Jim was holding a manila envelope in his hand, and I greeted them both as I walked up. Riley was wearing sneakers, a pair of bright green soccer-style shorts, and a tight white Mickey Mouse tshirt that accented her chest nicely. I tried not to stare.I invited them inside, and Jim handed me the manila envelope. “Everything’s approved, Mark,” he said, Riley beaming at me. “The paperwork for your signature is in here, we’ve already signed. You’re welcome to look over everything.”I pulled out the stack of papers and glanced over them. There was a simple page for each of the participants -- me, Riley, her parents, and Caitlin (the latter page including Steve’s signature as well). There was a short medical report from the doctor in Puerto Rico, stating that I was free of communicable disease, and that my semen sample was “healthy but inactive,” indicating that the birth control was doing its job.My questionnaire from the ISPOTA website was there in hard copy form, with a large bold. Some newbees, one regular. He was always nice. Polite conversation before and after, even during sometimes, but not often, she thought. She held his attention in other ways. On one occasion he had remarked that his "reaction" was only very strong in this sort environment. And then really only with her. She was taken aback at the time, but later began to understand why it was so.Forbidden fruit.The excitement of pushing the limit, how far to go. She never even thought about consummating their relationship, it would spoil it. Theirs was a relationship of the tease. Strip tease.All of these thoughts went through her mind as she danced under the lights of the main stage. She always felt alone up there, as she could not see beyond the halo of the stage lights. If she had her way she would not work the stage. But it was required of her to do so.So she did. A bit indifferently. Casually. Her stage dance reflected her attitude towards the whole idea.She preferred one on one. Close.
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