Pt.1 of 3
"Oh, come on, Mike! You never hang out with us after shows! It's OK to let your hair down sometimes, you know?" One of the back-up dancers yelled out.
"But aren't you guys tired after sweating your asses off on stage?" Michael replied exhaustedly, tossing back his orange Gatorade.
After staring at each other in silence for a few seconds, the dancers laughed in unison and shouted, "No!"
Michael took a seat in a nearby chair, eyeing his dancer, Dominic, in curiosity. "So, where are y'all headed?"
"Oh, some lounge Chuckie suggested," Dominic replied. "It's supposed to be real laid back and chill."
After becoming silent for a few seconds, Michael took another sip of his Gatorade. "Hmm... count me in, "he replied in a relaxed tone, taking everyone by surprise.
On April 15, 1988, Michael had just completed his last show at the 'Omni' Coliseum in Atlanta, Georgia, before a much-needed break. Since it was one of those nights where he was both amped and exhausted, he figured he'd take them up on their offer and check out the lounge.
After returning to his hotel, he showered and got ready for the evening. Donning a fake mustache and baseball cap, he met his bodyguard Chuckie in his hotel suite hallway.
"You and your many disguises Mike! You know we can just get a private section at the lounge." Chuckie laughed.
Adjusting his fake mustache, Michael replied. "No—I want to experience it like a regular person."
"Well, thank goodness Bill, your chief of security is on vacation with his wife. If he knew we were doing this, he'd chew us out." Chuckie remarked, shaking his head sideways.
When Michael and his entourage arrived at the lounge later that night, they were taken aback."Oh, damn, Mike! I’m sorry. We can leave if you'd like?" Chuckie gulped nervously when he discovered that the lounge was a strip club.
While surveying the scene, Michael started to bop his head to the music. "No! I want to stay. You guys baby me entirely too much. There ain’t nothin’ here I’ve never seen before."
"Fine, Mike. Just stay where I can see you." Chuckie sighed heavily.
"And next up, we have Princess Iolanta!" The club DJ announced enthusiastically, as a lone spotlight shined on her center stage.
Immediately recognizing the name, Michael moved towards the stage quickly, causing Chuckie to chase after him. "Michael! You can't just up and--"
"Shh! I wanna see this," he said while his eyes remained transfixed on the beautiful dancer. When she began to dance, Michael noted how graceful she was with just the right amount of power behind her moves.
Nearing the stage, he became flustered when Iolanta danced directly in front of him. "My God... she's gorgeous!" he uttered under his breath.
"Uh, Michael... Shouldn't you be giving her something?" Chuckie simpered.
Turning his head swiftly towards him, Michael replied in confusion. "Give her what?"
Chuckie reached in his pocket, pulled out a small stack of bills, and then placed it inside Michael's hand.
As Iolanta continued to dance in front of Michael, she laughed inwardly as she noticed the entire exchange between the two men. "Aww, poor thing. It must be his first time in a strip club," she thought silently to herself.
When Michael realized Chuckie had given him the money to give to Iolanta, he mouthed, "Oh... Ohhh!"
Pulling out a hundred dollar bill from the stack of money, Michael handed it to Iolanta, but she shook her head no.
Getting down on her knees, she crawled sexily towards Michael and gestured for him to place the money inside her bra. "Come on, baby, I don't bite," she playfully taunted as she shook her breast at him.
Holding his gaze, Iolanta licked her lips slowly. She didn't know what it was about the mysterious man in the beard and baseball cap, but she felt delightfully captivated by him.
As Michael placed the money between her breast, his breath hitched in his throat when his fingers grazed her soft skin.
After Iolanta finished her routine, Chuckie and Michael went to join the rest of his entourage sitting at a nearby table.
"Aww, did you get her phone number, Mikey?" Dominic teased, shaking Michael by the shoulder.
"If I wanted to, I could have!" Michael retorted, rolling his eyes.
"I’m just teasing ya, Mike! All jokes aside, we're happy you decided to join us tonight."
Being that Michael was a private person, he didn't hang-out with his employees much. He didn't have anything against doing so, but he did try to maintain a certain level of professionalism amongst his staff.
As Michael watched dancers come and go on the stage, he thought none of them danced as well as Iolanta.
Michael took a sip of his orange juice and then noticed a small card on the table that read: "Private Lap-dances offered in the 'Champagne room' with the performer of your choice."
Since Michael couldn't get Iolanta off his mind, he entertained the idea of getting a lap dance from her. He never had one before and thought it'd be something that he'd like to experience.
Michael tapped Chuckie on the shoulder and whispered, "I’d like to go to the Champagne room. Please don't tell the bouncer I'm famous but rather a very important businessman and that you need to guard the door."
Looking at him inquisitively, Chuckie decided not to ask any further questions when Michael replied flatly, "While I appreciate your protection, I'm still an adult that can make my own decisions. Let's go!"
After Michael signed up for an hour-long lap dance, he stood near as Chuckie explained to the bouncer that he was a bodyguard and needed to keep watch outside of the door for his client's safety.
Once things were squared away with the bouncer, Michael entered the dimly lit room equipped with a plush sofa and fully stocked bar. When he sat down, he removed his disguise, as the fake mustache he wore began to irritate him.
Entering the room slowly, Iolanta stalked sexily towards Michael, who was now sitting on the sofa.
Nearing closer to him, she let out an audible gasp. "Omg! Are you Michael Jackson?" She exclaimed quietly.
In a soft tone, he replied, "Yes. I am. But um, before we get started, I need you to read and sign this, please."
After reading over the form, she chuckled out loud. "No worries, Mr. Jackson—I get a lot of these."
"I'm sorry that I have to ask you to sign this, but it's for my protection and privacy."
"No problem—I understand completely, Mr. Jackson."
Usually, he would have corrected someone for calling him Mr. Jackson instead of Michael, but at that moment, he found it to be a complete turn-on.
"Would you mind if we just talk for a bit before you dance?" He asked curiously. While he was both excited and nervous about his private show, he also wanted to know a few things about her first.
As he looked over the NDA form, he noticed that she signed a different name. "Ah! So Iolanta is your 'stage name,' I gather?
"Yes, it is. My real name is Tamika Baker."
"Beautiful name! I don't know any other Tamika's."
"Really? In my neighborhood alone, I know at least five other girls with my name. Though it's a popular ethic name in America, it has African and Japanese origins."
"Oh, wow! That's fascinating. So what made you choose 'Iolanta' for a stage name?"
After a long silence, She smiled before answering. "Hmm... No one has asked me that question before. Well, Iolanta is a favorite opera of mine by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky."
"Really? That's my favorite composer," he replied excitedly.
"Amazing! You're the first person I've met who knows of that opera. When I was a teenager, I got heavily into classical music and discovered that the opera was playing at a theater downtown, and I just had to see it. I know this will sound horrible, but somehow, I snuck my way into the theater on opening night. I would have paid to get in, but growing up poor in the hood—we didn't have money for opera tickets."
Hanging on to her every word, Michael sympathized with her about growing up poor. "Doesn't sound horrible at all. When I was little, we also didn't have a lot of money. If given a chance, I'm sure I would have done the same, but I was too young to go anywhere by myself in those days."
Becoming more at ease, Michael asked her to take a seat beside him on the sofa. "So, um... How long have you been dancing?"
"Oh! Since I was little, but if you meant how long have I been working in exotic clubs, it's been about two years now. Though I enjoy dancing, all of the money I make goes towards my old student loans. I graduated from college four years ago."
"Well, that's very commendable. I believe that having an education is important. Though I didn't go to college, I make sure to read a lot and study many different subjects."
Tamika nodded her head in agreement as Michael continued asking more questions.
"So, do you have any other dance gigs besides this one? You're terrific! I couldn't take my eyes off of you," Michael replied shyly.
Turning beet red, Tamika smiled as she turned her face away from him. "I’m sorry—did I say something wrong, Tamika?"
She blushed. "No, no. I just can't believe that Mr. Michael Jackson complimented me on my dancing." Though she enjoyed speaking with him, she was itching to give him his lap dance—despite being nervous as hell. "Well, it's getting late, Michael. I think I should give you your dance before my energy runs out."
"OK, I'm ready. But before we begin, I want you to have my phone number. Can I have yours as well? My number changes a lot, and I'd like to speak with you again."
Looking at him in shock, she laughed nervously and said, "you want to speak to me again? Are you sure?"
Stroking the back of her hand softly, he whispered, "yes, I'm sure. I enjoyed our conversation tonight and would love to keep in contact."
As soon as Michael's hand touched hers, she felt her body temperature rise a few degrees and thought, "Oh, God! How am I going to dance for
this man without having my way with him?" Even though Tamika prided herself on keeping things professional with important guests, Michael was testing every ounce of her willpower.
Before she began her dance, she explained some ground rules for Michael to follow, though she wouldn't have minded if he broke a few of them—the same rules applied to any patron partaking in private lap dances. "OK, Michael... I can touch you everywhere except for your lower intimate parts, but under no circumstances are you to touch or kiss me. Got it?"
"Yes, I got it." He replied quietly as he laid the back of his head against the sofa.
After Tamika turned on the sound system, a huge grin spread across his face when she began to dance to one of his latest songs titled, "Liberian Girl."
As Michael was enjoying his private show, he felt his erection grow considerably when she straddled his lap and started grinding on him. Making sure that their private parts didn't touch one another, she stayed away from his crotch while rocking back and forth on his upper thighs. "Are you enjoying this?" she asked breathlessly.
Closing his eyes, he let out a delicate moan as she softly raked her fingers across his taut chest. His nipples were hard, protruding through the thin fabric of his white V-neck shirt.
"Mmm-hmm... I am, "he replied quietly as he bit down on his bottom lip.
Just as she was about to remove her bra, he stopped her from doing so. He knew if he saw her topless at that moment, he would have an intense orgasm and possibly embarrass himself.
"Is everything all right?" she asked, feeling confused.
"Yeah, I just... Look, I'll be honest. I'm very attracted to you, and I prefer you to leave your clothes on."
"I understand," she replied simply, knowing all too well how he felt because she also felt herself becoming extremely wet for him.
After her dance was over, she smiled sheepishly at Michael and said, "with this being your first lap dance and all, I hope it was a good one."
"How do you know this was my first one?"
"I have my ways."
"OK, you got me. And yes. It was better than good... It was great." He smiled.
Getting up from the sofa, Michael adjusted his clothing and put his fake mustache back into place.
"You know... You don't look too bad with that thing on," she quipped.
"Well, gee—thanks." He laughed while putting his baseball cap on.
As she walked with him towards the door, she kissed him on the cheek. She knew that it was against the rules but considered it harmless since the lap dance was over.
"I'll be calling you soon, Tamika. Take care and have a good night."
"You have a good night as well, Michael. I'll be looking forward to your call."
When Michael exited the room, he found Chuckie sitting in a chair.
"Thank goodness! I thought I was gonna have to sleep out here!" Chuckie bellowed. "I can't wait to see the faces of the others when they find out you got a lap dance!"
"If you utter a single word about this, I'll tell Ricky that you hid his drumsticks before our last show, and on top of that, I'll be docking your pay. This stays between us—you hear me?"
"You wouldn't dare!" Chuckie exclaimed in shock.
Michael raised his eyebrows and replied sternly, "wanna bet?"
"All right, all right! Damn! I was only joking, boss. Your secret is safe with me."
When Michael and Chuckie returned to the table, the others wondered where the two had wandered off to. Even though Michael didn't want to lie, he
also wasn't about to tell them that he received a lap dance."Sorry to have vanished on you all, but I was speaking with the owner of the club. I was
thinking of using a club setting for my next short film."
When they all began to tell him what a great idea that was, Michael stretched out his arms and yawned. "Well, I enjoyed hanging out with you guys, but I'm beat and need to get some rest."
"Ah! Party-pooper!" They groaned.
Throwing his head back, Michael laughed heartedly at their teasing. "Have a good break, you guys! I had a great time tonight. Stay out of trouble, OK?"
"We'll try to, boss!" They yelled in return as Michael and Chuckie proceeded to leave the club.
As Michael got into the backseat of his car, he inhaled and exhaled deeply. He was looking forward to having the next couple of weeks off before his tour resumed overseas—but what he was looking forward to the most was speaking to Tamika.
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