You Can’t Judge a Book By Matt Corton (Story codes: MF, Exhib) “Well I think we should go for it,” Jill said. “After all, if they’re good enough to let us use their facilities for our meetings and functions, the least we can do is support their fund raising events” “That’s all well and good,” I replied, “but – I mean – Male Dancers? Let’s be honest here. We’re talking about strippers! I’m not sure I want to go to that kind of show. And I’m sure Moira doesn’t,” I added, looking around to Moira for moral support. “I – I guess I’ll go along with the majority vote,” Moira said quietly, a distinct flush colouring her neck and face. “It’s sure it’s not strippers” Jill replied. “Just dancers, you know, like the Chippendales.” She looked around the rest of the women seated around the conference table to elicit support. I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. The eight of us formed the management committee of the Orchardtown Ladies Welfare group, an organisation devoted to helping the elderly and infirm, hospital visiting, raising funds for good causes and so on. We held our fortnightly meetings at the Orchardtown Social Club, who very kindly allowed us to use their premises for meetings, jumble sales and tea dances. It seemed that the social club’s women members were staging a Ladies Night with “Exotic Entertainment provided by Studflesh,” according to the posters prominently displayed on the club’s notice boards, containing pictures of five muscle- bound young men clad only in very skimpy briefs. “I’m sure this is the dance group my sister saw on holiday last year,” another of our ladies said. “She said they were very, you know, er, graphic.” This raised a gaggle of titters from around the table. After another round of discussions the votes were cast. There were six votes for, with just Moira and I voting against. Honestly, that Jill! I could have stamped my feet in exasperation. She might enjoy that kind of entertainment, but the others hadn’t got a clue what they were letting themselves into. Poor Moira would be totally out of her depth. And me? Well, I didn’t go for men, actually, but that’s another story. Moira is a lovely woman and one of my best friends. Although in her early thirties, she still lives with her parents in the family home. Now, I know it’s a bit of a cliché, but Moira is the living example of the archetypal librarian. A shy, bookish woman, always impeccably but ultra-conservatively dressed. Horn- rimmed glasses and hair neatly tied in a tight bun. Never heard to utter a rude word. Always blushes demurely at the merest suggestion that sexual activity existed. Never been known to have a boyfriend. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that she prefers girls - believe me, I would know. No, Moira was simply the type who would grow into an old maid, and I would bet my life savings that she was a virgin. And so the evening of the Ladies Night arrived. Moira and I arrived at the social club together having been given a lift by one of the other ladies. I was glad of this because I was sure as hell going to need a drink to get through the night. Moira didn’t drive. As we entered the hall we could here Jill shouting “Over here girls! I’ve got us a table right at the front!” Oh God! What have I done to deserve this? I thought to myself. It was all I could do to raise a half smile as I said hello to the girls. Eventually the compere introduced the evening’s entertainment. During the first half we were to be treated to an “artistic dancing display” by each of the five members of Studflesh, apparently. After the interval, “Well, that depends upon you ladies, nudge wink,” the weasel faced man announced with a suggestive leer. God, I needed another drink. Much to my surprise the hall was packed with woman. The first young man came on stage wearing a Tarzan outfit and, accompanied by jungle-like music and a raucous cacophony of whoops and yells he proceeded to strip down to the skimpiest thong-like garment imaginable. Where he put his male equipment, God alone knew. The second, third and fourth acts performed tiresomely similar acts. Only the outfits seemed to change. They had clearly gained their inspiration from the Village People as we went through an American motor cycle policeman, a red Indian and a builder. Not that the crowd seemed to mind. They hooted and screamed and hollered like fishwives. “Get ‘em off!” and “Show us your willy!” were the most common of the witty pieces of repartee delivered. Even Jill, and – heaven forbid – most of my fellow committee members seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. God, I needed another drink. Moira looked pale, and I was both sorry that she was here and angry that Jill had bull-dozed through the vote for us to attend. I brought Moira a glass of white wine. I knew that she rarely touched alcohol but I realised that she needed something to bolster her spirits. The fifth act arrived on stage as the compere announced him as the newest member of the group. He was dressed in a cowboy outfit, complete with chaps, spurs, gun belt and cowboy hat. He was swinging a lasso as he walked about the stage. Now he was a good looking boy, even I had to admit. He had curly blonde hair, blue eyes and he exuded an air of youthful exuberance and freshness that was undeniably attractive, even to one such as me. He too danced and stripped to his underwear, flexing muscles and making erotic poses, but he was different somehow – at least he seemed so to me. He possessed a certain air of vulnerability, of being aware of and embarrassed by his own near nudity. Somehow the others exuded an impression of being totally accustomed to being ogled at by a large group of half-drunk women. But not Cowboy, he seemed more aware of his own near nudity.. “Isn’t it wonderful?” Jill said at the interval, clapping her hands and yelling with excitement. “Oh, I did love that red Indian…” She busied herself chatting about the various merits of the different young men who had paraded themselves for our so-called entertainment. “Are you OK, Moira?” I asked, concerned that she was hating this entire event. The lights had come up and could detect a bright flush on her face. Must be the wine, I thought. “Er, yes. I’m OK,” She replied, raising a thin smile. “I think I might just slip away during the second half though. Mother doesn’t like me to be too late on a week-day.” “Very sensible of you, my dear,” I said, patting her arm. The lights dimmed for the second half. The compere arrived on stage. “Ladies – welcome to part two,” he said over the public address system. “Now, if you think the first half was good, you ain’t seen nothing yet!” He raised his arms and elicited a loud chorus of wolf-whistles and cheers from the crowd. “Now, in part two, if you show my lads the proper encouragement, who can tell how far they’ll go, if you know what I mean?” He grinned leeringly to another huge round of applause and cheering. “But be warned ladies. If you’re of a nervous or easily offended disposition, you should leave now. Although, if you’re easily offended, what the hell are you doing here in the bleedin’ first place?” Another round of noise accompanied this. “But be especially warned ladies. One or two of the lads might invite you onto the stage to, er, assist them. Please don’t go with them unless you’re very broadminded!” Oh God. I need another drink, I thought. I went to the bar, returning with my drink and another white wine for Moira. The second half started as a near repeat of the first half, except that after a minute or two Tarzan came into among the audience. He looked around then went over to a group of women several tables to our left. Accompanied by a raucous round of cheering and yelling he led a short, rotund woman of about forty onto the stage. He took off his leotard, placed it behind his assistant’s back and started to rub it up and down here body. He whispered something in her ear, and with a huge guffaw she stripped off her T shirt, unhooked her enormous bra and started to wiggle her breasts in time to the beat of the accompanying jungle music. The crowd went wild. Tarzan pointed to his briefs with one hand, and cupped ear with the other as if to better hear something from crowd. His half-naked helper must have understood, as she started to encourage the crowd to chant “Off, off, off, off, off.” Tarzan turned his back to the audience and slowly peeled down his underwear, finally kicking the garment clear. He turned around, hands on hips, stark naked. The spectators went wild as he posed, penis in hand in a variety of positions. After a few moments, the lights went off and he left the stage to huge applause. God, I needed another drink. This set the scene for the next three acts. They all found someone in the audience to accompany them on stage. All of them attempted to persuade their assistants to take off their own clothes. Two women did actually remove their tops but refused to take off their bras, the other simply wouldn’t co- operate despite the performer’s strong encouragement. All three of these muscle-bound men ended up naked, one of them having persuaded his female assistant to remove his briefs with her teeth. I was expecting Moira to leave at any time. She was barely watching the stage and I knew that the nudity and, well, squalor of it all would offend her. The problem though, was that she couldn’t really leave without the entire hall noticing, as there was no gap between the performances and the audience from the back of the hall had begun to surround the tables at the front, like ours, to get a better look. Moira was stuck between her dislike of the entertainment, and her unwillingness to make a fuss by fighting her way through the throng to leave. Finally, it was Cowboy’s turn to perform once more. His descent from the stage to the floor was slower than the others, almost hesitant - as if he didn’t have the confidence to approach the audience. He glanced about, and to my horror but to Jill’s squeals, he headed straight towards our table! I could see Jill almost leaning out of her seat to put herself in front of him for selection as his assistant. I heard myself say “Oh my God,” however, as he walked straight past her and reached his hand out towards Moira. With complete and total astonishment I watched her extend her arm for Cowboy to take her hand, allowing him to lead her slowly onto the stage. “Bloody hell!” I heard Jill say. Me, I couldn’t speak at all. What the hell was she doing up there? Hadn’t she seen the others and what went on up there? She’ll positively die! With difficulty I overcame the temptation to rush onto the stage and drag her back. Cowboy began his act by dancing slowly around Moira to the accompaniment of a haunting Western-style tune. She stood there in her grey business-style suit, jacket fastened, skirt sitting correctly three inches below the knees. Cream blouse, buttoned to the neck. She was even wearing tights, for God’s sake. The only apparent change from her normal appearance at the library was that her auburn hair was down and she had contact lenses instead of glasses – not that this loosened her appearance up at all -Moira just didn’t know how to appear casual. The male dancer removed his chaps, gun belt, shirt and boots, followed by his trousers. He was reduced to a pair of white briefs and, incongruously to me at any rate, his hat. He began to dance around Moira again. I watched in amazement as he unbuttoned her grey jacket and, walking behind her, removed it from her shoulders, placing it in the ground behind them. They began to dance, or rather to sway together to the slow beat of the tune. His hands were in front of him and we could see his fingers working. Good God! I nearly yelled out in shock as I realised that he was unbuttoning her blouse. Surely not! But yes, he did indeed unbutton the garment. Not only that, but he once again moved around behind her and removed it from her upper body, exposing a black brassiere tinged with red lace. I started to realise something I had never noticed before. Moira was a very attractive girl. While I was admiring her cleavage, Cowboy must have unbuttoned her skirt and unfastened the zip, because he then began to ease the garment down her hips. Slowly, inch by inch the skirt descended until with a final rush it fell around her feet. She lifted her feet and stepped away from the clothing. I nearly fainted with shock. Not only because Moira, my quiet, pathologically shy friend had permitted this man to strip her down to her underwear, but also because her undergarments consisted of sheer silk stockings – not tights as I had assumed - held in place by suspenders and a scanty thong to match the black and red bra. I had to close my eyes, shake my head and look again to verify what I had just seen. The crowd loved it. They were cheering and clapping and yelling as Cowboy knelt in front of her and unfastened her stockings, slowly peeling them down each leg in turn. He removed the suspenders leaving Moira exposed in just her bra and panties. She placed her hands on his hips as he held her again and they began to dance around the stage once again. Her eyes were closed and she wore a dazed expression as if this was happening to someone else and not to her. I watched her intently, and – surely not – oh my God – she was gently stroking a finger up and down the front of his briefs. From my position I could clearly see his penis becoming erect, straining against the fabric of his underwear. He held her tighter and, turning her around so that he shielded her briefly from the audience, he unhooked her bra. I don’t even think Moira noticed. He lowered his hand and now began to caress the inside of her groin. Her lips opened and I’m sure a groan escaped from her, lost in the noise of the crowd. He pulled away from her slightly, then reached forward and removed her bra. God, her breasts were exquisite. I could clearly see her nipples erect and pouting and I started to squirm in my seat with sexual excitement just from looking at her. She was gorgeous. What I would have given to be in Cowboy’s place! With his back to the audience, Cowboy lowered his briefs, affording the crowd of woman a full view of his tight buttocks. A collective sigh arose from the hall, followed by gasps as he turned around and faced them full-frontally naked – apart from his hat. Not only naked, but with a rock hard erection pointing towards every one of his captivated audience. Now, trust me I’m not an expert on the subject of male erections for reasons you’ve probably guessed by now. But even with my limited experience I knew that this cock was in the premiere league. It was large, and thick and as stiff as a steel rod, and it protruded from him at an angle that seemed to look each of his spectators straight in the eye. A hush settled over the hall as two hundred (well, one hundred and ninety- nine) fantasies were given birth. But my eyes gaze returned quickly to Moira. Her eyes had glazed over and her entire body appeared to be flushed. By looking closely I swear I could see a damp patch form at the front of her panties. Now seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was being observed by a large crowd she stepped forward and began to stroke his penis. Cowboy broke away, took her hand and led her across the stage to one of the large floor-mounted speakers used by the PA system. He sat Moira down upon it, then gently leaned her backwards until she lay flat upon it. He turned towards the crowd and pointed at her one remaining item of clothing. Someone took the hint and in a few moments the chant of “off, off, off, off” began, accompanied by a thunder of hand claps in time. Cowboy peeled down her panties. Her legs were slightly apart and the entire hall could clearly see the exposed lips of her labia. He wasted no time in positioning his stiff member at the entry to her vagina and with a sudden thrust he buried himself deep within her. To the beat of the clapping audience he pummelled in and out, in and out until both he and Moira cried out in orgasmic ecstasy. At the same time, someone in authority realised that several criminal laws were being broken on stage and the lights were switched off, plunging us into darkness. I’m ashamed to say that I too as carried away by the intense sensuality of the encounter. Almost without being aware I had allowed my hand to slide inside my trousers, easing aside my knickers to stroke my clitoris. I climaxed in seconds, completely unobserved by those around me. Nevertheless to this day I carry with me the frightening thought that I lost control sufficiently to masturbate in the middle of a crowd of two hundred people. I met Moira at the stage door about twenty minutes later. The area had emptied. She was once again fully dressed and looked exactly as if nothing had happened. The rest of our group had left in the same confused state of sexual frustration as the rest of the audience. No-one had spoken a word. “Are you OK?” I asked her stupidly. “Marvellous!” she giggled. “That was absolutely, fucking brilliant. What a fantastic shag.” “Moira!” I said, shocked to the core. “Oh don’t give me that Miss goody-two-shoes,” she said, still smiling. “I know you wanted what was on the stage as much as I did.” Well, I had her there, I thought. “That’s where you’re wrong, Moira. In fact I don’t even like men.” “I didn’t mean the Cowboy,” she said. And with that she leaned over and kissed me full on the lips. Her tongue entered my mouth, its tip running gently along my own. My head began to swim and my stomach turn cartwheels. “Are you going to take me home with you?” she whispered. “I’m still as horny as hell.” “Oh Moira,” I groaned, my hand at her breast, the memory of her naked body causing me to flood with desire. “I – I had no idea that – that you….” “That I can swing both ways?” she answered. “Listen, I’m the librarian and I’m telling you. You can’t judge a book………” I completed her sentence. “By its cover,” I whimpered.