Zippers

PART 3

 

 

 

The next day a strange thing happened.

 

I had got up early for work, had an unhurried breakfast, went through my beauty routine and got dressed. I had washed and stowed away my shiny new vibrator all the time thinking, 'what have I been doing all these years!’

 

Then I'd got the bus to work.

 

I'd got into work again and just put my bag down when I saw a letter in my in-tray. I had opened it and it said that my application for annual leave had been approved. I was puzzled; I had not made an application. I looked at the dates and it was for three and a half weeks leave from next Wednesday. There must obviously have been some mistake I had thought. Never mind, I would sort it out.

 

The rest of the day passed without incident. I say that because the way I was treated and looked at now, was the norm. I felt like a proper woman now, a lady, people were more polite and deferential to me and I felt attractive and desirable. It made me feel great but was no longer a notable event or rarity; rather it was me, full time!

 

I had dropped by the gym opposite on the way back from my lunch break with Melanie, one of the girls I worked with. Very aware of my instructions from Vivienne I had a small, healthy salad for my lunch with plenty of water, a careful eye remaining on my figure.

 

Melanie was brassy and generally told it how it was. She was not especially bright but she had 'lived' and brimmed with the confidence of someone who had been through it all. She made me laugh in the office, usually with jokes about sex, usually crude ones at that. She was in her late thirties, a single mum who supported her three teenagers. She didn't have that much money and she tended to dress sexily but cheaply for the office; short black skirt; cheap plastic heels and three pairs of worn oval matching gold earrings that increased in size towards the front pair. She also wore too much makeup. The other girls could sometimes be a little snobby about her behind her back, saying she looked so common (I did tend to agree about the earrings), but I liked her. I knew where I stood with her and she had been so encouraging to me since I had started to undergo my 'change'. She was, as it happened, trying to give up smoking and was going to try to exercise her way through the craving. So she was keen to stop by the gym with me.

 

We looked at their programme. I immediately was drawn to one item, every Wednesday and Friday,

 

'Pole Dancing, beginner to intermediate level'

 

My hand went over my mouth as Melanie immediately blurted out that that's what we should do and started to storm inside. I wondered if I should take the plunge. It must have been about thirty seconds before I slowly followed her inside, nervous but buzzing; and we enrolled. My mind flashed back to pleasuring myself the night before, daringly imagining myself an object of desire, a fabulous feathered showgirl, dancing on the stage in a fabulous West End show. To do something like this for real, though, was totally different.

 

I’m sure I was blushing when I signed my name on the register. We could start right away, the following day that was, as there were a couple of vacant poles in the class.

 

Melanie asked the receptionist about it. She said that the class was actually taught by a professional but was attended by regular gym users. Melanie had joked that she was glad it wasn't an apprenticeship with a job to follow!

 

'That's what everyone says', the receptionist had laughed politely.

 

It was usually very popular, we were lucky there was a single vacancy. She went herself in fact, and it was a lot more difficult than it looked. She said that she'd only been going for a month but was already much, much stronger and fitter. It was all strictly behind closed doors and for women only; there was no chance of any men or outsiders watching. That had made me feel relieved. She said that the instructor was ludicrously good at it. She, herself, was very proud of the fact that she could just about hold herself upside down and steady on the pole now and still maintain some posture. It sounded very challenging and just what we needed to get fit. She said all we needed to bring was something comfortable but not too baggy to wear because the pole could rub on bare skin; and a pair of high heels. I slightly balked at the idea when she mentioned that as it brought a slutty look to my mind, an image I certainly wanted to avoid. She was very matter-of-fact and said that it was intrinsic to the whole art and a necessary part of ‘the dancer’s form’. She advised us that she actually wore boots so she didn't have to worry about losing a shoe when she was hanging from the pole. It sounded like good advice. I was glad we had talked to her. We thanked her and said we'd see her there tomorrow.

 

As we walked back to the office Melanie had said, 'I can't believe you are making me do this. I didn’t know you were such a little tart!'

 

I had laughed a little defensively at her joke. I was not accustomed to being called anything like that and it had, after all, been her suggestion.

 

After work I nipped out and bought a cheap pair of boots that I wouldn't mind getting sweaty in. I chose some with laces for a good fit and because they looked similar to the type a dancer would wear, albeit with higher heels. I felt pretty sexy in them right away and did a couple of twirls in the shop to make sure I would be able to move well in them. I picked up some gym clothes as well, some short leggings, a tight top and a sports bra. I'd then gone home for an early night, tired but excited. I was a good girl and did my homework.

 

The following day Melanie and I had been like giggling schoolgirls. We didn't tell the other two what we were planning. They were a little more conservative. I actually felt ashamed at the thought of them knowing, so it stayed our little secret. We were thick as thieves that day. My boss even picked up on it and made a point of returning two letters to me with spelling mistakes on. It was as if to reprimand me and tell me to concentrate on my work; that he thought I should be above such girlish immaturity. I had apologised and, riding the wave of girlishness, flattered my eyelashes at him. He had snorted out a smile and left.

 

That night we slipped off after work to the gym. It was like stealing off for a cigarette at the end of the school playground.

 

Truly I'd been embarrassed as I walked out of the changing room with Melanie, dressed for the first time as a keep-fit pole dancer. We stood around uncomfortably for a few minutes until our instructor, Lisa, arrived. She briefly welcomed us to the class, in something of a hurry, and got us to introduce ourselves to the other eight women there. She then wasted no time getting us to our poles and starting us with testing yoga-like stretching exercises. That lasted for about half an hour, she stressed flexibility and strength above everything else and made sure we were all sweating, stretched and warm. Then we started with some moves, gently walking round the pole to start with.

 

After a while I was sucked along with it and quite suddenly realised that I was strutting and swinging myself round the pole like I was a proper erotic dancer; moving for the pleasure of an audience. I blushed fully at this realisation but saw that I was not alone in my actions. All the other girls were doing exactly the same and were thankfully oblivious to me. Several, in fact, were really going for it; exaggerating the wiggle from their hips as they sauntered sexily round their long brass poles. I couldn't believe it and blushed again as I thought it looked a bit trashy but maybe quite fun to do. I made an attempt to copy them. I liked to do things well, it was all behind closed doors and I did, after all, want to do the whole thing properly.

 

‘Good movement, Anita’, I heard from my Instructress. I hadn’t spotted her looking at me and almost died with embarrassment as the others all looked up at me.

 

Later, as we moved on, Lisa told us not to do the more advanced moves and instead gave us some simpler exercises to practice while the rest of the class continued difficult lessons that they had already been working on.

 

She made us do press-ups, sit-ups and jumping-jacks (in heels!). By the time she told us to go and get a shower I was exhausted and every bone in my body ached. My arms could hardly move from what they'd been put through. If anything was going to lose me a few pounds; that was it for sure. At home I went straight to bed, initially struggling with the idea of my homework, but soon settling into it. I had a massive orgasm and then turned over to rest. It was half past nine!

 

I was just dozing off to sleep when the phone rang. I considered not answering it but it so rarely rang that I picked it up. It was the man from the lift! He sounded lively and really pleased that I was in. He said he knew it was a little strange and not what he'd initially intended but asked if I would like to accompany him to a party on a yacht that Saturday night. He'd been invited last minute and thought it would be fantastic if he could take me (yes ME!) as his date. It took my breath away. I thought I'd be speechless but felt like I must have had the confidence of Vivienne when the composed sounding,

 

'Yes, I'd be delighted to', sprang from my lips

 

He arranged to pick me up at 7 sharp and said that it was black tie and cocktail dress-code. He asked if that was 'ok' and I replied that it was 'absolutely fine'; in spite of having no dress and no idea what it would be like. I thought about phoning Vivienne straight away to scream for help but thought better of it as it was late and I had a session with her the next day anyway. I would just have to wait and sweat on it. I took a few deep breaths and regained some composure. I was so excited, I hadn't been asked out on a date like that, well, ever!

 

The next night I had giddily come straight out with it almost before saying hello to Vivienne. She had grinned and said,

 

'My! Someone's excited aren't they?!'

 

I must have been wagging my tail like a puppy asking her what I should do. I coyly paused and asked her if there was any chance she could help me find something to wear. She had such good taste and I knew if she was with me I would pick something that I would look and feel incredible in.

 

'We'll see', she had said teasingly and then pressed me to start the session.

 

Like the first time, I remember her relaxing me and then getting me to walk next door and lie down in the comfortable scanner. The memory was much less distinct than the first time and after that I remembered nothing. I awoke back in her office. I felt very different from previous sessions. I did not feel fantastic and refreshed. I felt like I had just done the exercise class from the night before, but many times, one after another. My body ached and the only pleasant feeling I had was like an endorphin hit, the kind that followed heavy exercise. I had told myself at the time that it must have been my muscles; only then starting to seize and complain from the class the night before. It didn't trouble me that the pains were in places that I had not been exercising, like my breasts and my sex, as well as the rest of my body. However, before I could dwell on it Vivienne had said,

 

'Because it's such a special occasion I think I can come into town with you on Saturday morning to help you pick something out'

 

I was so relieved, ‘Oh, thank you!’ I had said.

 

'I have a couple of things to do there myself in fact so it won't really be too much trouble. Maybe I should let you buy me lunch and it's a deal', she smiled.

 

'Oh I'd love to', I had swooned, feeling at the time that it would be my privilege to do that.

 

'Wonderful then, see you there, Sweetie.'