Poles Apart!

As he reached for his customary mug of tea - not glancing from the
daily broadsheet -she felt like moving it away, just to see what his
reaction would be.

Now the boys were at college every morning was the same. She would sit
with her prim hand cradling a cup of Earl Grey looking for dust balls
and whiskery webs round the flawless kitchen, while he, still pink from
the shower, thinning hair carefully combed to the left, would reach
first for the bowl of crunchy nut cornflakes, then for his brown toast
and strawberry jam then finally his tea, without once glancing up from
his paper, or asking his wife how she was. Nothing altered. Sometimes
she thought about tracing chalk around his mug, drawing the outline of
his bowl and plate, maybe even the spoon, and leaving it there like the
police at a scene of crime, so she could practice getting everything
correctly in its place. Or sometimes she wanted to alter his cornflakes
for frosted flakes, or the jam for peanut butter, just to see if he
would notice. He never changed; then again, neither did she.

An advert on the half opened coloured supplement caught her eye.

"Dance Your Way to Fitness and a New You!"

Sheila loved to dance. Not ballroom, or jive, but the boogie, bump and
grind of her youth. The "Play your Funky Music White Boy",
shoulder-shaking groove round handbags on a Saturday night.

"That's the way, Uh Huh Uh Huh."

"What's that you say?"

Geoff's half rimmed tortoise-shell glasses appeared over the
headlines.

"Nothing dear, just - I thought I might join a dance class, keep trim,
get fit, that sort of thing."

"Good idea, getting a bit broad round the beam now ya over the hill. Go
for it gal! More tea in the pot?"

Geoff held out his mug, then plopped it back into its invisible
circle.

"No second thoughts, court at ten, partners' dinner. Must dash. Be
late. Don't wait up. Bye!"

For a lawyer, his conjugal conversation was concise.

As the front door breezed closed, Sheila removed her fleecy top, and
read the advert again.

The soft black typeface, simply bordered, no pictures, no fuss lured
her in. Why not? What else did she have to do all day? She reached for
the phone and dialled.

"Wear comfortable clothes."

Said the voice not Cockney or East End as Sheila had expected, more
Mayfair or Sloane.

"Barefoot or heels darling, your choice, what ever you please. See you
at 10. Toodles!"

Sun shone weakly through the tall shadows of Victorian buildings, their
splendour hidden by sophisticated shops selling flowers and cakes,
beauty and pain the caf? chairs now empty following the morning rush.
She stood trembling slightly for a moment looking down at the shiny
black door, then descended the steps and entered.

"Sheila! Darling! How lovely to meet you!"

The reception area was cool, white marble, centred by a simple table
adorned with creamy lilies in a clear glass vase and black bound book.
A large leather sofa and matching chair completed the opulent,
gentleman's club effect.

"If you could just fill in this form, health and safety that sort of
thing, then we'll get started, okay?"

Sheila reached for the pen and obediently started to write whilst her
tutor pointed with long French manicured nails, tossing back her
extended black hair with an expert flick.

"Super Sheila, if you get changed in here, then come through to the
studio, I'll be waiting."

The studio wasn't what she'd expected. In fact, she hadn't really known
what to expect. The lighting was soft, walls mirrored, intimately
small. Its focal point, illuminated by a rose tinted spot was a
glistening pole, mounted on a velvet covered podium. Somehow, it felt
safe, far away from the world outside.

Poppy, the dance tutor had also changed, well removed some clothes. She
was magnificent. Luxurious black tousled tresses, tiny waist and the
longest tanned legs Sheila had ever seen, cleverly accentuated by high
shiny sandals, black to match her high cut, tiny shorts and tight
sequinned t-shirt, barely restraining breasts that made Sheila hunch
her shoulders in shame.

"God!"

Thought Sheila.

"If it gives you a body like that, I'm doing it every day for the rest
of my life!"

"Okay Sheila darling, let me show you some moves."

Poppy clicked a switch and the unmistakable sounds of Barry White
filled the room. In one, fluid move she stepped onto the podium and
grasped the shining pole just above her head, then with little effort
she wrapped her gorgeous thighs around the pole and lifted herself off
the floor. For a moment she slid, slowly up and down, rubbing the pole
with her crutch, then suddenly she thrust her legs out wide, and
lowered herself down, pumping up, then down, up then down, using the
shiny black heels for lift. Her breasts came forward, the pole between
them, nipples sharp with excitement, then, magically, she lifted
herself up and spun around and around, her brown buttocks and hairless
crutch gleefully on display. The music sauntered on, husky, sensual
rhythm. Poppy gyrated; spun and swung, eyes wide open, lips full and
red, droplets of sweat running from her luscious thighs until they
shined in the warm light.

At first, Sheila was stunned; embarrassed even, she felt like a voyeur,
as if she were intruding on someone's most intimate moment. But slowly,
the deep baritone music and the taunting, seductive, inviting movements
drew her in and she felt warm inside, her skin tingled, her mouth
watered. She wanted to touch this woman, kiss her swelling mouth,
suckle those beautiful breasts, run her fingers through her hair.
Sheila was stunned by her own reaction. She'd never looked at a woman
this way before, never felt so sexual; never wanted; never thought;
never been, so alive.

The music stopped. The moment passed.

"Your turn!"

Poppy was breathless, glowing with delight.

"I can't do THAT!"

Exclaimed Sheila.

"Of course you can. Come on. First move. Step up to the pole and make
friends. That's it grasp it with both hands, hold on, not too tight and
rub. Up. Down. Gently. That's it!"

The pole felt warm, slightly damp, perfumed with Poppy. Excitement
built within her, deep, basic pleasure, something Sheila had never
fully experienced before, not even with Geoff. Especially not
Geoff.

"Fantastic Sheila! Now, legs apart, pull your body forward, stretch out
further, that's it, now squats. No! Slower, that's it, in time with the
music. Slowly, up, now down. Pull in closer, feel that pole. Lovely!
You're a natural, go for it Sheila!"

This felt good.

"Now, Sheila, turn, arms above your head, hold on like you're tied.
That's it arch that back, push back with your arse, and rub it up.
Gorgeous!"

Sheila suppressed a squeal of pleasure that had been building inside
her since she'd entered the room, her core was hot with visceral lust,
her groin was throbbing, her hips were arched, then realisation took
her. She was having her first ever real orgasm.

Poppy crossed her arms and nodded.

"Darling, it happens to most of us the first time. Fabulous isn't
it?"

Sheila looked at her sideways.

"What do you mean?"

"Darling! You're a natural. Same time next week?"