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Okay, so to begin with, this is not only the very first story my husband Mike and I ever sat down to write together, you should also know that it is the completely true account of how he nudged me into admitting a few VERY naughty things about myself, things that I had kept on a very tight leash up until then. Not only did he coax me into admitting who and what I really was at last, but also into embracing my inner Bad Girl and enjoying her to the fullest, without shame or second thoughts.
We had been together only about four months, and I knew I had something I needed to get off my (42DD–ahem!) chest. I had kept it from Mike because, well, it’s hard to say now why I did, actually. I wanted him to know, I wanted to be completely open and honest with him, but I had somehow convinced myself that he would react badly to this particular part of me, probably even break up with me when he learned the sordid truth.
Since we had just decided to get married around that time, you can imagine how worried I was about such a thing happening, although I had no real basis for thinking my confession would bother him. For one thing, he had never for a moment shown the slightest hint of jealousy, possessiveness, or insecurity. In fact, his rock-solid confidence, the way he was so obviously quite comfortable in his own skin–sure of who he was, never a trace of anything but proud of it, at the same time never coming across as conceited or boastful–was one of the things I was most attracted to, and a HUGE turn-on for me. Mike was, and is, a MAN. And hey, I LIKE men. God KNOWS I like men!
But still, I was worried, and kept putting off The Big Conversation. After I mentioned that I had a few things I’d like to talk over with him, there were several days of nervous dithering before I finally screwed up the nerve one Saturday afternoon when we were both home and decided I would just…tell him.
“Honey, can you come into the bedroom for a sec? We need to talk about something. Something important, something serious.” He told me later that my somber, grave tone and long, anxious face nearly caused him to have a heart attack right then and there; his very first thought, he said, was that he’d done something so terrible, so godawful and unforgivable I was about to break up with him and move out over it. To tell the truth, he DID go a little pale at the time, but that only occurred to me well after my ordeal was over and done. I was WAY too preoccupied with my own mounting anxiety to notice then.
We sat down hip to hip on our big King-sized bed, the bed I loved so much for all the hot, sweaty, sexy memories we had already made in it, and I swallowed hard while he sat down next to me, clearly getting nervous now himself. I said I had something I needed to tell him about, something from my past I hadn’t shared with him yet, and it was a big enough, bad enough thing that I was afraid it might make him upset or angry with me. I could only hope he could find it deep in his heart to realize that it had nothing whatsoever to do with our relationship, and that he could forgive me and overlook it.
He tried to reassure me on how unlikely it was–how unlike HIM it would be–that he’d get upset with me over some long-past mistake or bad behavior. As long as I hadn’t outright lied to him about anything truly important to us now, he was sure everything would be just fine. I fretted my lower lip with my teeth for a sec, then said, “Well, no, I haven’t LIED to you. But there is something I’ve avoided telling you about…something from long ago that has nothing at all to do with what we have today. I’ve been holding back on saying anything because, well, I was afraid you might think…uhh, well, that you would…that…”
“Oh hell, I’ll just say it! Mike, honey, I…I…I…”
“I USED TO BE A STRIPPER.” And just like that, there it was. My dark, dirty, secret life as a professional exotic dancer was now out in the open.
Immediately Mike vaulted to his feet, a HUGE grin all over his face, pumping his fists in what did NOT look to me anything like revulsion, shock, or horror! “NO WAY, BABE! Like, a for-real stripper, in an honest-to-God TOPLESS BAR? Tits out, ass exposed, in front of PEOPLE, actual paying customers?!? Hot DAMN, that is so fucking cool!! I LOVE IT!”
I was stunned to see that my man, the true love of my life–far from dumping me as no more than just some easy, sleazy slut–was in fact thrilled to hear about my naughty, sexy little secret!! He demanded that I tell him all about it: the hows, whys, and wheretofores, and that I be totally open and honest with him about it all. He wanted the truth, the whole truth, and nothing BUT the truth from me, in great detail. My already-wide eyes grew to the size of big serving platters, and I shyly stammered, “Well…I first danced in a little biker bar out on Long Island, worked there for a little over a year, then one day decided to take the plunge and arrange a tryout at Flashdancers in Midtown.”
Mike said, “NO SHIT? FLASHDANCERS, seriously? That’s, like, one of the most famous titty bars in the WORLD! Damn, honey, you were BIG time! You musta been damned good at it! Of course, you DO have the perfect body for the job. BUT…now I have a little confession to make my own self, something that might come as a surprise to you, but also might make you feel a whole lot better about all this. Here it is, ready or not: I THINK IT’S JUST SEXY AS HELL THAT YOU WORKED AS A STRIPPER!!! Honestly, it turns me on, and I don’t mean just a little bit, either!”
I only thought my eyes were wide before. On hearing THAT, my grin became so wide it felt like my face would crack. I said, “REALLY? It DOES turn you on? You really mean that? You’re not disgusted, you don’t think less of me? You think it’s HOT?” You said, “Fuck yeah, baby, it IS hot! Totally, TOTALLY HOT! Honestly, I absolutely LOVE the idea of you getting all naked and strutting your stuff for a room full of strange men, all lusting after you so bad they can hardly stand it. Well, on one condition I love it: that YOU were turned on by it, too. It would break my heart to think of you feeling ashamed or uncomfortable with what you were doing, y’know? As if you were being coerced, or taken advantage of, or disrespected somehow. But if you were getting off on it yourself, then of course it would be a turn-on for me, and why not? You know by now how much I enjoy seeing you all hot and bothered, how getting you off as hard and as many times as possible is the whole point for me. So tell me true, now: you DID get turned on when you were dancing, didn’t you? I think I’ve seen enough of your exhibitionist streak by now to be able to guess, but I really, really want to hear YOU say it, right up front.”
I tried to scoff at the utter absurdity of any such notion, just as a way of keeping my Inner Slut chained up in her deep, dark corner. Me, turned on by stripping, by dancing naked on a stage for a room full of anonymous, horny men? NO WAY, Bub! But it was no use; that was a lie too outrageous for me to tell. The opportunity to bring Naughty Christiana the cock-fiend on out into the full light of day and show her bad, bad self off for my man, to his pleasure and delight, brought the curtain down on the last little trace of the fraudulent Good Girl act I’d been performing for so long.
Part 2 can be found here: https://www.thecuckoldconsultant.com/confessions-of-christiana-part-2
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