About Private Dances
Written by BA Tortuga
111 pages / 40500 words
ISBN: 1-934166-43-X, 978-1-934166-43-7
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc
An exotic dancer to make money for college, Dale usually stays onstage. Private dances are tricky, you never know when someone will try to take it too far. Big time player Gen makes him an offer he can't resist, though, for one dance. Just one.
One dance turns into two, and soon Dale is drawn into Gen's world, one of wealth and power that spans two continents. Can they find common ground between a backwards Texas student and playboy with more money and power than Dale can even imagine?
Review
Alex Draven, editor of the High Ball line, writes
This BA Tortuga romp provides us with lots of fantasy. As the story starts, Dale is working as a pole dancer, selling cowboy fantasies to pay his way through college, and when he meets a beautiful Italian businessman, who sweeps him away into a life of luxury, that's another check in the fantasies list.
Their relationship development is beautifully shown, rather than told, but largely through sex scenes – yet more fantasy – luxury hotel rooms, sports cars, spa baths, and beautiful Italian palaces. But just when the heaping of fantasy upon fantasy upon fantasy was starting to get a little cloying, BA pulls something out of the bag, the story shifts gear, and we get to see Dale and Gen in a new light, as the friction between reality and romance causes them some problems. Dale still needs to graduate, and Gen still needs to work, and after their Christmas season honeymoon the return to reality – to two very different realities several thousand miles apart - is hard on both men. I was really rooting for them to figure out a way to make things work. And they do. It's still fantasy-fodder. These are beautiful men, and their happy ending isn't short on luxury, sex, romance, or dancing, but the author creates enough texture to keep this from being a throw away fantasy, tying together the reader's fantasies, and the characters' into a really satisfying story.
The first time Dale dances for Gen, it's pure fantasy – the fantasy of a cowboy, the fantasy of the unknown dancer in a club, the fantasy of the rich client and the easy money. Later it becomes two men, dancing together, swaying together as the sun sets in a perfect romantic moment, and by the end of the tale the character's original fantasies are memories, just how far they have come together put into relief by play-acting their old roles, without the 'realities' of a dancer / client relationship – the ultimate fantasy of a happy ever after with the man of his dreams.
Sample
Okay, buddy. Close your eyes and listen to the damn music. No thinking.
None.
Except about the money.
And pizza.
Oh... That sounded good.
Maybe mushroom and sausage. Extra cheese.
There was no touching. No inappropriate groping. Just the music and the sound of the big guy breathing hard and the... unnerving silence from the other one. He could feel those eyes on him. He really could.
It made him nervous, made his heart race a touch.
Sorta started to make him hard, which was weird as all hell.
The song ended and another started up, not really Rick's sort of thing, more his own, which was okay, just a little freaky. But it was a little easier to ride the bronc to. It made him smile, thinking about bronc riding, about the way horses felt when they were moving and how he had managed to use that to make money in the big city.
Go him.
There. Now somewhere there at the end of that song he heard a sound, and it wasn't the big guy whimpering, though that was there too now that he was listening. It sounded like a growl. That was his last bar on that one, and he had one song to go. That was how it went. Private dance was three in a row.
The next song was slow, sultry, the house lights going low as George and Hank did their damn near fucking on stage act. It was surprisingly hot, the guys' relationship new enough that the emotions weren't faked, weren't fucked up.
Well, that and that black light body paint shit they used in their act?
Fucking cool.