Chapter 1: A visit to a Strip Club

I just could not believe I was doing this! I was in London for eight weeks, attending a course on a new machine my employers were introducing, and now I was sitting in a strip club in Soho. We don't have anything like this down in Devon, not even in Exeter, and everyone knows that lots of naughty things go on in Soho. So this course was a heaven sent opportunity to check out all that I had heard. The Central line Tube had brought me from Notting Hill to Tottenham Court Road. From there I walked southward down Charing Cross Road, until I saw a sign for Soho Square. My steps slowed as I came near to my goal, the sensation that everyone was looking at me knowing what I was about to do intimidated and embarrassed me. The choice when I got to the heart of Soho was huge. There seemed to be Strip clubs everywhere. I chose at random, picking one which seemed to have a more imposing entrance. I was stung at the door for a membership, then the entrance fee, but having got to the place I wasn't going to back out. The club itself was dark except for the spots shining on the stage where a weary girl was mechanically going through her paces. That didn't matter to me as I was at last seeing a live woman take her clothes off. Many would be astonished, but that was actually true, Top shelf magazines did not satisfy my curiosity and I had never seen my wife, Jennifer naked nor had I seen her undress. It wasn't right she would insist. She would slide into our bed wearing a voluminous nightgown, and if it was one of the nights she was prepared to allow me sex, would switch the lights off before raising the gown. So technically I hadn't seen a naked woman, felt one yes, seen one no!

This was nineteen sixty four, and a revolution was happening, well happening everywhere else but in the West Country, which as always was content to go its own slow, timeless way. If you were born there it was natural to you if not; and I hadn't been born in the West Country; it could be very aggravating if you allowed it. The funny thing was that I was actually born about fifteen miles east of where I was at this moment. Did that make me a Londoner? Perhaps once I had thought of myself that way, but now I was to all intents and purposes the country boy, up Lunnon! As the West Country vernacular would have it.

I fumbled my way through the dark club, apologising to the patrons as I stepped on toes, or bumped them and eventually found a seat quite close to the stage. I had paid a lot of money to be here, and I was going to get my money's worth. The stripper sort of danced to the recorded music, and gradually divested herself of her clothes. These she threw backwards to the wings of the stage. When she was down to just her skimpy panties she stopped stripping and just sort of danced around the stage. At last she started to slip them down, turning her back on the audience as they dropped below her hips. At that point she wiggled and they fell to her ankles. Stepping out of them she kicked them back to the wings, and then turned to face the audience, keeping one hand over the juncture of her thighs, listening to the music. At last, as the music came to its finale, she stood perfectly still with her legs tightly together and took her hand away, allowing us to see her pubic hair, but nothing else. She remained like that for about five seconds then the spotlights went out and the curtains closed.

I was to learn later that there were stringent rules as to what the girl could do and show on stage, and what she could not. I watched about three acts and whilst the way they got there varied, the last few seconds of the show were always the same.

I knew that there were ten girls performing that night, and I was going to watch all of them. I was actually getting bored after seeing five or six of them, but as I had paid to see the ten, I was bloody well going to see them. As patrons left and seats became available I had managed to get nearer the stage, and just before the next act a bloke got up from the very front and went out. I was first into his still warm vacant seat. Then the disembodied voice announced the next girl.

"Ladies and Gentlemen we are proud to present the lovely Lee!" It seemed stupid to me to announce ladies and gentlemen, there was little chance of any ladies being in the audience. The curtains drew back and the spots came on to highlight the next stripper. Suddenly I went cold. My mind was playing tricks. It did look like her, but it couldn't be, I must be mistaken after all it was ten years since we last saw each other. She would have changed, and she would never be here taking her clothes off for a load of dirty old men. The irony that I was amongst that company didn't occur to me. My front row seat meant that at certain times as the moveable spot followed the girl around, my face would come into the splash of light. It was just as that happened that the girl looked in my direction, and her face was shaken out of the bland uninterested look that all the girls seem to wear. Her routine took her away, but she looked over her shoulder as if to be certain. Then she turned in her dance; which had to be said was better than any of the other girls; and looked again.

At last she seemed to come to a decision, so the next time she came to my side of the stage she manoeuvred much closer than before. She looked down at me, and from the side of her mouth a question came.

"Danny?"

There was no doubt now in my mind, this was Leanne, or Len as I used to call her. I looked at her and mouthed.

"Len?"

She smiled, then immediately replaced the smile with the blank plastic face. As she danced my way, she would smile, and then it would disappear as her moves took her away. How did she recognise me? I asked myself.

I was now embarrassed. Here was a girl I had known since I was six years old, and she was soon going to be nude. If it was just for me in private, perhaps it would be different, but she was sharing her charms with about fifty other blokes. Anyway, what a way to re-acquaint yourself with a girl you played with when you were six!

It was a very different Len to the one I used to know. Her dark hair was cut short into an Audrey Hepburn style; she moved well betraying the ballet lessons that I knew she had as a child, and her figure? She was lovely. Her breasts weren't that large but they sat on her chest well, with little sag. She had small areola, with pointed nipples, hip bones that framed an abdomen with just the slightest swell as it flowed down to her pudendum. Her best feature was the long svelte legs, amplified by the high heels she danced in.

Len was getting close to the end of her routine, approaching that point where she would cover herself with her hand for the required time. She told me later that she broke all the rules, but didn't wait for the lights to go out, she moved, turning towards me, and opened her legs slightly giving me a glimpse of that little fissure that men worship. The lights went out suddenly, and the curtains closed. Suddenly the audience broke into applause, something that none of the other girls had received. I was in quite a sweat, my heart beating furiously and all sorts of thoughts crashing around in my head. Despite my determination to see all the acts, I decided after the next act to get out. I got up, and the usual scramble for the front row seat ensued, with a large bloke to whom soap and water were obviously alien, winning the battle. I was glad that I wouldn't have to sit next to him for any length of time. He was sitting in my chair before I had moved more than three paces. I found my way through the darkness to the exit, pushing aside the heavy curtain and I was back in the reception area. Just as I moved to the door a voice stopped me.

"Excuse me, sir. But could I have a moment of your time."

Oh shit, I thought. That sounded just like a copper. The possibility of unwanted publicity, and exposure to my friends and wife back home flashed through my mind. I turned. To be honest the bloke didn't look like a copper, not wearing that grubby dinner jacket (tuxedo) and the obviously fake bow tie. I managed to croak.

"Yes." He approached me much like Jimmy Cagney in many of his films, a sort of menacing swagger.

"Do you know the young lady who just danced?"

What do I answer? Would I get her in trouble, would I get myself in trouble? Clarity of thought is not present at times if it had been I would have known that neither I nor Len could get into trouble just for knowing each other. In indecision I spoke the truth.

"Many years ago I did. We grew up together."

He looked dubious.

"Perhaps then you could tell me her name?"

"Yes. It's Leanne Sergeant, spelt S E R, not S A R." His face lightened.

"That's fine. She asked if you would meet her at the coffee bar round the corner. It's called Olympus." I just nodded.

"I had to ask if you knew her. Some girls will make arrangements with our customers for other reasons. The management cannot allow that. She will be there in about ten minutes."

Soho at that time was very well served with coffee bars, many of which had live music to entertain their clientele. There seemed to be about two coffee bars for every strip club. I found the Olympus and a seat and ordered a coffee. The place was hazy with smoke but I could see the decorations which generally gave the place a reason for its name. Bad paintings of the Parthenon and typical colonnaded temples adorned the walls, with figures of men and women wearing what could be loosely described as Togas. My coffee arrived, it was Espresso, in a thick glass cup, frothy on top and lacking any flavour of the drink it purported to be. I had taken just a few sips when Len arrived. She gave me a brilliant smile which changed dramatically when she saw what I was drinking. She picked it up saying.