*     *     *     *     *

     Stepping out of the curtained alcove, I glance up at the New York Live stage.  Much to my delight I discover Gia dancing nude onstage, finishing up her second number to “Better Not Look Down” by B.B. King.

     At the rear of the theater there’s this waist high partition forming a walkway.  Mesmerized by Gia’s performance, I move along this partition until I’ve got a clear view of center stage.  She has got to be the most beautiful Eurasian I’ve ever laid eyes on; those incredible long legs, silky jet-black hair spilling to the small of her back, and trained ballet moves are one incredible package.  Gia’s in a class all her own.  The dramatic stage lighting highlights her tight, young body astonishingly, and it’s a privilege to watch her.  For me, if it’s done properly, this is strictly an art form in every sense of the word; Gia’s polished performance solidifying that concept.

     But the key to an exceptional striptease is enjoyment...the dancer’s enjoyment.  If she’s having a blast it naturally spills over onto the audience.  By Gia’s sultry glances, warm, outgoing nature, and the flash of an occasional smile, she’s obviously having a ball with the spectators.  This is what opens wallets.   

     Finishing her number, Gia takes her bows to applause, gathers up her ample tips, waves and vanishes behind the curtain.

     I continue my center stage vigil, leaning on the railing of the waist-high partition with my elbows, and enjoy the next two acts that come after Gia’s presentation.

     Following this pleasant interlude, I hear the metal door, leading to the dressing room, open and close.  From out of the curtained alcove Gia materializes, all freshly scrubbed and perfumed, currently attired in a glittering candy-apple red bra and thong.  Her silky, raven hair sets her “costume” off nicely, as she glides up to me on platform heels, slipping her slender hand - with the long “Dragon Lady” crimson nails - inside my right arm.

     “Take me to Thailand this very instant, Uncle Petie,” she demands.  “My feet and back are simply killing me.  An old lady like me should never attempt a double shift.  What the hell was I thinking?”

     I laugh.

     As I mentioned before, dear reader, Gia is barely twenty-three. 

     I pull a Benjamin out of my jacket and press it into her model’s hand.  She grins, and without even checking what it is in the darkness, folds and inserts it into her bulging Thai silk purse suspended from the chord slung on her shoulder. 

     She’s picked up quite a wad of cash on this double shift, dear reader.

     Having concluded our business transaction, I escort her to The Private Cabanas, where she jettisons her costume and high heels, and I hang up my jacket and ball cap.  Afterward I conduct a repeat performance on her beautifully nude body, as I had earlier executed on Angel, to rave reviews of sighs and moans. 

     Gia totally digs Thai massage, dear reader.

                *     *     *     *     *

     An hour later Gia and I emerge from the cabana and head for the grand, comfortable couch in The Kopenhagen room.  Once again it’s between performances and the room is empty.  Gia has replaced her thong, and merely carries her bra and high heels.  Last year she got implants using the skills of an expensive Beverly Hills plastic surgeon, who works on the stars.  I must admit, having had the privilege of handling a vast number of breasts in my day - one of the spin-off benefits of being an old fart - Gia’s breasts are, in a word, “perfection.”  For her size, body-shape and age, they compliment her flawlessly.  However, what genuinely surprises me is their texture. 

     I mean after all, dear reader, I’ve sampled more than my fair share of implants, from the beginning of the concept back in the late Stone Age ‘70s, which contrast greatly to these recent additions to Gia’s outstanding body that feel akin to the “real deal.”  With immense joy and humility my hat’s off to the marvels of modern medicine. 

     As for Gia, this is one young lady who’s rightly proud of the “twins.”

     Her nickname for them. 

     At one point during the massage in the cabana, when I was on my knees working her lower back and derriere, just for a lark Gia spun round.  Then she pressed my bald head to her chest, crushing her breasts on both sides of my face. 

     At which point she said, “Gosh...so that’s what it’s like to have three perfect boobs!”  Then she laughed wickedly.

     Subsequently she released my head from her delicious mammary vice, and I was able to look up with a gigantic, surprised grin on my face.  After which I confided, “Gia, honest to God...for a moment I c-could actually hear the ocean in there!”

     We both creased up.

     As I presently work on her tired feet, propped up on my lap for the next twenty minutes, Gia proudly gives me a “free boob show,” as we discuss the problems with her current boyfriend in L.A.  It seems they’ve recently moved into a new townhouse at Encino, and it’s fallen on her shoulders to decorate it.  Of course the boyfriend’s mother wants to get involved, and it’s becoming a genuine contest of wills.  I listen sympathetically as she pours her heart out, continuing to work on her feet, calves and thighs, while marveling at the Beverly Hills surgeon’s artistry.

     “So what do you think I should do, Pete?” Gia finally asks.  “I mean...at times it’s a bit too much for me to handle.”

     “Well, p-pumpkin, it’s your money...and your nest,” I reply.  “After all, you’re the one who’s got to live in that n-nest...right?” 

     Gia nods in agreement.

     “Therefore, you’re the one who s-should be allowed to feather it in a way that’ll make you happy,” I advise.  “Tell ‘Mom’ to go screw up somebody else’s n-nest.”

     Gia laughs.

                    *     *     *     *