The picture of passion

Where does she go?

I’d been living with my roommate, Ginnifer, for three months and her schedule was erratic at best. Supposedly, she was a daycare worker somewhere in town. A nine to five job at best. Except, she was never home.

Working off shifts myself, I just kind of attributed it to having a boyfriend or family she visited. I told myself it didn’t matter if she left at ten pm on a Wednesday and didn’t reappear until six pm on a Friday. Or that she was only around long enough to do laundry.

None of my business, right?

I was curious though. I saw some of the clothes she left in the dryer or hung up on the railing. Scraps of lacy panties and figure hugging dresses.

She was a pretty girl, average girl next door with sandy blonde hair always in a ponytail and glasses. When I did see her, she was usually in active wear, sweats and breakaway pants.

The barely there dressed didn’t make any sense. Not when our every conversation felt awkward.

I should’ve left it alone because it wasn’t my business, but that didn’t stop me from following her one night when she decided to leave.

I was expecting a late night drop in on her boyfriend. After a long week, who wouldn’t stop in for a little ass?

The place we pulled up to was one of the high end strip clubs I’ve passed many times. Nothing sleazy about it. Definitely one of those places senators and football players frequent.

Ginnifer pulled around back. The staff entrance door opened to a lady wearing nothing but some red pasties and a thong. They embraced and the door closed behind her.

My questions were mostly answered. My guess was she probably stripped for extra money, maybe even a little escort services on the side. I could just go home and watch some tv, call it a night with my curiosity assuaged. Or…

I was out of the car before I could finish the thought. Yea, I could walk away, but I wanted to see what or who she transformed in to. Who was Ginnifer when she wasn’t in athletic wear?

Entering the club was an experience. This place swept you in. You paid an exorbitant fee to enter into a palatial place. It was club style booths and high stages where the girls danced in safety. I’d barely walked in and there was a naked woman gyrating on a suit clad man.

As a woman, I’d only ever been to a strip club once. I felt their was a certain deference to a woman coming to watch other women dance. The girls sought you out, danced for you. I liked it, but never returned.

I wish I had dressed up a little instead of dashing out in yoga pants and a tank top.

Buying a drank, I settled in at a table toward the side. I just wanted to watch for a minute. Something inside me needed to know Ginnifer better.

The first routine I caught was a tease. A girl with perfect C cup breasts and the firmest ass I’d ever seen swung around the pole in this athletic display that made my pulse jump. She didn’t remove a stitch of clothing, having come out in a tight body suit, but something about the act was as erotic as if she had stripped.

She picked her bills off the stage and left. The lights dropped low for a moment. I sipped my drink and waited.

When the house lights came back up, a woman was in the middle of the stage straddling in a chair. She wore a buttoned loose white blouse, black stockings, and a fedora. Her head was tipped down, the hat covering her face.

Music piped in over the speakers. It was this deep, thumping music you could feel in your core. The kind you wanted to fuck to because the base did something to your body.

She stayed still, a few bars playing. When the music changed to a driving beat, she stood and moved into a routine that made my cunt clench.

This girl was all smooth movements, dips, and turns. Her hips would work against the seat of the chair, thrusting in a way that made you think of nothing expect how she’d feel against you. Through it all, her blouse buttons were opened one by one, until the lapels gaped open and gave glimpses of her breasts.

She’d twirl and you’d see the curve. Then she’d dip and you’d catch sight of a tight nipple.

Money rained down on the stage as she worked. She was popular, with men hovering at the edge. I could totally see why.

Her back to the crowd, she bent over and slid those stockings down then back up, the tail of the shirt hiding what was underneath.

I wanted to see and found myself leaning forward each time she did that. Finally she removed them, bending all the way over until you just had a peek. A tiny moan slipped from me when she stood back up and twirled.

She straddled the chair, her blouse just shielding as she slowly rocked in the chair. I wanted to beg her to take it off, desperate to get a full view. My mouth watered to taste the sweat I could see on her skin.

I managed to draw my eyes from the movement of her body up to her face and gasped.

Ginnifer.

She stood just as the music was ending. I watched as she turned her back to us, her hand inching the shirt off one shoulder. She pushed it off the other shoulder and then let fall just as the house lights dropped.

My heart refused to settled and I was honey as fuck. I definitely had my answers now.

This was Ginnifer. She wasn’t the awkward daycare worker I thought she was at all. Her face had been the picture of passion. When I looked at her from now on, this would be all I’d see.

Now I knew where she went at night. It’s probably not a good idea to want your roommate this desperately.