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Authors: Tracey Shellito
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‘There goes the rape victim.’ I want to
be known for what I can do, what I am, not what somebody tried to make me. I don’t want to be the cause of more violence. I want to get on with living my life, forget about what happened, be
a dancer, be happy, make lots of money and have you love me.”
“You still want me?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard right.
“Yes. I want you. I just don’t want to be part of your world. The violence scares me. I can’t stop you doing this. Just don’t make it your life’s work. I
don’t want you to hunt down this deviant to the exclusion of everything else. I want a romantic relationship with you, not a client/bodyguard relationship.”
“Don’t you think you’re worth fighting for?”
“Not in the way you mean.”
Cecily chose that moment to interrupt. From where she was standing I suppose she couldn’t tell the crisis was over.
“Lovers’ spat?”
Tori’s expression switched from aroused to ugly. She lunged for the door. Whatever Cecily saw in her face made her back off so fast she slammed into the wall in her hurry to get inside. I
grabbed my lover and swung her into a tight embrace.
“Whoa! What happened to not wanting to be a part of my world because the violence scares you? That’s quite a U-turn there, babe.”
“I…” She blushed furiously with embarrassment. “After what you told me last night I just… Oh, hell. This is how you feel, isn’t it?”
I didn’t need to say anything, and I wasn’t going to rub it in.
“You’ve got that ‘I want to fuck you senseless’ look on your face.”
“I have?” I asked, ingenuously.
She sighed. But she looked pleased. I kissed her, she tried to hold back for form’s sake, but eventually she had to return the kiss. I put my arms around her. Her hands slipped under my
battered jacket and started stroking my ribs. I steered her towards the door.
“I suppose that means I won’t be going anywhere for a while.”
“God, I hope not,” I breathed into her ear.
5
“I always forget how hot you look in a tux. Until I see you in one again. Promise me you’ll leave it on when we get home? I’ve always wanted to fuck somebody
wearing a tux.”
How the hell was I going to concentrate on the job if she kept saying things like this? I was going to have to start carrying spare underwear about too, if she didn’t keep her hands to
herself when I was driving.
She gave a delightfully ribald laugh then left me alone to try and gather my scattered wits and get us to her club in one piece.
Lap dancing is a growth industry. Since Peter Stringfellow converted Stringfellow’s night-club in London into a lap dancing bar they’ve been springing up like wildfire.
After initial protests had died away, this place was fast to follow. In a town that gets much of its revenue from tourists, anything which will bring in more punters gets first priority for
development. Sun, sea, sand and silly hats, a trip to the Tower, the Sea Life Centre to see the sharks, Madame Tussaud’s to see the waxworks, the Pleasure Beach to ride The Big One and
doughnuts on the Prom with the kids by day. A nice meal in one of the restaurants in the evening and a walk through the Illuminations, if it’s the right time of year. Then while a sitter
watches the kids, a couple of jars in the nearest watering hole and a boogie at a night-club. Then round off the night by slipping away from the dozing wife to a lap dancing club to watch pretty
girls get their kits off. What more could anyone ask?
Not including the sole male lap dancing venue, there were, at last count, five clubs. All of them were former night-spots, some in the quieter South Shore area, one on the Promenade itself, and
some right in the town centre. They range from places businessmen are not afraid to be seen to the downright seedy.
Tori’s place of business is unimaginatively called the Bird Of Paradise. One of the upmarket places, it can be found up a side street
be known for what I can do, what I am, not what somebody tried to make me. I don’t want to be the cause of more violence. I want to get on with living my life, forget about what happened, be
a dancer, be happy, make lots of money and have you love me.”
“You still want me?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard right.
“Yes. I want you. I just don’t want to be part of your world. The violence scares me. I can’t stop you doing this. Just don’t make it your life’s work. I
don’t want you to hunt down this deviant to the exclusion of everything else. I want a romantic relationship with you, not a client/bodyguard relationship.”
“Don’t you think you’re worth fighting for?”
“Not in the way you mean.”
Cecily chose that moment to interrupt. From where she was standing I suppose she couldn’t tell the crisis was over.
“Lovers’ spat?”
Tori’s expression switched from aroused to ugly. She lunged for the door. Whatever Cecily saw in her face made her back off so fast she slammed into the wall in her hurry to get inside. I
grabbed my lover and swung her into a tight embrace.
“Whoa! What happened to not wanting to be a part of my world because the violence scares you? That’s quite a U-turn there, babe.”
“I…” She blushed furiously with embarrassment. “After what you told me last night I just… Oh, hell. This is how you feel, isn’t it?”
I didn’t need to say anything, and I wasn’t going to rub it in.
“You’ve got that ‘I want to fuck you senseless’ look on your face.”
“I have?” I asked, ingenuously.
She sighed. But she looked pleased. I kissed her, she tried to hold back for form’s sake, but eventually she had to return the kiss. I put my arms around her. Her hands slipped under my
battered jacket and started stroking my ribs. I steered her towards the door.
“I suppose that means I won’t be going anywhere for a while.”
“God, I hope not,” I breathed into her ear.
5
“I always forget how hot you look in a tux. Until I see you in one again. Promise me you’ll leave it on when we get home? I’ve always wanted to fuck somebody
wearing a tux.”
How the hell was I going to concentrate on the job if she kept saying things like this? I was going to have to start carrying spare underwear about too, if she didn’t keep her hands to
herself when I was driving.
She gave a delightfully ribald laugh then left me alone to try and gather my scattered wits and get us to her club in one piece.
Lap dancing is a growth industry. Since Peter Stringfellow converted Stringfellow’s night-club in London into a lap dancing bar they’ve been springing up like wildfire.
After initial protests had died away, this place was fast to follow. In a town that gets much of its revenue from tourists, anything which will bring in more punters gets first priority for
development. Sun, sea, sand and silly hats, a trip to the Tower, the Sea Life Centre to see the sharks, Madame Tussaud’s to see the waxworks, the Pleasure Beach to ride The Big One and
doughnuts on the Prom with the kids by day. A nice meal in one of the restaurants in the evening and a walk through the Illuminations, if it’s the right time of year. Then while a sitter
watches the kids, a couple of jars in the nearest watering hole and a boogie at a night-club. Then round off the night by slipping away from the dozing wife to a lap dancing club to watch pretty
girls get their kits off. What more could anyone ask?
Not including the sole male lap dancing venue, there were, at last count, five clubs. All of them were former night-spots, some in the quieter South Shore area, one on the Promenade itself, and
some right in the town centre. They range from places businessmen are not afraid to be seen to the downright seedy.
Tori’s place of business is unimaginatively called the Bird Of Paradise. One of the upmarket places, it can be found up a side street
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