Peep Show by Deva Shore
My daughter Sarah was backpacking around Europe. Staying in Amsterdam she said she’d hooked up with another Aussie and they decided to stroll through the red light district. My wife and I were nervous for them, hoping they wouldn’t get into a situation they couldn’t handle.
I was at work, sitting at my desk, trying not to picture what they might see, how they’d act.
We’d been to a peep show when we’d visited in our early twenties. I wondered if much had changed.
Sarah and I had been almost shaking with nervousness. It was one of the most outrageous things we’d ever done. No one we knew had ever been to a live show. We pulled the curtain around, leaving us in total darkness. My fingers shook as I dropped the coins into the slot. Suddenly the curtain rose and there lying on a bed was one of the sexiest looking women I’ve ever seen.
I remember the flush of excitement, the thrill of this new experience.
She was lying on her side, one leg crossed over the other, giving her thigh a great line as it tapered down to her foot. She was wearing a black and red lace teddy, cut low at the front with her luscious breasts practically spilling out. I could just see the darkened flesh of her nipple peeking out.
I remembered feeling guilty eyeing her. I’d told Sarah later and she’d laughed when I said it felt as though I was cheating on her. She hadn’t given it a thought, she was totally engrossed with the entertainment.
The woman had seemed to stare straight at us, although she couldn’t have seen who we were as a bright light was shining directly over her bed, giving us the privacy we desired and her the spotlight she obviously craved. I remember my cock throbbing at the sight of her body, the rawness of the situation and the absolute delight we were doing this together. I was thrilled that Sarah had made me go through with it.
Even now thinking back to those days it brought a flush of heat to my body, but now knowing that my little girl might be watching the same type of show the eroticism died almost instantly.
This woman knew what she was doing. It was an art. When she rose, stretching her arms up high over her head, she stayed in that position for a moment or two. She was like a statue. It all added to the excitement.
The high cut leg on the teddy rose until it practically disappeared up the crack of her arse. She began to sway as though dancing to music, then turned back to face us. As her shoulders moved about she allowed first one strap to fall, then the other, until her gorgeous breasts were free of the fabric and swayed of their own accord.
I remember Sarah gasping as the woman began to peel the teddy down over her sexy hips, inching it down slowly, teasing us with quick glimpses of herself and then pulling it back up a fraction. Sarah’s hand sought out my thigh and it traveled upwards to my groin as the woman dropped the teddy and kicked the flimsy material away.
“Fuck,” Sarah had whispered and back then she never swore.
I’d said nothing.
She was only wearing black lace stay up stockings, red stilettos, and her jewelry. She sashayed towards us and I thought my heart would stop. Sarah’s fingers dug into my groin as the woman descended upon us. She was right up at the glass and pressed her body against it, her breasts squashed, her pelvis thrust up hard as she gyrated her hips, pushing her mound over the glass and then …
The curtain dropped.
I let out an audible breath even now. I’ve never been so disappointed in my life. For the twenty dollars, which was a hell of a lot of money back in those days, we’d certainly got our money’s worth but I had wanted more.
“Fuck,” Sarah had giggled. “I can’t believe we just did this.”
Her face was flushed with excitement.
“I know,” I breathed as she playfully grabbed for me.
“What do we do now?” she asked eyeing me seductively.
“I don’t know.”
“Should we put some more money in?’
“No,” I’d said and I’d raced her back to where we were staying.
We’d had the best sex that night. It enhanced our lovemaking considerably.
The way Sarah had given herself to me had me wanting to rush home right now, in the middle of the day, after all, we finally had the house to ourselves, our kids grown up and traveling, but instead I picked up the phone and dialed the number.
‘Hey dad,’ I heard her familiar voice on the line.
‘I was just thinking about you,’ I began and then let her talk for half an hour.
I didn’t mention the show, I did tell her to be careful like I always did before hanging up. She was more mature than we had been and we’d taught her well … I hoped.
I wondered if Sarah’s memories would be as exciting as my own had been and I promised myself to bring it up as soon as I arrived home with a bottle of her favorite wine.
(c) Copyright 2016 Deva Shore
Australian writer Deva Shore is an award-winning short story author, poet and children’s writer whose work has been published worldwide.
Her ten-minute play titled, ‘Why Mummy,’ has been produced in Sydney, Australia. She has also been a feature writer with Burial Day Books in the US and Little Raven Publishing in Australia.
Deva is a voracious writer writing in most genres. Secrets of the Tomb was written while completing her Diploma in Writing and Editing at Adult Education Centre in Melbourne, and published with World Castle Publishing in 2015.
Deva has three amazing daughters, four delightful grandchildren who are the loves of her life, and adores surf fishing with her partner Mick at their beachside haven.
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