"...do... the right things? Don't lie to you? Notice when I am and tell you about it? Something like that, I think? Just... try harder, basically." It's simple enough, right? 

"...okay. Sure. We can start there and see how it turns out."

Okay. Okay? It feels... better at least, but he's not sure if it feels okay. "That's... okay, right?" he asks. 

"Yes. I... if it were me I would want more of a plan than that, but you're not me, it's not fair to you to expect you to be me, it's not better if you're me than if you're you. So. Be you." She kisses him on the cheek.

The kiss helps a lot. But still... "Are you sure? I can do better if you want. I think."

"Be you," she repeats, hugging him. "You can try to plan better if you want but—it's okay to be starting from where you are? You don't have anywhere else to start from, after all."

"Okay but if I'm not doing good enough then...." This hug is very good. She really doesn't want him to try harder (for now, anyways) even though... okay. "Okay. Just... I don't know, l let me know if it's not working? I don't want to be doing like, the Hunger Games thing you were just talking about." He smirks at the thought, then thinks about it more and shudders. 

"I will definitely let you know," she promises. Extra cozy squeeze.

Okay. Okay. He squeezes her back.

"...Okay, so um. What now?" he asks, still hugging her, not really wanting to let go. 

"I vote we go check out the theatre!"

Is that okay though? It... it seems to be okay. Okay. "Sure," he says, still not letting go, getting his center back. He takes a deep breath... and lets go. "Alright. Let's go do this. Let's go see the theatre." And see where the stripper pole (which... is something she wants to do for him!) is potentially going to go. 

She grins, and bounces a little, and kisses him on the cheek, and leads him down the long hall of the third floor to the stairs around the corner at the far end.

And he smiles, and sighs, and follows behind her! 

Down three flights of stairs they go, to the very bottom where instead of another turn of stairs there's a little closet. Rosy leads him out of the stairwell; the first place they see that's not a hallway is the pool, sixty-odd feet long and empty of water, surrounded by lovely patterned tiles. She heads left, past a couple of windows looking into a darkened room, playing her flashlight across the tile to make sure of her footing. There's the stairs, or the beginning of them—there are steps coming up from the pool room onto a landing, and more steps down the other side from the landing into the theatre.

Once she has both feet on solid ground north of the stairs, she plays her flashlight over the room in front of them. It's lined with grand columns and has stacks of lovely wooden chairs in a neat row along one wall; the other wall, on the right, has a long open countertop that looks like some sort of bar situation, or maybe a kitchen, or both? The curtains on the stage are closed. Rosy strides across the carpeted floor toward them.

That is definitely a pool! Empty, but still a pool. He had been warned of this, but it's still incredible to see an entire (enormous!) pool just indoors like this. (He might, surprisingly to himself, be looking forward to when it's full again? It might be nice to go for a swim. And not just for sexy reasons! Just for fun!) 

The theatre doesn't have the chairs permanently set up, which he had expected, but, after thinking about it for a moment, this is better. This gives them all kinds of freedom to set the set up in any way they desire -- strip club or airplane or queen's bedroom... he's starting to get hard just thinking about the possibilities, even while still unsettled after their recent, well, conversation. (Did he really nearly lose everything over all this? Well, perhaps he didn't, but it certainly feels that way. All over not telling her the truth about his own desires! It really feels quite stupid now that he thinks about it. He needs to be better for her.) Yes, definitely unsettled, but still getting hard. This place is huge, and has a lot of possibilities, and he is excited to try them out. He plays his flashlight over the place, taking it in as much as he can, before training it on Rosy as she strides towards the stage to open the curtains (he assumes). Yes. A lot of possibilities for sure. (His body agrees.)

She flits around the stage area until she finds the rope to pull to open the curtains, and heaves on it. The heavy velvet slowly draws back.

"Oof," she says. "I'm gonna be glad when the house can open them for us. Still, look!"

She climbs up onto the slightly elevated stage and stands in the middle, gesturing up and down the span of an invisible pole.

"Wouldn't it just be perfect here? With stage lights, and me dressed up all sexy for you?"

He tries to imagine it, the stage lights illuminating her in her sequined dress as she poses sexily against the pole, spinning around it, her eyes on him, moving her body in ways that... fuck. "I think I might like that," he says, voice slightly strained. (Fuck, he's imagining her topless now, that isn't helping matters any.) 

"Oh good!" She bounces.

He sees (in his mind's eye) her tits bounce, in her sequined topless dress (red sequined straps outlining them over her shoulders) and blushes red himself, turning a little to hide his face. (Yup, he's very turned on now.) 

This looks like a John whom Rosy should kiss.

The kiss may turn into makeouts if she's not careful (he's very turned on at the moment). When she kisses him he grabs her and kisses her back hard, almost hungrily, his tongue exploring her mouth, hands pulling her close. 

Just as planned. ❤️

Well, if there's nothing stopping him from kissing her more, he's going to do that, pressing his body (and hardness) into hers, pulling her ever closer as he kisses her, thinking about her dancing in that outfit, moving and enticing him with every move and step and twirl. He wants that, he wants to watch her routine and fuck her, he wants to touch her tits and flip up her tiny sequined skirt and fill her, with her moaning in pleasure at the sensation. (And it might even come to pass!) 

But even if it very well might happen, it still feels like too much for him to want. He lets her go and steps back, taking a few deep breaths. "Sorry," he says, "I got a little bit away from myself there." He looks at her, suddenly worried. "Are you ok?" 

"Mhm," she says, dazed but smiling. "Hi. You're hot. Love you." Nuzzle? Nuzzle. "What, um, what were you thinking about?"

"I'm glad," he says, half-automatically. He reaches out a hand so she can hold it for support if she needs to. "I, um, nothing important? Just um, you wearing a um, glittery outfit on stage, shining in the stage lights?" He might be too embarrassed to tell her about the features of the dress. (Or what he wants to do to her in it.)