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“Gypsy! REALLY! Why do you always do this? You know you can just ask whenever you need. You’re the least of any financial challenges that come my way. You can’t carry on like this, it’s crazy!”
Yet again I was faced with a crisis concerning the financial meltdown that is Gypsy. Crisis being the operative word. This time I was being hit with a triple whammy of rent, car finance and nasty calls about her non-payment of store accounts.
Gypsy had left her job a while back and while she did stepped straight in to a seemingly better one, promises by her new bosses were not stuck to, commissions were not paid and eventually they closed up shop. I had been asking her regularly if everything was ok financially and telling her to just say if she needed anything.
“I’ll be really thankful,” she said quietly, head bowed and contrite with a sideways look.
I knew what she was hinting at; “No way lady, like I said paying you for sex is not something I am going to do! Just shagging me to get out of debt is exactly that,” I said, “I don’t care how thankful you are!”
Previously, she had required a substantial lump sum, well substantial to her but O.K. for me. She had at first suggested that she would, shall we say satisfy me incredibly for the money as she had no chance of paying me back. In the end I said she could have the cash without strings, but she said that sex would be a great way to thank me. I went along with it that time and don’t get me wrong, I loved it! But not this time. I was more than a little fed up with her.
My tone with Gypsy was firm but not aggressive or argumentative. She does not handle aggression from me very well and would likely storm out the door calling me all manner of names. That would not resolve anything so I was calm, even if I was expressing displeasure.
“I’ll help, I always do, I always will, but please, really please, don’t leave it so long before asking. I’ll have it tomorrow and give you the cash.” I knew that with everything else as bad as she said, her overdraft would eat up anything I put in the bank. I was not going to offer her extra overdraft money. She would have to ask and get over whatever bullshit reasons she had for not doing so.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a soft childlike voice.
We had a chat and she eventually left knowing that, although frustrated at her, I would help.
That particular crisis averted and me taking over on-going payments where needed, we got on with our lives. I really didn’t want to indulge in anything sexual with her for now. Well I wanted to and I missed our times of passion and adventures when we went out. But it would have felt like I was taking advantage of her financial situation.
She tried flirting a few times and while I quietly enjoyed it, I did not let it lead anywhere. I think she believed I was tired of her, or more probably her problems, that I was thinking of moving on or was angry in some way. The fact was that none of that was true. I was simply back to my previous mode of just being deeply concerned for my friend and not wanting to benefit from her problems. That would be a betrayal.
As time went on her attitude towards me cooled significantly. I had taken a step back and was still sorting her finances out, treating them as a simple business problem. In doing this I think she believed that any fun side of our relationship was a thing of the past.
I knew she was short of cash, but she would not accept what I termed “fun money” from me, the money we all need after the bills are paid to put a little something nice on the table or bring a smile to your face. She had this weird thing about being in debt. In any event she withdrew further away from me.
A few weeks after sorting everything out, I called her up. She answered the phone and sounded like she was withdrawing in to that hard shell she puts around her as a self-protection mechanism. If, as I thought she believed, I was backing away from her, she would never grace me with the belief that she gave a damn. I found it intensely sad, she had nothing to fear from me, I was not going to disappear like anyone else in her life, we might have had a strange friendship, but that is what it was to me, in the deepest most fundamental sense of the word, a friendship. I would never desert her.
On the phone I said, “Hi,” adopting a cheery tone, “look, I may have a small job for you if you are interested.”
“Oh, what kind of job?” She answered sounding withdrawn, trying not to show too much enthusiasm, after all, if I was backing off or about to disappear then she had no reason to trust me.
“Dancing,” I said.
Of all the dancing Gypsy does, one of my favourites is her belly dancing. She had studied it for more than a few years and was actually very good, taking part in concerts and demonstrations with her dance school. Twice when we had been an item, ten years before, she even gave me my own private dances which I’ll never forget.
People often misunderstand the whole belly dancing canlı bahis thing. Some believe it to be slutty, akin to pole dancing or an excuse for stripping. In Gypsy’s case nothing could be farther from the truth. It is far more a demonstration of grace, beauty, seduction through music and movement, but nothing overtly sexual, it’s an art form and typically very family friendly. For the detail freaks out there, Gypsy dances in the North African / Egyptian; Raqs Assaya, Malaya Leff, Raqs Baladi, Ghawazee and Hagala Styles.
I had met a colleague the day before who was in the process of arranging his bachelor’s party ahead of his wedding. While we were not exactly buddies, we got on and knew each other fairly well. He was a quiet guy, kind of bookish. We had met socially a few times and his friends, accountancy and actuary types, were similar personalities. He told me about wanting to arrange something special but not as crass as strippers or a debaucherous night out.
I had said, “what about a belly dancer?” thinking immediately of Gypsy and her need to earn a cent or two. We discussed the idea and he asked about prices. I told him that the lady I knew was not cheap but she was amongst the best. “Maybe four or five grand plus tips” I suggested, not really knowing how much a belly dance costs. He was enthralled by the idea and by the end of our conversation had themed it up in to some kind of Aladdin and Princess Jasmine, or Sheiks in the dessert type thing. We parted with me saying I would try and dig up the lady’s number. He knew nothing about Gypsy, or Gypsy and me for that matter.
I told Gypsy on the phone that if she was interested I would pass her number on to my colleague. She was not what I would call eager but said she would consider it.
I was sick of the situation with Gypsy and I. So few days after I had passed her details on to my colleague I went around to her house. It was on the spur of the moment, but I wanted to thrash things out with her and to get back the happy person creature that I adored so much.
She let me in and while not cold, she was not exactly the graciously warm and welcoming person that I missed so much.
We had a glass or two of wine and slowly she seemed to warm up a little to me.
“Oh your friend got in touch by the way,” she said. “He was a bit very and asked me all sorts of questions. He wants some kind of Turkish Delight, tents in the desert, robes, cushions and camels type thing.”
“CAMELS!” I said amused.
“No not really, but he didn’t know what he wanted exactly and I’ve kind of fallen in to the party planner role. I don’t know how I’m going to do it but I have to arrange some kind of Middle Eastern pleasure palace in his Laapa.
I should stop and say, for those of you not familiar with the term. A laapa is a thatched outdoor entertainment area in these parts. It can be open sided or closed off. There is usually a BBQ area, although we call it a Braai and often a bar area.
“He’s paying you for the party right?” I asked.
“Oh yeah, I’m getting five grand for dancing and he’s given me another five in advance for the planning. He said that he trusted you so he had no worries about paying. The transfer came in this morning.”
“Do you want any help with the arrangements?” I asked. Gypsy was not exactly busy at the moment, but I wanted to get us back to where she was no longer suspicious of me ultimately letting her down. I missed my warm and sexy friend.
“That’s the thing,” she said, “I’m nervous about the whole bachelors scene. I’ve heard stories from other dancers where things got out of control. Would you come along?”
“Ahh, you want me to be Kevin Costner to your Whitney Houston,” I said with a smile. “Look he’s a good guy, I won’t have met everyone there but I know his mates are ok guys. Quiet, not hard drinkers and a bit nerdish to be honest, but if you want me there I’ll come along and do the bodyguard thing.”
“Kevin Costner” She said with a laugh, “you wish!” Ahhh the old Gypsy was coming back.
That week she went around shopping for the party. I helped out at the weekend. Bolts of cloth and material here, cushions there, a couple of artefacts from some old stuff shop and so on.
On the party day we had the guy’s laapa out in the garden looking like something from Ali Baba and the forty thieves. He was surprised to see me there, but Gypsy and I just shrugged it off explaining that it was a lot of work and I was free labour.
And that was it. We left the laapa and went off to the main house agreeing that a call to my phone would signal a start to the dancing. I waited while Gypsy prepared and was blown away by the seductive elegance of her costume when she entered the room.
It was emerald green, which always looks great on her, varying in density from the almost transparent shawl, a slightly heavier veil and a flowing skirt that teased when she walked, showing just enough leg to entice but not so much to be over doing it. Little gold coins were sewn bahis siteleri in to the outfit and jingled when she walked. And that pièce de résistance, her belly!
You all know by now what I think of Gypsy’s body, but that belly is perfection multiplied. There is no six pack, but you can see its firmness, yet there is still a little to shake. Beautiful!
The phone rang. “You’re up,” I said.
With a look of determination, off she headed out through the doors to the garden and the laapa, the interior of which, due to the drapes we had purchased was invisible. I followed brining the music box and before placing it down on the ground and switching it on, I whispered a “knock em dead Gypsy” in her ear.
She let the music play for a few seconds until everyone had gone quiet and made her entrance through the drapes. I stayed outside at a slight distance but surreptitiously watched from the now dark garden through a strategically placed gap in the drapes.
If anyone so much as laid a hand on her I would break it I thought. I’m not a violent guy, but I am very protective towards Gypsy, to the point that she has found it a little irritating at times. However, this was a bachelors, a gang of randy guys, so I watched them like a hawk.
She was going to do three sets with a small break between the second and third.
As she started a hush fell over the laapa. Her veil hiding most of her face, but hinting at the beauty behind, the sheer shawl flowing behind her as she moved with her arms in the air, her delicate feet seeming to hover over the ground as she moved. In the words of that great philosopher, Shakira, “…hips don’t lie.” Gypsy’s told the truth about a lady with an incredible physique, a lady who did not hear or dance to music but felt it inside herself in the most visceral manner.
She paid attention to the guests, nine in total, with a small bit of dance for each one, before heading towards the groom. I could tell that he was besotted and in awe of the exotic creature swaying in front of him. The coins on her costume jingling, the veil and shawl teasing, both covering and slightly hinting at what lay beneath.
Continuing without a break she started the second set, the tempo increasing as she swirled, a beautiful glimpse of a leg here, a sight of her midriff there, arms moving in a way that defies description as she swayed closer to each guest in turn.
I momentarily tensed as one guy reached out to touch her, but being the consummate professional, she swayed away from his hand with a grace that was at once a tease but also a reinforcement of the rules. Again the groom got the end of the show with her dancing closer and closer, while, his mouth agape, he sat and gazed upon an angel.
Gliding over the ground she reached the drapes and as the music ended slipped outside. Rapturous applause ensued with shouts of “more more” and “we want Gypsy,” “we want Gypsy.” I was sure they did, but they were not going to get her in the fashion that I thought they wanted.
I gave gypsy a light hug careful not to tangle with her outfit. “You were magnificent,” I said quietly handing her a bottle of water that she drank greedily.
Panting slightly she said, “I’m not sure how much more they can take, every one of them has a boner!”
I was sure they did. We listened as the guys described what they had saw to each other and in a couple of cases, what they would do to Gypsy given half the chance. I think they thought she had returned to the house. We laughed quietly at their banter and comments until it was time for the last and final set.
Gypsy nodded and I turned the music on. In she went to a surprising hush, all comments stopped and an almost audible intake of breath was heard as she slowly started her finale. Swaying gently, moving elegantly with an almost imperceptible thrust of her hips forward backwards and side to side, she gradually increased the speed.
Dancing in front of the groom she removed her veil giving him a dazzling smile. All of the guys were mesmerised now that they could see her full face and just how radiantly beautiful she was.”
The shawl had been placed to one side, so there was less subtlety in the teasing, it was however still graceful, wonderful and unusually, for something read in an adult story, something you could still let the kids watch. Well maybe not your teenage sons, but you know what I mean.
Speeding up she was twirling now at a greater and greater pace, a moment in front of each guest, each getting a dazzling smile as she danced until she was in front of the groom. Twisting in an almost contortionist manner in time with the music she twirled, ducked, bent over backwards her arms moving beside her. The groom was awestruck until at the end of the set she collapsed to the floor in a stunning finale.
Claps, shouts, whistles! She got up and ignoring everyone walked over to the groom her hips swaying and that jingling teasing the ears. In front of him, she bent down, grasped his face in bahis şirketleri her two hands and gave him a hard kiss on the lips. I thought he might pass out! With that she ran out stopping only to pick up her shawl and met me out side panting.
“Wow!” she said.
“Wow!” I agreed.
The noise was raucous inside the laapa as we headed for the house. Once changed Gypsy came in to the sitting room where I was waiting, just as the groom also came in. Heading over to her he gave her a delicate but gracious hug, whispered something, handed her an envelope and expressed the level of thanks normally reserved for surgeons, fire fighters and our Saviour.
We left in high spirits not wanting to imagine how much would be drunk, the stories that would be told and the headaches that would follow.
Gypsy was elated and I was very happy as we chatted and bantered all the way back to her place.
Inside and with a bottle opened she took out the envelope.
“He said they all added a tip on top of the fee,” she said pausing while she counted excitedly. FIFTEEN GRAND” she shouted, “THEY ALL GAVE A GRAND TIP!”
“You earned it,” I said with a proud smile.
“Look I’m sorry I’ve been a bitch to you recently,” she said, “it’s just that I…”
Raising my hand and interrupting her, always a dangerous thing to do with Gypsy, I said in a serious tone, “look Gypsy there something that I need to tell you.”
Her face darkened, in an instant I knew what she was thinking, something that we do with each other quite often. Her back straightened, a defiant look appeared. She was waiting for the “I’m going away” speech from me. If I gave it she would accept it with bareley a blink, refusing to show any emotion.
“WHAT?” she all but demanded.
“Sit down. Please.” I asked.
“I’m good thanks,” almost daring me to be yet another disappointment in her life.
“I love you,” I said firmly, “I always have and always will. Not in that white picket fence, fluffy sickly movie style way. Deeply, profoundly and with everything in me. Look we are all but certain not to get together in any way that that people wouldn’t find strange. To be honest I doubt we will ever be together in any way other than it is now as friends. You are my friend, my confidant, my bud and I love you because of that.”
She mouthed a little bit like a goldfish, but I continued. “You were a bitch to me, and you know what? You had every right to be because that’s the way you felt. I don’t care about that. What? Do you think that you in a mood is going to make me think differently of you? I’d have fucked off years ago if that was the case. No, I love you for being you and don’t ever expect you to change.”
“I… I… wasn’t expecting that!” She said keeping up the goldfish impression. “well we do make a good team!”
“That we do lady, that we do.”
With that she went up the hallway.
After a few minutes I shouted, “what are you up to? Your wine’s getting hot!” just as she came back in to the room in her black silk gown and sat down beside me looking straight and intensely in to my eyes.
“What?” I asked
In a thought full voice Gypsy said, “I was thinking, you don’t have to pay for anything more… and I had do all the hard work this evening, so there’s no need to be thanking you… With her gown falling open, just enough, she said “So maybe we could just…”
I pulled her towards me, kissing her deeply, kissing her cheeks, pulling her by the back her neck to me.
Pulling away she said “well I guess we could do that too,” laughing and coming back for more.
With my hand slipping in to her gown feeling her breast, my hand between the silk of her gown and the silk of her skin, I thought, “I am living at least ten men’s dreams tonight!”
Slowly leaning her back on the sofa I parted her gown and paid close attention to her from top to toe and everything in between.
Kissing around and between her breasts, my hands gliding over her skin, she moaned and wriggled a little. Moving down I kissed and caressed her belly, the top of her thighs heading towards the goal of her peach, down her thighs until I had kissed tasted and caressed everywhere. Feeling like I had not completed the job, I rolled her over and did the same to her back, pausing to pay deserved attention to her magnificent ass.
We somehow got ourselves together enough to walk to the bedroom. Well walk is probably the wrong word, kissing, grabbing, stopping to caress, or removing some of my clothes, before we slid along the wall a little more and started again. There were a couple of bites from Gypsy in there somewhere.
She shoved me on to the bed and climbed on top of me, shifting up until she was sat on my chest with her knees on my shoulders. She looked down at me with what I call her “sex face,” a difficult to describe expression, but it’s only ever used with sex. Reaching up she ran her hand around the back of her neck, sliding her hands up to the top of her head pushing her beautiful black hair up in a pile. She held her hair up like that for a second; her head tilted to one side, before releasing her locks and shaking her head. A casual carefree gesture that I found enthralling.
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