The Calendar Man
My phone buzzed in my hand. Tricia.
“Hey, Macy. Are you in the yoga studio?”
“I’m just leaving. Why?”
“Stop and look at the bulletin board.”
“I’m already in the car. What is it?”
“There’s a fundraiser tonight for the domestic abuse shelter. You have to go with me.”
“C’mon sis, you always drag me to the things last minute.”
“I do, but you always have fun. We’ll have another crazy sister story to tell. You’re not chicken, are you?”
I hated it when she called me that. She’s done it since we were kids. “I’m available. What time?”
“I’ll pick you up at 7:30 pm. Make sure you bring your checkbook and lots of one-dollar bills.”
“Wait, for what?”
“Um, for tipping the—”
“You’re taking me to a strip club.”
“How not exactly?”
“There is a strip club stage, and there will be bodies to view.” She yanked my chain hard now.
“Tricia Anne Williams!”
“Okay, okay. A group of firefighters sponsors this event to make a nude calendar. They create an individual act with some holiday music and scenes. You know, like for the backdrop of their photo. The audience members select the top twelve to get on the calendar by voting with their wallet, and the top contributor to each firefighter gets a date with him.”
“When were you going to tell me all of this?”
“You weren’t going to, were you?”
“Bad cell reception. I’ll see you at 7:30 pm.”
Tricia’s usual promptness prevailed, and when I saw her caring look, all was forgiven. My older sister may make me crazy with all her schemes, but she was the most big-hearted person I know.
The entire community supported local fundraisers especially if they thought that skin would be on display. It was as much a social event as a money-maker. Tricia’s description had been accurate. The strip club had been classed up. The stripper poles were decorated. It wouldn’t matter, everyone focused on the stage to the men teasing us in their performance. Each man commanded attention, and some were more sexually provocative than others. The audience was alive as a living thing.
I laughed and yelled until the arrival of one particular man on the stage who stole my breath away.
He may have been introduced as Todd the Rod, but I knew him as the new guy from my yoga class who sprawled his mat next to me. I had lusted after him for weeks and hadn’t found the courage to speak.
As Todd appeared on stage, strands of white light dropped from the ceiling. Music blared. His costume, if you can call handheld props a costume, was art inspired. He reminded me of a male version of a burlesque dancer in a setting like the Garden of Eden or on stage in the play A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream. Erotic and seductive, he was the most forward contestant as he was naked and using his props to hide the enticing parts. And like in class, his skin glistened highlighting the detail of every visible muscle. That was my invitation to watch, and it mesmerized me.
The crowd’s whooping and hollering increased as he began to interact individually with audience members. And then he pointed his finger at me.
Hesitant, I began backing up, but the crowd would have none of it. Hands on my back pushed me forward right up to the stage. Todd’s suggestive movements hypnotized me, and my arousal grew. As it moved through my body, I tasted it in in my mouth. I had lusted after this body in every yoga class, and now I fixated on all his sexual goodness.
Todd held his prop, like a fig leaf, over his cock, moved to the edge of the stage and leaned down to my ear.
“You have to help me.” He stood and danced around the stage and then returned to me and bent over again.
“What?” I screamed.
“They bet me, the rookie, that I couldn’t get on the calendar.” The music tempo changed and he danced a jig. I laughed and gave him a thumbs-up when I had got a glimpse of his goods, and I throbbed in time with the music. This man was so at ease in his body, and he was sex on legs.
“Money. Give me some money.”
I reached into my pocket, took out some dollar bills and spewed them all at his feet. It set up a giving frenzy. The music boomed. Secured in an erotic bubble with bodies pressed up against me, a mostly naked muscle-toned man danced for me.
Todd became my masturbation aid. Yep, I imagined his gyrations meeting my body, my hips, my clit. Damn, I was buzzing. I was hot. He was hot. Fantasies of licking, tasting, and touching him ran through my mind as he moved. My body mirrored a response to every movement he made, and he grinned. I hoped that everyone else was watching him and paid no attention to me. There was no hiding my interest from him now. I licked my lips and placed my palms on the stage and danced in place as if I was his partner. I had never been so worked up. My bobbing rubbed the seam in my jeans the right way stimulating my clit. I was sure I would orgasm on the spot. Along with Todd’s toned body, his intense stare gave me things I never expected. He woke up my sexual-self. I locked my gaze on him as he brought his number to a close. When he blew me a kiss, my body shuddered, and I orgasmed on the spot. And Todd knew it.
Next week in yoga class, when Todd placed his mat beside mine, I revisited my orgasmic vibrations. As he sat on his mat stretching his long legs out in front of him, he looked as good as he did on stage.
I took a deep breath and bolstered my nerve to speak. “Congratulations, Todd. I hear you secured your spot on the calendar.”
He chuckled. “Yes, I did. I slid in at Number 12.” He bent forward stretching his arms down to his toes. I thought I might incinerate watching his muscles flex. “A wonderful fan’s donation put me over the edge.”
“You’re going to be shy, now are you?” I felt the heat of my blush running up my neck. “I’d like to thank you with a special date, Macy.”
“Hmmm.” My nervous giggle filled the room. “What did you have in mind, Todd?”
Maintaining his stretch with his hands on his ankles, he turned his head toward me. “Something private. Because if you can orgasm from eye connection, imagine what skin to skin contact and gadgets might do,” he said with a raised eyebrow.
I attempted to swallow my nerves, but my dry mouth got in the way, and my words were a whisper.
“Yes, imagine.” The room temperature rose, and I wondered if everyone heard my pulsing heart.
Todd did a twisting stretch from his waist. “You’re not chicken, are you?”
Read the next installment: A Firefighter’s Date.
My first story of the New Year combines Masturbation Monday and Wicked Wednesday Prompts. The lovely photograph of Adam provided for the MM prompt sparked the story and then, of course, I had to work in the idea of gadgets provided by Marie Rebel, sex gadgets, that is. Please click on the pics below and check out both locations to find other sexy stories.