"Well, I'm up for trusting you all with being fair on the tasks if you are." The stewardess was the adventurous type. She had endorsed the veto provision more for the benefit of the others than for her own comfort. So that being mostly agreed, though still depending on Heather's good graces, the preliminaries were concluded.<br/><br/>And that left Connie the monumental task of setting the tone for the others. Which gave her a choice. She could just ease into this thing. Something mild and a little naughty like dipping her toe into the pool. But Constance was not big on half-measures. She opted to do a cannonball. The formalities now concluded, she cleared her throat, leaned forward, and began talking in that sing-song voice of hers. By her tone, one might have thought she was pointing out the exits in the rear of the plane.<br/><br/>"Okay. You know I’m Connie. Pronouns are she, her, hers. And you all know what I do for a living. Sometimes you get lucky with a destination, and sometimes you don't. Last May, I was one of the lucky ones. I got to fly out to Prague. Well, maybe unlucky at first. LAX to Praha is a looooong flight. But once I was back on the ground, I was pretty much all aces, and ready to take on a town I've never seen before.<br/><br/>"It was two in the morning, but jet lag is jet lag, so I wasn't getting to sleep any time soon, so I say to myself, "Might as well see what this place has to offer. So here I am walking around the town at this ungodly hour, looking for someplace I can settle and have a drink. There’s this one place the music’s blasting from, so what the hell, right? I go in. There’s a cover – and the girl at the counter is giving me a few funny looks as I’m paying it – but hey – I’m the foreigner here. Whatever it is, I’ll figure it out soon enough.”<br/><br/>Connie stopped here and took a big swig of liquid confidence for talking about what came next.<br/><br/>“Soon enough came fast. It wasn’t a bar. It was a strip club. Kind of – the definition of strip club over there is a biiit different than over here. There’re about six stages. Lovely girls on each stage peeling away to a crowd gathered around her. Most of them are all smiles. Going the extra mile. Giving me a wave as I pass, poor oblivious moron that I am. The stage over there,” Connie pointed over towards a corner of room, “has got a crowd. A big one. I’m curious, so I sidle to the bar, get a drink, ask what it’s all about. And the bartender, a cute blonde wearing the littlest black dress with big bazooms in her own right, just winks and says<i>Take a look</i>, in that heavy East European accent that I thought only happened in movies. She hands me the drink, a complimentary ladies’ shot of something with Kahlua or whatever the local coffee flavored stuff is called – and then I’m having a pink lady that night on honor of – well when in Rome – Prague in this case, right? – And it’s got her cherry red lipstick all over it. Something of a practical joke on the American I’m sure.<br/><br/>“So, thoroughly liquored up, I’m off to see what’s happening at the main stage. It’s not so much what’s happening as who. She’s a looker to be sure. Five foot six, shoulder length chestnut hair, eyes green like emeralds, face round as a peach, skin like a porcelain doll. Most of it is on display as she’s down to last two bits – she’s playing with the clasp of her black leather strapless bra holding back the most gorgeous pair of D-Cups I’ve ever seen, and her matching black thong is riding up her nice tight little ass.<br/><br/>“Rosie Lowe’s<i>How’d You Like It </i>is sliding out of the speakers and it’s competing with the hollers and catcalls – the crowd is on fire and she’s the smoke. It’s infectious, and I’m not immune, so a let out a little, “Woot!” of my own as the catch comes open, the bra flies into the crowd, and the D’s fly free just as God in Her Infinite Wisdom intended.<br/><br/>“The dancer stops.” So did Connie. By now her eyes were shining, reliving the moment as she was retelling it, savoring the memory as she would a freshly baked pie or a twenty year single malt scotch. She waited a full fifteen seconds before taking another sip from her bottle and continuing.<br/><br/>“I am a deer caught in the headlights. She scans the crowd, which has gone pin-drop silent, though the song’s still coming on strong. Our friendly neighborhood bartender lends a hand with a whistle and a finger pointed in my general vicinity. Our nearly naked friend finds me and locks on with laser-guided precision. For a moment, I forget how to breathe.<br/><br/>“She gives me one of these.” Constance crooked her pointer finger several times towards her face with a wicked smile. “You probably know what that means. I… couldn’t quite remember. Given the situation, I’m sure you’ll forgive me for that. She steps forward, off the stage. The crowd parts for her like the Red Sea. And then there she is, a vision in G-String, close enough that I get a hit of her perfume, this spicy-floral-fruity fragrance that I can’t help but imagine licking off her body. She says,<i>Come, </i>in a deep sultry voice slathered in Slavic intonation, and I nearly do the synonym right then and there. But that’s not quite her plan yet. She holds out her hand. I… take it.<br/><br/>“She leads me back along aisle 69 through the crowd.<i>I am Lena</i>, she says. I answer,<i>Constance, </i>as we walk up the stairs. And there we are. Her and me. Lana slips behind me, her breath murmuring orders in my ear.<i>Dance</i>.<br/><br/>I am new to this game, and I’ll win no awards for my steps that night. I shuffle left, then right, then left. I’m more or less moving to the beat. I can feel her body pressed into my back, the heat of her body emanating through my shirt. Her hands creep around me, popping each button with barely a touch, marking each one with a little encouragement.<i>You do well, Constance. </i>Pop.<i>They are watching you Constance</i>. Pop.<i>They see only us Constance</i>. Pop.<i>You are beautiful Constance</i>. I can only stutter, “Y…you am..maz…zing.”<i>I want you Constance. </i>One quick flutter of fabric and I can now feel that warmth directly on my skin. My shirt flies off into the crowd, a souvenir for a lucky fan.<br/><br/>“Lana’s hands are around my waist now, the sensation of her fingers dancing on my bare skin is giving me goose bumps. My skirt is next and it goes much more quickly. I dance around a little as she unzips me and teases it off my hips. I hear<i>Kick, Constance </i>and am in no state to refuse orders. It goes flying into the audience with a speed that only an ex-varsity soccer midfielder could arrange – and the crowd roars its approval. The whole thing is turning into one massive aphrodisiac, though it’s still more the approval from behind than up front that’s driving me onward.<i>Take off the stocking for them Constance</i>. And here I am in my pink lacy undies, peeling off a stocking, taking my sweet time, all the while Lana’s rubbing against me, kissing my neck repeatedly for what I think is for show, but hoping is not. My hopes are fortified with the next order,<i>Take off the other for me.</i><br/><br/>“I do as I am told and am thankful for the opportunity. For once, she just watches, licking her middle finger and drawing it up her own magnificent torso to show me how much she’s enjoying this. When it’s off, she takes it and nudges the other to me with her foot, so I take the hint. I follow her lead as she flings it around a few times and lets it fly. Part of me is asking how the hell I’m going to get back to the hotel, if and when I ever go back – right now the only thing I took off that’s still on the stage is my shoes. But most of me just… doesn’t… care.<br/><br/>“We’re facing each other now. She comes forward, puts her left hand gently on the pit of my back and pulls me in. And we’re kissing. My knees are buckling. I grab on for dear life. Within a second, her tongue comes for a visit. I’m making all sorts of muffled noises. I think I might be begging for more. It’s hard to say. I’m not really up to asking anyone who could give me an answer. Her hands creep up. It’s pretty obvious what she’s looking for. She finds it and undoes the clasp with a snap of her fingers. One hand sends my bra soaring off the stage while the other keeps holding me for more of the making and the out.<br/><br/>“Yours truly is now topless.” Connie stopped for a moment and took another swig, daring the trio with her eyes to imagine her boobs. “She slowly pulls away for the big reveal. The crowd likes it. Probably not as much as hers – hers are magnificent and very, very real. She appreciates mine though – she bends down and shows her appreciation with a tug of her lips and a flick of her tongue. I make a sound that probably sounds like a cat who’s fallen into a salmon factory. She pulls back, takes my chin, and coaxes me forward to return the favor. But even here I’m thinking it’s as much part of the show as anything else. This might happen every day.<br/><br/>“She looks at me with those big green eyes, and says,<i>You know what is next Constance</i>. Now I’m not a particularly prudish person – and you think I’d been through a lot already, but I still turn bright pink. And that means<i>all over</i>. But hey, grand finale. And a story to tell – well not my grandkids, but who knows? Probably three strangers I share a room with in Dallas one night. So I go down, and my fingers loop through the thong. They’ve got a little twist tie, which I undo, and I slip off the little number, kiss it for good measure and send it over to the crowd. I still don’t know what happened to all our clothes. There’s probably scattered in apartments all over Prague, framed and hanging on walls throughout the city.” Connie smiled at the thought, and blushed a little.<br/><br/>“Lana is naked, and she is glorious. Perfectly shaven, naturally. Just a woman for whom naked is a state of transcendent being. And now… it’s Connie’s turn. I come back up. I am now facing with my back to the audience. She starts working down. A kiss here, a lick there, I’m about ready to faint. She gets to her knees, not coincidentally also my hips and smiles, playing the crowd which has once again, gone dead silent. She waits.”<br/><br/>So did Connie for five beats.<br/><br/>“She slips her thumbs into the sides, slowly but surely dragging the panties up, around, and off my cheeks. I try not to scream as her breath from her lips up her tickles my lips down there. One foot goes up, then the other. Bye bye panties.<br/><br/>“So the song winds to a close. The naïve American stewardess has been stripped nude. It’s over.”<br/><br/>Connie folded her hands to finish the story. And then went on.<br/><br/>“Only it’s not. Because Lana is not coming up. She’s<i> staying down</i>. And exploring. Her lips. Her teeth. Her tongue.<br/><br/>“<i>My pussy</i>.<br/><br/>“Let me tell you. I will never be able to fake it with anyone who was in that Club, because they heard the real 100% Constance Meadows. She was probably down there for less time than I imagined, because when she brought me backstage to raucous applause, we still had a lot to do and we did it. Hooray for private rooms.<br/><br/>“But the punchline comes in the morning. Here Lana is, loading me into a taxi wearing nothing but my trusty flats and Sasha’s overcoat that’s that blonde bartender, and a story for another round – and she hands me her card. And says,<i>You come back, Constance. Next time, you munch me.”</i><br/><br/>Now the story was done. Connie sat back, a smile on her face as she met each of her roommates’ eyes in turn. “So tell me, what do you think. Was that on the level, or did I make the whole thing up? Bull or Bare?”