She was a hoochie coochie dancer, I was a mere glass collector.  

Sure, she had flirted with me before. But asking me to adjust her brassiere was a step up and totally against the rules. Now my hand was quivering as she pressed my palm between her decolletage. The flesh of her breasts were so soft. I felt a tingle of pleasure as she turned and traced her fingers up the lining of my skirt.

Where would...could this lead? Her own hand was now past my stocking top, my gusset moist from my excitement. I leaned forwards... our lips touched.