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Subject: {ASSM} "Island Paradise" Chapter 12 M/F, plot
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<1st attachment, "ISLAND12.TXT" begin>
(Island12.TXT)
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"Island Paradise" - Chapter 12 of ?? (Revision 3.5)
|| (M/F, F/F and just about everything else)
Written by: HighlanderJM - (c) 2003
E-mail: HighlanderJM@hotmail.com
Chat: http://messenger.msn.com - HighlanderJM@hotmail.com
Archive: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/HighlanderJM/
==---- -- -- -- - --- -- -- - - --- -- -- --- -- - - - - --- -- ----==
PAMELA
Height: 5'4"
Weight: 118 pounds
Blonde Hair
Brown Eyes
Measurements: 38d-24-36
Age: 27
Hello boys and girls,
I'm Pamela, a natural blonde beauty with the
cool personality to go with it. I've been a
dancer for several years and LOVE IT!! I've
definitely achieved my goal of being the best
in the business. Trust me, once you've had
me, you won't forget me. I can handle a
party of six or 60, and I can promise that
everyone will have the time of their lives.
I've done shows for both guys and girls and
love doing them both! So if you would like
to enter my Bad Girl Playground, give me a
call and I will be there. If you want a two
girl show, I will bring my friend Bambi!
Ta Ta for now, Pamela xoxoxo
As I sat in front of my computer and read that little
biography, I shook my head and frowned inwardly. I had
been surfing the Internet for the past hour and though I do
not remember exactly how, I came across the website of the
Baltimore-area strip club that Pamela was employed at. It
seemed as if in addition to being a stage dancer who gave
lap dances, Pamela was also a "private party entertainer".
"Your `Bad Girl Playground', huh?" I asked outloud,
shaking my head. "And who in the world is Bambi?"
Just about the only thing that brought a smile to my face
about this specific web page was the photograph of Pamela
that went along with it. In the picture, she was smiling
and her vast, ample cleavage was on display. It appeared
as if Pamela was wearing an off-the-shoulder mini-dress or
top. Unfortunately, the photograph did not show anything
from the chest down. That seemed typical.
At the bottom of the page, I noticed there were a pair of
hyperlinks. One read "more pictures of Pamela" while the
other was "Pamela's customer reviews". Hmmmmm...
Dear [Strip Club Name],
I'm taking this opportunity to thank your
company for once again making our most
recent bachelor party a huge success. My
friends and I have been using your company
for 10 years and once again we were treated
to an evening of great entertainment. The
young lady that made all of this possible
was the lovely and charming Pamela. She is
definitely a star in the making. Pamela is
a really sweet girl and left a long lasting
impression on all of the participants that
evening. I would go out on a limb and say
that if anyone who attended our party needs
an entertainer in the future, Pamela will be
their first choice. Everyone wished that
she was booked for two hours instead of one
because she made the evening a real success.
I would once again like to thank you and
hope to continue our association with your
company. Pamela made me look very good in
front of the guys. They cannot stop talking
about it being the best bachelor party they
ever attended and I owe it to you and Pamela.
-Tim (Rockland, MD)
Pamela,
Girl you are off the hook. Nobody can stop
talking about it. You are beautiful. Keep
up the good work. Thanks again!
Amber......
We would recommend Pamela to anyone wanting
the best performer for a live act. Pamela
is also a great actress who can role-play any
character that you want. She listens to the
instructions you give her, is very prompt in
returning your phone calls (she called within
minutes after I called [Strip Club Name] and
selected her), was early in her arrival and
had everything ready to go. Not to mention
she is even more beautiful and stunning than
the pictures on your website suggest. After
the show, the people at the party agreed that
Pamela bent over backwards (literally) to
please everyone and was very attentive. Even
her two bodyguards were totally professional.
Try Pamela at your next event. If you do,
you will be extremely satisfied.
An Adoring Fan
As you can see, I clicked on the link for customer reviews
instead of viewing more photographs of Pamela. The reviews,
though quite complimentary of Pamela and her work, made me
feel sad and depressed inside. Pamela seemed to be too good
and too classy of a person to be flaunting herself to total
strangers in strip club rooms and on the party circuit.
As a member of Mensa, Pamela was also incredibly smart.
The 27-year-old was ranked on the Dean's List at the Maryland
university that she attended. Nothing against strippers, of
course, but Pamela did not seem the type to be cut out for
this line of work. From what I have gathered thus far in
nearly two weeks of being around her, Pamela was incredibly
warm and kind-hearted. She was also - believe it or not -
somewhat shy and reserved. I wanted to know more about her.
* * *
"Are you sure you want to do that for me?" I asked Pamela
a bit later that afternoon, wanting and needing confirmation.
"Do you really want to give me another lap dance?"
Pamela laughed and replied, "Of course I want to dance
for you, Jeremy." Little did Pamela know, however, that I
had baited her into a discussion about her career over the
past 30 minutes. After viewing her portfolio on the strip
club's website, I was overly curious about everything. Most
of all, I was curious as to why a beautiful and intelligent
woman such as Pamela had chosen exotic dancing as her career.
Pamela was much better than the typical stereotype that went
along with being a stripper. She was, in my eyes, an angel.
As we lounged outside upon the deck which flanked my
private suite, I offered Pamela a smile and asked, "Would it
be too much to ask if you were to treat me like a customer?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'd like for you to treat me like a customer," I told
her again. "I want you to treat me like a patron at that
club you work at in Towson. I've never been to a strip
club before, so I have no idea what those places are like.
Well... I do have some idea, I guess, but not really." I
nodded my head and concluded, "You know what I mean."
"Like a customer, huh?" she grinned. "You want me to
take your money, too?"
"I want you to treat me like a customer," I reiterated.
"I want you to take my money, talk to me like you don't even
know me. I'm just a dollar sign to you." Pamela frowned as
I added, "That's how you said you looked at all of the guys
in your club. They have money, and you want it."
"I didn't look at ALL of them that way," Pamela countered.
"Some of the guys were really sweet. If a guy wasn't all
that attractive, but he was nice and friendly, and acted
like a gentleman, I would try to be extra nice to him in
return. Like, give him a hug after the lap dance ended -
and let him hug me too. I never did that for guys who were
mean, disrespectful or attractive."
"You only let the unattractive guys hug you after the lap
dance ended?" I confirmed. "Interesting."
"I figured they were at the club because they led lonely
lives. With some guys, you could really tell. They were
shy, afraid to make too much eye contact. Believe it or not,
but I can spot the 30-year-old virgin from a mile away. I
have danced for plenty of guys like that. I wanted to be
nice to them. It was all part of the fantasy."
"But you still worked them for their money."
"Yes, I did," she nodded. "20 bucks for a table dance,
25 for a couch dance and 35 for the champagne room, where
there was the most contact. Each dance lasted for an entire
song, and once about every half-hour there were two-for-one
specials. Two dances for the price of one."
"I bet you made a lot of money."
"Not as much as you'd think," she told me. "For every
dance I did, no matter if it was the 20, 25 or $35 variety,
I had to give ten dollars back to the club. On top of that,
the club got its flat house fee - $70." She frowned and then
added, "Some nights, business was really slow and I wound up
owing the club money."
I squinted my eyes. "How so?"
Pamela shrugged her shoulders. "The house fee - 70 bucks.
Even if I did not make $70 on any given night, I still had
to pay the house fee. I cannot count all the times that I
worked nine or ten hours and came up completely dry. You
work all that time and wind up owing your job money."
"That doesn't sound right," I commented.
"It's not right," she agreed. "But it's the way it is.
On the flip-side, though, there were certain nights when I
actually take home $1,000 to $1,500 in cash. During a
routine night, though, I take home five or six hundred.
Those more than made up for the slow nights. Most of my job
is just sitting around and talking with the customers in the
club. We have to talk to them and be very nice in order for
them to open up their wallets. Oh... and when we dance on
stage, or on the side ledge near the wall, I'd be lucky to
get two or three bucks in tips. Usually, one guy would come
over and tip me. If I was lucky, it led to a private dance."
"You said it was a real classy place?"
"Oh yes, most definitely," Pamela answered. "I would've
never applied there if it was anything but. All of the club
employees were real nice and business-like, from the manager
to the house madam, the bouncers, the waitresses and even
the restroom attendants. I never had any problems, though I
did not particularly care for some of the other dancers.
But it's that way no matter where you work."
"What did you talk about with the customers?" I inquired.
"You said you had to talk and be real nice to them."
"It was a house policy. We could never be negative toward
anyone, no matter what they said or did. If they became too
unruly, the bouncers would step in and take care of them. I
had my standard list of questions for every customer. The
club's policy was if someone was interested in talking with
you, you had to ask four questions. Name, had they been to
the club before, where do they live and what do they do for
a living. We would chat for awhile and then, eventually, I
would ask if they would like a dance."
"Did you have any truly loyal customers? Guys who looked
at you as their favorite, and always sought you out?"
"I had my share," she grinned. "There was this one guy...
his name was James. He would come in once a week and plop
down $350 for ten lap dances from me in the champagne room.
It usually wound up being 12 or 13, because of the special
two-for-one deal every half-hour. I had to sit down and
rest once every three or four songs. James never minded.
We would just sit there and talk."
She nodded her head and added, "He was my favorite. Not
because he gave me all that money, but because he was very
depressed and lonely in life. He was incredibly sweet, too.
He was one of those 30-year-old virgins that I mentioned.
It felt good to give him that ray of sunshine every week. I
was the only dancer that he was interested in seeing. He'd
call the club beforehand to see if I was working that night.
If I wasn't, he would never come."
"Did you ever think of meeting him outside of work?"
"No, that was my rule - don't mix business with pleasure,"
she answered. "Plus, if we did that and the club found out
about it - dating a customer we met at work - we would be
fired on the spot." Pamela hesitated before saying, "I did
break that rule once, though. There was this really hot girl
that I danced for one night. She even got me excited. I met
her in a hotel room after my shift ended that night."
"It doesn't sound like that bad of a place," I mused.
"It does have its drawbacks," Pamela offered. "As I said,
they are very classy and professional in the way the place is
run. Thus, consequences go along with that."
"What do you mean?"
Pamela frowned. "The fines there are outrageous."
"Fines?"
She nodded her head. "Yes, the place has fines. Like if
you are just ten minutes late for work, it's a $50 fine." My
eyes went wide as she added, "Then two dollars for every
extra minute until you arrive. Once I was 45 minutes late
and wound up paying $120 in fines."
"Wow..." I countered, awestruck. "Just for being late?"
She nodded her head once again. "Yes, just for being
late. It's SO ridiculous. And when it's your turn to be on
stage, you HAVE to be there at the beginning of the song. If
not, that's a hundred dollar fine. I could be talking with a
customer but if the DJ calls out my name, I have to end the
conversation and be on stage. I have a 60 second window."
"No wonder strip club owners have so much money," I said.
"They charge you $70 just to work for them each night, take
$10 from every dance you do and then charge outrageous fines.
Does not seem to be a way to keep employees happy."
"There is also the $150 fine," Pamela added. "They have
never gotten me for it, though."
"What is it?"
"Dancers are allowed to smoke cigarettes in the club, but
only at the bar or at a table," she answered. "If any girl
is caught holding an open cigarette while out on the floor,
it is an automatic $150 fine. We can carry packs or cartons,
but not an open cigarette. I don't smoke, though, so they
have never had the chance to hit me up for that much."
"That's good," I nodded. "Smoking is bad for you. My
brother got lung cancer from years of second-hand smoke while
growing up. My mom always smoked. I can only hope that I
don't get cancer one day because of it, too. Her smoking was
not the main reason my brother got cancer, but his doctor
said it was definitely a contributing factor."
Pamela looked concerned. "Your brother. Is he... okay?"
"Dan is doing well," I nodded. "He beat cancer."
"Good, I'm glad," Pamela breathed.
"Do you actually like being a stripper?"
The blonde hesitated for a moment, then made a face. "I
always tell people yes, but the truth is, I really hate it.
But the money is wonderful. That's why I do it. I made
$125,000 in cash last year. It was tax-free, too."
"You don't report your income to the IRS?"
"No way," she answered. "Strippers are what is called
independent contractors. We don't get checks. We get paid
in cash. We are supposed to report our earnings, of course,
but I don't want to give up all the money I would owe in
taxes each year. If you do a background check on me, I have
been unemployed for the past eight years."
"You've been a stripper for eight years."
"Exactly," Pamela nodded. "The government does not know
that I am a stripper. They think I am unemployed. So why
should I report my earnings to them? I would lose probably
50 or 60 grand a year. That would be foolish."
"Hopefully you never get caught," I offered. "I can see,
though, why the money would keep you there. $125,000 per
year... $2,500 per week, I guess. Tax-free, too. Nice."
"I endure a lot of verbal abuse there," Pamela told me.
"A lot of the customers each night get drunk and become
disrespectful. But the worst is on Friday and Saturday
nights. Though those are the best nights to make money, I
hate working them. There are so many 18- and 19-year-old
guys who come in. They are wild and unruly. They think
they can say whatever they want. I hate them."
I frowned. "Most of them, I'm sure, have no idea how to
conduct themselves around a REAL woman like you."
Pamela frowned and continued, "That job changed the way I
look at people. I thought that everyone, in the club or
even at the mall, looked at me as an object. Nothing but an
object. I lost all of my trust in humanity." Her lower lip
quivered as she added, "You're the first man, Jeremy, that I
have trusted in probably five or six years."
My body tingled as I asked, "Me? Why is that?"
"Just the way you treat me, and everyone else," she said.
"You're willing to sit and talk with me. I can talk with
you for three or four hours about anything, and you don't
even make a move on me. You're interested in me. And you
care about all of us here. That caring is sincere, and real.
I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it."
I chuckled and wryly told her, "Anyone would find it
interesting to know that a stripper likes to read books about
Egyptian pyramids, and the mysteries of the Nile River." A
question that long puzzled me then popped into my mind. I
knew Pamela could answer it. "Why does the Nile flow south
to north, instead of north to south?"
"It flows downhill from the high mountains in Africa,"
she answered. "Very few rivers in the world actually flow
south to north, but the Nile is one." She paused and added,
"I would love to go on a trip down... err, up it one day."
"With all those crocodiles roaming throughout it?"
"You have to get out and live, Jeremy."
"You're too smart and classy of a woman to have put
yourself through this stripping business for eight years," I
nodded, gently kissing the back of her hand. "One day very
soon, hopefully, you will graduate from college and become a
teacher. That is your career goal." I smiled and added, "I
bet you have a 4.0 grade point average in college... right?"
"3.8," she corrected me.
"I was looking on the Internet and came across the website
for the strip club that you work at," I told her. "You have
a bio page in it. It says that you love being a stripper.
It also says something about your `Bad Girl Playground'."
"Don't pay any attention to that garbage," Pamela said,
making a face. "The club wants their customers to think that
we - the dancers - wrote those pages ourselves. Truth is,
their website guy wrote most, if not all, of them. I don't
get on the computer much but have seen what it says about me.
I was angry and upset at first, but it passed. That bio page
has earned me a lot of money since it's been online."
I smiled at her. "You're just a regular girl in a very
irregular job. Still, you're above that place. You're
better than that, Pamela. Much better. I want you to know
that, because I know it myself. You're better than that."
The 27-year-old took a deep breath and sighed. "It seems
like I've been an exotic dancer forever. In many ways, I
have lost my touch with reality. I find it so incredibly
difficult to trust others. It's hard in my line of work."
"Yet you trust me?" I smiled. "We have only known each
other for 11 days, Pamela. That's it."
"I just get this sense about you," she countered. "And,
believe it or not, but I've talked to Kristanna about you.
She knows you better than anyone else here, correct? You
have been friends with her for four years? Kristanna has
nothing but glowing things to say about you, Jeremy."
Pamela paused and added, "What's your story? Why has a
good-looking man with a kind and loving heart lived alone on
an island in the middle of the Pacific for seven years?"
I actually blushed. "Good-looking? Me?"
"You're so humble," Pamela snickered. "But why? Why have
you shielded yourself from the rest of humanity like this? I
asked Kristanna about that too, but she would not tell. She
said that I would have to ask you that yourself."
"It's a long and depressing story," I advised her. "I
have chosen this life of solitude for many reasons. But all
of them really lead back to the same thing."
"What?" Pamela wondered. "Tell me. Come on, Jeremy. It
is not often that I open up to others like I did moments ago
for you. I can probably count the number of people on one
hand that I've confessed I hate my job to. My stock answer
is that I love it. I tell ALL of my customers that. I even
tell my family that. Well... most of my family."
"I'm not a customer..."
"I never said you were," Pamela shrugged. "But tell me.
Tell me why you have lived here all by yourself for so long.
Is it something bad? No matter what, I won't look down on
you for it." Pamela clutched my right hand with both of hers
and implored, "Please? Maybe I can help."
I frowned and nodded my head in response. "It is good to
talk about my problems with others. But it's a long story."
Pamela leaned back in the patio chair here on the deck
which was outside of my personal suite and smiled. "A long
story? Cool... I'm a good listener. Talk to me. Tell me."
She smiled and added, "I want to know about you, Jeremy. I
like everything I know thus far. But I want to know more..."
"Okay," I relented. "But I again warn you - it's a long
story. And it's not a very happy one."
"I'm all ears," she declared.
"10 years ago... 1993," I sighed, shaking my head. "I
was 19... just one year older than Lindsay is now." I did
not enjoy re-opening this particular part of my life, but
Pamela deserved to know after she had told me about herself.
"I was living in California with my parents. It was just
one year after we moved cross-country from New Jersey."
"You were born in Ohio, right?" Pamela confirmed.
"Yes, I was born in Ohio," I replied. "I lived there
until I was 12, when my father was transferred to New Jersey.
My two brothers and one sister, all older, stayed behind in
Ohio while I moved to New Jersey with my mom and dad. When
I was 18, we moved to California."
"Anyway, when I was 19 - the time I am telling you about
right now - I was like any young kid in Southern California.
I spent my free time swimming and surfing at the beach. I
even worked at the beach - I made a living polishing and
repairing boats. It was only the second job I ever had, with
the first being Kentucky Fried Chicken in New Jersey."
"This must be before you came into all your money."
"Indeed," I told her. "I had a girlfriend back then, too.
When I was in California, that is. Her name was Victoria.
We had so many things in common. I met her during my very
first week in California while on the beach, and it was love
at first sight. She and I hit it off together really well,
and soon, we were dating each other on a steady basis. She
and I... we did everything together. Almost everything, I
guess. As I said, we had so many things in common."
"It only took six months, but I asked Victoria to be my
bride, and marry me. She accepted, and the ceremony would
be set for another six months down the road. Our wedding
date was scheduled to be on the one-year anniversary that
Victoria and I first met each other."
"As a caring and rather intense person, I was sky-high.
I thought Victoria was the woman I would devote the rest of
my life to, and settle down with. She and I would start a
family together, and raise our children up to be outstanding
adults. I knew there would be ups and downs, but we would
weather whatever storms and make it through - TOGETHER."
"That all changed on what was supposed to be, at the time,
the greatest day of my life."
Pamela squeezed my hand tighter and urged me to continue
by the look in her eyes. Suddenly, I found myself having to
draw strength from the feeling of her hands in order to keep
talking. Again, I did not enjoy talking about this.
"As I look back on it, I still find what happened very
hard to believe. It seemed like a bad dream, or a really
painful movie script. I wouldn't wish this on anyone."
"What happened?" Pamela asked, concerned.
"There I was, standing side by side with Victoria, as we
faced the minister while he recited the wedding speech.
300 of my closest friends and family members were in the
chapel right behind us, all happy and glowing, waiting for
my defining moment in life to come."
"Victoria looked more beautiful that day than she ever had
before. She was wearing an expensive wedding gown, and had
a truly angelic glow about her. I was certainly glad that
the ceremony was being videotaped, because I surely wanted
to re-live this moment over and over again. Without a doubt,
this was going to be the greatest day of my entire life."
"All went like clockwork until the minister asked Victoria
if she took me to be her lawfully wedded husband. There was
a hesitation on her part, which made me think something was
perhaps physically wrong with her. Was she holding back a
cough? Did Victoria have something stuck in her throat?"
"When I looked into her eyes, I noticed that Victoria was
suddenly crying. Sounds and voices were heard behind me as
she then ripped off her engagement band, and pressed it into
my shoulder. _I can't marry you!_, were her words. _I'm so
sorry, but I love someone else!_"
Pamela kept silent, but now squeezed my right hand with
both of hers once again.
"I really rather not go into any great detail of the
embarrassment and humiliation that I felt with those words.
Never mind the fact that all of my family was present,
including my 95-year-old great grandmother, who would pass
away weeks later. I also had a group of high school friends
at the wedding, all of whom had flown 3,000 miles to be a
part of my glorious, spectacular day."
"I had once witnessed something similar to this in the
movies, but never thought it actually happened for real -
especially to me. My fiancee could not marry me, because
she loved someone else? That was embarrassing enough...
but wait, it gets worse. Much worse, in fact."
"_Who?_, I said to her at the altar. _Who do you love
more?_, I was shocked and completely dumbfounded."
"_MINDY!_, Victoria yelled, pointing at her best friend
as an absolute hush fell over the cathedral."
"Oh my God..." Pamela fretted, her eyes wide.
"I watched in silence - and horror - as Victoria ran over
to Mindy and embraced her, before both of them exited the
chapel and ran off into the night together. Everyone in the
building watched them leave, but then turned and looked right
at me. My fiancee had left me standing at the altar for - of
all things - another woman. I had no idea that she and Mindy
were intimate, but learned when everyone else in the chapel
did, too. I was left up there all alone. All those faces...
all those eyes - staring blankly at me."
"It was the most humiliating moment of my entire life."
"Oh God..." Pamela cried, streamers of tears suddenly
running down her face. "I'm so sorry, Jeremy." She tried
to embrace me, but I held her at bay.
"There is more," I informed her. "Much more, in fact."
Pamela composed herself as I went on, "I can certainly
understand if Victoria decided to keep her true relationship
with Mindy a secret from me, but found it too difficult to
hide anymore once presented with making a sacred, life-long
vow. Victoria did love me, but apparently she loved Mindy a
bit more. I can understand that. I didn't then, but I can
now. That much, I'm fine with."
"10 years later, the animosity I hold toward Victoria is
mostly centered around the simple fact that after she bolted
from our ceremony, I never saw her again. I never got a good
explanation for all the horrible things that happened to me
that fateful day. Since both of us were seconds away from
marriage, I think I was at least owed that much."
"You certainly were," Pamela agreed.
"I talked to Victoria twice on the telephone that day, and
she said our relationship was over. She wanted nothing to
do with me ever again. I wanted to know why my fiancee had
left me for Mindy, but she simply refused to tell me."
"I tried going over to her house next, but her father
immediately threatened me with a harassment suit if I ever
tried to approach Victoria again. Being naive and dumb,
that was the white flag for me. It was over."
"You were so young at that time," Pamela pined, trying to
hold back her tears now. "It must have destroyed you..."
I shrugged my shoulders. "Naturally, I contemplated
suicide for awhile." Pamela's eyes went wide. "It wasn't
such a bad thing, though. Anyone who has went through such
a traumatic experience would entertain those thoughts... it
is the natural thing to do. I got past the idea, which was
good. But the pain and the humiliation lasted a long time.
Traces of it still effect me today - some 10 years later."
"Perhaps this is a reason why after I came into my private
fortune, I bought an island in the middle of nowhere. Seven
years ago, I figured, no one could hurt me as long as I am
on this island. I didn't want or need companionship at the
time. I was too afraid of being hurt and humiliated again."
"I just wanted to be left alone."
"The image of those people in the cathedral staring at me
in shocked silence after Victoria made her hasty departure
with Mindy at her side haunted me every single day for years.
Even now, it still pains me greatly to simply think about it.
I have always been a very sensitive person. Thick skin has
never been an attribute of mine. Imagine how I felt with
all those eyes upon me, every mind in the building thinking
the same thing. _Victoria left Jeremy for Mindy? Mindy?_"
"I used to be a very trusting and easy-going person. Not
much got me down - and I always had a smile or good word for
every single person in my path. I was about the easiest guy
that you could ever make friends with."
"Victoria changed that, though. If I couldn't trust her,
I couldn't trust anyone. That was my thought process for
everything. I couldn't even trust my own family. They
added to those eyes, and speculated about me behind my back.
It... it was too much to handle."
"I was in such a terrible and fragile state, and was at
absolute rock bottom for the first year on the island. My
best (and only) therapy to get through this difficult time
was the simple fact that here on the island, I was alone.
No one could hurt me any further than I already was. No one
would even have the opportunity to do so, because I had
shielded myself from the rest of the civilized world. I had
suddenly become a very guarded and secretive individual, all
because of what Victoria had done to me."
"Why let one woman strip the rest of my life away from me?
Why let Victoria, despite the extreme humiliation she caused
me, dictate the way I spend the rest of my life? I hated
Victoria for what she had done to me. I shouldn't allow her
to cause anymore problems for me, but she was. Because of
her, I was alone. I could not trust anyone."
"Go on..." Pamela quaked, after a stretch of silence.
"Slowly but surely, my mind and heart started to heal.
After the mansion was built here on the island, I finally
began to realize that living in such a solitary state was
not good for my psyche."
"My first foray back into society, I actually stayed on
the island. Being a 23-year-old - at the time - who hadn't
experienced the joy of sex in four years, I compensated for
that with the help of X-rated movies. For a long time, the
movies were all I had. My collection kept growing, and soon
the number of video cassettes even exceeded 500."
"While some may look at the viewing of adult films as
somewhat strange, they were actually a major step forward
for me. The movies were my only outlet for stimulation,
but more importantly, they proved that I still had some
interest in my fellow human being."
"It took awhile, but the loneliness became too much and I
needed some sort of companionship. Thus, starlets such as
Jenna Jameson and Nikki Tyler provided a bit of it for me.
It may have only been through the television and in my mind,
but at least that was better than nothing."
"I've seen a couple of Jenna's movies," Pamela confessed.
"She is really hot..."
"After a few months had gone by, I decided to try my hand
at something real. Victoria was still at the center of my
mind and holding me back in a varying amount of ways, but I
was determined to break free from those chains."
"I left the island behind for three months, and got an
apartment in Malibu. I had always dreamed of one day living
there and with my money, I now had the opportunity."
"My sole purpose for venturing back into society was to
find myself a real girlfriend, and perhaps a future wife.
All I ever wanted in life was to get married, and have a
family. That wasn't too much to ask for. Or was it?"
"Not at all..." Pamela answered.
"The problem I had while living in Malibu was not a lack
of women, or dating opportunities. It seemed as if, even
though I was finally leading an active social lifestyle
again, all these women really wanted me. Unfortunately,
all of them simply looked at me as a dollar sign."
"I couldn't find a woman, at least in my eyes, who truly
cared about me. They were too blinded by the thought of
marrying themselves into a billion dollars. Proof of that
is during just three months in Malibu, two women asked me
to marry them. I finally got fed up with the situation, and
headed back home - off the coast of Peru, to this island."
"And what, in many ways, had become my personal Hell."
"After another year of wrestling with the thought of my
former fiancee and what she had done to me, I was finally
able to conquer it. All of a sudden, I woke up one day and
told myself that THIS WAS IT. IT WAS OVER. I had missed
out on the most prime five years of my life - ages 19 to 24 -
but I was not going to let Victoria drag me down ever again.
I finally realized that unless I made a drastic change in my
life, I would be alone like this until the day I die."
"So back to the United States I went, and this time, with
a plan. Instead of living like a King, I would live like a
pauper. I found a run-down apartment in Oregon, and took a
low-paying job at a horse stable. I would pursue my share
of women there, but not let any of them know I was a rich man
until I felt the time was right. I wanted someone to truly
care about me as a person - and not as a financial windfall."
"After a few failed relationships, I thought I hit it big
with a 19-year-old girl named Tiffany. She and I dated for a
long time, as I slaved away for next to no money at the horse
stable while living in an old, beat-up apartment."
"I thought Tiffany truly cared about me, and she did. But
when I let her in on my secret, things took a bad turn. At
first, I was happy to buy Tiffany a new car. I loved seeing
the look upon her face as she went on shopping sprees, at my
expense. Finally my money was being put to good use."
"Then, however, I thought Tiffany started to get a swelled
head. Tiffany expected me to buy things for her and if I
didn't, she got angry with me. I let her push me around for
awhile, but then put my foot down and realized that Tiffany
was no different from those women I had known in Malibu."
"Our relationship was over, but the worst part about it
was at one time, Tiffany really did care about me. The mere
possibility of fame and fortune, however, had blinded her...
and made her into a bad, money-hungry bitch. Could I ever
find a woman who would care about me as an actual person?"
Pamela brought my right hand to her lips and kissed it as
I continued, "So... back to the island I went."
"Not for long, though. While visiting the mainland, I met
a young woman by the name of Kristanna." I nodded my head as
I went on, "At the time - 1999 - she was 19, and I was 25.
Kristanna was vastly different than all of the other women I
had previously been in contact with because she too, had a
lot of money. Not near a fraction of what I did, of course,
but she was pretty much financially set for life. Kristanna
comes from a very rich farming family in Norway."
"Kristanna and I dated for awhile, but both of us found we
were more friends than lovers. At least, that is what I
perceived to be the case. The sex between us was wonderful,
but it had no down-deep, emotional meaning. For whatever
reason it was, I could not bring myself to truly love her.
It was partly because of the geographics involved. She did
not want to leave her family in Norway. I did not want to
leave the island. It was a bad match."
"Despite that, however, Kristanna was the first person in
a long time that I felt I could actually trust. Despite the
fact that she had just began to learn the English language,
Kristanna was a sounding board for me back then - and a good
one at that. She helped me sort through my painful emotions,
and really made me into a better person in the process."
"I can tell that Kristanna really cares about you," Pamela
observed. "I can tell just by the way she talks about you.
Friend or not, she thinks the absolute world of you, Jeremy."
"A good year after juggling her time between Norway and
Los Angeles - where she went to college - as well as frequent
side trips to my island - _Dis is me vacation get-avay_ -
Kristanna came up with an idea. Instead of looking at my
money as a hindrance when dealing with other women, I should
use it to my advantage. All of the following was her idea."
"Advertise throughout all of the U.S. and Canada - on
college campuses and in health clubs - that any woman who
would be interested in spending ten weeks on an island
paradise should write to the address provided for more
information. Those selected were guaranteed $100,000 for
their time, while a chosen one would receive $500,000."
"The only three requirements, the advertisement said, were
that each woman be of legal age, single and bi-sexual. The
latter was Kristanna's own, personal requirement, since she
was bi-sexual and wanted to be part of the festivities too."
"The additional information was a long and very thorough
questionnaire/application, along with some photographs of
the island and what it had to offer. Kristanna was a
technical wiz when it came to computers, and she developed
a program for me which would easily process all of those
applications and give me a list of the 500 women who were
the best match, in terms of compatibility, for my tastes."
"From those 500 women, 351 of them replied when they
were asked to send in candid pictures and a three paragraph
summary of themselves. From that, Kristanna and I narrowed
the list down to 50. After I conducted in-depth telephone
interviews with those 50, the list was cut again - to 20."
"From those 20, the computer re-ranked them in terms of
capability with me, and then I selected the six ladies -
Devon, Lindsay, Trish, Amy, Stephanie and you yourself,
Miss Pamela. According to the computer, I could marry any
of you six ladies - and be quite happy."
Pamela smiled as I continued, "All of you are incredibly
straightforward and honest, too. The computer made sure of
that. Honesty was not a trait that my ex-fiancee, Victoria,
had. I definitely do not want to go through a similar type
of episode. The same could be said for Tiffany. I do not
want a gold-digger. I can thank the computer for that, too.
Though all of you girls came here because I offered a lot of
money, it is not the thing any of you look for first in a
relationship. You all want the same thing I do."
"To get married and be happy in life," Pamela countered.
"No one likes money more than I do, Jeremy - I freely admit
that - but all I have ever really wanted in life was to get
married and be happy. For a long time, I thought that day
would never come." Another tear streaked down her lovely
face, but I wiped away with my thumb. "I can't trust anyone.
I... I want to trust you, Jeremy. I DO trust you. But...
but still, I have my reservations. Being a stripper for as
long as I have has dulled my outlook on others."
"You and I are a lot alike," I whispered, rising out of my
lounge chair and stepping toward her. I dropped down to one
knee and looked into Pamela's mesmerizing brown eyes. "I
find it hard to trust anyone, either. The only person that
I can totally trust in the whole, wide world is Kristanna."
"You can trust me, Jeremy," Pamela countered, her lower
lip quivering. My long story had really touched a nerve
within her. "I would never hurt or wrong you in any single
way. And, though I know you probably won't believe it, I
could care less about your money." She shook her head and
added, "Being happy in life, and finding true love, makes a
person more rich than any amount of money ever could. It...
it is more important to me than anything else."
"Oh... I believe you," I told her. "The computer program
that Kristanna wrote weeded out all the bad seeds."
"I've had more money than all of my boyfriends and
girlfriends since I started stripping," Pamela added. "Not
a billion dollars like you say you have, but much more than
any of them, nonetheless. I know what it is like, Jeremy.
They want you to pay their car payment. They want to borrow
money, but never return it. I know all about it." Pamela
bit her lower lip and mused, "Thank you, Jeremy. Thank you
for trusting me with your secret. I won't tell anyone else
anything that you said... I swear to you."
I sighed and settled back into my patio chair. "I already
told Devon last week that I brought all of you here in hopes
of maybe, just maybe, marrying one of you. But I did not
tell her about the process how Kristanna and I chose all of
you. Nor did I tell her how I met Kristanna, or anything
about Victoria. You're the only one thus far, Pamela."
"Your secret is safe with me," she implored. "I promise."
Pamela inhaled sharply, then forged a smile. "Hey, I was
gonna give you a lap dance, remember? You wanted me to treat
you like a customer at the club where I work."
"I don't want you to dance for me anymore."
"Why?" Pamela asked, confused.
"Because you don't like it," I told her. "You said it
yourself - you don't like being a stripper. I don't want
you to do something that you are not in favor of, Pamela."
She shook her head at me. "No, it's okay, Jeremy. I
WANT to dance for you. You're not a drunken customer. You
are not a stranger. I know how much you enjoyed that lap
dance I gave you last week. I want to give you another."
"Are you sure?" I confirmed.
"Yes, positive," she answered. "Let me dance for you.
But I want to do it inside." Pamela placed both arms in
front of her body and shivered here on the outdoor deck.
"This island of yours can get quite chilly at night."
"Very well," I nodded, extending my hand to her. "Let's
go back inside - to my personal suite."
* * *
Five minutes later, our role-playing game of "Pamela the
stripper, Jeremy the customer" had already begun. All the
stacked blonde did was retrieve a pair of high-heeled shoes
and a lacey ankle ruffle from her guest room, then return
to my own private suite and take off all of her clothing.
Now, she stood atop the nearby dresser with nothing but
the high-heels and ruffle on. The gorgeous young woman was
methodically parading her hot, luscious body about, gently
swaying and bumping her hips to an unheard rhythm. At the
same time, I pretended to be a customer - seated in a corner
chair and silently admiring her. I liked role-playing games.
Pamela's large, D-cup breasts shimmied back-and-forth as
she smiled and made eye contact with me. I nodded my head
and grinned at her in return, knowing there could not be a
more incredibly beautiful stripper in the whole, wide world.
Maybe not even a more beautiful WOMAN...
At 5-foot-4 and 118 pounds, Pamela sported a fabulous
figure that was home to some tight curves and awesome angles.
Those bedroom eyes could lure any man into her spell, while
that gentle, friendly smile hinted at a unique warmness and
sensitivity underneath. With that body, she had made a very
nice living for herself in the world of adult entertainment.
Very slowly, Pamela turned her back to me upon the dresser
and then bent over at the waist, offering me a tempting
glance of her round, tight ass. The 27-year-old wiggled it
about for a bit, then spun around on a high-heel and cupped
her breasts, her eyes again focused upon my face. I smiled
at her again as my cock began to twitch within my shorts.
Pamela's hips bumped and undulated as she rolled her head
about, her long hair whipping every-which-way. Pamela then
cupped and squeezed her heavenly breasts as she danced and
swivelled about upon the sturdy wooden dresser in just the
pair of high-heels and lacey ankle ruffle.
Playing the role as customer, I slowly got up from my
chair and made my way over to the dresser. After I reached
into my pocket and pulled out a money clip, Pamela grinned
and then began squirming and bucking her hips about as if
she was in the process of getting drilled during sex.
I pulled out a single dollar bill and held it up for her.
Pamela smiled, then spread her legs and knelt down directly
in front of me. Her delicate, glistening pussy staring me
right in the face, I soon realized what the ruffle was for.
She grabbed one side of it and pulled it away from her ankle.
I promptly slipped the dollar bill into its rightful place.
"Thank you, sweetheart," she returned (using her standard
line at the club), flashing me a million-dollar smile.
"There's more where that came from," I grinned, offering
her another dollar. I slipped it into her ruffle again.
"Help me down," Pamela squealed, extending me her hand.
She held on while stepping down onto a chair, and then the
floor. "Would you like to sit down with me?"
"Yes I would," was my response, as we took a seat at the
computer table. Now, I would get a taste of the strip club
experience. I had always been very curious about it...
"What's your name?" Pamela asked, in perhaps the nicest
and most warm tone I had ever heard a woman use.
"Jeremy."
"I'm Pamela," she returned, grasping my hand and shaking
it. "Most of the girls here at the club use stage names,
but I don't. My real name is Pamela... I am who I am. So...
have you been to this club in the past?"
"No, I haven't. Actually, I've never been to one of
these places before in my entire life."
"Really?" she confirmed, acting surprised. "Well, this
is a really classy club. Do you like it so far?"
"I like it a lot."
"Where do you live?"
I grinned and told her, "On an exotic, tropical island
off the coast of Peru. It's beautiful. Where do you live?"
"Oh, I live just outside of Baltimore," Pamela responded.
"Have you been working here long?"
"Eight years," she nodded. "I like it here a lot. It
helps put me through college, and pay the bills." Pamela
was being overly nice. I mean, OVERLY nice. I wondered
how many times she had this same conversation in the past...
"So... where do you work, Jeremy?"
"I don't work. Believe it or not, I'm retired."
"Retired?" she countered. "You seem awfully young to be
retired. What are you? I bet you're 29."
"Yes, I am. And I bet you are 27, dear."
Pamela smiled, staying in character. "I had some bad
luck tonight. I was caught speeding by the cops, going 92
in a 65 mile per hour zone."
"_92_?" I exclaimed. "You must have been in a hurry."
"Yes, I was," she told me. "I was late for work."
With any luck, I said inwardly, you did not have to pay
that outrageous fine, sweetheart.
"I could have been in a lot of trouble for going so fast,
you know, but the cop was really nice. I had my [club name]
t-shirt on, and he said he and his buddies come here from
time to time. I told him I was already 15 minutes late for
work. He told me to slow down and be more careful. He also
bumped my ticket from 92 down to 80. That way, he said, I
would not have to go to traffic court, but I still had to
pay a fine." Pamela grinned and added, "I told him to come
up and get a dance from me sometime." The segue was set.
"Would you like a dance from me, Jeremy?"
"Yes, I would," I answered. Pamela smiled once again as
she stood up from the chair and extended her hand. I took
it, and then she led me to the middle of my personal suite.
"Since this is your first time here, let me explain that
a couch dance will cost you $25. Or we could go up to the
champagne room. It is really the best place, but runs an
additional ten bucks - $35. Much more contact there."
"The champagne room sounds perfect," I nodded.
As Pamela led me by the hand over to the large sofa near
the back wall - which would serve as the champagne room, I
guess - I pulled out a pair of twenties from my money clip.
I extended the cash to her, but Pamela shook her head and
retorted, "You don't have to pay me until the dance is over."
"No," I nodded. "Go ahead and take it. Keep the change."
"Thank you!" she squealed, momentarily leaning over and
grabbing the pair of dollar bills I had given her earlier.
She placed the total of $42 on the end table and then
motioned for me to take a seat on the sofa. "Spread your
legs for me," she requested, and I immediately complied.
Pamela stepped directly between my legs and gently nudged
her tender knee and lower calf upon the aching bulge within
my shorts. She then placed her hands upon my shoulders and
vigorously shook her body, causing her large, firm breasts
to jiggle about a mere two inches in front of my face.
The enchantress leaned down somewhat and pressed her
upper torso upon my chest and abdomen. With both arms now
linked around my neck, she placed the side of her face upon
my heart and held it there for several seconds. Her fluffy
hair felt wonderful upon my own chin and face.
"How much does a Pepsi or Coke cost here?" I wondered.
"$14," she answered, which caused my eyebrows to nearly
skyrocket. "They give you about three-quarters of a can."
"What about orange juice?"
"I don't think we serve orange juice," she giggled.
My legs still wide, Pamela hooked her own legs over my
upper thighs and straddled me there. Her lovely, pristine
face hovered in front of mine for several seconds, her eyes
seemingly flashing in an exotic manner.
"I can't touch you... right?" I confirmed, my hands idly
resting at my sides.
"No, but I can touch you," she responded. "House rules."
Pamela turned to the side and slid off of my lap, and to
the side of the sofa. Now seated there, she draped her legs
across my lap and spread them far apart, allowing me an
unobstructed view of her sweet, intoxicating pussy. My heart
nearly skipped a beat as she reached between her thighs and
twiddled away at her clitoris with a single fingertip.
Pamela's next move was to glide down to the floor. With
her back to me, she got onto her hands and knees, with her
ass perched high - and staring me straight in the face. She
gyrated and swivelled her shapely hips about for my adoring
eyes in a somewhat lewd, suggestive manner, before slowly
turning around and rising up to her knees.
Starting at my crotch, Pamela snaked her cover-girl face
up my body - past my abdomen and chest, and finally stopped
at eye-level. She stared at me for several seconds with a
seductive expression, then tapped my nose with a fingertip.
Her face descended lower once again, and this time, the
goddess held it near my stomach. Her eyes never left mine
as she stared up at me, her right forearm now rubbing and
massaging the lump within my shorts. Pamela then wrapped
her arms around my waist and squeezed tightly, and again
snaked her way up my body. This time, however, she kept
her breasts pressed hard upon my torso.
Again at eye-level, Pamela placed her arms around my
neck and leaned her face in close to my right ear. I could
feel her warm, sensuous breath upon my ear, and then she
even blew into it - which sent absolute shockwaves of hot
pleasure shooting all throughout my body. An instant later,
I felt her tongue upon my ear. She licked it! Twice!
"Whoa... is that normal?" I asked, breaking character.
"Yes, it is," Pamela frowned, taking a step back and
nodding her head. "The manager likes for us to lick or
gently bite a customer's ear once, if not twice, each dance."
She then reverted back to our role-playing game and said,
"Would you like another dance? It will run you $35 more."
The game was over.
I brought Pamela into my arms and hugged her in a very
warm and caring manner. Then, despite the high level of
excitement she had given me during her performance upon the
dresser, and the ensuing lap dance, I came to a conclusion.
Still embracing her with both arms, I inhaled sharply and
declared, "I don't want you to dance for me ever again." She
pulled away and looked at me as I added, "Pamela, you're not
a stripper anymore. Not as long as you're on my island."
"What do you mean?" she asked, confused, making a motion
toward my crotch. "You're hard as a ROCK. You don't want
me to dance for you anymore? I don't quite understand."
"Just what I said," I told her. "You're not a stripper
anymore as long as you're on my island. I enjoyed the lap
dance, yes, but to be honest, I don't like looking at you in
that way." Pamela sighed as I added, "You are an incredibly
good and wonderful person. The type of person I have wanted
in my life for a long time. I am more interested in the
Pamela on the inside instead of the Pamela on the outside."
Perched in my lap with my hands upon her waist, Pamela
sagged somewhat and leaned back. "You... you're the first
guy who has ever said that to me, Jeremy." I smiled as
she cooed, "You want to know me inside more than outside."
"It's the truth," I assured her. "I do admit that you
are a very beautiful woman, and that is a major reason why I
noticed you in the first place last week. But it is not
what is keeping my interest. The person inside of you is
keeping my interest. I want to know more about the person
inside of you. I want to know everything there is to know."
Pamela placed her hands on either side of my face and
smiled at me, her head slightly tilted to the side. "I
want to know everything about you too, Jeremy." An instant
later, she pressed those red, moist lips of hers to my mouth
and offered me a tender, very pleasurable kiss. At the same
time, Pamela wrapped her arms around my shoulders and hugged
me. Our kiss, slow and languid, lasted a good 15 seconds.
It felt as if I had died and gone to Heaven.
"Hmmmmm... I enjoyed that," were my words once our lips
finally parted ways. Now looking into her luminous brown
eyes, I brought my right hand up and grazed the back of it
across Pamela's cheek in the most gentle of fashions. She
smiled in response and then, I kissed her again. This time,
our tongues touched and danced together in harmony.
"Why don't you put some clothes on?" I whispered, bumping
her nose with my own. I glanced at Pamela's nude form for a
brief moment. God, she was beautiful. Simply beautiful!
I then re-focused my sights upon her eyes and said, "Get
some clothes on, and we'll talk some more. I don't feel all
that comfortable talking to you without you wearing clothes."
Pamela giggled. "Then why don't you take your clothes
off, too? I'm sure you would be more comfortable then."
I lowered my head for a moment, then looked back up and
smiled at Pamela. "I just feel like talking to you tonight,
dear. That's all. I want to know more about you. I want
to know about your family. I want to know how it was growing
up for you. I want to know what life is like in Maryland."
"You want to know everything about me." Pamela smiled
and traced the tip of her right forefinger over and across
my chin. That subtle, simple move sent a wave of good
sensations coursing throughout my entire body. "I got news
for 'ya, buster. I want to know everything about you, too."
She snickered and added, "Wait... I just said that."
I grinned at her one more time. "I got some dress shirts,
some sweatshirts and sweatpants and the like over in my
closet. Go over and put something on... just enough to cover
up. I even got some big basketball and football jerseys. I
have always loved the sight of a woman in football jersey.
I know that sounds strange, but it's the truth."
Pamela pecked my cheek with a kiss and giggled, then
pushed herself away from me and stood up. She glanced at
the nearby closet, then back at me. "It's not all that
often, you know, when I have someone asking me to actually
put some clothes on. In fact, you're the first, Jeremy."
I nodded my head and countered, "I think I might be the
first of a lot of things for you, sweetheart."
The 27-year-old pondered those words for a moment or two,
then flashed me another smile before turning and making her
way over to the closet. "You like your women in football
jerseys, huh? Let me see what I can find in here..."
It was at this exact moment in time when I realized that
I was actually in love with Pamela. Not the puppy love, or
the infatuation I felt for her last week after our first
sexual encounter. This was true, honest-to-goodness love.
I could see myself marrying this woman one day, being the
father of her children, and spending the rest of my life
with her. The rest of eternity, in fact.
Pamela was special. She was once-in-a-lifetime special.
I would be a fool if I allowed her to slip away...
<<<- End of Part 12 ->>>
==---- -- -- -- - --- -- -- - - --- -- -- --- -- - - - - --- -- ----==
"Island Paradise"
Author e-mail: HighlanderJM@hotmail.com
Author chat: http://messenger.msn.com - HighlanderJM@hotmail.com
Story archive: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/HighlanderJM/
Please let me know what you think of the story! Your comments
are the only reward authors like me receive for our hard work!
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