First night nerves? No. I had planned this for a while. It was my chance to escape my dreary, boring domestic life. This was the 1950s. Women were no longer just the property of a husband, who demanded they dress in pretty dresses, keep a spotless house, have dinner on the table and open their legs when their husband has needs.

I had heard of this place. Big money could be earned. Now here was my opportunity. I was out of town, staying with a sick friend. My boring, unimaginative husband would never suspect.

The lights were dim, the atmosphere thick with cigar smoke and alcohol, and something else. Was it lust, excitement, anticipation or male juices shed after previous performers? Sultry, sexy, saxophone music filled the air.

The previous acts were regulars at this rather exclusive Gentleman’s Club. They were skilled and popular, but I knew I had something special. I was a “virgin” to this world. I had been advertised as the New Wife. No photo, just my description portraying me as the girl next door, the perfect housewife, the neighbour, your golfing partner’s wife. You get the general idea. I was not a professional but a little wife whom they might know. The description ended with one word:

REVEALED!

The word is ambiguous, isn't it? It could mean my face; some performers wore masks. It could be my identity, my underwear, or…could it be my breasts? Or even more…my pussy? For the 1950s that was very rare, even for the professionals. The thought, or hint, that a pussy might be on show had guaranteed a full house.

The gentleman would not have long to wait.

~~~~~

ONE MONTH EARLIER

My friend lived in London. I had been” allowed” by my husband to visit her. She was a respectable married lady whose husband “worked in The City”. We had shared lunch and I told her how bored and frustrated I was with my life, my much older husband, and my unimaginative and limited sex life. She and her husband had a very open marriage. She told me about a club he went to. He took important clients there. It was in an exclusive part of town. The” entertainers” were well paid. In a low voice, she explained the acts were all female, mainly dancers, usually scantily dressed, sometimes topless.

I found myself tingling, something that had not happened in a very long time. On rare occasions, the club had a stripper, but they were like gold dust to find. These ladies got paid handsomely, especially if they removed all their clothes. Her next sentence stunned me. Actually, it was a question.

“Would you be interested? I could arrange it. I am the one who selects the acts.” She winked at me, then laughed at my stunned expression.

She told me to think about it. She also revealed the money involved. It was staggering. The more you revealed, the higher the reward.

All the way back North in the train, I thought of nothing else. The money was tempting of course, but the thought of being naughty, really naughty and taking my clothes off in front of men, not my husband, really turned me on. I was not a fan of being falsely modest about my looks. I knew I was sexy, not that I was ever told that, but the lingering looks and the accidental touches from my husband's friends indicated that.

I dressed conservatively when we went to social events at my husband’s Bowling Club. I had seen the other wives with their make-up, red lipstick and tight, low-cut clothing. I envied them, but they often said to me, "You are the one they all want to bed and see naked."

All except my husband. Lights off, his pyjama trousers pulled down, my nightie pushed up for easy access. A quick squeeze of my boobs, a thrust and a grunt and it was all over. Wow!

I looked sweet and wholesome and too good to be true; however, my body was different. I had an hourglass figure. My breasts were full and firm, my waist was tiny, and my hips were curvy and rounded. My legs were very long. I knew my body was good enough to be seen. By the time the train pulled into the station in Scarborough, my mind was made up.

~~~~~

It had been easy to get away from my husband. The letter on impressive bank-headed stationery from my friend’s husband asking if I could stay for a while, as his wife was incapacitated, did the trick. My husband insisted I go. These were important, wealthy people.

So here I was, waiting to take centre stage in this Gentleman’s Club. Of course, I'd been here on a few occasions to rehearse, when the club was closed and the only audience was my “incapacitated" friend. She coached me on what to wear, how to move, when to pause, and how to pose. I stripped down to my knickers, bra, stockings and suspender belt. I had not decided if I would strip completely. Very, very few did. We decided the underwear should be very feminine and lacy, but not sexy to keep the image of the wife next door going.

~~~~~

The music for my number started. I was on!

I walked out onto the stage, spotlight on me. I was demure in a pink frilly dress buttoned to the neck.

One by one, I slowly undid the buttons. I sensed a collective holding of breath, a hush. Slowly, ever so slowly I eased the dress off my shoulders and stepped out. I wore a pretty, but prim white slip. By now I was loving this. My entire body was throbbing with pleasure, and I felt my nipples harden and moisture seeping into my knickers.

I went into the routine of removing the slip. Now I stood in my underwear and stockings. Only now could these gentlemen see that underneath my bra, were very voluptuous breasts. Would they get to see them? The music rose, but I was aware of several of the musicians staring intently at me. I swear some were licking their lips. I did a slow turn, then bent over to pick up my dress and slip and placed them over a chair. I took my time, ensuring they all got a good look at my knickered bottom.

Slowly, I turned back to face my audience. A buzz of anticipation had started. I moved suggestively to the sexy saxophone sound. The unanswered question hung in the air.

“Will she?”

I turned my back to them again, slowly unclipped my bra and eased the straps down. A hush descended again. I turned once more, my arms covering my breasts. Then, with a slick movement, the bra was off and my breasts were fully exposed to all those strangers. I knew they looked magnificent. They were big and round. I had taken advice and oiled them so they gleamed in the spotlight. I caught sight of my reflection in a mirror. Were those really my nipples? They were standing out loud and proud, begging to be teased. As I moved seductively, my oiled breasts bounced in time with the music.

I began to play with the waistband of my knickers, sliding them down inch by inch, teasing and tantalising, turning my back to the audience again. Then, with a second slick movement, they were off! I stood in my stockings, stiletto heels, and suspenders with my curvy, bare bottom in full view. Thunderous applause went up. I was intoxicated by the thrill of it all. I knew I could have ended my performance there and I would have had a massive paycheck but...

The sax reached a crescendo and I turned again. Full frontal: breasts, pussy, obscured by black pubic hair. I did not make a hasty exit; I made the moment last with my suggestive movements and poses. The noise was deafening. Even the musicians were standing applauding. They did not see a naked “housewife “ very often. I ended my routine sitting on the chair, knees up, legs apart. I knew I had gone above and beyond and shown far more than any other “housewife”. I knew I would be top billing from now on.

A star was born. I would not be returning to Scarborough!