Ideal Suburbia Ch. 09

This is a series of stories that are a sort of sequel to two text-adventure games. Each installment is a complete story on its own, but for a full understanding, the reader may want to start with Chapter 1.

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Over the weekend, I really buckled down on the at home part of my new fitness regime, as assigned by my personal trainer Courtney. As I was doing pushups in my back yard, I thought about the obvious fact that her business wasn't doing as well as it ought to. The thought irritated me. I liked her, even if I was a little afraid of her. I also hate to see a good product go unappreciated. It's the salesman in me.

I resolved to see who I could send her way as new clients. Word of mouth is always the best sales tool for businesses like hers anyway. Also, if I got her enough new clients, she'd probably appreciate it. I like doing things to make beautiful women appreciative.

I started with work. I talked her up to a number of co-workers, focusing mostly on the ones that were not in bad shape, but not workout rats either. With most people, I concentrated on what good results I had felt. I also added in a bit of reverse psychology along the general lines of, "she'd be great for you too, but I'm not sure you could take her intensity." I made sure everyone knew to mention me to Courtney if they found the intestinal fortitude to sign up. I even felt like there might be a nibble here and there. I resolved to use it as one more incentive to keep up with the pushups and other homework, so I could act as a walking billboard.

But my main focus that Monday was on my dinner sales call with Gretchen Williams. No one, not even my boss Cathy, had had any luck getting her company's business, so as the promising new guy, I'd been passed the folder on this Great White Whale. So far, I was feeling my way into an Earnest Young Man In Need of Guidance From (slightly) Older, More Experienced Mentor role. I'd had success with older women using variations on that theme a number of times, though usually not the kind of success I was looking for here. Attractive as I found Gretchen, I had all the reasons in the world to focus only on her business, not her. That said, I had resolved to choose a restaurant from the more romantic end of my list to take her to. Puppy dog eyes and a need for guidance and support would go over better in soft lighting and quiet music than they would in a more frenetic venue. Or so I hoped!

I spent that afternoon at my desk, reading over my predecessors' notes on Gretchen, my own notes, as well as my research into what she had asked me and told me at our first meeting. That, along with a fresh shirt and a quick pressing of my suit, had me as ready as I expected I was going to be.

When I arrived at her corporate offices, I found that I would not have to cool my heels much this time. Gretchen was already in the lobby. I had only to wait while she finished hauling an older woman over the coals about something. The older woman looked like a fairly high level executive herself, so I winced as I thought about about her department, upon whom this shit would roll downhill all week.

"Problem?" I asked innocently, as we shook hands after Gretchen turned to meet me.

"Hmm? No. Well, yes, but sadly for you it is not some disaster caused by your competition where you can swoop in and save the day."

"My momentary dreams are shattered," I replied, dead-pan. For this evening, I had to project both confidence and charm, as well as inexperience and curiosity. In short, I needed to come off as the perfect clay for molding.

She laughed. "C'est la vie! Your arrival is well timed, though. Let's go. I could use a stiff drink."

She let herself into my car, and I reflected idly to myself that remote keyless entry had done more to eliminate male gallantry than even the most prickly forms of feminism.

As we were being seated at my chosen restaurant, Gretchen looked around at the place with a skeptical eye. As the host left us, she turned that skeptical eye on me. "Well, this place is certainly... atmospheric."

I had perhaps pushed a bit hard on the romance button. The music was violin music. LIVE violin music. A good 80 percent of the tables were for two. Many, including ours, were in intimate little spaces providing the impression or reality of privacy. Long candles burned phallically on the tabletop.

I looked around the restaurant, hiding the skittish feeling I had inside with an irritated expression on my face. "I've never been here myself," I explained, now glaring at the sumptuous upholstery on the walls. "I have a co-worker who suggested it to me when I told him I was taking you on a dinner call," I lied easily. "I had not figured out until right now that he is a 'Practical Joker'."

"Still, here we are. I imagine the food will be good," I went on. "If it's not, look for a murder mystery in the papers tomorrow." I reached for the wine list, but she dismissed it.

"If you want wine, that's fine," she said, looking at the cocktails on the menu. "I'd prefer some real drinks." I readily set side the wine list that had looked scarily incomprehensible at first glance, and perused the dinner menu. The lead waiter on the team that would serve us that night appeared and Gretchen ordered a Whiskey Sour, while I chose a variant they offered on my usual Manhattan. We made idle chat about the news of the world until our drinks appeared and we made the first half of them disappear. At that point I worked in a joke about the character of the restaurant and again referenced my doomed fictional co-worker. I solicited ides for revenge.

Gretchen laughed heartily. "I have to say that I was not sure what to do with you when we walked in here and saw all this," she said with a grin, indicating the late-modern french boudoir decor. "I mean, even if I was the sort to let a romantic overture affect my business dealings, that idea should have been tried by your boss Cathy back when she had my account."

What?

Gretchen leaned forward to clarify. "You and I play for the same team."

"Ye..., er, what?" I was a bit less confused than I appeared, but this was a very unexpected development and I was temporizing while trying to reevaluate... everything.

"As I feel sure is the case with you too, I prefer women," Gretchen went on mercilessly, but with the same grin as she pressed the point with an evil grin.

I once again referenced my fictional, practical joking co-worker. "I wonder if that bastard knew...?"

"I doubt it. I don't make a big deal about it, and I certainly never told anyone at CKE during any previous attempts at getting our business," she replied. She cocked her head for a second, then went on with another wicked smile, "Though maybe I should have told Cathy. That might have been interesting. She really is hot, isn't she?"

I may not have been as confused as I was pretending to be, but I was still off balance. "Oh, hell yeah," I let slip out.

Gretchen laughed again, harder. "Well, we DO have something in common! Shall we have a discussion on how much we both like your boss's tight, tasty body?"

"How about," I countered, a note of genuine panic entering my voice, "we go over the answers I have for you about what we discussed last time?"

Gretchen relented and we got through the first course on safe business topics. Inwardly, I was both relieved and cursing myself. I was relived to escape her teasing, but cursing myself because a plan had simultaneously entered my head; a hare-brained scheme if you will, but I liked it. Stupid as it was, I was already sure I was going to try it. But that meant that I would have to bring this conversation back around to the general subject matter that I had just escaped.

The food was indeed delicious. I knew it would be. The reviews had been nigh universal on that. She was well into her second Whiskey Sour before I finished my first Manhattan. As we neared time for a decision about desert, I managed to insert the subject of Cathy back into the conversation. After Gretchen rose to the bait, I let her actually goad me into a discussion of Cathy's looks. Despite myself, Gretchen eventually managed to embarrass me again. But it was the opening I was looking for.

"How about instead a piece of cake that my personal trainer will make me pay dearly for," I suggested, "we go somewhere else for a nightcap?"

"The cocktails are actually pretty good here," she replied, "but where did you have in mind?"

I named my favorite strip club.

She repeated the name skeptically. "Is that the kind place I think it is?" she asked archly.

"Probably," I said puckishly. "As you said, we play for the same team. Maybe we go there and hang out like teammates. I'm pretty sure that eye-candy is extremely low-carb...."

She bought the idea. She fucking BOUGHT it!

As we drove from romantic restaurant to raunchy strip club, I was a bit like the dog who caught the mail truck. What the heck was I supposed to do with this? Gretchen didn't help.

"I've never actually been to one of these before," she said. Her voice was filled with anticipation, but overlaid with the distinct impression that she also did not know how I'd talked her into going to one now.

"I've been here a couple of times," I admitted as I pulled up to the valet, who gave Gretchen a thorough glance as he helped her out of the Acura. "It makes for thrills."

We were both still dressed in business attire, of course, which put us in the distinct minority, but what drew attention to us was Gretchen. Any female customer gets a glance in a club like this, but as was her style, Gretchen's traditional business suit was expertly tailored to subtly but very effectively accentuate her already excellent figure. An elegant knock-out like her drew at least a sidelong look from every man in the place, and much more than a simple glance from most of them.

As we found our way to a table, she murmured to me, "I feel like an antelope among a pride of lions..."

"Nah," I replied confidently. "You are more of a mama grizzly and they are a bunch of wolves. They might be hungry, but they would not dare." She laughed at that and relaxed a little.

"We don't sit by the stage?" she asked.

"Not unless you want the strippers to drag you up on it with them and make a spectacle of you," I replied.

"The view is fine from here," she said firmly. As she looked up at the girl dancing on stage right then, she added, "It's quite fine actually."

A waitress Tina came over to get us drinks. She was not one that I knew, and that was good. I really did not come here that often, and I didn't want it to look like I did. After we placed our orders, Gretchen excused herself to the ladies' room. I put my hand on her forearm as she rose. "Fair warning. I'm pretty sure the ladies' restroom will be located inside the ladies' dressing room."

When she returned, she was little wild-eyed. "Thanks for the heads up..."

"Did you see anything you like?" I asked slyly. Gretchen was still little distracted and didn't catch what I said. I tired again, slightly differently.

"I meant, do you see anything you'd like?" I asked, waving around the room at all the workers.

"What? We just order a dancer, like from a menu? Most of these women won't want to talk to me anyway. I'll just look them over while they dance for you, right?" Amazing, this alpha woman was suddenly as cowed as most men are the first time in a place like this!

"Actually, you can 'order' through the waitress, if you see a dancer that really catches your fancy," I said calmly, confidently. "But it can be simpler to just wait and see who chooses to approach a man with a woman. As for them not being interested in you," I went on with a smile, "some of these dancers are full-on lesbians. They just act a good game around men. A bunch are truly bi-sexual, though who knows how many. And yes, most are fully straight, and won't be interested in you, except as a means to get money out of me."

"Tell me," I went on, relaxing back in my chair and looking around casually, "who are the women who meet your fancy? Let's play a game." I was acting totally in control, wise beyond my years, etc., but inside, I was actually regretting this. The whole thing could go badly wrong. "If there is someone who appeals to you, I'll have our server send her over. If the dancer approaches ME, we chat for a few, maybe buy her a drink, and send her on her way. But if she hones in on YOU..."

"What? If she hones in on me, what?"

"To be honest, I don't know. But I'll make sure that she makes sure that you sure have fun."

Gretchen looked around for a while. "That one?" she said at last, pointing out a tall, evening gown-wearing number with curves of modest size, but elegant ratio. Not bad. I waved at our waitress. A quick whisper and a five dollar tip to her, and she scuttled off. We saw her slide up to Gretchen's first selection and pointed to us. The dancer looked at us and immediately began to make her way over. So far so good.

But she came and sat directly upon my lap. She actually ground her hip against my cock as she told me hello, then turned to Gretchen. "Hi there, darling. What do you want me to do to your man?"

Damn. Well, I didn't expect a first try hit. I was about to execute the planned chat, tip, and discard routine, when Gretchen replied, "Just a lap dance. I want to watch this time."

I looked at her and she smirked. The dancer, whose name escapes me, just smiled and rose to her feet. The gown shimmered off her to the floor, and she handed it to Gretchen, who may or may not have smelt it when the dancer turned back to me, wearing only a white undergarment that aspired to be a thong when it grew up. She laid her arms over my shoulders and swayed before me. "So your lady caught you going to strip clubs, and decided to come along?" she asked me. "Well, it's up to you. Do you want her to see a chaste and innocent dance, or do you want me to blow her mind... and yours?"

We were out in the well-lit main room, so I knew no one was getting too terribly mind-blowing here. I drew a breath and whispered, "Get wild for her."

Weird as the situation was, I enjoyed the dance, and it wasn't half bad. Her body was really quite good, and both I and Gretchen certainly enjoyed the view. I could see Gretchen's enjoyment because I was watching her almost as much as I watched my nearly naked lap ornament. Toward the end of the song, the stripper was grinding herself into my crotch while smiling (I assume) at Gretchen, who did not take her eyes off of her. The dancer slid her hand back and between her ass and my lap and fondled my appreciatively hard cock through my pants. She handled it quite comprehensively, for being in the well-lit area of the club.

When the song ended, I paid her, and tipped her well. She rose, dressed, and leaned down to whisper in Gretchen's ear, before slipping away. I shifted in my chair as Gretchen stifled a laugh after her departure. "That wasn't the entertainment I had in mind for you," I started.

"I wanted to see the procedure," she replied.

"What did she say to you?" I had to ask.

Gretchen smiled, "That I should forgive you, my hubby, because I don't want to lose access to that anaconda in your pants."

!

"Um, strippers tell guys they are well-hung all the time," I coughed.

"Yes, but she assumed I knew full-well how well you are equipped, and still said it to me. Tell me, how well-hung ARE you?" Gretchen asked with wide, innocent, evil eyes. I chose discretion over valor, a choice with which I was largely unfamiliar, and decided not to answer.

Gretchen's next two choices unfortunately also made the wrong choice. Neither got invited to give me a dance, though.

"So, it is usually this hard to find a girl?" she asked querulously. Querulous is not an adjective you want to use to describe your client.

"When you are picky and have high standards, yes," I replied honestly. She relaxed a bit, and stopped making choices so quickly.

Another round of drinks came, and were nearly gone, when Gretchen's eyes narrowed and she flagged our waitress. "We'd love it if that one could come over," she said, pointing. The waitress was already moving when I saw who she fetching, and my heart sank. It was Monique, a dancer who had danced for me before, to rather spectacular result, but whom I had not seen since. She looked up, saw us, smiled at me and waved, before making her way toward us.

"I take it she's a friend of yours?" asked Gretchen acerbically.

"She's danced for me before. And she recognizes me. I don't think she will pass our test, which sucks because she is both gorgeous and good."

But Monique arrived and without asking, flowed like a satin-covered river into Gretchen's lap. Monique pulled her arms around her and cuddled into Gretchen's embrace. "I'm Monique," she breathed, stroking the line of Gretchen's jaw. Gretchen rather bemusedly gave her name as well.

"Why didn't you tell me about her?" Monique asked me pointedly. "She's dynamite!"

"Gretchen is my client, Monique. Behave!"

"Don't listen to him about behaving," countered Gretchen. "After all, I AM the customer."

"The customer?" asked Monique brightly, while staring deeply into Gretchen's eyes. "Well you are certainly Miss Right as far as I'm concerned."

"I like her," said Gretchen to me, her hand sliding easily down to stroke Monique's satin nightgown-covered hip. "I'd say you have excellent taste in dancers."

"Scotch and soda, Monique?" I asked with a provisionally relived smile, signaling our waitress.

We had a nice conversation for a while, even though I was hardly included. The two women mostly talked amongst themselves, always skirting the edge of full-on feeling each other up. If my earlier lap dance had gotten me worked up, it was nothing to the raging hard on I was experiencing from just watching them flirt.

"So Monique," I said, sliding my chair over close to them. "I'd love for you to take my client here down the hall to the back and introduce her to your skills with lap dances. Can we make that happen?"

"Hmmm," she smiled. "Lap dances are what I do... but no."

"No?" I blurted.

"No?" asked Gretchen, puzzled and sounding a little hurt.

Monique just cuddled harder against her. "No. This little woman deserves a trip to the Champagne Room."

I was confused. "When we talked about it before, you told me that you don't do the VIP thing," I challenged her.

"Well, not with guys, anyway," laughed Monique. "We were not discussing smoking hot brunettes with soft hands and hard bodies in that conversation."

I shook my head and looked at Gretchen, whose hand had slid around to rest more on Monique's ass than her hip now. "So what do you think? Want to have Monique take you away to some place private and really show you why this industry exists?"

"It's what you conned me into coming for, isn't it? I suppose I ought to see it through," sighed Gretchen, before caressing Monique's elegant jawline in return. "And I find I've really become rather into the idea over the last few minutes." Monique rose, and grasping Gretchen's hand, helped her out of the deep chair.

"Come on," said Monique to me, as she stepped toward the hallway leading to the back room and the Champagne VIP section as well.

"Me?" I blurted. "The idea is to entertain HER. We aren't a couple."

"You're paying," replied Monique sternly. "You need to be at hand if Gretchen decides you need to pay more!"

"Oh come on along," added Gretchen, who I reflected had had five cocktails, "since you are the one paying, you might was well make sure I get your money's worth. How crazy can it get?"

Monique laughed and tickled her under her jacket. "Oh, let's see!"

I followed along, secure in the knowledge that tonight was going to leave me with an epic case of blue balls.