Celeste

Ever since she reached puberty, Marjorie dreamed of becoming a pole dancer. She would be called Celeste. But the shame and guilt of her Catholic upbringing blocked her at every turn. At 42 she knew it was getting late. She had to do it now.

With all the courage she could muster, she showed up at the Cheshire Kitty Lounge to talk to Mr. Jimmy Pervis, the owner. Jimmy was quite skeptical, but Celeste persisted. “What the hell,” Jimmy thought, “she’s a contract worker, and I get half of what she earns.”

Normally the girls begin with lap dancing and only later move to the pole. But Celeste’s lap was already beginning to sag, so she went right to the pole. First try, she slipped on her second turn around the pole. But she got right up. After all, she had been practicing all her life on the light pole outside her house.

Soon she was relishing the pole, her breasts flip-flopping with abandon. And the audience was relishing her. The men’s fantasies turned away from the young pert women and right to Celeste. After all, she could be any of their wives up there.