When I was nineteen, I started working the night shift in a hotel. One day, after I forgot to wear my name tag, a co-worker told me to look in a box of old name tags in the breakroom. It then became a private joke of mine to wear a different name almost every day. I was wearing the name Guido when Julie first met me. She worked in the restaurant, usually serving breakfast and lunch.

The second time I encountered Julie, I was Henri. She looked at me, surprised. "Henri? Parlez-vous français?" Julie asked.

"Je ne parle pas French," I replied, butchering the language. "I understand some; speak even less."

"How can I trust you? You may speak perfect French. You've never even shared your real name with me. You should be wearing the name tag, silly boy. I'm keeping my eyes on you, Guido."

I was instantly infatuated with her. Julie was one of the few who caught on to my random name changes. Starting from that moment, Julie always called me Guido or Silly Boy. Even though she did learn my real name, she never called me by it, at least not to my face.

I too found my eyes on her. Julie began to make a point of crossing my path every morning and found herself in need of bending over to pick something up each time, offering me a perfect view of her ass. I let her catch me staring at it. "Were you looking at my ass?" she asked, acting surprised.

"Yes, it's quite aesthetically pleasing to look at. Encounters with you are the highlight of my day," I confessed. This began our unique friendship, one of playful teasing and sexual tension.

Two months later, we weren't dating or sleeping together, but we were spending a lot of time together. Then, one day, Julie received flowers from a secret admirer. Everyone adored her, but the flowers could have been from anyone, and she refused to believe me when I claimed they were from me.

"I bet you I can figure out who sent them to me before the end of the day."

"Ha, I'll take that bet. You have until 8:00 pm to sleuth out your admirer. But you know what you'll owe me when you fail."

"No! We've discussed this many times; I'm not going to give you a blow job, Guido. Pick something else."

"Aww shucks, maybe I don't care to make a wager with you then. Okay, how about this instead: you have to let me see you naked."

"Silly boy, I don't know if you can handle that," Julie said, admiring the bouquet, not knowing I had the receipt for purchasing those flowers in my pocket.

"Well, it won't just be me seeing you. Have you ever heard of the amateur night at the exotic dance club?"

...

"Amateur night, at midnight, that will be two hundred dollars."

"So you're telling me I have to pay you for her to strip on your stage for your customers?"

"No, the two hundred is only a deposit. We have a lot of ladies who change their minds and either don't show up or lose their nerve at the last minute. You'll get the two hundred back if she does at least one full song on stage, and she keeps any tips she gets from the patrons. She can show up any weekday afternoon from 11:00 am to 3:00 pm and ask to go on stage, with no deposit. The place isn't busy at that time. If she gets stage fright and doesn't finish the song, no big deal."

I placed the $200 on the bar. The woman counted the money, wrote in her ledger, and then gave me the exotic dance club's business card with 'midnight $200' written on the back.

This was going to be fun. I was finally going to get to see Julie naked. She lost the bet, and now she was going to pay; she would have to parade herself on a dance floor and strip naked for a room full of strange men ogling her lustfully. I knew she was bold and confident, but she seemed a bit hesitant. She even asked me to consider a different punishment.

"Ha," I laughed, "not even for a blowjob." She knew I was serious; she would have to complete the punishment. She looked at me with a pouty face.

"You know I have nine sisters, right? That face won't work on me," I reminded her. For the first time, I was beginning to feel like I was finally taking the lead in this tango Julie and I were dancing.

...

Julie prepared herself by dressing in a pleated pink micro-skirt, sheer see-through white panties, a tight-fitting fluffy pink sweater with a white lace bustier underneath, thigh-high white stockings, and pink heels that she could dance in.

She pulled her panties tight to display her cameltoe and then wet the spot with an ice cube. "I want the guys to think undressing in front of them is making me horny," she told me as she touched the wet spot. "Very sexy."

The manager gave Julie a ten-minute warning. I left her to get a drink and returned to my seat. I wondered if I was more nervous than Julie.

Midnight,

The DJ announced Julie's stage name, 'Guido's Girl'; he started playing her song, Crazy On You, by the band Heart. She strutted confidently across the stage, her eyes focused on me. The song started acoustic, somewhat playful, as were her movements. Toying with her bouncy chestnut-brown hair, she did a twirl as she walked, making the skirt reveal what was under it.

Some guy tossed a fistful of bills on stage, loving what 'Guido's girl' was doing. Julie winked at him and lifted her skirt to show him what he wanted to see; again, he showered money onto the stage. She spun again, dropped to her knees, and lowered her head to the dance floor, showing her ass and waving it at the excited guy. Two other guys threw money on the stage as Julie spanked her near-perfect apple-shaped ass.

Julie spun toward the audience and slowly pressed her thighs apart, lifted the skirt, putting her wet spot on full display, legs spread like the wings of an angel. Seductively, Julie unbuttoned the sweater, wiggled it off her, then thrust her chest out as Ann Wilson sang the chorus.

She then stood, pranced across the stage like a vixen in complete command of the packed room, then tore the skirt off and tossed it away, revealing more of her tight body. She then unfastened the bustier, exposing her perky breasts, more than a mouthful, with puffy nipples.

Julie pointed to a blonde, middle-aged woman; they were both singing along to the song. The woman responded by whipping a thick stack of bills at Julie, making it rain money. Julie massaged the wet spot of her panties, lowered them with a dance, and stepped out of them. As the crowd leered and cheered, Julie picked up and slung-shot the panties to the woman who caught them. She immediately kissed them and then tucked them into her bra for safekeeping near her heart.

Nude except for her stockings and shoes, Julie danced and posed seductively around the stage for the onlookers, several of whom rewarded her with tips. She ended by removing the stockings and tossing them to men wanting a souvenir of her performance.

I'd seen Julie expertly work a room before, but had to concede this was something else altogether. She was captivating. I couldn't unglue my eyes from her charismatic presence, not just because she was undressed, though that sure didn't hurt her allure.

A few moments after exiting the stage, Julie joined me for a drink. She wore a black and white tracksuit to cover her nakedness.

"You were fucking amazing. I never expected you to be so good at that; oh my god, it was so sexy."

"It was fun," she said as she sat on my lap and then sensually sucked the straw of her drink. She acted blissfully unaware of my hard-on pressing against my pants and her very warm, cute butt. It took Herculean strength to fight off the orgasm I wanted to have in my pants at that moment.

The manager came over. "Are you going to do the 1:30 am encore again, Julie?" she asked.

"Of course."

I looked at Julie, shocked. "What, you've done this before?"

"Of course," Julie repeated. "I love to dance; it's fun, and the tips will be quite useful to help pay for college."

The middle-aged blonde woman came over to our table and gave Julie a wet kiss. "Great show again tonight, Julie."

"It's always a pleasure to see you here, Bethany. Thank you for being so generous. Stick around; I will be wearing that black costume you love me in for the 1:30 am show. Guido here is very excited to see that." She laughed, wiggling and grinding herself on my lap.

Fuck, stop that squirming. I hugged Julie tight to me, desperate to stop her, even though my pants were already showing a damp spot from either my precum or Julie's excitement.

Julie was driving me mad; she'd been dancing here weekly and denied me the pleasure of seeing it until now. Not only that, but there was also the whole deal with the striptease being a punishment for losing a bet. Julie acting as if she were uncomfortable with doing the striptease was only an attempt to keep her dancing a secret from me. I felt like a marionette skillfully manipulated by her. I loved and hated her. "You owe me that blow job," I said.

"Silly boy." Julie kissed my cheek and smiled mischievously, a sparkle in her pretty eyes. "You want to make a bet? Guido, I talked to the florist and knew the whole time you sent me the lovely flowers."

I could not stay mad at her. She was brilliant in her craftiness, always managing to turn situations in her favor. As much as I wanted to resist her charms, I was drawn into playing her victim. Her playful demeanor and the thrill of our ongoing game had me smitten. I wanted to confess my love for her, but I knew she'd soon be leaving to return to college. The thought of her departure weighed heavily on my heart, yet I couldn't bring myself to share my feelings. Instead, I decided to savor the time we had left.