First Rehearsal

You arrive at Liz’s apartment promptly at 3 and after she buzzes you into the building you take the elevator up to her floor (okay, sometimes you do miss an opportunity to stay toned). You knock at #619 and hear her yell, “Coming!” through the door.

A moment later she opens it wide and pulls you into a hug. Her ash blond hair is held back with a thin headband. She’s wearing a light blue dress with a wide, white belt and black heels. It’s not her usual style but then again maybe she just wants something light and breezy today.

“Thanks again for doing this, Connor. Come in, come in!”

You step inside and the first thing you notice is that she’s rearranged the furniture in her living room. The coffee table, small couch, and a couple of floor lamps have all been pushed against the walls. Her area rug is rolled up and leaning in a corner. There’s a single chair by the transom separating the living room from her kitchen facing the now wide open area.

“I had to make space to practice in. The real stage will be much bigger than this but it’ll do for now. I hope. I’m feeling nervous and I’m certain I’ve made a mistake and I haven’t told anyone else so it would be easy to cancel on the show but I don’t want to just chicken out. Not when being bold is the whole point.” Once again her nerves are making her run her mouth at a mile a minute.

You hold up your hands and gesture for her to take a breath.

“One thing at a time, Liz. Let’s just start with you telling me what this performance is. Is that for me?” You point at the chair and she nods, so you take a seat.

Liz exhales slowly and then says, “Well, I didn’t want to say it over the phone, which I know is kinda dumb, but it’s actually a... burlesque show.”

Your eyebrows raise.

“Oh.”

{if benefits=true}Liz nods a few times while looking down on you from her standing position. “Mmm-hmm. Like stripping but classier.”

That definitely wasn’t on your list of possibilities but the prospect of helping her out in a sexy routine sounds like it might lead to some more fun between you two.

“That does sound bold. And not something I’d judge you for. I’ve been to a couple strip clubs on stag nights so I don’t think there’s anything wrong with stripping. Even when it isn’t classy.” You give her a little wink to cut the tension and she laughs.{else}Liz draws in her bottom lip and nods a few times while looking away from you. “Mmm-hmm. Like stripping but classier.”

That definitely wasn’t on your list of possibilities but the prospect of helping her out in a sexy routine sounds tempting. Scandalous, even.

“That does sound bold. And not something I’d judge you for. I’ve been to a couple strip clubs on stag nights so I don’t think there’s anything wrong with stripping. Even when it isn’t classy.” You stick out your tongue and pull a silly face to cut the tension and she laughs.{endif}

“Thank you. You’re the only person I really trust enough to talk about it with. I mean, of my actual long term friends. I’ve been discussing my idea with a girl I met at the gym. She’s a regular performer and she’s the one who encouraged me to sign up. I went to a show she was in last month and I had a blast!”

“So she’s like your mentor?”

“Sort of. But she has her own stuff going on this month so she can’t work with me one on one. That’s where you come in. I was thinking I’d run through my routine with you and get your feedback. I tried just recording it and watching it back but I don’t trust myself to be objective.”

It feels good to know that she has this much trust in you. You smile up at her.

“Okay, I promise to be objective. So let’s see the routine!”

Liz starts by playing her backing song for you. It’s something that you don’t recognize with a 50s or 60s style. A woman sings a breathy ballad about how much she’s pining for her good man and wants him to come home to her soon. It has a playful tone and some mild innuendo that might have caused a stir back in the day. You think it’s a good choice.

Once it’s over she starts talking through her general idea.

“I’ll be dressed up as the stereotypical suburban housewife from the 1950s. Think Betty Crocker, June Cleaver...”

“The Stepford Wives?” you add. “That explains the outfit.”

“Yeah. I think I’ll curl my hair in rollers for the show. So I’m playing the wife and I move around the stage acting out all my daily chores,” she walks over to one side and starts miming pushing a vacuum cleaner back and forth, “and as I do, I start to remove pieces of my costume. First my belt and the gloves.”

You look at her bare hands.

“I still need to get the gloves.”

You nod.

“And then my dress gets pulled up while I’m loading the dishwasher,” she bends over to demonstrate and you can see that she has tight spandex shorts on underneath. “Eventually the full dress falls away.”

She lets it drop off her shoulders and pool at her feet while facing away from you. Then she slowly turns around. Her breasts, which you think are probably B cups, are held tight against her chest in a sports bra. She looks basically the same as when you’re working out together but the context of her undressing like that has your blood pumping straight to your dick.

“The song ends as I welcome my darling hubby home.” She blows a kiss at you and then strikes a pose with her arms out in front as if to embrace her invisible husband. You snatch the kiss out of the air and give her a brief round of applause.

Liz grins, with just a hint of blush in her cheeks, and then puts her dress back on.

“So what do you think?” she asks.