Emily, Exposed Pt. 02

The next morning, Emily woke before Paul-unaccustomed to so much sleep. She looked over her shoulder to see him huddled next to her body, resting peacefully. That feeling, being safe and held, was the best in the world. But she was starving and she imagined he was too, so she pried his arms off. "Ugh" he moaned as she moved.

"Shhh, go to sleep" she whispered "I'll be right back."

There was a small convenience store around the corner from her building that sold some regular food items. She dug around her place quietly and found some sandals and a sundress and slipped out the door, careful not to wake him. It was a short walk to the tiny store, she hadn't been in this early before and was happy to see it was already open.

"Emily!" the owner exclaimed as she walked in, "I don't usually see you this early." The owner was an old man, with white hair made more noticeable by his deep skin tone. He and his wife ran the place and he made it a point to know his customers; it's probably why he was in business so long in a city that saw small businesses come and go by the day. Emily had only been in a couple times since moving in but he remembered her immediately.

"Morning Lou" she said with a smile "yeah it's an early day for me. Do you have eggs or anything like that?"

"Over in the back, where the milk is."

"Cool, thanks. Where's Marie?" Marie was his wife, and Emily couldn't recall coming in with the two of them not working together. They were the ultimate in "relationship goals" as far as she could tell, the last few times she came in they were sitting across from each other with the same newspaper doing a crossword puzzle. The first time she spoke with them they told her the story of how they met; they went to the same church when they were teenagers. He would sneak notes to her during services, and she would sneak them back. It was all very romantic.

"Oh, I always open by myself and let her sleep in."

"I always see you two together" Emily countered.

"You're never in this early" he said with a chuckle "and she enjoys sleeping in a little, so I take care of it."

Emily smiled at that. They had to be at least in their sixties, maybe seventies, and the show of consideration that is normally only reserved for new lovers was charming. She was also still on the high of spending time with Paul the night before, and it made her even more dreamy than usual. She picked up a few items; eggs, bread, some little jars of jam and one of the half pints of milk and headed to the front. "Okay, I'm ready."

Lou busied himself ringing up her items, and as Emily reached in her bag to grab cash he asked

"Who are you cooking for?"

"I have a friend over."

"Ahh, a friend you cook breakfast for. Special friend."

"He is" she replied with a smile.

"He is?" Lou repeated, with an emphasis on the 'he'.

'Oh boy-he's old fashioned and this probably looks tawdry to him' Emily thought. But there was no sense in hiding it now. "Yeah, he" she said, "I don't have many of the staples in my place right now and I was hoping to cook some breakfast."

"They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach" Lou said, "but I'll tell you something. Marie makes banana bread for me every Sunday, and it's...not so good. But she's very proud of the recipe. I know she is, so I have always told her I like it. And I eat the whole thing by myself, every Sunday."

His confession was startling. 'Why', Emily wondered, 'would anyone voluntarily eat shitty food?' "Well, why don't you say something to her" Emily asked "I'm sure she doesn't want to make you eat something you don't like."

He smiled "Because she's so proud of the recipe, it was her mother's. And when I saw how proud she was to serve it to me, well, I like that. This man you're cooking for, I will give you some advice. Whatever you make, ask him what he thinks. If he really cares for you, he will be happy that you are proud to cook for him. He will not complain."

Not at all the answer she expected.

"I'll keep that in mind Lou" she said, "thanks for the advice."

He smiled sweetly, "Have a good morning."

She thanked him again and he handed her the small plastic grocery bag. Heading back, she made he way up the stairs and opened the door quietly, getting to work prepping breakfast in the kitchen. When the smell of bacon started wafting through the rooms, she heard the creaking of Paul getting out of bed. "Mmm, that smells good" he said, yawning "can I do anything?"

"Nah, I've got it covered" Emily told him "it's just breakfast sandwiches."

"I love breakfast sandwiches" he replied.

"I remember you saying so" she offered as she put it down, "I haven't made many before but I've been practicing." He grinned and took a healthy bite. "How does it taste?" she asked.

Without skipping a beat between bites he replied, "I like it" with an appreciative smile.

It was a delightfully quiet breakfast; save for a brief discussion about some books they'd both read. Paul looked at his phone a few times and seemed concerned, but also didn't want to be rude and leave. Sensing this, Emily stood and started clearing her dish; almost immediately Paul got up as well. "Why don't you go turn on the news, I just have to throw these in the dishwasher."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure" and thinking ahead added, "the WiFi password is akin1029."

He smiled appreciatively, "Thanks. Work stuff, you know."

She laughed a little, knowing she had no idea what the responsibilities of a regular job entailed. Just the same she replied "Oh yeah, of course. I know you've got responsibilities. Go for it, I'll be done in a bit." She cleared the table and started popping the remaining dishes into the washer. Paul went straight into the living room, checking emails and clearly responding feverishly to several. As Emily rinsed the dishes, she watched him work and do, in her eyes, professional-looking things. It was impressive to her to see him working hard and wanting more than anything to help in some way; he seemed so stressed. He had a real career with responsibilities and people counting on him. As she loaded the dishwasher her mind started drifting into the difference between her life and his. She was younger than him and had no experience with a real job, having started at the club right out of high school. Self-doubt filled her; what was she, compared to him? In her mind, certainly not his equal, he was educated and worldly. She had some money from working and saving for several years but nothing planned for the future. No education after high school, or any learned skills-at least none that were applicable to the regular world.

"Hey" Paul said, "you've been over there way too long. I'm done with what I needed to do, if you don't come out here I'll have to come take over."

She smiled and closed the dishwasher, unaware of how much time she'd taken just thinking over the dirty dishes. "I'll be there in a second" she said, and set the machine to 'Pots and Pans' before walking into the living room.

His face lit up seeing her and he opened an arm, letting her know he wanted there. She sat next to him and laid lazily across his lap. He put his hand on her shoulder and they watched a bit of news before he asked, "So what do you want to do today?"

"Do? I don't know."

"Well what do you normally do?"

"It depends on the day. Usually I go to the gym first, or my brother drives out and we spend the day goofing off. Sometimes I meet up with my girlfriends."

"Well-what do you want to do? I wouldn't mind meeting your brother, or any of your friends, if you want to do that and it's what you normally do. I'd like to, as a matter of fact."

It suddenly started feeling 'real' to Emily. Now he was thinking about merging their lives in this way-introducing him to her family and friends. 'What are we' Emily thought, 'what is this? He's got his life together, what am I doing?' A million thoughts ran through her head, all colored by fear and uncertainty; she just stayed silent for a while. 'My friends' she thought 'my family. What about his, how could I ever be introduced to his life, his regular life? I'm a screw up, how do I explain that?'

"Emily, what's wrong?"

Her face was contorted, she hadn't even noticed. "Nothing" she fibbed "I just don't know if anyone has plans today or-you know-they can meet or whatever."

He didn't believe her. "Tell me the truth. What are you worrying about? If it's because I'm asking to meet people, your family and friends, too soon I'll understand. We can do something else."

She hung her head, 'it's not you' she thought. "No I just don't know what the day looks like for everyone and it may not be a good day to meet and, you know sometimes I just go for walks or hang out alone..." she rambled on until finally he stopped her.

"If you're not ready for me to meet anyone it's fine. You won't hurt my feelings."

'Ugh' she thought, "It isn't you. Or my family or friends. I'm just...thinking."

"Thinking what?"

"If this is where we're going, how will you explain me?"

He looked at her sideways, "I'm going to be honest Em, I'm confused. What do you mean by 'explain' you?"

"I mean how are you going to explain what I am to other people? Your friends, your family. You think they want this for you?"

"Want what for me?"

"This. A.." she hesitated to complete the sentence "a stripper. A divorced stripper, you think that's what anyone would want for you?"

"I don't know where this is coming from Emily. Have I said something to make you think that way?"

"No."

"Why are you saying it then?"

"I just...how will you explain me?"

He sat a little taller on the sofa, perplexed. "I would say, 'Hey, meet my friend, Emily'. I really don't understand what you're..."

"No, you don't understand. You're fine, you're normal. But if we go that route, and this was the other way around, how would you introduce me?"

Paul looked completely confused, "I guess I don't understand what you mean by 'explain' you. What does that mean?"

"Okay imagine this, 'Hi friends, meet Emily. She's a 23 year old divorced stripper. She's undecided on her sexual orientation. We met when she asked me some questions about her then-husband's fixation with BDSM and older women". His eyebrows rose and he chuckled at her explanation. Exasperated by his lack of concern she said "It's really something I've been thinking about. You're so perfect, and normal. You've got nothing to worry about." She looked dejected.

Looking deeply into her eyes, he pulled her onto his lap, straddling his body. "Emily, I don't care about any of that, and I don't know why you do. None of that would come up during the course of a normal conversation anyway."

"But what about when it does?"

"If it does" he countered, "and I wouldn't care. If you do, I would do whatever you wanted me to do to make you feel comfortable. But that's not happening right now and I don't know why you're worrying about it. Why are you worrying about it?"

'Because I'm falling for you' she thought, 'and I'll never deserve you.' In her heart, she felt like a stepping stone for him to something greater. A broken road that would lead him to his true love, some lovely, pure woman that was probably in church right now, baking cookies for a charity bake sale to feed underprivileged youth. They'd meet and start passing notes, just like Lou and Marie. What's worse is she couldn't even find it in her heart to be upset because she knew this woman would make him happy. It just hurt that it wasn't her, she wasn't that woman, she couldn't be. She was too broken. But all this was too much to say. So she replied, "I just am. I can't explain it."

His face softened, "I think you can, you just choose not to. There's been a lot of changes in your life and it's overwhelming."

"It is" she agreed, "especially when I think about the future. I don't even know where to start, I mean what I'm going to be or do."

"You said you wanted to be a writer" he replied, "do you not want that now?"

"I do, it's just - I don't have any skills yet."

"So-practice. Were you good at dancing in the beginning? Any skill takes practice."

She looked at him sideways, "It's not exactly the same. This is a real skill."

He smiled, "So is dancing. Tell me how it's different. You had to work to learn it, and it wasn't even something you enjoyed. Imagine how much energy you'll put into developing a skill you really do want-you're already at the point where you can write for your own enjoyment and care enough to take pride in what you do. I don't see how one's a skill and the other isn't."

"Psh" she said, "you only got to watch me for less than three minutes. Honestly, in my professional opinion, you didn't get your money's worth."

"I saw enough" he said, "and I feel like I did. Isn't the customer always right?"

"I suppose you're right" she agreed. Sitting back, she let his words sink in when suddenly an idea came to her, a delightful, enticing idea. "Paul?"

"Yeah?"

"What you said, it's true-about taking pride in what you do. And on that note, I'd like to...show you something. But before I do you have to agree to my terms."

He cocked his head back a bit, intrigued, "Okay I'll bite. What are your terms?"

"For the next fifteen minutes, whatever I start doing, you can't stop me."

He smirked; caught onto what she was preparing to propose and sat back thoughtfully. He let that linger for a bit before replying, "Is this an active negotiation or is it 'take it or leave it' type of deal?"

Curiously, she replied "I'm open to suggestion" adding "a little suggestion. What do you want to negotiate?"

"If I stop you before the end of the fifteen minutes, what happens?"

"What do you mean? You're not allowed to."

"Yes, those are your terms. But if I do, what happens?"

Emily hadn't considered this. "Well- I don't know."

"Here's my counter proposal. If I am good the whole fifteen minutes, you cook me dinner. If I can't be, and I'll have you know I have strong resolve, I cook you dinner."

It was kind of a weird counter-proposal in Emily's mind. But she saw no harm in it and agreed, "Okay, I'm game."

"Agreed then" he said, "so what did you have in mind?"

Emily smiled, she knew, he knew. She closed all the blinds and walked back to her bedroom, bringing out her Beats boombox with the red iPod and skimmed through her selection. 'Mmm, what to pick' she thought, 'nothing too typical. Nothing I've got a routine to; just wing it-make it 'natural.' As she skimmed, the right song popped out to her-she went back into her room and grabbed the one with her easy listening on it and scrolled to the "C's". But this was it.

She plugged in the iPod and, before starting, went to the kitchen for her white horse timer and set it to fifteen minutes. "Just so there's no question during judgment time" she said. He smirked in response and sat back on the couch. "Goin' Down Slow" by Canned Heat came on. She liked the sound but never considered it a song to dance to. Until now.

The blues-y notes set the tone. She didn't close her eyes this time, didn't have to just feel the beat. She was starting to feel like someone different, a hybrid of the sensitive Emily with the confidence of the sexy Starr. That person couldn't wait to show off for Paul.

Walking over slowly, she started behind him, noting that he tensed when being approached from behind and decided to dance in the front only. She wanted to win fair. Starting by walking slowly in front of him, and realizing this was a guy that had probably had a decent amount of lap dances, she opted for an indirect approach. As soon as the lyrics started, instead of being on him she knelt on the floor in front of him, writhing to the beat, contorting her body to match the slow, powerful rhythm. At the line 'I've had my fun', she gripped his knees gently and pushed her body upward, arching her back and looking deep in his eyes, gracefully straddling both legs on either side of his body and rolling her abdomen for him, gripping both hands on the sides of the couch behind him.

Then the 'now looka here' verse came on and, in an instant, she put his hands around her waist and let go of her support from her arms on the couch, relying completely on him to hold her up as she threw her head back and writhed to the beat on his lap. He panicked and gripped her hard, almost locking her body in place. She smiled softly at him and continued to roll her abdomen; he loosened his grip slightly, only enough to allow her to move a bit more. Letting go was something she never did, knowing as all dancers do not to because she'd fall without the support of from her own arms. Even when she danced for her exes it wasn't something she could try; Christy's arms weren't strong enough and her other ex, she just didn't trust enough to try it with. But he wouldn't let go, she was confident in that-Paul wouldn't let her fall. The knowledge only spurred her on, made her movements more aggressive and her writhing more dramatic.

Then, there was the matter of her little sundress that was impeding his view of her body. With a wide variety of options for what she could do to undress, she decided to go dramatic. She wanted to drive him insane. Since her hands were free in this position, she brought them to the top of the dress and, as he watched her hands, she gripped either side of it and instead of pulling it over her head, ripped the thin material, slowly, in front of him. His breath caught-it wasn't what he expected. "Holy..." he started.

"Mmm" she purred into his ear, then tossed her head back and moved his hands lower, to her hips, and bent her body backwards so she was almost completely splayed across his lap. She hadn't been wearing a bra; the only material between her and him was her panties. She continued rolling her body, writhing and contorting as though she was being fucked passionately in front of him. She could feel him beneath her, rock hard at the sight, and hear him breathing heavily. She started moving her leg upwards to his shoulder, intending to start doing the same motions, pumping her body so he could see what it looked like from behind. Partly because he would enjoy the show, but mostly so she wasn't hurting him by laying and grinding on his rock hard dick.

Suddenly, as she went to flip her leg over him, he moved his hands up and gripped her waist, pulling her body upright. Then one hand moved from her waist to the back of her head and he pulled her in for a deep kiss. She smiled and kissed him back, then went to resume the dance, but he wouldn't let her move. He pulled her in closer, kissed her harder, and groaned "Emily" into her ear.

She smiled, "I can't move. You've got to let me keep going."

"No" Paul said. "I forfeit-this is driving me crazy."

She smirked, knowing from experience that it was infinitely more difficult to hold back when you were really lovers. Desire and denial are one thing from strangers. From your lover, the denial aspect was incredibly frustrating. "Looks like you're cooking tonight" she said with a smile.

He ignored the comment and pulled her in for another kiss, hard. She kissed him back softly and pushed her knees together, in between his legs, he looked confused. She wasn't straddling him anymore, she pushed his arms back, from his shoulders. He was stronger and could have stopped her easily-but acquiesced to her direction. "Stay put" she said with a wink.

In an instant, she was on the ground, kneeling in front of him. She slid his boxers off and watched his dick spring to attention. She looked up at him doe-eyed, then licked. Slowly, deliberately, taking her time. She gripped his shaft, toying with the pressure, until she found the right amount. Then she pumped her hands around his length and licked the tip of his dick, before putting full her mouth completely around it. "Oh fuuuuu..." he groaned.