Once Upon a Pole

Her curly hair defied gravity as she slowly snaked around the slick, metal pole.

Without a sound, her top popped off and revealed two, perky, small boobs.

She was clearly used to doing this sort of thing. I've never witnessed the gracefulness of a pole dancer, the soft curves of a naked woman's body, or a G-string outside of a phone screen.

I was dressed in my night-out-on-the-town best, with my boyfriend in tow. The introvert reluctantly joined me at the strip club because I'd never been to one, and I was dying to.

I was bi.

I was 28.

And I had never, EVER seen another woman naked.

I'd never touched another boob that wasn't my own.

And today, I wanted to rub my face in their soft pillows.

A dancer that looked like she stepped out of the '70s took the stage. She was more voluptuous than the previous dancer.

I wanted her titties in my face.

"You have to make it rain, like he is," my boyfriend explained.

A man across the stage threw singles in the air one by one, on top of her shimmying ass.

Soon enough, I caught her attention. I made it rain.

"Do you want titties in your face?" she asked in conservative Central Wisconsin.

I nodded.

She put my face between her jugs and she slapped them around.

I giggled.

I looked over at my boyfriend, who was smiling.

I was happy that he was happy.

But, I wouldn't be happy until I got a lap dance.

"Are you really set on this dance?" he asked later that night, frowning at his lack of single dollar bills.

"Yes," I told him. "I want more titties in my face."

But secretly, I wanted to feel what it was like to be with another girl.

Just then, I saw the girl who was hitting on us at the bar. She was getting ready to take the stage. Her long, flowy blonde hair swept across the small of her back and over her little black lingerie.

I couldn't wait to see what she had underneath her skimpy layers.

Again, I was beat by the guy who was making it rain. But Skylar flashed a white smile and remembered my name.

"Hey girl," she greeted. "Put that dollar bill behind your ear."

How did she know that's what gets me going?

Her C-cups squished together as she leaned in toward my face. I felt like she wanted to kiss me, but instead, she took the dollar bill.

She went for George Washington instead of me.

I glanced over at my boyfriend. He was equally impressed.

"I have to get a dance from her," I said.

"From her?" he asked. "Can't we just leave? Aren't you satisfied?"

"No, Skylar is so pretty," I said. I ran to the ATM, as fast as my booties could take me, cashed in my 20s at the bar, and fanned out the perfect amount of singles that would allow me to be alone with a stripper.

I used to hate them, you know. I thought they had some kind of power over me, and that they degraded all women just for the pleasure of men.

That is, until I fully accepted that I was bisexual.

I loved boobs. I loved the female form. I wanted to feel them on me.

This was my only chance.

"It's just them grinding on you," my boyfriend warned me. He didn't think I'd like the strip club, or a lap dance.

It sounded like a dream come true.

I kept that to myself.

I hunted down my blonde babe after her show.

"Do you mind if I get a dance?" I asked. My voice shook with nervousness.

"Yes!" she said after initial surprise.

We marched to the doorman, paid him, and walked in our heels to a "private" video-surveyed room.

"Is it okay if I touch you?" she asked.

"Yes," I smiled.

She put her perfectly smooth peach in front of my face. She had no sign of an asshole under her G-string. Even for a stripper in Central Wisconsin, she was as perfect as a porn star.

She smiled as she moved to the music, her long hair flowing to the beat.

Petals graced her perky nipples, creating a perfectly round silhouette of her breasts. She smelled like sweet perfume and baby powder.

Finally, she rubbed my head between her soft pillows.

It was everything I'd wanted.

It felt like it went by in a finger snap.

"Well, I hope you liked it!" her boobs bounced with her as she returned to her heels that she took off before the dance.

"Mhmm," I nodded. I was at a loss for words. I'd finally felt my first set, and it wasn't weird at all.

Then, she gave me a hug.

My hands remained at their sides, as I heard I couldn't touch strippers.

I felt so awkward.

She hugged me again.

I couldn't help it. I hugged her back. She put on her clear heels.

I wanted more, but I knew I couldn't have more.

"You're so pretty," I gushed.

She was so happy to hear that I liked her.

"You are, too!" she chirped.

"Any girl is going to be happy that she gets to dance on you and not some filthy, horny old man," my boyfriend said before I went in. He had warned me about strippers sweet-talking their way into your wallet by asking for your number.

Except this time, she gave me hers.

Just before this, I'd been swiping left and right on dating apps, imagining what it would be like to hook up with a girl. But I'd never found the right one. I was too shy.

"I hope you come see me again soon," she said. "Or, you can see me next Saturday."

I looked down at the torn piece of paper. "Okay," I said, breathlessly. I gave a big, dumb grin, and practically stumbled out of the private room.

I happy-danced back to the bar.

"I think I have a date," I told my boyfriend.

"I told you—"

"No. She gave me her number."

His face straightened.

"Oh."

"That's okay, right?" I just wanted to make sure.

"Yeah, you can be with any girl you want. I consider it like masturbating," he said coolly.

After I got the green light, I was looking forward to returning to the building with the red lights.

Date Night

I ran a straightener over my shoulder-length brown hair as I internally freaked out about my first date with a girl.

My dream date.

I wondered what we'd talk about. But before anxiety could settle in any further than it had, my phone buzzed with a message.

"Here."

I unplugged the straightener, threw my eyeliner across my vanity, and raced downstairs to get my purse.

I kissed my boyfriend goodbye.

"I love you. Don't wait up," I winked.

"Mhmm," he said sarcastically.

I ignored him.

I stepped inside her Land Rover. She had the girls on display with a low-cut dress.

"I'm glad you came to see me," she said. "I couldn't wait to see you outside of work."

"Y-yeah," I stuttered. I didn't know what to say. She looked perfect. She looked ravishing. She looked like a god damn snack.

After we found our seats at the Italian restaurant, we looked the drink menus up and down, like we did each other.

"I'll have the merlot," she said. She winked at me.

I couldn't believe this was happening.

"I'll have white wine," I said meekly. "Er, chardonnay. Or some rosé?"

I shook my head. "Uh, I'll have what she's having, please."

I made it up to the waiter with a sweet smile.

Frank Sinatra serenaded us as we dined in red velvet chairs and our little black dresses.

We smiled.

We laughed.

We flirted.

She took more interest in me than she did at the strip club bar.

She let me in on the secrets of her trade.

And at the end of the night, she called us a cab. Together. To her house.

Blood rushed down from my core, and I felt myself get wet.

Beneath my panties, I twitched with excitement. My tits hardened as I imagined them getting sucked.

And we weren't even in the cab yet.

She flicked on the lights when we got to her apartment. We were greeted by a black cat, a sign I'd usually consider to be no good. It had a sweet, high-pitched meow.

Who could be mad at that?

She put a door between us and the cat.

"Bye, baby," she cooed.

As she does best, she started stripping off her undergarments.

"What you got the other day was nothing," she whispered and sucked gently on my earlobe.

Kisses landed on my neck, my lips, and eventually, my nipples.

"Your boobs are so cute," she squealed. She squeezed them and took in a mouthful of my B-cups. She watched me with her warm brown eyes as she sucked.

I began to peel off her black dress.

"Ah-ah-ah..." she said, wagging her finger in the air.

"My lady first," she said. Her lips made her way down my stomach, and eventually, between my thighs.

This was the moment I've been dreaming of. Ever since I was a teenager, I'd fantasized about a beautiful, voluptuous woman spreading my legs and showing me a whole new world.

She slowly revealed her cleavage and her perfect boobs with puffy pink nipples.

They squished against the bed as she pulled me closer. She began to swirl her tongue around my clit. She closed her eyes, making out with my lower half.

My nipples got so hard.

My toes curled.

My back arched.

My eyes rolled back.

We intertwined.

And I had the wine to thank.

Our boobs bounced in sync as we thrusted upon each other. I couldn't believe I was doing this, and at the same time, it was everything I've ever wanted.

Eventually, between our moans of pleasure, our bodies trembled as we took turns orgasming.

We relaxed after our sexcapade in her warm pool, under the stars. I'd never skinny dipped before, either.

"This has been the best date of my entire life," I told her.

She kissed me. Warm water embraced me and kept me afloat, giving me the feeling that anything was possible.

"I'm so glad you put out on the first date," she laughed.

"I'm so glad you put out on the first dance," I said, lifting my eyebrows.

Our lips met again, and our bodies embraced under the night sky.

We toweled off our naked bodies that looked so beautiful in the moonlight, and we laid on a Sherpa blanket in the grass.

In that moment, I wasn't thinking of my boyfriend. I just wanted to be with her, cuddled in our bathrobes, looking at the eternal atmosphere.

I was living my dream, and I felt invincible.

Or, maybe, it was just the merlot.

Only tomorrow could tell.