More Stories to Make You Blush (6 page)

At that moment she realized she was totally in her element. Sensing people's eyes lingering on her body gave her enormous pleasure, as if she were being caressed by countless hands. On every inch of exposed skin she could almost taste the heat of each penetrating gaze.

That first night, for those few minutes, she couldn't have been more excited than if her four friends had made love to her one after another.

Unfortunately, the girls stopped talking to her. As for the boys, they all asked her out, hoping for a free private show. But she swore that she would never let a spectator touch her after seeing her perform; that would destroy the dream illusion she created when she danced. And she had no need for more attention. She loved the keen sensation of desire that came from the men, and sometimes the women too. All those eyes pinned upon her made her shiver with pleasure, and she gave herself to the dance, body and soul. She knew she was beautiful, desired. She knew most of the men would give everything they had to make love with her. But the ultimate pleasure was that she had never spent the night with a customer! To continue enjoying her work she had to remain totally inaccessible to her audience. She had to remain a fantasy, a mirage. That way she could become any woman she wanted, queen or movie star. “Look, but don't touch!”

In short, she was happy with her work. However, it did have its down side. Some people, once they discovered what she did, stopped seeing her because they could see nothing meaningful or socially acceptable about her “career.” As for the wives and girlfriends of the men who came to see her dance, they despised her. But that did not bother Brigitte too much as she never came face-toface with any of them. Still, to preserve her anonymity, she always worked as far as possible from home, refusing all contracts near her residence. At long last she had succeeded in making a separation between her work and her social life, and she meant to keep it that way.

Luckily, the line about being a “model for a Montreal fashion designer” usually went over pretty well—including this time, for the man did not press for more details.

“What about you?” she asked him. “Are you on vacation?”

“Yes. I have to go back to Montreal in a week. Do you live there too?”

“Yes … in the suburbs.”

“I feel as if I've seen you someplace.”

“Montreal's a big city.”

They were silent for a few moments. Then, as if remembering something important, the man got to his feet and with an almost solemn air said, “I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Vincent. I'm thirty-four, single, and I am dying to ask you out to dinner. What time do you start work?”

“Not before nine. If you don't mind eating early, I'd love to join you. I'm Brigitte.”

“No problem; we can eat early. Let's say we meet in the lobby around five.”

The conversation had taken a relaxed, easy tone without either of them really noticing. It was clear they liked each other. Brigitte joyfully accepted his invitation. Vincent was happy and once again flashed his dazzling smile.

“I'm going to get on with my run, without stopping this time. See you later!”

She watched him go with a strange feeling in her stomach. She liked him, she liked him very much.

* * *

Brigitte went to meet Vincent at the agreed time. She was wearing her most beautiful dress, which was white and brought out her golden tan. She had taken meticulous care with her hair and makeup. After all, she was a model! Vincent seemed to appreciate her efforts. He got up from the chair when he saw her, whistling with admiration. He himself had taken pains with his appearance. Or was it his natural charm? He was clean-shaven and gave off a dizzying, though subtle perfume. He did not ask her where she wanted to go, but simply took her to his rented vehicle, a convertible sports car parked at the door.

“It's good for cruising women,” he said, winking.

“Yes, I guess I'm not the first one to get into this car in the last few weeks!”

“No, but you're definitely the most beautiful!”

He opened the door and closed it once she was settled. He took his place behind the wheel and asked her if she liked seafood. At her obvious approval of the idea he started the car.

It was a carefree drive, full of good humor and light banter. They arrived at a little restaurant. It looked quite unassuming, but Brigitte recognized its name from the tourist brochures which raved about it. They were shown to a little table on the almost empty terrace. As Vincent seemed to know the place, Brigitte let him order. He spoke a near-perfect Spanish and seemed to be ordering enough food for an army.

The conversation was lively and joyous. Brigitte could not help but admire the young man sitting across the table. He was magnificent. But—and this didn't harm—he was also funny, intelligent, and could talk about almost anything. She learned that he had his own public relations firm, had been coming to this place for the last four years, and had never been married or even seriously involved with someone. He was looking for “the” ideal woman.

The evening went extremely well, but too quickly. For the first time in a long while Brigitte did not want to go to work. At least she would have delayed going if she could have. She wanted to spend the rest of the evening—and who knows, maybe the night—with this man she felt she had known for years, though they had only just met. But when she imagined the feverish eyes of the audience slipping over her naked body as she danced, she shuddered with pleasure. She looked discreetly at her watch and saw she would have to leave soon. And there was no question of him giving her a lift! Even a hint about what she really did could ruin everything.

Vincent also knew she had to leave. But how he wished the evening could last forever! Could he see her later?

“What time do you finish tonight?” he asked her softly.

“Oh! Around two in the morning. My boss has rented a reception room and the party will probably go on late.”

“That's too bad. I would've come to meet you for a nightcap.”

“I definitely won't be back before 3 a.m. I'm sorry, I'd have liked to stay. It's been a wonderful evening.”

“I totally agree, the most beautiful evening I've had in a long time! Well! I guess we'll have to start again tomorrow night, won't we?”

“Or even before, if you want. I get up pretty early.”

“Perfect! I'll be on the terrace for breakfast around ten. How about you?”

“I'll be there!”

Reluctantly, they got up from the table and left the restaurant. He took her gently by the arm, guiding her to the car.

“I'm going to take a cab.”

“I won't hear of it!”

“No, I mean it. I have to go to the other end of town, there's no point! I insist.”

“Well, just this once.”

He pulled her towards him, and before she could do anything to stop him—not that she had the slightest desire to do so—he kissed her with such passion that she went limp in his arms. There were so many promises in his kiss! His firm body drove her wild, and his smell went straight to her head. She gently pulled away and whispered:

“I'll think of you all evening.”

“And I'll think of you all night. I haven't felt like this for a long time. I'm already crazy about you!”

Again he pressed his tender lips against hers. After a seemingly endless embrace that left them both glowing with desire, they managed to tear themselves away from each other. Vincent went into the restaurant, called a taxi, then came back and took her hand. They waited in silence. When the old taxi pulled up he helped her in, gave her another burning kiss, and watched the vehicle pull away with a somber look on his face. For the entire trip Brigitte wondered over and over if this man could accept her life as it was. He seemed so sensitive to beautiful things and refined manners, to a woman's softness and delicateness; he would no doubt be horrified to learn where she was going and what she would be doing for the rest of the evening.

* * *

She arrived at her workplace with only a few minutes to spare and hurried to get ready for her first number. She could not stop thinking of Vincent, the softness of his lips, the heat of his kisses. As if floating on a cloud she got up on stage and started her first dance. The bar was crowded with Mexicans and, most of all, with American tourists and businessmen. It was quite a chic place, and the clientele was decidedly upscale. Brigitte had been told that the customers rarely got out of hand or made trouble, so she felt completely secure. She stepped forward on the stage, wearing a sequined bra and a matching g-string, perched on stiletto heels. Her graceful body started to move to the rhythm of the music. Gradually, she transformed herself into the goddess she became each time she got on stage for the pleasure of her audience.

Her movements became more and more languid, as if her body were there only to be admired and desired by the spectators. The audience was attentive to her every move; each man looked at her with a certain glimmer in his eye. She asked only to be possessed, devoured. Her long legs seemed to go on forever; her open thighs displayed her almost totally shaven blonde bush. She finally took off her top, letting her long hair caress her back and tickle her breasts deliciously.

All she could think of was Vincent. She wanted him there admiring her. For all the men who were looking at her now she was nothing but a dream. They faded into nothingness next to Vincent. She imagined his hands running over her body, massaging her ample breasts, spreading her thighs to discover her hot pussy that longed only for him.

At the end of the number Brigitte hurried off stage, as if waking up from a dream. She fled to the bathroom. Her breath came in gasps; she could not help but think of Vincent. Her dance had made her very excited, the many eyes on her firing her desire. Reaching down between her legs she caressed her damp sex, and in only a few seconds came with a long sigh.

* * *

The next morning she went to the terrace at ten. Vincent was already waiting for her with a glass of orange juice in front of him. He got to his feet, his face lighting up with his incomparable smile. Brigitte did not look quite so fresh. She had slept badly, dreaming about Vincent, his body next to her in bed, then on her, and in her. She had almost broken a record for masturbation and had to force herself to stop, more frustrated than ever. But now, seeing him there in all his magnificence in the bright morning sun, her good mood instantly returned. Fearing she might be ill at ease after the way they had separated the night before, Vincent was determined to reaffirm his intentions. He did not even give her time to sit down, but took her in his arms and kissed her with as much conviction as the day before. All she wanted was to suggest they go have breakfast in his room, but something prevented her. He seemed to emanate a deep respect that would not allow things to be hurried between them.

They ate in near silence; their smiles spoke volumes about how they were both feeling. After a bountiful meal they decided to head for the inviting beach. Vincent knew how to do everything. He introduced her to the joys of undersea diving, sailing, and parachuting. He seemed to have a natural aptitude for everything physical. Brigitte pondered about this aptitude, impatient to see just how far it went. But indeed, Vincent seemed to be in no hurry. She would have liked to suggest a little afternoon nap, but again held herself back. If he wanted to make her wait, why shouldn't she do the same?

They went swimming, splashed each other, and played like children. Around three in the afternoon, exhausted, they decided to nap—but not the kind of nap Brigitte was hoping for! They each went to their room, agreeing to meet again around 5 p.m. for a drink and dinner. Vincent was definitely more difficult to corrupt than the men Brigitte was used to meeting. How refreshing!

* * *

The alcohol went to her head. Brigitte was becoming obsessed. As Vincent talked over drinks she examined his jaw and his teeth, and every time he moved she admired his muscles working beneath the tanned skin. He seemed to be doing the same with her. They were in a world of their own. They had hamburgers and fries for supper, washed down with several margaritas. When the time came for Brigitte to leave she was very tipsy, and so was Vincent. But at least that way she had little trouble convincing him to let her take a taxi again. The trip in the shaky old vehicle did not do much to sober her up. But the effect was not unpleasant, and she ordered another drink when she got to the bar before going off to get changed.

When she got up on stage she was very lightheaded, but not just from the alcohol. She felt so well that her body seemed to dance by itself, without her having to give it orders. All she wanted was Vincent. Yes, she would soon have to talk to him about her work, though she was surer than ever that he would not let the woman of his life practice this sort of occupation. He had the look of someone who was used to controlling situations, not having them forced on him. Something in his look gave her the feeling that this time she might have to choose. But she banished the thought, content just to enjoy the present moment. That evening several men asked her to dance at their tables and paid generously for the favor. She even danced for a couple of lovers who seemed to revel in the spectacle. She liked these private dances, for they allowed her to get dangerously close to the limit she had set for herself. She could look people in the eye, guess their secrets and their fantasies; but it was a oneway street. She kept up her face of marble and her motionless smile—the image of an inaccessible goddess. Whether she danced for a man alone or at a group table, she thought of Vincent. How she would have loved to show him this side of herself ! But it was impossible. She was madly in love with him and that would not change—unless he did something to gravely disappoint her in the next few days. He would never understand that she could do this work and also have a simple, healthy life, totally free of the “vices of the trade.” It was so hard to explain to someone on the “outside!” But this man seemed to represent so many promises. The more she got to know him, the more he resembled the Prince Charming she had been looking for all her life. Was it possible she had finally found someone for whom she would even give up her work, give up this pleasure that had become so important to her? Maybe. She would just have to see how things went.