My Best Friend's Daughter

I’d known Holly her whole life. From the day my friend Rachel announced her shock pregnancy to the day eighteen years later when Holly moved out to college herself, she had been like a niece to me.

Rachel’s pregnancy came as a surprise for several reasons. We were in our final year of college; she’d never expressed any urge to have children; and – perhaps most significantly – the two of us were casually sleeping together and had been for years.

“Is it mine?” I’d asked, preparing for my whole life to change in a heartbeat.

“No.” And with that, the physical side of our relationship was over – the father was a friend of hers from the church she attended to keep her parents happy. To avoid any scandal, the two were married within months.

I didn’t dislike Will, but he was hard to warm to. We stayed friendly for Rachel’s sake, and because I wanted a relationship with their daughter. As it turned out, Holly needed me, too. Will wasn’t emotionally available enough to raise a child, let alone a girl, and over the years I watched their relationship go from frosty to outright hostile.

I, on the other hand, bonded with Holly immediately. I’d read her bedtime stories and babysit for her; as she got older I’d be there to listen when she had stories about boys and parties that she couldn’t or wouldn’t share with her emotionally-repressed father. We had a literal lifetime of memories.

And every single one of them came back to me simultaneously as a blonde lapdancer in red lingerie pulled back a curtain to reveal Holly, naked except for a studded choker, grinding against my colleague Ben and rubbing her breasts in his face.

I don’t do strip clubs, as a rule. I don’t do well in high-pressure sales environments and I really don’t like Strip Club Guys. But the main reason is that I hate how much I enjoy lap dances. So when my boss suggested a trip to the Sugar Factory to celebrate a big sale, I knew I’d end up caving.

The blonde dancer – ‘Candy’ – noticed that I’d turned my back on her and flirtatiously stroked my arm to get my attention.

“Come and sit down,” she said.

“I’ve, uh, changed my mind. Nothing personal. Here,” I said, handing her twice the listed cost of a one-song lapdance.

“Are you sure? Because for that money,” Candy said, grabbing my crotch, “I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

“Oh my God! Uncle Patrick?”

Holly’s dance was obviously over. I glanced out of the corner of my eye and could see she was dressed. Well, as dressed as a working stripper ever is – a strappy leather bikini top and matching hot pants, showing off what I was undeniably a beautiful body. Curvy hips and a slim waist, with big natural breasts that strained against the leather. I cursed myself for noticing as she walked over to me, making an effort to cover herself up with her arms.

Those eyes. She looked so much like Rachel.

“Holly, I’m sorry. I had no-”

“Please, call me Angel. I don’t want any of these guys knowing my real name.”

“Of course. Uh, Angel. If I’d known I would never have come. I’m going to leave and don’t worry, I won’t say a word to your parents.”

She laughed nervously. “Of course you won’t.. It’s you who probably ought to be worried” she smiled. She was right. Will was a born-again Christian with extremely traditional views about family and gender roles. He’d been horrified when Holly once came home from my house smelling of weed; learning that his daughter shows her tits to strangers for money might have just about killed him.

“Anyway, weren’t you about to get a dance from Candy? She’s the best.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way but I’m not really in the mood now.”

Holly put her arms around Candy’s waist and whispered something into her ear. She disappeared back through the curtain, leaving us alone. Holly grabbed my arm and pulled me over to the bar. She was served instantly, and handed me two tequila shots. We clinked shot glasses, then downed them.

“I didn’t have you pegged as a strip club guy,” She said. ”For a start you’re about ten years younger and ten years older than most of the lads who come here.” She smiled a brilliant white smile, framed by glittering black lipstick.

“It’s a work thing. Not my choice.”

“And Candy? Was that part of the assignment?”

I blushed. Judged by a nineteen-year-old. I shrugged.

“When in Rome…”

“At least it’s you,” she said, a tone of relief in her voice. “You’re about the only one of mum and dad’s friends who wouldn’t bundle me into a car and take me straight home.”

“We were all nineteen once, and all I care about is that you’re happy.”

I looked her in the eye.

“Are you? Are they treating you well? Do you enjoy it?”

“Well, it’s a lot safer than the bar I used to work in where even the manager groped us; I’m making more money than most of my friends in office jobs. And,” she leaned in and whispered into my ear. “I get to turn guys on while they sit there, unable to-” she trailed off, suddenly conscious of who she was talking to.

“Sorry. Slight overshare. But yes, I love it.”

“Good. Because let me tell you – whatever your parents might think of this, your mother was not making wholesome Christian decisions for the three years that we lived together.”

Holly looked at me askance.

“Did you and mum ever…”

“Oh no, young lady. Rachel doesn’t need to know about this, and you certainly don’t need to know about what she got up to twenty years ago.”

Holly ordered four more tequilas, and we drank four more tequilas. She thought for a moment before saying what we were both thinking.

“Bit fucking weird, this, isn’t it?”

“I’m struggling to think of anything more weird, really.”

Holly turned to me. She was smiling, but in a deeply suspicious way.

“Oh, I know how to make it more weird,” she said. “But I doubt you could handle it.”

“Try me.”

She took my arm and walked me over to the dance area. They’re so strange. Cheap couches where customers sit down – hands strictly flat by their sides- and have girls strip naked on their lap, sitting perhaps half a foot from the next guy doing the same.

Holly sat down and patted the seat next to her, indicating that I should join her. I did, but she immediately jumped back to her feet, leaned over me and put my arms out to my sides. The unmistakable, Indian-influenced introduction to Britney Spears’ ‘Toxic’ blasted out of the speakers above us and Holly started to dance in time with it. The movement of her hips was hypnotic.

“Still think you can take it?” She asked. Her eyes, so familiar to me, had taken on a new quality. There was a sparkle in them that made my heart start beating faster. Once again, I saw her mother. The teenage Rachel. The one that got away.

“Actually Holly, I, uh,” I mumbled nervously. “You know, your parents and -”

She put her finger to my lips to shush me, and leaned into my ear once more.

“Be honest: do you like my Dad?” She looked me in the eye.

I didn’t say a word, but my face gave me away.

“Well,” she said. “Just imagine how he’d feel about this.”

She span around to face away from me and started to shake her ass- only half-covered by the leather – to the beat. One step back and she was sat over my legs, twisting her hips into me. She leaned back, pressing her body into mine, her head on my shoulder.

“Remember the time I brought that joint over and Dad assumed you’d given it to me?” She was half-whispering into my ear, her breath making my skin shiver with excitement.

“He tried to ban me from seeing you after that.”

Her ass was moving in circles against my crotch. The most confusing erection I’d ever felt started to swell, pushing against her.

“Get this,” she slid to her feet, then turned around and straddled me, putting her arms around my neck as she leaned back in.

“He thinks you’re a bad influence.” She emphasised “you’re” by grinding into me and rubbing right up against the growing bulge. When she felt it, she giggled and slowed her rhythm, gently rocking herself against me until she could feel I was fully hard.

She looked into my eyes, visibly proud of her achievement. She stepped to the floor and stood in front of me.

“So, this is the part where I usually take off my clothes.”

“No!” I shouted, totally panicked. The other dancers looked at me, bewildered. I lowered my voice.

“I … that was fun. Uh, thank you.”

“Thank you? For the hard-on?”

I was speechless.

“I’m a professional,” She continued. “Just doing my job.” She was still moving in time to the song as she slipped the leather bikini off her shoulders.

“And you’re a customer who happens to be a friend.” She was topless now, her breasts swaying as she danced.

“And I treat my friends well.”

She dropped to the floor, ass-up, and slid off the hot pants revealing her thick, shapely ass. She lifted her leg into the air and then turned it towards me so I could see all the way up to her completely bald pussy.

I felt like I was having an out of body experience as she climbed back into my lap and pushed her breasts into my face.

They were perfect – round and wide, but perky, with proportionately large nipples. In spite of myself, I was overcome with an urge to suck them. She must have seen the look in my eye, because she quickly whispered

“Not here. Strict rules.”

She sat back on my knees and I felt her hand on my cock. She winked.

“Strict rules for you, anyway.”

The song ended and Holly reassembled her outfit.

“I do need some customers tonight. I had fun though. Will you stick around til we close?”

“When’s that?”

“About two hours. I’ll make sure you drink for free.”

I opened the curtain, and she added

“Oh, and I’ll make sure your colleagues are jealous as hell.”

I rejoined my boss at our table. Of course, everyone wanted to know why I’d been gone so long so I pretended I’d had dance after dance.

This won me some toxic machismo points. But it was nothing compared to what happened five minutes later, when Holly appeared at the table.
She handed me two bourbons and said loudly

“These are on the house.”

Before I could take a sip, she pushed me back in my chair and sat in my lap again as my workmates stared in envy.