By the time we went to San Francisco, Eric and I had casually discussed strip clubs and my feelings about them. He has association to the adult industry and had been to practically every club in the LA area. Little did I know that he fully intended to bring me to a club during our trip, if I was up for it. We stayed with James, a friend of mine, who took us out to dinner downtown. As we had an hour and a half wait for our table, we passed the time touring the area and happened to walk by some local strip clubs. Eric commented he would like to go to one and queried James if he'd be interested. James agreed, but only if it was okay with me. I was game. Curiosity has always been a strong motivating force for me, and sexual curiosity even more so. And so it was decided: that was our plan for the next night.

After some discussion and a bit of touring, we decided on an appropriate "first time" club: Roaring 20's. I had no idea what to expect, and Eric, having never been there either, was rolling the dice to some extent too. I followed him fairly closely, watched his lead carefully, and tried desperately to look confident. Amidst all the scantily clad and nude women, I felt almost frumpy in my turtleneck and oversized sweatshirt over leggings with hightop sneakers. I couldn't have been much more covered up, but hey, I'm from LA and it was cold up there in San Francisco! We sat back from the stage and watched as women removed their clothes to pulsating music while a huge screen on the wall displayed X-rated videos. It was sensory overload on steroids for me.

The club was relatively small with a shiny white oval stage and two poles, one at either end, that went to the ceiling. We watched some girls who knew how to dance and some that didn't. Some girls worked the pole with such dexterity that I had to make a concerted effort to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. There was even a dancer that picked up a dollar bill with her puss off a happy bachelor-party victim's face, which really impressed me! As I watched Eric walk to the stage and tip a particularly motivated dancer, I got a little miffed. But I realized shortly thereafter that this was standard procedure and he was being a "good guy" by doing that. My respect for him returned.

Eventually, I noticed the staircase to the second floor and asked Eric what goes on up there. That's when I learned about private dances and I wanted to see one. I toyed with the idea of getting a private dance for Eric, but quickly decided I wasn't ready for that yet. Let's face it, this was a lot for me to digest, and who knows how I would have handled watching another woman perform various acts with the man I love. So it occurred to me to get one for my friend James, and Eric worked the details out with a dancer. James was up for it and we trundled off up the stairs before I had even mentioned to James that I would be watching! Luckily, he was cool with that.

What followed can only be described as amazing. She was all over him fully nude on a mini-bed in a booth with a curtain while I stood against the wall watching. She guided him to where she could be touched and I was so in awe I couldn't believe it. From my vantage point, I could see he was obviously aroused. About that time I realized I was glad it wasn't Eric because my feelings for him would have prevented me from enjoying the show. My traditional, conservative views had not been fully shed.

At the end of the dance I chatted briefly with the dancer while she dressed and James tucked his shirt back in. I found out this was a first for her too, since she had never danced while a woman just watched before. She wished me a good visit to San Francisco then told us we should hurry downstairs to be sure not to miss the "live sex show." "Holy cow," I thought. "No way."

Sure enough. As we moved up to the tip rail, there it was on the main stage: all the dancers helping two of the girls with a double-ended dildo while the DJ continued to crank out the overpowering music. I was nervous at the tip rail, but again curiosity and Eric's reassuring presence drew me in. The show ended and the regular dance rotation resumed. I had watched the process at the tip rail and knew my role there. With dollar bills in hand, I creased them carefully and laid them one per song (sometimes 2) on the rail as the girls did their sets. A well-endowed very tall black woman danced for us next. She came up to me, smiled sweetly, came down on her knees, and placed my face between her breasts. My GOD! This was most definitely a first for me. I had never even really _looked_ for very long at another woman's breasts, let alone have them pressed to my face! They were soft, warm, and smelled absolutely wonderful. I was in shock, but still grinning ear to ear. She then moved on to Eric and James. I realized after what a politically wise move that was on her part. Don't play up the guy until after you have played up the girl he is there with! The girl can't complain about her boyfriend with the dancer when she got the same service and enjoyed it too! Smart dancer.

Still reeling, blushing, and grinning over the breast-capades, I got my next dollar out for the following dancer. As she came out to the stage, I realized it was the one who had picked up the dollar bill with her puss earlier. I leaned to Eric and said, "Oh cool, it's the girl who did that dollar trick before. I want to watch this closely." To which he replied, "You never know, you might get a closer look than you think!" I cast an incredulous glance his direction and said, "Yeah, sure." "Nah, you never know," he said, " She pulled that last guy on the stage." "Yeah, but that was for a bachelor party," I said, disregarding his statement as pure hogwash.

She danced seductively across the stage and eventually made her way to our end of the rail. She smiled sweetly as she knelt before me, leaned over, and to my amazement asked if I wanted to come up on stage. I stammered. "Well, um, I don't know....," while Eric was exclaiming vigorously, "YES! YES! Go for it!" She took my hand and before I knew it I was on stage. She danced around me on center stage as I stood in semi-shock of what was happening. She leaned in close and said reassuringly, "Now, I'm going to take your shirt off, okay?" I nodded; this Catholic-raised girl was obviously still in a daze. At this point I heard the DJ say jokingly that every night is amateur night at Roaring 20's and the music seemed to change and get louder. It was confirmed to me later that the DJ had put on a new song and it was way longer than the typical 3 minutes! The crowd got louder but it was hard for me to even be cognizant of anything but the dancer. She had me transfixed. She was rubbing her breasts on me and asked to take off my bra. I'm still amazed I agreed as I redirected her from the traditional rear closure area to the front-close of the bra-style I typically wear. So there I was naked from the waist up in front of a room full of strangers, my boyfriend, and a friend who I'm sure never thought he would ever see that much of me in his lifetime!

She asked me to lay on the floor and I thought, "God, I don't want to fall on my butt in front of all these people and look like a fool," so I grabbed the pole and did my level best to look seductive as I used it to steady myself to the stage floor. She laid me down on the floor and danced all over me, her breasts, mid section and abdomen all grazing my face. I became aware that someone was touching my outstretched hand, and as I turned to look, I saw it was a patron putting a dollar bill in my hand! About then I vaguely realized that there were men all crowded around the stage, standing, staring, hollering, and smiling like crazy. I was later told that practically everyone in the room had pushed forward to the stage and the only person who didn't move a muscle (well, except for one!) was my boyfriend who was so mesmerized and shocked as well that he couldn't think clearly enough to get out of his chair!

Just when I thought it couldn't get any crazier, she took a dollar bill, creased it down the middle and laid it across my nose and mouth. "Jesus Christ! Eric was right!!!!!," I mused. What a kick! I couldn't believe it! She straddled my head, picked the dollar up right off my face, and for a brief moment my forehead and face were in complete contact with her soft cheeks and inner thighs. This was more than I ever could have imagined. I wish I had pictures! So there I was, lying on the stage and she said, "Okay, now I want you to dance for me. Can you do that?" "Um, well, I'll try," I managed to sputter out. She stood me up and we danced a little, then she laid down and had me straddle her. I did my best to mimic what she had done, grinding on her hips, while she caressed my body. She slipped her hands inside the waistband of my leggings and pulled them over my hips. Strangely enough, my first thought was, "Gee, I'm really glad I color coordinate my underwear to my clothes and that I chose to wear a thong today!" The crowd went wild. Eric told me later that the guys sitting next to him decided at that point the whole thing was staged and started to voice displeasure. When he confirmed it wasn't staged and that I really was just a girl off the street, they were all that much more impressed. I continued my grinding and then I heard the DJ say, "Seems there's only one thing that hasn't come off yet guys!" As she reached for my panties, I realized I could go no further, and though we played and teased a lot with the waistband, I stopped her from pulling them down. As the music continued I finally leaned forward and asked her what to do. She said it was okay to stop now and I stood up dazed and looked around for my clothes. She touched my arm, smiled, and thanked me, saying I was really a great "victim."

I stepped down from the stage back at my seat, clutching my shirt to my chest wondering, "What the hell do I do now?" while other customers said how great I was. Eric and I decided it would be appropriate for me to dress in the dancers dressing room, especially seeing as that's where the only ladies room was anyway, so I headed there. I was amazed at how neat and clean it was back there. Somehow I guess I expected it to be seedier, but it wasn't anything like that. I dressed and returned to my seat at the rail. All three of us were out of tip money at that point so we decided to leave. As we stood to go, 4 guys at the tip rail all stood and applauded me while another leaned over to shake my hand and then Eric's hand, exclaiming how lucky Eric was.

As we hit the cool San Francisco night air, the rush of adrenaline was still in my system and I was still trying to reconcile what had just happened. We took a picture out front to commemorate the event and hurried off to the car. All three of us compared notes and talked excitedly about the whole evening. James of course was shocked, but happy I had a good time. Even after we got back to James' place, we continued to talk about the events, all the girls we saw, and everything that happened. After we talked ourselves blue in the face, James went off to bed and Eric and I continued to discuss the night. I could still smell her perfume all over me and so could Eric. We couldn't help but be turned on. We made love passionately on the floor of James' living room into the wee hours of the morning. It was incredible.

The next day we had a leisurely breakfast, made sure we could all still look each other in the eyes, said our good-byes, and Eric and I headed back to Los Angeles. The entire drive back was filled with conversation of the night before, plans for the future, an impromptu romantic pit stop, my thoughts about the dancer's actions and sexual feelings about other women in general, and so long as we were fantasizing we casually discussed a name I would use if I ever decided to take up dancing.

And so Élan was born. But would she, could she, really dance?

Next installment: Exposed: Can She Do It? (or Two Men And A Couch)

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