Boulevard, just as Kelli reached over to my belt buckle. She unhooked my belt and pants with the precision of a pickpocket. She opened my jeans; I heard a slight tear on the front of my black boxers as she released my raging, six-inch erection. It was blood red and throbbing; she closed her eyes and devoured my manhood as I made the right-hand-turn onto Greenback Lane.