Island Fever Ch. 15

"Jeremy."

"I'm Pamela," she returned, grasping my hand and shaking it in a friendly manner. "Most of the girls here at the club use stage names, but I don't. My real name is Pamela ... I am who I am. So ... have you been to this club in the past?"

"No, I haven't. Actually, I've never been to one of these places before in my entire life."

"Really?" she confirmed, acting surprised. "I did not think you had been here before because I don't recognize you. Not only am I really good at remembering faces, but I've been working here forever!" Pamela flashed me another dazzling smile. "Let me tell you, Jeremy, that this is a really nice and classy club. Do you like it here so far?"

"I like it a lot."

"Where do you live?"

I grinned and told her, "On an exotic, tropical island off the coast of Peru. It's beautiful. Where do you live?"

"Oh, I live just outside of Baltimore," Pamela responded. Smart, I told myself. Pamela did not tell me her specific hometown. Outside of Baltimore covered a large area.

"Just exactly how long have you been working here?"

She nodded at me. "11 years. I like it here a lot. It helps put me through college, and pay the bills. Being here for 11 years, you know, I have seniority on all of the other dancers. They all look at me as the mother hen!" Pamela was being overly nice. I mean, overly nice. I wondered how many times she had this same, exact conversation in the past with total strangers? "So Jeremy, where do you work?"

"I don't work. Believe it or not, I'm retired."

"You're retired?" she gasped. "You seem awfully young to be retired. What are you? I bet you're 39."

"Yes, I am. And I bet you are 30, dear."

Pamela smiled, staying in character. "Hey, you're good."

I decided to extend the game to another level. "I imagine that this is your only job? Do you work any place else?"

"This is my only job," she confirmed. "Believe it or not, but I thought of getting a part-time job a couple of years ago at a Starbucks coffee shop right down the street from where I live. I'd been almost a daily customer of them for years - and still am - but decided against it in the end. I did not want to take away all of my free time in working both there and here, and going to college at the same time. My life is busy and hectic enough as it is!"

Obviously, that was news to me. Pamela once considered getting a part-time job at a coffee-house to help supplement her income as an exotic dancer? At the very least, it would have been something legitimate to put on her work record...

"You said you were retired, right?" I nodded my head at her as she continued, "What type of work were you in?"

"Internet type of stuff," I commented. "Website and domain construction. I got lucky and made a lot of money."

Pamela smiled. "I am not really into computers myself. I honestly only use one because there is a lingerie store in Pittsburgh called Chelsea's, and that is where I buy all of my lingerie and sexy outfits for work at. They have their own website and I bet that I am their number one customer! I have been using that particular website for many years."

"What do you do with your free time?" I inquired.

"Well ... if I'm not working or attending college, I'm usually studying. In the few precious moments that I have outside of that, I like to read. I fall in love with books and never want to set them down. Other than that, I spend time with my sister. She and I are room-mates. Her name is Candice, and she is my best friend. I'm fairly boring."

I grinned at her and spoke from the heart in responding, "I very seriously doubt that you are boring, Pamela."

The young woman smiled again at me, but decided to change the subject. "Hey, you know what? I had some horrible luck tonight. I was caught speeding by the cops, going 92 in a 65 mile-per-hour zone. It was so embarrassing."

"92?" I exclaimed. "You must have been in a hurry."

"Yes, I was," she replied. "I was late for work."

With any luck, I said inwardly, you did not have to pay that outrageous fine, dear. I sure hope not...

"I could have been in a lot of trouble for going so fast, you know, but the cop was nice. I had my [Strip Club Name] t-shirt on, and he said he and his buddies come here from time to time. I told him I was already 15 minutes late for work. He told me to slow down and be more careful. He also bumped my ticket from 92 down to 80. That way, he said, I would not have to go to traffic court, but I still had to pay a fine." Pamela grinned and added, "I told him to come up and get a dance from me sometime." The segue was set. "How about you? Would you like a dance from me, Jeremy?"

"Yes, I would," I answered. Pamela smiled once again as she stood up from the chair and extended her hand. I took it, and then she led me to the middle of my personal suite.

"Since this is your first time here, let me explain that a couch dance will cost you $25. Or we could go up to the champagne room. It is really the best place, but runs an additional ten bucks - $35. Much more contact there. I can give you a table dance for $20, but it is minimal contact."

I smiled at her. "The champagne room sounds perfect."

As Pamela led me by the hand over to the large sofa near the back wall - which would serve as the champagne room, I guess - I pulled out a pair of twenties from my money clip. I extended the cash to her, but Pamela shook her head and retorted, "You don't have to pay me until the dance is over."

"No," I said. "Go ahead and take it. Keep the change."

"Thank you!" she squealed, momentarily leaning over and grabbing the pair of dollar bills I had given her earlier. She placed the total of $42 on the end table and then motioned for me to take a seat upon the sofa. "Spread your legs for me, sweetheart," she requested, and I complied.

Pamela stepped directly between my legs and gently nudged her tender knee and lower calf across the aching bulge within my shorts. She then placed her hands on my shoulders and vigorously shook her body, causing her large, firm breasts to jiggle about a mere two inches in front of my face.

The enchantress leaned down somewhat and pressed her upper torso onto my chest and abdomen. With both arms now linked around my neck, she placed the side of her face upon my heart and held it there for several seconds. Her fluffy hair felt wonderful against my own chin and face.

"How much does a Pepsi or Coke cost here?"

"$14," she answered, which caused my eyebrows to nearly skyrocket. "They give you about three-quarters of a can. I know, I know ... the prices for drinks here are outrageous."

"What about orange juice?"

Pamela giggled. "I don't think we serve orange juice."

"Is the food on the menu any good?"

"Not unless you want to get sick..."

My legs still wide, Pamela hooked her own legs over my upper thighs and straddled me there. Her lovely, pristine face hovered in front of mine for several seconds, her eyes seemingly flashing in an exotic manner.

"I can't touch you ... right?" I confirmed, my hands idly resting at my sides.

"No, but I can touch you," she explained. "House rules." She giggled and added, "I don't want the bouncers to beat you up, and kick you out."

Pamela turned to the side and slid off of my lap, and to the side of the sofa. Now seated there, she draped her legs across my lap and spread them far apart, allowing me an unobstructed view of her sweet, intoxicating pussy. My heart nearly skipped a beat as she reached between her thighs and twiddled away at her clitoris with a single fingertip.

Pamela's next move was to glide down to the floor. With her back to me, she got onto her hands and knees, with her ass perched high - and staring me straight in the face. She gyrated and swiveled her shapely hips about for my adoring eyes in a somewhat lewd, suggestive manner, before slowly turning around and rising up to her knees.

Starting at my crotch, Pamela snaked her cover-girl face up my body - past my abdomen and chest, and finally stopped at eye-level. She stared at me for several seconds with a seductive expression, then tapped my nose with a fingertip.

Her face descended lower once again, and this time, the goddess held it near my stomach. Her eyes never left mine as she stared up at me, her right forearm now rubbing and massaging the lump within my shorts. Pamela then wrapped her arms around my waist and squeezed tightly, and again snaked her way up my body. This time, however, she kept her breasts pressed hard against my torso.

Again at eye-level, Pamela linked her arms around my neck and leaned her face in close to my right ear. I could feel her warm, sensuous breath upon my ear, and then she even blew into it - which sent absolute shockwaves of hot pleasure shooting all throughout my body. An instant later, I felt her tongue on my ear. She licked it! Twice!

"Whoa ... is that normal?" I asked, breaking character.

"Yes, it is," Pamela frowned, taking a step back and nodding her head. "The house madam likes for us to lick or gently bite a customer's ear once, if not twice, each dance." She then reverted back to our role-playing game and said, "Would you like another dance? It will run you $35 more."

The game was over.

I brought Pamela into my arms and hugged her in a very warm and caring manner. Then, despite the high level of excitement she had given me during her performance upon the dresser and the ensuing lap dance, I came to a conclusion.

Still embracing her with both arms, I inhaled sharply and declared, "I don't want you to dance for me ever again." She pulled away and looked at me as I added, "Pamela, you're not a stripper anymore. Not as long as you're on my island. I am going to get you out of that mindset once and for all."

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused, making a motion toward my crotch. "You're hard as a ROCK. You don't want me to dance for you anymore? I don't quite understand."

"Just what I said. You're not a stripper any more as long as you're on my island. I enjoyed the lap dance, yes, but to be honest, I don't like looking at you in that way." Pamela sighed as I added, "You are an incredibly good and wonderful person. You're BETTER than this, Pamela. How many times do I need to tell you that? You are so much better - in so many different ways. Truth is, I am more interested in the Pamela on the inside instead of the Pamela on the outside."

Perched in my lap with my hands around her waist, Pamela sagged somewhat and leaned back. "You ... you're the first guy who has ever said that to me, Jeremy." I smiled as she cooed, "You want to know me inside more than outside."

"It's the truth," I assured her. "I do admit that you are a very beautiful woman, and that is a major reason why I noticed you in the first place two weeks ago. But it is not what is keeping my interest. The person inside of you is keeping my interest. I want to know more about the person inside of you. I want to know everything there is to know."

Pamela placed her hands on either side of my face and smiled at me, her head slightly tilted to the side. "I want to know everything about you too, Jeremy." An instant later, she pressed those red, moist lips of hers to my mouth and offered me a tender, very pleasurable kiss. At the same time, Pamela linked her arms around my shoulders and hugged me. Our kiss, slow and languid, lasted a good 15 seconds. Suddenly, it felt as if I had died and gone to Heaven.

"Hmmmmm ... I enjoyed that," were my words once our lips finally parted ways. Now looking into her luminous brown eyes, I brought my right hand up and grazed the back of it across Pamela's cheek in the most gentle of fashions. A single tear formed within her left eye, and then streaked down her face. She sighed and smiled in response and then, I kissed her again. This time, our tongues touched and danced together in wondrous, blissful harmony.

"Why don't you put some clothes on?" I whispered, bumping her nose with my own. I glanced at Pamela's nude form for a brief moment. God, she was beautiful. Simply beautiful!

I then re-focused my sights onto her eyes and said, "Get some clothes on, and we'll talk some more. I don't feel all that comfortable talking to you without you wearing clothes."

Pamela snickered. "Then why don't you take your clothes off, too? I'm sure you would be more comfortable then."

I lowered my head for a moment, then looked back up and smiled at Pamela. "I just feel like talking to you right now. That's all. I want to know more about you. I want to know about your family. I want to know how it was growing up for you. I want to know what life is like in Maryland."

Pamela smiled and traced the tip of her right forefinger over and across my chin. "I will tell you whatever you want to know about me, Jeremy." That subtle, simple move sent a wave of good sensations coursing throughout my entire body. The 30-year-old pecked my cheek with a kiss and then offered me yet another warm, spirit-lifting embrace.

I grinned at her one more time. "I got some dress shirts, some sweatshirts and sweatpants and the like over in my closet. Go over and put something on ... just enough to cover up. I even got some big basketball and football jerseys. I have always loved the sight of a woman in a football jersey. I know that sounds incredibly strange, but it's the truth."

Pamela graced my cheek with another kiss and giggled, then pushed herself away from me and stood up. She glanced at the nearby closet, then back at me. "It's not all that often, you know, when I have someone asking me to actually put some clothes on. In fact, you're the first, Jeremy."

I nodded my head and countered, "I think I might be the first of a lot of things for you, sweetheart."

Pamela stood by and pondered those words for a moment or two, then flashed me another smile before turning and making her way over to the closet. "You like your women in football jerseys, huh? Let me see what I can find in here..."

"How is this?" Pamela asked a moment later, emerging from the closet. She was decked out in a #18 Cincinnati Bengals (my favorite team since I was born there) NFL replica jersey. The black nylon fabric was the perfect contrast for Pamela's long-flowing blonde hair and immaculate complexion. The jersey was so big on her that it went down to her knees.

Smiling, Pamela spun around in a circle and modeled the jersey for me. "Too bad you don't have a Ravens' uniform, but I'm not complaining. All I saw was this and some NBA Laker uniforms. Great athlete or not, I would never be caught dead in a Kobe Bryant jersey after what he was accused of a decade or so ago." She smiled again and added, "You should have a Ray Lewis jersey instead of A.J. Green."

Suddenly overcome with a feeling of love and devotion - women in athletic apparel was a fetish of mine, remember - I stepped forward and grasped both of Pamela's hands with my own. I kissed her and offered, "I can certainly understand why you would not want to wear a Kobe jersey. In my defense, I bought it LONG before he got into all the legal trouble."

Pamela stepped back, but held onto my wrists and thus, extended my arms outward. She offered me a glittering smile and cooed, "Take me somewhere."

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Somewhere in this big mansion that I have yet to visit. I don't care. I just want to be with you." Pamela tilted her head from side-to-side in an impish manner and concluded, "In fact, I don't ever want to leave you."

-------

Across from the exercise room was the home theater (not to be confused with the OmniMAX theater located elsewhere). Very contemporary in design, the home theater contained customized leather seating to ensure maximum comfort while enjoying a movie. Overhead, the black ceiling was in a wave-like, undulating design and was filled with fiber optic lights to create a starry nighttime effect. This fabulous room also included a built-in bar and large popcorn machine. It was perfect for what I had in mind tonight...

"Slushy?" I said to Pamela, handing her a cherry drink made of soft ice. When she took the cup from me and sipped its straw, I smiled and sat down in the chair next to her. I grasped her left hand with my right and gently kissed it.

"Thank you," she said, motioning toward her drink.

"You're welcome."

"Is there anything to watch on the movie screen?" Pamela asked. "Or do we just sit here and talk?"

"I have over 2,000 movies," I informed her. "If you like it, I probably have it in the video room. Name a movie."

Pamela slumped down in her chair and placed her head on my shoulder. "I would rather just sit and talk, Jeremy. It is so good to be able to relax ... and just TALK. Not have to worry about impressing some customer, or trying to coax another $35 out of him or her. Just to be myself, and talk. The only person who ever really listened to me was Candice."

"Your sister?"

"Yes."

"What can you tell me about the rest of your family?"

"My mom is 55 and my dad is 57," she began. "They have had some very rocky times in their marriage, but are still together. I don't think they would know what to do if they ever split apart, although they constantly fight and argue."

"Some older couples are like that," I nodded. "Your mom and dad ... what are their names?"

"Tom and Carol. I have two sisters, Paula and Candice. Paula is 34 and married, has a few kids. Candice is 26. I have told you about her before. Candice has been living at my penthouse with me since she graduated from high school. My grandmother, Genevieve, lives with my parents. She is 81 and is still in pretty good condition for her age. Her husband - my grandfather - died a couple of years ago. They were together for 57 years."

"I'm sorry to hear that, dear."

Pamela shrugged her shoulders. "My parents did not want Grandma to be alone, so they took her in three years ago. I was going to offer to let her move in with Candice and me if my parents didn't. Grandma ... she devoted her entire life to Grandpa. Grandma never worked, never did anything but raise her kids and look after us, her grandkids. She loved Grandpa so much. It almost killed her when he died. He was, in many ways, her whole life. Everything to her."

"This may sound like an off-the-wall question, Pamela. But what is your middle name?"

"My middle name? Annabeth. Why do you ask?"

"Pamela Annabeth," I grinned. "Pretty name. I could call you PAP for short."

"PAP?"

"Your initials," I reminded her. "P-A-P."

"Oh," the 30-year-old giggled. "Why ask my middle name?"

I kissed the crown of her head. "Just as I said, I want to know EVERYTHING about you. What were you like before you became a stripper? What were you like in high school?"

Pamela snickered. "When do I get to ask the questions?"

"Ask me whatever you want."

Pamela smiled again. "Okay, your questions first. What was I like before I became a stripper? Believe it or not, but I worked at McDonald's from ages 15 through 19." My interest level went up another notch with those words. I could easily picture a young and teen-age Pamela working the counter at a fast-food joint. Droves of men - young and old alike - filing in to get a glimpse of the beautiful blonde. I am sure she had admirers from the female persuasion, too.

Pamela laughed. "Would you like any fries with that?"

"No ... but how about some sugar?" I asked, curling my head and neck, and eventually finding her lips with my own.

"Hmmmmm ... I love sugar," Pamela moaned after our kiss reached its conclusion. With her cherry slushy still in hand, I looked at it for a moment and came to a decision. I snaked my head forward and stole a healthy sip from its straw. Finding no problem in sharing her drink with me, Pamela smiled and then sipped from the straw herself.

Feeling playful, Pamela snatched a handful of popcorn and tossed it directly into my face. She giggled while doing so, but then squealed in protest as I grabbed her slushy and made a motion to dump it all over her head. I would never do that to Pamela - or anyone else for that matter - but it was fun to put a little scare into her nonetheless.