A few years back, I performed at a birthday party in a small bar, which was located in a small town on the coast about three hours from where I lived. I'll just call this town Agricola.
Agricola was so small that anything that happened there spread throughout the whole town. This place seemed like the kind of place where everyone knows your business better than you do. And this place, of all places, was where I had to dance for a group of girls ranging from mid-twenties to late-thirties.
I don't recall the details of the party so much, but I do remember that the only other guy in the bar was the bartender---and he hated me. He hated me because his girlfriend was in attendance and I danced with her. I didn't know they were dating. Oh well. I'm sure he has gotten over it by now.
I also remember two other girls: Diane and Sara. Both women were beautiful, despite being in their middle years.
Diane had long, wavy blonde hair. She sat on the bar stool, acting aloof from my perfomance. As I danced, I occasionally and subtly admired her sleek, tanned legs, following the curves of her thighs as they stretched her mini-skirt. When Diane's turn came, I left her on the bar stool, spread her legs, and place the bulge of my thong into the crevice between her legs and up her skirt.
She giggled and I moved on to another girl.
This girl was a redhead named Sara. Even though she had a few lines of aging on her face, she radiated a lot beauty. Her body was firm from exercise.
After I finished stripping, the girls asked if I could stay and party with them. I told them that I could. Sara spoke with me the most. As I talked to her, she stared at me, her blue eyes full of intensity and intrigue. She told me that she was an author. I can't remember if she was published or not. I do remember her saying that she wanted to write a story about my life. She asked me a lot of questions about male stripping. She laid a hand gently on my arm as I told her a few stories.
One of the ladies announced that the limo had arrived. Some of the girls stayed; others got up to leave. Sara stayed.
"Aren't you going?" I asked Sara.
"No, I have some errands to run," she answered. "I may come out afterward."
I smiled and told her that I would see her then.
Sara never came out. I went with the other ladies in the limo and we stopped at several bars. I got drunk and started making out with Diane while we were at one of the bars on the coast. I slipped a hand up her skirt. The sexual tension continued throughout the night. After the limo dropped us off downtown, Diane invited me home. I obliged.
Diane's house had three floors full of expensive mahogany furniture. The kitchen coutners were made of granite. I saw a few pictures of a beautiful young girl.
"Who's she?" I asked.
"My daughter," Diane said. "She's away in college now."
"How old is she?"
"She's twenty," Diane said.
I was 24 at the time, meaning a four years age difference between me and Diane's daughter... Diane pulled me upstairs and we took a bath in a large tub that was almost the size of a jacuzzi. Then we went to the bed and had a long night.
During the next morning, Diane had to get up early for work. She said I could stay and sleep in. I was tired and hungover from the previous night, so I went back to sleep... and was awoken by the sound of a guy shouting Diane's name. I sat up as soon as he entered the room.
"Diane--" the man stopped and looked at me in shock. I was naked on Diane's bed. I'm sure that I was the last thing he was expecting to see. "Who the fuck are you?" he asked.
"Dion. And who are you?"
I was awake now. I propped myself up, ready to jump up and fight should the man attack me. I really didn't want to fight another man while I was naked.
"Where is Diane?" the man demanded, ignoring my question.
I shrugged. "Beats the hell outta me. She left early this morning."
He glared at me for a brief moment, turned around, and stomped his way outside.
I decided that I needed to get the fuck out of that house before some drama unfolded with me wrapped in the middle of it. I put on my clothes, got in my car and left. On the way home, Diane called me and asked if a man came over. I told her yes and that he wasn't happy. She explained that he was an ex-boyfriend, and he was pissed that she slept with me.
"He called me a whore and told me that he didn't want anything to do with me anymore," she said.
I didn't want anything to do with her anymore after that either. I thought she was a whore too. Probably still is.
I continued driving on home, away from Agricola and its heavy dose of small-town drama. Unfortunately, the women of Agricola weren't done with me yet.
...Continued in High Water Mark