by
D.W
_____A mystery wrapped in an enigma.
_____Once a pointless cliche, this saying would soon take on a whole new meaning after I laid eyes on Old Soul. I've never been much into strippers, so even I am surprised by how sprung I became after the first time I saw this woman doing her thing on the stage. It all started one night a few months ago when I decided to venture out to Archibald's, a northwest D.C. club where the black girls like to kick it on Fridays. I hadn't gone in years and when I arrived, I quickly remembered why not. About 300 baby dykes lining the walls and hitting their hardest "look at me" poses. The only women even close to my age looked like they hadn't been in a club since the Charleston was hot. Thirty-six years into my life, I certainly don't have time to be fighting off anyone's kids (or grandmothers), so this sort of thing was NOT appealing in the least.
_____Regardless, the girls were loving me: despite my age I'm mistaken for 23 daily. Almond-shaped eyes, a chocolate brown complexion, taut body and a perfect shape-up don't hurt either. And of course there's the butch factor-due to the butch/femme ratio, if you're dominant in this city you've already got a fan club, ya know?
_____I was busy fighting off the latest suitor -a painfully thin version of the Wayans sister- when the club MC, Marchelle, announced the beginning of the pitiful spectacle they like to call "the show." Maybe it's improved after three years, I thought to myself as I grabbed a seat near the foot of the newly installed, pole-equipped stage. I was wrong. From the looks of their stomachs, the first two dancers had just given birth in the dressing room. The next one fell off the stage and the fourth dancer squirted the crowd with breast milk. After I couldn't tell if the fifth one was a man or a woman, I knew it was time to go.
_____Just as I put on my leather and turned to hit the door never to return, I heard the whining guitar intro of Average White Band's "A Love of Your Own." Awww shit, I know someone's not dancing to my jam, I thought to myself and turned around to see her. All of 5'6" in thigh-high, black stiletto boots, she slinked across the stage in time to the ultra slow groove. Her golden brown skin was loosely covered by a sheer black baby-doll teddy, flecked with bits of silver. Her black eyes big and child-like, she wrapped her body around the pole like hot caramel, the movements of her thick thighs synchronized with each AWB lyric. My eyes were transfixed by her every move-the way her plum sized breasts jiggled slightly to the beat, the way her cupid-bow lips mouthed the lyrics as she ran her hands through her short brown locks, writhing in ecstasy. By the time the song ended with her slowly sliding down the pole, I was at a loss for words. She was classy, didn't pop or do any of that other tacky stuff. And something in her eyes told me there was more to her. I was hooked and I knew it.
_____From that night on, I became a regular. It's embarrassing I know; those strippers just use your money to support their lifestyles. Why not just skip the middleman and write a check for their rent? But she was different. I found out they called her Old Soul, and each week she took me back with an old school jam that left my boxers dripping: Tyrone Davis' "In The Mood"; Bootsy Collins' "I'd Rather Be With You"; Newbirth's "Wildflower." I began to look forward to the end of the week, when I'd secretly indulge in this little treat. When she finally took me back with The Moments' "Come On Sexy Mama," I decided to break my cardinal rule against getting involved with strippers and speak. I hung around until the end of the night and, as she took her things to her car, introduced myself.
_____"Uh, hi there ... you were really good tonight," I stammered, suddenly made shy by being so close to her.
_____"Thanks," she half murmured.
_____"Hey, I don't wanna hold you up and I'm sure you get this all the time, but I'd really like to get to know you a little better," I said.
_____Giving me a stern face she replied, "I'm sorry, I don't turn tricks if that's what you're asking."
_____Damn! It's not even like that, I thought to myself. "Oh hey no, that's not what I meant. I know you probably don't like getting involved with the audience ... but I really dig your style. You're classy and I'd like to take you out some time, if you're game." I turned on the dimples for affect.
_____"Uhhh ... Ok, ok sure," she said, her face cracking the first smile since I'd approached.
_____I quickly pulled out a scrap of paper, wrote down her number and saw her off in her blue VW Bug, happy that I could now put the name Malika with the face.
_____Our first date was simple, a trip to a coffee shop where she suggested we could talk and get to know each other. I secretly suspected it was because she still thought I was a psycho, but I paid it no mind. As she effortlessly shifted the conversation from the drawbacks of the DC club scene to the theories of Franz Fanon, I discovered that there was more to Malika than her gorgeous body belied. She was intelligent, refined and studious... was even in school, I learned towards the end of the date. "Oh a graduate student," I asked, not thinking twice.
_____"No," she replied. "I'm a senior biology major."
_____Bewildered I asked the next logical question which had skipped my mind earlier, "Well, um, how old are you exactly?"
_____"22, and you?" she asked, nonchalantly sipping her hot cocoa.
_____Trying to regain my ability to speak, I told her my age and tried to shift the conversation in another direction. I couldn't believe the first woman I'd connected with on mental AND physical levels in months was nearly young enough to be my own daughter. Still, we continued to see each other and I felt myself growing closer to her in a way that I knew I couldn't allow. I felt my lips longing for her soft kisses and my hands eager to know her warm, wet inside.
_____Four weeks after we met, I resigned to myself that no matter how much I wanted her, I would taste no wine before its time. I tried to dodge her phone calls, and she perceptively picked up on it. I stopped going to the club, but I suffered, my mind racing over which slow jam she'd be picking that week. Three weeks after abruptly ending or little affair I sucked up my pride and went to the club. Old Soul was there, passionately rolling her hips to Prince's "Darling Nikki" as my eyes traced her silhouette. Right after she left the stage, I gulped down my drink and headed to my truck.
_____As I approached the vehicle, I noticed a dark figure leaning against the door. Getting closer I prepared for a confrontation, only to realize it was Malika clad in the black liquid latex catsuit and fuck-me heels she'd worn on stage. I held my face close to hers. "I'm sorry, I've been, uh, avoiding you. It's just that, I really don't want to take advantage of you. You're a beautiful young woman, it's just that I don't think I can give you what you need," I said my eyes caught by hers.
_____Her lemon-tinged breath teased my nostrils as we stood with our faces nearly touching. Before I knew it, I felt myself leaning forward to kiss those lips. Her hot tongue probed my mouth as I let my guards down and slowly let my hands fall first to her waist, then to her hips. Every fantasy I'd had over the last 7 weeks came to my mind as we stood there, her stiff nipples pressed into my wife-beater, my hands gripping and kneading the softness of her plump ass, our tongues dancing. As she got into my car and I drove her to my place, I knew all those fantasies would soon be realities.
_____We hit the door and got straight to business. "Get on the bed, take off your clothes, touch yourself," I commanded her as I watched from across the room, lighting candles. She slowly rubbed her engorged clit, mimicking how she wanted to be touched. Her voice quivered as she begged for me to come to her and finally, just before she exploded, I pushed her hands aside and slid my tongue in her honey pot. I dug my face into her saturated pussy, my tongue and lips aggressively manipulating her insides, sounds of her wetness loud in my ears as I held her legs over my shoulders. I gently caught her clit in my lips and lapped it with my tongue ring as I slid my two middle fingers inside. Her pussy responded with a squishing sound, wetness beginning to coat my face and bed.
_____Her body trembling on the verge of climax, I commanded her to assume a doggy-style position as I reached for one of the candles. I poured hot wax on her heart-shaped ass, her skin reddening where the black wax hit and slowly dripped down the back of her thighs. I slapped it, HARD, and my clit jumped at the sound of her whining. I whacked her hard, harder, her cheeks jiggling and her back jumping. When she could take no more, I put the candle aside, flipping her over and tonguing her down as I grinded my body into hers.
_____I looked straight into her eyes while I dug my pussy deeper into hers, her hands gripping my ass and pulling me down onto her. I felt the heated rush of orgasm as I placed one of her legs over my shoulder, opening her up to feel the entirety of her clit against mine while I came. Both of our bodies tightened in extended pleasure as we came at the same time, her nails digging into my back. Backing off of her, I kissed her from her neck to her gorgeous feet before reaching to turn the lights out.
_____In the pitch black of the room, I reached to my drawer and retrieved a new glow-in-the-dark toy I'd bought months before but never used. I strapped it on and plunged into her still wet pussy as I held her legs in a perfect V. I watched the soft green glow of the toy as it disappeared in and out of her, plunging deeper with every thrust. Sweat began to bead on my back and my heart raced as one end of the toy rhythmically pushed against my clit, while the other tapped her g-spot time and time again. I rolled her over, let her ride it while I sat up and slurped her nipples. I rolled back on to her, pushing the extension of myself as far into her as she could bear, before we both came again and again. Together.
_____And together is how we've been ever since. Call it what you will, but I knew that a woman who could stimulate my mind and make my pussy scream was not one to be let go -no matter what her age. Though I made her give up doing club sets about a year ago, she still does occasional shows. Only now she's my private dancer.

THE END

Copyright © 2001. Used by permission of author. All Rights Reserved.