“These guys aren’t looking for Pavlovas. The few steps you need to know they’ll teach you real quick. For the rest, all you have to do is look sexy.”
“I’m not so sure about that either, Vito. I don’t exactly have a Jayne Mansfield bosom, you know.”
“Don’t worry about it. Work it right, you’ll be a good change of pace from the rest of them cows. Anyhow, that’s how I sold you to Rocky Jantzen.”
Rocky Jantzen was the manager of the Peep Show and Wilma met him the next day. As soon as they were alone in his office he told her without any preliminaries to take off her clothes. When she had stripped down to nothing but her panties, Jantzen circled her with an appraising eye.
“Small on top, but them bazooms got a nice shape if you learn how to handle them,” he told her. “You ain’t got no hips, but there ain’t a helluva lot we can do about that. Offhand I’d say no, but with Vito a pal of mine an’ all, I’ll give you a try. What it really depends on is the way you move. You learn to move right, the jerks out front’ll overlook a lot. Go ahead, move. Wiggle it like you wanna get me in the sack.”
On the spur of the moment, Wilma picked up her skirt and held it out in front of her like a curtain. She danced a few impromptu steps and slowly, sinuously, raised one leg and slowly drew the skirt away from it until its whole long, supple surface was exposed.
“Yeah!” Jantzen exclaimed involuntarily. “You got great gams all right.”
Wilma held the skirt so that it was in front of her bare breasts, just grazing their tips. Then she snapped one shoulder with a series of small jerks until the long, red tip of one breast peeped out from behind the skirt. She repeated the motion with the other shoulder with the same result.
“Good. Good. You got the idea,” Jantzen licked his lips. Wilma dropped the skirt then and arched backwards so that her firm little breasts pointed straight up in the air, their tips quivering. She rolled her hips, turning around so that Jantzen might see the effect the motion had on her small, plump buttocks. She rolled down her panties until they were a mere white triangle barely covering her pubic area. She turned again, three-quarters of her naked, pink-flushed buttocks revealed to Jantzen’s view. Then she turned back and flexed and unflexed her thigh muscles so that the triangle seemed to bounce with a life of its own.
“You’ll do, baby. You’ll do,” Jantzen told her. “Get dressed and I’ll take you down to Jenny. A week with her should polish up them rough edges.”
Jenny turned out to be a peroxide blonde, small and plump, with the kind of excess flesh that earned her the billing of “Cuddles Nicely” on the Peep Show marquee. She was a friendly girl with a squealy voice and the habit of always grabbing at people—both male and female. Wilma’s first impression was that sex was Jenny’s pleasure as well as her business.
She found out this was right toward the end of the week she spent being tutored by Jenny. The dance steps Wilma was taught were easy enough and she caught on to them quickly. “You’ll be able to go on with the chorus at the Monday Matinee,” Jenny told her, patting Wilma’s behind familiarly. She let her hand linger there an insinuating moment. “Let’s take a break,” she said then. She led Wilma over to a couch, the only place to sit down in the bare rehearsal studio. “You know, honey, you’re really gorgeous,” she said after they’d lighted their cigarettes.
“Not really. You’ve really got what the customers want.” Wilma looked pointedly at Jenny’s lush, oversize breasts.
“You mean this?” Jenny pushed up the sweat shirt she’d been wearing to reveal her breasts. She cupped her hands under them to squeeze them with a sigh of self-appreciation. “Yeah, they’re great all right. Without ’em, I wouldn’t eat. But I’m a broad and I know it. You—you got real class.”
“But no figure—at least compared to you.”
“I think you’re wonderful,” Jenny said with real conviction. She squeezed Wilma’s thigh to show she really meant it.
What the hell? Wilma thought. She’d had no experience with this sort of thing. What can she possibly be after?
Jenny didn’t leave her in doubt long. “Sweet,” she murmured when Wilma didn’t protest her caress. She bent over and brushed Wilma’s thighs with her lips.
A small, tingling thrill swept over Wilma’s body. “Why did you do that?” she asked.
“l don’t know.” Jenny laughed self-consciously. “I just feel sexy as hell. Sometimes it comes over me like that. I just get all filled up with wanting sex.”
“But I’m a girl like you,” Wilma said, bewildered.
“Well, us girls can get our kicks, can’t we?”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on now, honey. Don’t be naive. You know what I mean. Admit it. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” Wilma said, although she really didn’t.
“Then what do you say, sugar?”
“All right,” Wilma said. She still didn’t quite know what Jenny meant, but she was curious.
She found out almost immediately, Jenny knelt in front of her and pushed her knees wide apart. She reached up to Wilma’s waist and pulled the shorts she was wearing down. Then she began kissing Wilma’s inner thighs, her little pink tongue darting in and out. Finally it found her hard, oily clitty, and Wilma actually began to tremble at the sensation. Her reflexes took over and she leaned forward so that her hands might clasp Jenny’s large, pendulous breasts. She squeezed the large nipples in time with the exquisite probing of Jenny’s , deep-licking tongue. Then, quite suddenly, for the first time since that night with her father, Wilma felt her body pounding with desire. Her legs locked around Jenny’s neck and she gave herself up completely to the waves of fulfillment which swept over her one after another. After a few moments of this, Jenny tried to pull away. But Wilma wouldn’t let her. She kept her locked there, digging her nails into Jenny’s neck straining for one orgasm after another until she was literally drained and exhausted.
And that’s how Wilma was introduced to the joys of lesbianism. These were a revelation to her. And it was the kind of release which she could attain without sacrificing her dominance.
This sexual dominance was fast jelling into the modus operandi of Wilma’s life. Careerwise, it was only about six weeks before it took her out of the chorus of the Peep Show to do a specialty “single.” She was billed as “Flaming Ruth, the Runway’s Raciest Redhead!”
Her hair was worn long for the act. It was a slow, sensual routine in which her breasts played hide-and-seek with her shimmering tresses—and lost. Those tresses were also long enough so that when she bent over backwards they screened her derriere. The process of straightening up, in which her quivering buttocks slowly came into view, proved to be a show-stopper.
“Flaming Ruth” was a big hit with the audience. And the audience, in an odd sort of way, gave Wilma much satisfaction. All those eyes looking up at her with unveiled desire, those lips being licked almost as if they were a part of her body, the surreptitious movements of men’s hands in their laps fondling their erections, jerking at them hard as she undulated to the climax of the act—the sheer weight of numbers reacting to her sex appeal in such ways caused Wilma herself to react in return.
One night she was so carried away by all this that she actually had an orgasm onstage, in full view of the audience. Her body was seized with a frency which wasn’t part of the act and she was overwhelmed as wave after wave of sexual release swept over her. The audience recognized what was happening and went wild. As a result, Jantzen gave Wilma a raise—along with instructions to keep this new “gambit” in the act.