Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 This story is mine and it contains scenes of women removing clothes and a
woman performing masturbation.  Feel free to archive this story as long as
my authorship remains intact and you don't make any money from it.  This
story is something I have worked on, off and on for over a year.  If you
enjoyed it, please drop me a line at lordshon@aol.com.

   Gina's story of Olivia, By Shon Richards



   Personally, I blame Linda Carter.  If she hadn't been such a good
actress, I would never have become a stripper.  When I was a little girl, I
used to watch Linda on Wonder Woman every afternoon.  Everyday Linda would
start the show as Diana Prince, a nerdish, weak and submissive woman. 
Before long she would spin and transform into Wonder Woman, a dazzling
beauty wearing next to nothing.  As a child, I used to think Linda Carter
was spinning her clothes off.  My hero was a woman who had to shed her
clothes to become powerful and sexy.  My therapist found this understanding
hilarious.

   Like Diana Prince, I felt like I was unattractive.  Unlike Diana, I had
a mother who told me I was unattractive.  She felt that my nose was too
pointy and my breasts were too small.  It wasn't till years later that I
learned about Mom's own psychological problems, so in the meantime I took
her word for it.  That is why at the age of seven I felt I was unappealing
to the world.  My mother made it clear that I could never change my
appearance, and I was cursed to be ugly forever.  It was no wonder that I
latched onto the Wonder Woman fantasy.  What could be better to an ugly
girl than be able to spin and become a pretty, dynamic and powerful woman?

   My fantasy reflected itself into my life.  I played with my Barbie dolls
like any normal girl, but my dolls had secret identities.  Whenever the
Barbie Dream House needed fixing, I would spin my dolls, shed their clothes
in exchange for something pretty and viola-- I had a team of gorgeous
girls, ready to take on the world.  My Barbies had other names, like
Mega-girl, Super-Gal and Ultra-woman.  Pretty silly in retrospect, but my
therapist said I was role-playing a solution to my perceived inadequacies.
I think she sometimes reads too much into things.

   As I grew older, and attended school, my transformation fantasy was
right there with me.  First grade was terrifying, and I was a quiet and shy
girl.  I would stay very quiet, while on the inside I would be re writing
the schoolday.  I would imagine myself spinning around and wearing
elaborate pretty gowns.  Then, while I was decked out, I would interact
with my classmates as somebody else.  Instead of being boring Gina Holden,
I would be a cool mystery girl who went by the name of Wonder Lady.  Would
you believe I nurtured, modified and continued that fantasy all the way to
High School?

   Of course I had to change the name of my alternate identity when I hit
the sixth grade.  Even though I was the only one who knew of my fictional
storylines, I demanded a certain sense of credibility.  It felt childish
wanting to become Wonder Lady; instead I wanted to be a popular student. 
My first crushes were developing on the boys in my classes, and I knew that
none of them would want to kiss someone called Wonder Lady.  So I searched
through the romance novels that in my mother's room and grabbed the name
that struck me as exotic.  Olivia was the name I found, and I embraced it
as my ideal.

   It was a name that belonged to a rich temptress, a name that reminded me
of an exotic heiress.  I imagined myself dressed in furs, jewelry and
perfect makeup, and Olivia was the only name worthy of my splendor.  Olivia
was the alias I used when I constructed my lavish dreams of dating the cute
boys in my school.  Any time my real life became too stressful, I would
imagine running off, stripping my clothes and becoming wonderful Olivia. 
Too bad I didn't spend as much time actually trying to meet some boys as I
did working on my fantasies about them.

   My daytime fantasies about becoming Olivia faded as I went to High
School.  It was there that I found friends just as lonely and unpopular as
I was.  As I made friends, went out to parties and even dated a bit, I
found my real life taking more and more of my time.  My first fumbling with
masturbation kept me busy for a week, as I enjoyed pleasures Olivia had yet
to discover.  When a boy first expressed an interest in the real me, I was
in a happy state of bliss for a month.  I even took ballet lessons, mostly
to get out of the house, but as I learned how to move and spin, I fell in
love with movement.  It was these little things that helped me become a
person I liked.

   When boys began expressing an interest in me I would still call on my
Olivia aspect for help sometimes.  I would strip off quickly, and then
dress myself for my date slowly and sensuously.  This became the way that I
would prepare myself for dates, and it never failed to put me at ease. 
Later, when my first boyfriend pressured me for sex, it was thinking of
Olivia that gave me the courage to turn him down.  I was too uncomfortable
for sex, but it took Olivia's confidence to turn him down.  I sometimes
worried if I had a split personality, but my therapist pointed out that
Olivia was a character and a role model.  The fact that I had to summon her
by stripping was the kinky part.

   In college, I was finally able to escape from my mother.  The advantage
of having an unemployed mother doesn't become apparent till you start
bringing in scholarships to go to school.  I was able to pay for my entire
education and have enough money to live comfortably in a dorm.  I didn't
like my roommate, a conceited and prissy blonde named Denise, but she was a
lot better than living with Mom.  I majored in English, and used my
horrible upbringing as resource for my writings.  The extra money I had
left over was enough to take advantage of the school therapist program, and
every Tuesday I exorcised another demon of my past.  I moved further and
further away from a life in fantasy, and was enriching myself in the real
world.  In other words, I was totally in a sane frame of mind when I
decided to try out on amateur night at a local strip club.

   It was from reading the school newspaper that I saw the advertisement
for a strip bar named simply The Brown Bag.  I was amused to be living in a
college town that had it's own strip club, so I read the ad with curiosity.
They were open six nights a week, featured a "Country and Western" night on
Friday, and students were given half price admission on Mondays.  It was
the last part that caught my eye, and caused my heart to race unexpectedly.
Every Wednesday was amateur night, with a three hundred dollar prize.

   Suddenly, I was face to face with an unspoken desire.  I have fantasized
about stripping for most of my life, and here was an unknown possibility--
To do it for real.  I had come so far in my life, from being the quiet and
shy little girl to supporting myself through college.  Now that I was in
college, I wanted something more.  I wanted to take that one extra step, to
go from success story to excessive fantasy come true.  I didn't want to
become Olivia; I wanted to exceed her by doing something I hadn't even
thought of doing.  I was going to strip, in front of a crowd, and there
would be no secrets anymore.  Needless to say, I didn't tell my therapist
about this self-help.

   Starting on this new adventure, I called the Brown Bag for information.
A bored woman answered the phone, and impatiently answered all my
questions. Amateur night was open to anybody but I had to bring an
identification to prove I was twenty-one.  I had the option of stripping
down to underwear, topless or completely nude.  Dancers could keep any tips
they received from the audience, but no touching was allowed.  Every girl
is given two songs to perform to, and the club picks the music.  At the end
of the night the audience selects a winner by applauding.  The winner gets
the three hundred dollars.  I wrote all of this down, and double-checked
the time I needed to show up before I thanked her and hung up.

   Pleasantly terrified was the best description for how I felt.  In the
space of a half-hour, I had gone from restless student to researching
exhibitionist.  Because of a childhood fetish, I was actually considering
becoming nude in front of strangers.  My therapist would have a coronary if
she knew, not to mention what my mother would say.  I knew my classmates
and friends would never believe it, and that became one of my main
motivations.  I wanted to strip, and for once, I wasn't going to satisfy my
fantasy by imagining it.  I was going to do it for real.

   I went to work on assessing my assets.  Although I didn't need the
money, I still wanted to make a good showing.  I stood in front of the half
mirror my dorm provided and took a long look at what my mirror had said was
so horrible.



   My hair was a dark brown, and just about shoulder length.  I thought
about teasing my hair because it has always been straight and thin, but I
decided against it.  Amateur night was four days away and I didn't have
time to compensate for a bad haircut.  A ponytail was what I settled on,
that way I could let it down in my act.

   I was less confident about my breasts.  My breasts are small, potato
small, and didn't feel they were stripper material.  My nipples were always
cherry red, so I was confident that they would at least stand out a bit. 
For almost twenty minutes I stood in front of the mirror playing with my
breasts.  I was trying to squish, lift or push them into a shape that
suggests more cleavage.  I had no idea how I was going to keep them in the
shape I liked, but I was trying anyway.  When I realized that my two
ex-boyfriends never turned down sucking on my nipples, I relaxed a bit.  I
reminded myself that breasts were breasts and most men counted themselves
lucky if they saw one at all.

   The rest of my body was still in good shape from my ballet classes a few
years back.  My legs retained the definition that comes from three classes
a week.  I did a few practice stretches and was relieved to know I could do
most of them.  Dancing a few spins in front of the mirror told me that I
possessed some rhythm left.  I didn't care how good I looked, if I couldn't
dance well enough to not make a fool of myself, I wasn't dancing at all.

   Too many years of being a good student had given me some peculiar
habits. I didn't feel comfortable doing anything unless I studied for it
first.  I felt that twinge of panic that told me I hadn't studied enough,
which placed me in a quandary.  How in the world does a woman study
stripping?  Going to the strip club was out of the question.  Maybe I could
go to a male bastion of testosterone as a performer, but I wasn't going as
a spectator.  My bravery would wilt if I had to sit with guys.  I wanted to
do this pretty badly; I didn't want some lame pick-up lines to ruin my
fantasy.

   Being a woman of modern times, I had a cheap computer a friend had sold
to me.  The Internet was alleged to be stuffed with illicit information,
how hard could it be to find out what I needed to know about stripping? 
The answer was quick-- hard enough.

   Checking out websites was a total waste of time.  First, I had to wade
through websites dealing with wire stripping.  Then I had to check through
all the online sex sites that used strippers as another name for bimbos. 
After those decoys, I was left with stripclubs that advertised online. 
Dancers ran a very small percentage of the sites left.  After two hours of
browsing these, I came to a universal conclusion.  Women who knew how to
strip were much more interested in attracting men than they were in
teaching others.  I guess I expected to find a guide for stripping, but all
I found was proof that everyone else already knew how to do it.

   Usenet was my savior.  At alt.sex.strip-clubs I found a place where
people debated what they hated about strip clubs.  A perverse thought
struck me.  Who better to help a new person strip than the guys who would
be trying to cop a feel?  My first act of exhibitionism wasn't taking off
my clothes, it was asking for help as a stripper on the Internet.  Even
sitting safely in my dorm room, my heart was pounding.  I deleted my
message twice before I took the plunge and posted.  My request was simple,
all I asked was about a dozen questions concerning clothes, should I change
my hair, what could I do to be popular and anything else that my insecure
mind needed reassuring on.

   I suspected that I would get barraged with rude e-mails.  Instead,
everyone had his or her own idea of what I should do.  It was fascinating,
I could have written a paper with all the information I got.  I found
answers to my questions, just too many answers.  Some men gave me their
"dreamgirl" suggestions, while others tried to give me no answers, just
vague suggestions to be myself.  It's a little embarrassing to admit it,
but I didn't expect these men to be so helpful.  I stopped seeing them as
an enemy, and started looking forward to my stripping debut as something
fun.  Now I just needed clothes.

   I looked through my stuff, and was disappointed by how few sexy items I
had.  Sure, I had some colorful underwear, but all my outfits were pretty
demure.  This was how much I had been leading a quiet life; I had nothing
to wear to a strip club.  Grabbing some lacy white panties and a matching
bra, I closed my closet door in disgust.  It was a good thing that Denise
was gone that afternoon with her friends.

   It was time to raid my roommate's clothes.  A new thrill set my heart
racing as I added theft to my exhibitionism.  I was racking up an
impressive set of sins in a quick time.

   Denise is something of a slut, so her clothes were perfect.  She was
also busty, which meant too many of her tops just draped on my small chest.
She had some great shorts and skirts though.  I knew a skirt would be
easier to remove, but there was something very sexy and daring in wearing
tight shorts.  I selected a pair of blue jean cut-offs from her drawer, and
tried them on.  They fit great, but a little snug.  I tried taking them off
several times, and found that each time I did, it would make my ass jiggle
and squirm as I pulled them down.  What could be more perfect?

   A shirt was tougher.  I stayed away from buttons; I didn't want to do a
schoolgirl.  I also needed something to go with my jean shorts.  The
country look wasn't something I was found of, so I tried to look for
something that could blow guys away without being Ellie May.  After sorting
through expensive shirts, scanty tank-tops and see-through T-shirts, I
found the perfect slut shirt.  It was a black T-shirt with white lettering.
The letters said "Born to Suck".  Terribly crude, I know, but I felt I
should go the distance if I'm going to be starring in other men's
fantasies.

   My shoes, of course, would have to be stolen from Denise as well.  I had
worn high heels before, and even had a few, but nothing like what Denise
had.  Seriously, for a girl from a small town in North Carolina, Denise had
shoes that would make a hooker proud.  A pair of black heels with an almost
stiletto point were my favorite.  I set them aside for when I went
stripping and prayed that Denise didn't wear them that night.

   The last thing I needed was a garter, for tips.  The lady on the phone
told me that every dancer needed a garter so I would have a place to keep
any money I got.  I hoped from the way she described it that the guys
themselves would be putting the tips there.  I could use some thigh
touching from total strangers.

   Instead of raiding Denise's clothes, I decided to buy my own garter.  It
would be my good luck piece, as well as a souvenir of my adventures.  I
found the perfect one at Victoria's Secrets, white, sturdy elastic these
cute little ruffles that looked so feminine.  I almost gave my garter a
name, but that was just a little too weird, even for me.

   Three days was all I had before my performance.  Three days that went by
slower than waiting for Christmas.  It gave me time to practice, although I
had to wait till Denise was gone.  There was no way that I was going to let
that bitch know that I was going to a strip club.  She already gave me a
hard time for all the time I spent searching for erotic stories online.  As
much as I wanted to break new ground by stripping, I wasn't quite ready to
let someone who knew me personally know what I was doing.

   In the mean time, I practiced dancing secretly.  I must have stripped
those shorts off a dozen times.  I experimented with different routines, as
well as getting used to dancing with those four-inch heels.  I fell on my
ass a couple of times, but it was still fun.  In fact, dancing for an
imaginary audience really turned me on.  Twice I had to stop and masturbate
just to stop from incorporating chair humping into my act.  I had a
tendency to soak my poor white panties, and I debated on if I should wear
something else.  In the end, I kept the white panties-- they looked much
better wet anyway.

   The big night finally arrived, and Denise fell right into my plans. 
When I offered to do her laundry for her, she was suspicious, but let me
anyway.  This allowed me to rip off her clothes, and the shoes were just
something I took anyway.  Denise had plans to go club hopping that night,
so she wasn't around to watch my theft.  I got dressed in some jeans and a
sweatshirt, stuffed my acquired clothes into a gym bag and called a cab to
take me to The Brown Bag.  Hey, it wasn't a pumpkin carriage, but I felt
like Cinderella anyway.

   The cab driver didn't say a word about our destination, which was a
shame because I was ready with about a dozen snappy comebacks.  I guess my
nerves were on edge, because I couldn't sit still for a moment.  We
traveled a few miles out of town, and I almost began giggling.  The fare
was going to be expensive, and how was I paying for it?  With left over
money from my scholarships, wouldn't Mom be proud?

   The Brown Bag was a mix of contrasts.  There was this lovely neon sign,
done in pink with a woman's outline.  I thought her breasts were rather
large, but I liked how she was sitting on a chair with her legs kicking
out. It was a playful sign, and one that got me into the right mood.  The
building itself was completely drab.  Painted simply with brown paint, it
looked more like an abandoned office building than it did a club.  I'm sure
someone must have thought that the brown paint was hilarious, but I only
thought that it made the place look really dirty.

   I arrived an hour and a half before the contest was to start, which
would account for the dead look the place had.  I gave the HUGE bouncer my
I.D.  and told him I was there for amateur night.  He sort of sighed, and
told me I was early.  I just smiled dumbly.

   The bouncer had to get the keys for the dressing room, and then he lead
me to it.  I got a quick look at the place, there were two pool tables, way
too many mirrors and a stage that didn't live up to my grand dreams.  It
was about twenty feet wide at the back wall, with a twenty-foot runway
leading into the crowd.  There it split into a T-branch that was ten feet
wide and ringed with chairs.  A single pole that might have had brass
plating at one point stood dead center on the branch.  I was little
uncomfortable with how close the chairs were to the stage, there wasn't
even a rail separating the audience from the dancers.  It looked like I was
going to be showing myself a bit closer than I expected.

   After being let into the empty dressing room, I took the chance to do a
little poking around.  Aside from a bunch of vanity mirrors with burnt
bulbs, and a room of lockers with shiny locks, the place was rather
unspectacular.  There were two television screens, but when I turned them
on, they only showed the club and the stage.  Maybe I expected a sauna, or
a big box of props, but instead I found that it was nothing to get excited
about.  Perhaps that would change when there was a group of naked women in
here.  I killed some time by stretching; I didn't want to pull something
during my act.

   I was putting on my makeup when the first group of girls came in.  They
were all friends; giggling, strutting and clutching together like a scared
flock.  I ignored them mostly; the way they were covering up their terror
with constant jokes was very distracting.  It felt like they were
diminishing the night somehow.  Instead of embarking on a night of
self-discovery, they were having some sort of bonding party.  Of course, I
was immensely jealous of them.  I got my clothes on so that I wouldn't have
to make conversation.

   More women came in, most of them separately.  With only a half-hour to
go before the stage was to open, a large authoritative woman explained the
rules of the night to us.  She would have belonged naturally in a gym
class. She was that imposing.  The rules were the same as what she had told
me over the phone, so there were no surprises.  What I didn't expect was
that we would be performing two at a time.  Now my time in the spotlight
would be spent competing with someone else.

   The Gym Teacher took our names, suggesting that we not use our real
names.  Most of the girls took forever to pick one, but I was ready and
listed myself as Olivia.  The stern woman then promptly told us we would be
competing in the same order that we gave our names.  She slapped the list
on a board, and told us we had fifteen minutes before we started.  I rushed
up to see who I was paired with, and just about every other girl did too.
It didn't matter if the girl giggled or was deathly silent, we were all
nervous enough to check out our competition.  Sadly, none of us were
wearing nametags, so once I found my partner's name, I still had no idea
who she was.

   The first two girls were up, both blondes.  I counted down and saw that
I had six pairs before me and about three pairs after.  It was plenty of
time to finish my make-up and do some more stretching.  Instead, I spent it
glued to the television screens.  About a dozen other girls did too. 
Somehow, that made me feel a bit better.

   We watched as the first two girls came out to an unbelievably packed
audience.  I could barely see the floor through all the people.  There were
mostly college guys, and I felt my knees shake as I thought about all those
young guys checking out my ass in the near future.  I wondered if anyone I
knew was out there.  Then I wondered if I hoped anyone I knew was out
there. I think the answer was yes.

   They played a Bon Jovi song, of all things, for the girls to dance to.
Bon Jovi?  Did the Nineties never come to this club?  The looks on the
girls' faces said the same thing, but they did their best anyway.

   One of the girls was totally shy, and only stripped down to her bra and
underwear.  It was a shame too, because she danced pretty good and the guys
loved her.  When she stopped at her underclothes, the crowd ignored her and
focused instead on the other girl who was putting it all out.  She needed
to take it all off, she couldn't dance for shit.  It didn't seem to matter;
she had these huge tits that she kept jiggling in people's faces.  They
couldn't wait to stuff her garter.  Too bad the girl wouldn't let them; she
would just swipe their money up and stuff her garter herself.  I wasn't
surprised that the tips for her died down.  Watching these two dance
through their second song was almost torture, I couldn't believe that
strippers would be so shy.

   The next two girls did better.  They both stripped down to their
panties, but they both played well with the crowd.  Getting right down on
the stage and giving the guys a close up view didn't hurt their money
making at all.  Again, being able to dance didn't seem to matter that much.
It was appearing that what guys wanted most was just to see some skin.  I
didn't think my small breasts were going to be in demand, but it was too
late to have second thoughts.  I was doing this for me, and none of these
horny guys could appreciate the show I was giving, then that's their
problem.

   I watched in horror as the next two girls did their act.  The brunette
was gorgeous, but halfway through her dance, she fell flat on her butt. 
The crowd laughed it's ass off, but in the dressing room, we were dead
quiet.  I don't know how she managed to get back up and perform, but she
did anyway.  It's worth noting that she only stripped down to her bikini, I
wonder if her bravery fell along with her ass.  Now I had something new to
worry about, how would I act if I fell?

   If we felt sorry for the girl who fell, we had even more sympathy for
the poor girl in the next pair.  She was really lovely, with long red hair
and pale skin that glowed in the lights.  She was simply much more
beautiful than the plain blonde they teamed her up with.  The blonde
however, had an edge that the redhead soon discovered.  The blonde's
clothes came off easily, while the redhead couldn't get her jeans off.

   I whispered encouragement as I watched in vain as the redhead tried to
get those damn pants off.  She just couldn't get the zipper done, and at
one point, she even stopped dancing and just struggled.  The guys laughed
it up, and the blonde almost ran around the stage as she snatched up the
money by herself.  The Redhead finally gave up on her jeans, and just
stripped her top off, but the damage had already been done.  The guys
almost ignored her; it was like they were punishing her for not getting
naked.  The night was certainly losing it's fun.

   The next two girls were an inspiration to me.  One of them was a short
but pretty girl of Asian features.  The other girl was a really sweet
looking blonde with almost no body to speak of at all.  As different as
they were, they both exhibited the same amount of class.  The Asian girl
took her time, and peeled off her dress like she had all the time in the
world.  The blonde had the same slow attitude, but she danced in slow lazy
circles like she was the only person in the room.  It was amazing; the guys
actually calmed down and were adjusting to the girls' rhythm.  I was deeply
impressed.  With complete confidence in themselves, they had completely
seduced the crowd.

   The music was still mired in the 80's, but the next two dancers easily
made the guys forget about the lameness of the songs.  They both had long
hair, and they must have been friends because they both tossed their hair
around in sync.  I was so jealous, they had an entire act based only on
their hair, and the guys just ate it up.  Only stripping down to their
g-strings, they still earned more money than most of the women who had
performed before.  These girls had a plan, and it worked.  I just hoped my
plan worked just as well.

   I was next, and the girl who was to perform on stage with me was named
Haley.  I didn't know why she choose such a plain name, it certainly wasn't
something I was going to ask.  She had long brown hair and heavy makeup
that worked for her.  Haley was also pretty gifted in the chest department,
and her black dress looked great on her.  I smiled at her, in the hopes
that she wouldn't outshine me too much.

   Keeping with tonight's theme of bad music, the club played "Welcome to
the Jungle" by Guns-n-Roses.  I forgot about the music and focused instead
on letting my excitement show on my face.  I danced out with Haley with the
happiest smile you've ever seen.  I was finally on stage, finally in front
of these horny guys and finally ready to strip off my inhibitions.

   With a few twirls, long strides and as much shaking of my ass as
possible, I made my circuit around the stage.  I wanted everyone to see
what my T-shirt said.  If I was going to steal clothes, I might as well
make sure everyone appreciates it.  The shirt was an instant hit; guys do
love a slut.

   The catcalls were deafening, and I was getting so wet from their
admiration.  I stopped a few times and just stood and swung my hips for the
roaring guys.  It was so amazing, I swear their heads would turn as they
watched my hips.  The music was nothing but a beat to keep my hips and
shoulders turning, so maybe the club knows what it's doing with the music
after all.  Know the guys were glad to see how I kept with the music.

   Soaking in sex symbol worship for the first time, I almost forgot to
strip.  Haley was hiking up her dress and was ready to fling it off, so I
decided to keep up with her.  I had planned to take my shirt off first but
the guys were chanting "Born to Suck", I wanted to ride that smart move! 
Instead, I popped the button on my shorts, bent over and slowly, yet with
rhythm, inched my cut-off shorts off.  I could not believe how much louder
the guys yelled as I flashed my white panties at everyone!

   The guitar solo for the song was rumbling, and I knew I had to take my
shirt off soon.  I dropped to my knees and bent backwards, giving the guys
a good luck at my damp panties.  When I rose back up, there was a flurry of
bills being waved at me.  I crawled closer to the edge of the stage and
kicked my leg out.  I held my leg as I reached up and hooked my garter out,
inviting guys to place their money themselves.  It was the least I could
do, if they're willing to pay, what's a little touch on my thigh?

   As the song boiled to an end, I jumped up and danced to the pole.  Not
having any idea what to do with it, I hiked my right leg around it, and let
myself swing around it.  Leaning back again, I pulled my shirt off and
looked my admirers in their eyes while I was upside down.  Feeling down
right tawdry, I flicked my tongue at them.  The sea of green bills was
ready for my plucking again.

   Haley was down to her bikini and humping the edge of the stage.  I let
go of the pole and with a dazzling split that only ballet can give you the
flexibility for, I dropped right by the stage's edge.  I raised myself with
one hand and humped the stage edge slightly while holding my garter up for
new contributions.  Some guys tried yelling stuff to me, but since I
couldn't hear them, I just blew kisses to them.  The way they were smiling,
I think I made the right move.

   During the pause between songs, I used the six seconds wisely.  I turned
in my split position and had my ass pointed right at the crowd with my legs
still wide.  I bounced a few times as graphically as I could.  My heart was
pounding hard, and I was so turned on, I wished that I could stay on stage
all night.

   Despite all my prayers, the DJ picked another Guns-n-roses song; one I
hadn't heard before called "Mr.  Brownstone".  Trust me, it was just as
awful as the other song, but at least it had a good beat to it.  My smile
never wavered although I did speculate on how much better a dancer I would
be if I could pick my own songs.  Some Swing or Jazz would have had even my
little breasts bouncing.

   Standing back up, I took my time as the music pounded out its first
riff. I had planned to draw out the removal of my clothes, but watching the
other girls had taught me better.  Sure, I would love to do an hour long
teasing strip, but these guys wanted to see skin.  Since they were the ones
waving the money, I gave them what they wanted.

   Haley was in the center of the stage, so I crossed right in front of
her. Wiggling my hips to the music, and cupping my breasts through my
flimsy bra, I gave my best smile to the men I was headed for.  All the
advice I had received had stressed eye contact, but all these guys were
looking at was my chest.  As I walked closer to the stage's edge, some of
the guys did manage to find my face.

   When I knew I had their attention, I reached behind me.  I cocked my
head, as if I was rethinking taking my bra off.  The guys shouted louder,
chanting "take it off, take it off".  I let them agonize for moment, and
then I did the move that busted my ass the first time I tried it in my dorm
room.  I spun on one heel and snapped my bra off at the same time.  I did
about four revolutions in a flash and when I stopped, my bra was off in my
hand.  The guys cheered louder as I held my bra up like a trophy.  There I
was, topless, my sweet potato breasts sweaty and the crowd cheering
slightly louder than my heartbeat in my ears.

   I dropped to one knee by the stage, ready to reap a new crop of offered
bills.  My other garter knee was up, and I ran my hands down my smooth
thighs as the guys stuffed me with more money.  Extremely horny, I licked
my finger and rubbed it on my nipple.  My nipple was already stiff, but not
as stiff as I bet the guys' cocks were!  They had the goofiest grins on
their faces, and I was enjoying every appraising stare they gave me.  For
once in my life, I felt like I was truly sexy and desirable.

   I rose slowly, touching my body.  I ran my hands up my thighs, past my
slim belly and cupping my small breasts.  Catching the eye of one guy who
looked a little nerdy, I jiggled my breasts teasingly.  His face brightened
up, and I pulled and pushed my breasts into all sorts of suggestive
positions.  He was my spellbound victim, not taking his eyes off of me as I
rose my hands to the back of my head.  On the edge of the stage, I
undulated my body towards him as I simulated the magic my pelvis could do
to him.  I hoped that for one second, I made someone else who was insecure
feel as sexy as I did on stage.  The dreamy look he gave me told me that I
succeeded.

   I bounced away from that side of the stage, seeing that Haley was
dominating the other side.  With the center all to myself, I spun happily
on the pole.  I placed my back to the pole, danced for a few seconds,
showing my fit body for their appreciation.  When the guys started chanting
for me take my panties off, I gave them the same coy smile.  I dropped to
my knees, and crawled towards the center edge.  The final piece of modesty
was soon to disappear.

   I crawled to the edge, and then turned my ass towards the guys. 
Dropping my shoulders to the ground, I reached between my legs and slipped
a finger into my panties.  Copying the pose from a favorite bondage image I
downloaded once, I was the perfect picture of helplessness as I pulled my
panties down slowly for the crowd.  I could see through my legs the guys
almost worshipping my pussy as it was revealed.  I also saw the bouncers
move in closer, discouraging any of the guys from thinking about getting a
touch.

   Flipping over, I pulled my panties off in the conventional way, a mere
foot away from the guys.  The hands were raised with money and I shivered
as I realized anyone of these guys would love to fuck me right now.  I
raised myself up, and stepped closer for their offerings.  I placed my
hands on my hips and squatted with as much rhythm as I could.  Looking
down, I could tell my pussy was glistening with moisture, even in the dim
lights.  My pussy ached to be touched so bad, that I fondled my nipples
just to distract me.  I simply hooked my garter with one finger as the guys
gave me their tribute, thanking each one as they touched my thigh.

   Most of the money given me was either ones or fives with a few tens so I
immediately noticed when this slick looking man slipped me a fifty.  I
leaned closer to him, wanting to give him a personal thank you.

   "Thank you so much," I yelled above the roaring guitar solo.

   "I'll give you another fifty for your panties!" he yelled back.  Just
like that, no smooth talk, no "you're welcome", just an offer for my
panties.  He wasn't exactly the rich sophisticate that I had hoped them to
be.

   Reaching back without moving my feet, I gave the guys a great look at my
spread pussy as I reached for my wet panties.  Snatching them, I returned
to my squatting position with the balance of a ballet student.  The guy had
his fifty ready, and I ran the panties between my breasts before I handed
them over.  He took them gladly, and sniffed them in front of me in what I
guess he thought was sexy.  I just couldn't believe my panties were worth a
hundred dollars to him!

   The rest of my time on stage was only thirty seconds, but I reveled in
the time had left.  My clothes gone and with more money than I could fit on
my garter, I spent the rest of my routine on myself.  Dancing freely,
moving with invisible partners and riding the wave of excitement that the
crowd provided, I had the time of my life.

   When the music ended, and I finally stopped dancing, I couldn't believe
how tired I was.  I saw that Haley had stripped down to nothing too, so it
was good thing I had gone all the way as well, she would have sucked up all
the tips.  Fetching my clothes while the announcer talked was weird, the
crowd was still cheering, but now I was required to leave.  It's a good
thing I've been a good girl all my life, or else that might have had to
drag me off that stage!

   Running into the back, I headed right for the bathrooms.  I locked
myself into a stall and avoided sitting on the seat.  I leaned against the
side wall and just surrendered to my pussy's demands.  My fingers were my
only choice as I slipped into my wet sex.  I used my other hand to circle
my clit with my thumb, but I really didn't have to.  I was so turned on,
and my body was so horny and excited, that I was close to climaxing fairly
quickly.  I didn't even have to think of anything; my inner eye was filled
with lustful and adoring stares of the guys I performed for.  In my mind, I
was fucking them all, and it was an orgy dedicated to me.

   My head leaning on the wall and my body at an angle, I masturbated
happily although quietly in the bathroom stall.  The orgasm that hit me was
powerful.  I could feel it building like a train, slowly gaining force
until it hit my entire body at the same time.  I bit down on my lip to keep
from crying out, but a soft low moan escaped my lips.  The best damn orgasm
I ever experienced had it's way with my body, causing my knees to shake, my
nipples to tingle and my breathing to be swept away.

   Shaken, but in bliss, I settled onto the closed toilet seat.  I had the
task of cleaning my fingers, a messy yet never regretted side-effect of
fingering myself.  I could hear the other girls chatting away as I pulled
my clothes back on.  It was kind of strange to be dressing alone; it didn't
feel right at all.  Only five minutes after my stripping debut and I was
missing the stage already.  The feeling of loneliness evaporated fast, I
forgot all about the money on my garter!

   Counting my money was a thrill.  I had to start over twice because I
would just get too excited.  There were a bunch of ones, which pissed me
off a little.  These guys touched my thighs for a lousy buck?  The tens and
fives soothed my pride however.  It wasn't the big money that can get you
through college, but it wasn't bad for six minute's exhibitionism.  I
earned one hundred and forty-three dollars for my adventure and that
doesn't count the hundred I got for my panties!  I'm sure my therapist
would shit a brick if she knew how happy I was to have earned this much
with money with my sex appeal!

   When the girls all finished their acts, we went back on stage in our
costumes.  Some of the girls went back topless in order to influence the
judging.  I considered doing but as horny as I got dancing, I didn't want
to set myself up to get excited again soon.  The bathroom might not be
available next time.

   There was no suspense when the crowd picked their winner.  They picked
the blonde who had taken it all off earlier while her partner couldn't get
her jeans off.  I was annoyed and jealous of course.  Did they pick her
because she had those melon tits or because she didn't have any competition
when she performed?  I left the stage a little dejected while she performed
another number as a victory dance.

   I was gathering my stuff when the Gym Teacher Lady came back.  She gave
us a speech about waiting for the bouncers to escort us to our cars and she
offered to drive anyone home who came by taxi.  Another girl and I accepted
her offer, and she told us she would be leaving in a few minutes.  Then she
took three of the girls aside, and talked to them for awhile.  I was
curious, so of course I 'wandered' over enough to over listen.

   She was offering them full time jobs!  I was devastated, as much fun as
I had and as much money as I made, she didn't make an offer for me?  This
definitely bummed me out.  Scathing remarks came to mind, but I resisted
saying them.  As I watched the girls unanimously turn her offer down; I
felt a smug piece of revenge.  Besides, would I really want to work
somewhere that couldn't recognize a born dancer when they saw one?

   The ride home with Gym Teacher Lady was a test of my bitterness.  As
much as I was annoyed at how I felt on stage again.  I must have half-asked
her a dozen times!  As my excitement wore down on the ride home, I decided
not to ask her at all.  The idea that I would be rejected was too much to
risk.  I wanted to keep my memories the way they were, and not add a
negative tinge that rejection would bring.

   At my stop, I got out of the car and even thanked the lady for the ride.
She grunted something at me, which didn't surprise me in the least, I would
have been shocked if she broke character and said something meaningful.  On
my way back to my dorm room, an idea struck me that brought a smile to my
face.  I skipped on my back to my dorm room, I was that happy.  Even
Denise's dirty looks couldn't faze my mood.

   You see, I realized that there was nothing to stop me from returning to
Amateur Night, any time I wanted.  I had a feeling that Wednesdays were
never going to be boring again.
   The End