Considerate Boyfriend Pt. 01

We fell silent then until the sweat-reeking bus we were riding in wheeled around behind the building sporting the "DANCERS" sign and pulled up outside the motel office. Each of us got room keys from our driver. There weren't many rooms and we were situated in sequential order from rooms three on down the row. Sydney and I were in rooms four and five next to each other. Musty and dated were the first words that came to mind as I stood in the doorway and surveyed it. After exploring the room and making certain it had hot water, a toilet that flushed and a reasonably soft mattress with clean sheets, I trotted back out onto the walkway to wait for Sydney.

"Hungry?" I asked when she emerged from her room.

"Mm-hmm," she said with grin and a nod.

The diner smelled like good food from the very instant we opened the door. We were arriving at the beginning of the lunch hour, so I had every hope the food would be as hot and fresh as it would be at any point in the day. Their meatloaf turned out to be fantastic. Sydney played it safe with a healthy-sized hamburger and French fries. We both must have been pretty hungry, because there was a long stretch of silence when our food arrived.

"So, what exciting plans do you have for an afternoon in this bustling metropolis?" I asked when I had finished the last of my lunch.

"Well, I'm kind of curious about that "DANCERS" sign out on the highway. I like to dance."

I assumed Sydney had hopes of finding a dance hall with a dance floor and lots of loud music under that sign.

"I like dancing too," I began, hoping to break the bad news of my suspicions about the place carefully, "But I'm pretty sure the "DANCERS" sign means another kind of dancing."

"Oh,... I thought they might have strippers. I've always been sort of curious about what goes on in one of those places," Sydney replied, a bit disappointed.

I almost swallowed my tongue!

Our waitress, an older woman, with a generous smile and what I took to be an experienced, worldly attitude, overheard us as she cleared our plates. She stood back, dirty dishes cradled in her arms, eyed Sydney from top to bottom and asked, "How old are you, honey?"

"Twenty-one."

"And you can prove it?" she challenged, her face twisted up with a serious dose of doubt.

"Sure," Sydney answered confidently. Clearly, she had been challenged like this before.

"Well," our waitress began, "I'm Betty. If you really are twenty-one and you can prove it and you're still interested in the dancing over there, then ask for Norma when you go in. She's my sister. She runs the place. Tell her I sent you over. She might be really glad to see you."

Sydney and Betty seemed to be communicating on some secret frequency I wasn't privy to. They smiled knowingly at one another and Sydney said simply, "Thanks. I think I just might."

"DANCERS" was pretty much what I expected. It was a little cleaner and didn't smell as strongly of beer and vomit as I expected, but it had a small, elevated dance floor at the far end of the room with a shiny brass pole in the center of it, just as I knew it would. The whole place had a sort of grimy, yet respectable, hardworking air about it. The whole place, like the motel connected to it, felt like it had seen better days. Perhaps there had once been a factory or some other big employer nearby.

The two of us stood just inside the front door surveying the place for a moment before Sydney casually asked, "Do you think a girl like me could maybe make a few dollars in a place like this? - I mean, I wouldn't be doing anything illegal, would I?"

At first, I wanted to scream, "Oh god, but I'd do anything to see you up there dancing! I would love to stuff dollar bills down you panties all night long! Please?! Please?! Let me be the first in line!"

Instead, I showed more restraint than I had probably ever shown in my entire life. I frowned my most thoughtful frown and asked, "Have you ever seen what dancers do in a place like this? I mean, they do dance but they also take their clothes off and if they are really good, men want to touch them, kiss them and give them tips. Are you sure you could do all of that?"

Sydney mulled that over for a minute and said, "Well, I do enjoy dancing. And I don't think there is anything at all wrong with nudity. I think the human body is beautiful."

I nodded in agreement there. I was positive Sydney's nude, undulating body would be breathtakingly beautiful.

"But when you say men will want to touch my body and give me tips, how good, exactly, do I have to be?" she asked.

I did lose my cool with her question this time.

"Oh, Sydney! I have a feeling you'd be fantastic at it! If this place has any customers at all in it, they'll be lined up ten-deep to tuck bills in your panties all night long! I'll volunteer to be first! You'll be so busy you'll need to empty your panties out every five minutes!"

I know, I was behaving like a true moron. I was standing in the entryway of a dingy little strip bar in the middle of nowhere getting all revved up over seeing a young lady dancing naked. But you hadn't felt her slender, elegant hands wrapped around your dick. You hadn't watched her guzzle down two years' worth of your pent-up oodies and smile up at you when she was done. I had a damn good reason to be excited!

Sydney turned to me and gave me a pouty little frown, "I guess I'll have to buy a pair of panties, hunh?"

I had to love her honesty. Tommy really was a considerate fellow. He had sent his girlfriend off on her little adventure with no panties!

"Well, I'm sure you'll only need to wear them while you're dancing. After all, how else will you be able to store all the tips you'll be getting?" I countered.

"I guess that makes sense."

She surprised me again in the very next minute. She scanned the bar, spotted the oldest woman she could find at the far end of the bar and set off at once on her own to speak with her. The woman faintly resembled Betty, the waitress from the restaurant, though she was a bit younger and with a better figure.

Sydney struck up a conversation with her. They talked and I just watched from a distance. Norma -- at least I assumed she was Norma - stepped back, made the same sweeping examination of my young travel companion that Betty had made, smiled and nodded briefly and then took her over to a table in the corner where I could see record books and papers spread out. Sydney produced her ID and I watched as Norma carefully recorded the information she needed and had Sydney sign some forms. They talked for several minutes. Norma motioned almost constantly, first at the only other female in the place (who, I assumed was a waitress-slash-dancer) and then at Sydney herself. I assumed she was explaining all the do's and don'ts to her. Occasionally I would catch Sydney smiling and once or twice she glanced in my direction. She even winked at me once.

I finally took a stool at the bar and asked for a beer. I sipped it slowly but I was still only half finished with it when Norma and Sydney stood, shook hands and hugged. Sydney made her way back over to me. I noticed that Norma was grinning from ear to ear as she watched Sydney make her way to the bar.

"You are looking at the newest, one-night-only dancer in this place!" she announced proudly. "I have to find my own clothes to dance in but Norma was very nice and I think she was pretty honest with me too. She agreed with you too. She figures I can make two hundred dollars in a couple of hours tonight, easy."

"Great!" I told her, "Tommy is going to learn a valuable lesson from this!"

"And so will I," she said with a beaming smile, "Now -- come with me. Norma said I have to find my own outfit to dance in."

A couple of minutes later we were marching through the women's clothing aisles in the dollar store across the highway. Sydney was frowning.

"None of these things are right for me and they aren't even close to the right size," she muttered while flipping through polyester dresses intended for someone far more matronly and several sizes larger.

I quickly began to see her problem. Nothing here was evenly remotely sexy -- unless you got off seeing frumpy middle-aged women in baggy, floral-print dresses that were out of style five years ago. I began to worry she might change her mind about dancing and so, I desperately began to cast around the store for alternatives. My eyes settled on the children's section. Sydney was small. Girls' clothes were small. After a hasty dash through the aisles my eyes struck upon the only outfit she would need: a schoolgirl uniform!

I almost came in my pants then and there holding a little pleated, blue and red plaid skirt in my hands. I already had a wet dream vision of her dancing suggestively, tugging this little skirt to her waist, revealing the simplest, most unpretentious pair of white cotton panties and grinning her mischievous little grin like a Cheshire cat.

"You think I should wear that?" she asked in shock.

I stared back at her for a moment, too aroused, too excited and too horny to speak.

"O-h-h yes-s-s!" I groaned. "It is absolutely perfect! It's simple, it will drive all the men -- the truck drivers and farmers crazy. And," I added with the excitement of a new hardon straining in my pants, "It is going to be the cheapest outfit you'll find in here -- maybe the only one in your size!"

Sydney looked me in the eyes, then eyed the little skirt a minute before leveling a doubting stare at me to ask, "You want me to dress up in a schoolgirl's outfit and dance and take my clothes off in front of the men in that bar?"

There was honest, all-out shock in her question. I couldn't tell if she was simply dead-set against it for her own personal reasons or completely baffled as to why I would even suggest she dress like a school girl. Granted, there was nothing inherently sexy about little pleated plaid skirts and plain button-up-the-front white blouses. Still, Sydney had this undeniably smoldering, racy, yet naïve look about her... and she truly could have passed for fourteen or fifteen. I didn't even think she would need to wear much makeup to pull off the look I had in mind.

I stared back at Sydney. Stupid as it seemed, even to me, I answered, "Yes. In fact, you'll have to dress and undress for each dance set you perform. Norma did tell you how that all works, didn't she?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded, "But, Mr. Torby, she talked to me about wearing something sexy to dance. That's not sexy."

I shook the little skirt out in front of me and said, "Yes. Yes, it is sexy. It's sexy when a woman wears it and makes men believe she's a schoolgirl. It can make adult men do the randiest things. It can also make grown men more generous, more considerate too." I explained all this to her calmly.

Her expression changed almost immediately. Her eyes gradually softened and I could see a lightbulb or two going on in her head.

"Do you think the men in the bar will be more generous?" she asked at last.

"Good lord, yes! But -- and this is a big but -- you'll have to play a big part in managing how they treat you. If you do it right, they will love you and they will feel both aroused and protective of you all at the same time," I explained.

"How will I manage that?" she asked, stunned by my explanation.

"Why," I snorted, "Just be as nice to them as you've been to me. You know, you're awfully charming. And you're far sexier than you give yourself credit for." I let that sink in and then added, "Just be considerate."

Sydney mulled that over for a minute and finally gave me a little smile that let me know she was beginning to understand my meaning. The next instant she asked, "Well, what else should I wear with the skirt?"

Finally, I was getting somewhere! I plucked up a simple white blouse from the next rack, pressed that up together with the skirt and then told her, "A pair of knee socks or perhaps women's thigh high stockings with lacy tops and a pair of black slippers or perhaps cheap tennis shoes, if they don't cost too much!"

"You can put this outfit together for very little money - I'll even buy it for you if you like!" I confess I was getting awfully excited about seeing Sydney as a school girl.

She turned down my offer to pay for it. If she was going to make her point about being more considerate and independent with Tommy, she wanted to do it on her own terms and with her own money. In the end she was able to assemble everything for a very reasonable price. We did manage to find a cheap pair of thigh high stockings in white, though they did not have a lacy top. Sydney picked out the plainest, dowdiest, bulkiest pair of white cotton underpants I'd ever seen to go with it all. I don't think my own grandmother would have been caught dead in these bloomers. She frowned and shrugged away my suggestion that she wear a training bra to complete her outfit and suddenly we were at the cash register and she was paying for it all.

"I want to go straight over to "DANCERS" and show Norma," she told me when we were outside.

It was only the middle of the afternoon by now, but she was very set on this part of it all. We entered the bar, she located Norma with me tagging along this time. She introduced me to Norma, explaining that I was a friend and hastily asked where the dancers got dressed.

"We only got one dancer right now, and she puts her stuff back there," the woman said, motioning to a stuffy little room around on the side of the little stage. It had an unpainted plywood door with hinges attached, not with screws, but with nails, the heads bent over to hold it fast.

"We had an angry boyfriend kick the door in a few weeks ago. Haven't gotten it fixed yet," she explained as she pushed the plywood open carefully. "Try your clothes on in here, honey. You," she said, addressing me directly, "Can wait out here. Maybe you could buy a beer, even."

I waited outside the dressing room. I couldn't wait to see Sydney in her new outfit.

She didn't take long, since there wasn't very much for her to take off or to put on. It was worth the wait! My excitement showed too, and with good reason. I could see the sharp outline of Sydney's nipples poking at the thin white material of her blouse and she had rolled the tops of her stockings down until they were visible just above her knees and barely beneath the hem of her skirt. Those streaks of cotton-candy blue in her hair seemed to color-coordinate with the blue of her skirt.

Sydney caught me ogling her and immediately said, "Mr. Torby! Are you alright? You look like you're going to have a heart attack!"

Had I been a few years older, I might well have had a heart attack. I have never seen a sight so electrifying in my life. Let me explain here and now, I am not a pervert. My thoughts are not taken up with little girls and disgusting sex acts. I am no pedophile. But the sight of Sydney, a grown young lady, decked out as a schoolgirl made every last nerve in my body stand on edge. I could have gladly suffered a heart attack now and gone to my grave a happy man.

I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. I was frozen in place.

"Mr. Torby! Did I do that to you?" she screeched. Her eyes were locked on my pants. I looked down only to discover a huge tent in my slacks. My cock was achingly stiff and aimed squarely at Sydney.

I finally mustered the presence of mind to say, "Sorry Sydney. But you have no idea h-h-how good you look to me right now."

I know that was about as uninspired as you can get, but at the moment I didn't have a lot of blood flowing to my brain. All of it -- every last drop of blood in me had gone south. My cock was as hard as a baseball bat and I was as bat-shit-crazy aroused as I had ever been in my life. I wasn't thinking straight.

Sydney smiled a crooked little smile and continued staring at the tent in my crotch. I think she was actually drawing pleasure from my discomfort.

"Do you think all the men who come to see me dance will act like you?"

I started nodding my head anxiously like a jackhammer gone crazy and I couldn't seem to stop myself.

Sydney moved to walk past me then. "I think I'd like to start dancing early. I'm going to go talk to Norma and see if she'll let me get started now. You'll come watch me, won't you, Mr. Torby?"

Nothing was going to keep me away. I just kept nodding my head like a jackhammer and watched her stroll casually out into the bar.

I had to wait a full two minutes for my boner to shrink and by then Norma was already showing her how to operate the jukebox. When the music began Sydney marched up onto the stage a bit too quickly and definitely a bit too awkwardly. She set to swaying to the beat and it took her a moment to find her groove. When she finally did, I could tell there would be no stopping her. As her first song came to an end some middle-aged farm boy sitting up close yelled out a little too loudly, "Hey! What's a little girl like you doing up there?"

Sydney surprised the fellow by cutting her number short by a few seconds, edging up to the front of the stage, hiking her skirt up and leaning forward. She spoke too softly for me to hear, but her heckler froze in his seat and answered loud enough for the whole bar to hear, "I'll bet ten dollars you can't! "

His buddy beside him hooted out, "I'll bet another ten!"

Sydney smiled, turned her back to them as the next song slowly revved up to a stronger beat and she began to sway and then shimmy gently with the beat. She planted her feet for a wider stance and let her little skirt slither down her legs to the floor. Sydney glanced over her shoulder at her two targets, then bent at the waist until she was gazing at them from between her legs and carefully placed her hands high up on the sleek inner sides of both thighs. She drew her palms seductively downward and carefully grasped her ankles as if bracing herself for a lover's penetration. She performed a few quick twerking thrusts at them both and then plucked her skirt up from the dance floor before straightening and casually strolling over to the hooks on the side wall to hang her skirt there.

I didn't know what she bet them but I was mesmerized by her seductive behavior, even if I could only witness it from here at the end of the bar. I absentmindedly ordered that beer Norma had suggested I buy and simply watched in amazement.

I took a sip of my beer and watched Sydney dance her way back to the front of the stage after tantalizing the few drinkers at the far side of the room. She squatted directly before them, her knees thrown out wide. She leaned forward and spoke to them. Both men directed their attention to her crotch as if something were about to happen there. Both leaned in slightly and began to stare.

Sydney said something more and both men laughed raucously but never once did their eyes stray from her crotch. Sydney began to bounce up and down on her haunches gently, in time to the music. She placed her hands on her knees and it became difficult to see into the depths between her splayed legs

Sydney spoke to them again and the first fellow leaned further in, as if to get a better view. He let out a giggle, motioned to his friend, who then leaned in to see whatever it was that had fascinated his friend. He giggled too. The pair looked at one another, smiled and reached for their wallets. Both produced ten-dollar bills. Sydney smiled, placed one hand upon her knee and indicated with a flicking motion precisely where they could deposit their bills. To my surprise, each of them leaned in close, lifted the broad waistband of her panties and slipped their ten-dollar bills directly down the front. Both lingered for several moments longer than I thought necessary -- or appropriate for the task of slipping their payment into her bloomers, but both actually seemed pleased to have lost the bet. They eased back in their chairs, smiling from ear to ear and poking one another in the ribs. Both seemed intent on sniffing their hands from time to time, I noticed too.