No one owned the stage like Angel Golightly. As the seductive opening strains of Santa Baby filled the theater and the curtains parted to reveal her dressed in a short fur-trimmed cloak and spike-heeled patent leather thigh boots, it seemed as if the whole audience sighed with lust. She strutted to the front of the stage, taking slow, deliberate steps in those impossibly tall heels, and did a little pirouette, allowing the cloak to fly up and offer a quick glimpse of her taut ass cheeks, bisected by a candy-pink thong.

I settled back in my seat to enjoy her routine, sipping my Santa’s Snowball cocktail and relishing the creamy bite of advocaat and lemonade. Everyone here knew Angel Golightly as the queen of the London burlesque scene, but to me she would always be Hannah Peterson, my best friend and confidante since sixth form college.

Her appearance was the highlight of the annual Silver Bauble Revue, designed to raise money for local homeless charities. It was held three days before Christmas at Morton’s Music Hall, one of the oldest remaining theaters in East London. The low, intimate space with room for no more than a couple of hundred patrons was the perfect venue for a raucous, bawdy show compered by tart-tongued drag queen Dusti Miller, and featuring the best dancers, up-and-coming comedians and burlesque performers the city had to offer. No matter who else took part, Angel always topped the bill.

She undid the single button keeping her cloak fastened and tossed the garment into the wings. Beneath it she wore a pink-and-white corset and white stockings fastened to a wide suspender belt. Moving to the slow beat of the music, Angel ran her hands over her exaggerated curves, prompting groans, wolf-whistles and the odd cry of “Take it off!” She put her fingers to her lips, painted blood-red in stark contrast to her flawless porcelain skin, and blew kisses to the audience. Then she turned and walked, hips swaying, over to where a big red-and-white striped candy cane had been set up.

Angel leaned against the side of the cane and threw her head back, exposing the long expanse of her neck. Every movement, every sensual gyration, had the crowd straining to see more. Finally, she turned away from them and unsnapped the fastenings running down the rear of the corset, each snap a promise of the moment more of her body would be revealed.

She removed the corset, holding it at arm’s length while still facing away from the audience, and let it drop to the wooden floorboards. When she turned around again, she had one arm clamped over her breasts, as if reluctant to let people see what they really craved. Like all great burlesque performers, Angel knew exactly how long to string out the anticipation, to keep everyone hanging on until they were almost crazy with their desire for more. At last, she pulled her arm away with a flourish to display her high, firm breasts, her nipples capped with silver tasseled pasties.

Before the crowd had fully digested the impact of seeing her half-naked, Angel climbed onto the candy cane and straddled it. She ran her hands through her hair, shook her tassels and lay back, arching her spine so her breasts were thrust up. Voices hollered for more as she rolled over and kicked her legs lazily in the air, every move choreographed to perfection.

As the final bars of the music died away, the lights went out. The spectators were silent for a moment before they broke out in wild cheering and applause. A single spotlight came on, haloing Angel as she took a bow, blew one last kiss then disappeared into the wings.

The house lights rose, signaling the end of the show. Dusti’s voice came over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for attending the review. The bar will remain open for another half an hour, and the Silver Bauble girls will be collecting donations. So please give generously, because remember, Father Christmas only comes once a year…but when he does, he doesn’t half fill your stockings!”

I hung back as the audience made their way out of the auditorium. Hannah had invited me to join her in her dressing room, but I knew she would need a few minutes to herself to take off what was left of her costume and begin to come down from the thrill of performing.

As I passed through the bar, heading for the door that led to the warren of rooms backstage, a red-haired girl wearing a short Santa cloak very similar to Angel’s held a bucket out toward me. I dug in my coat pocket and fished out all the loose change I found there.

“Here you go. Merry Christmas.” I tossed the money into the bucket and carried on my way.

A burly, black-clad man stopped me at the door to the dressing rooms. “The ladies’ room is back that way.”

“Yes, I know, but I’m a friend of Hannah’s. She asked me to join her after the show. If you need to speak to her to confirm, tell her it’s Jess.”

He looked me up and down and nodded. “Okay, go through.”

After the warmth of the bar, with twinkling fairy lights strung across the mantels and candles lending a diffuse golden glow to the cozy space, the corridor seemed like another world. Narrow and a little musty smelling, lit by a single dim bulb, this part of the building clearly hadn’t received as much in the way of restoration as the auditorium and front of house area, but it had atmosphere. I thought of all the famous names who’d trodden the boards here back in Victorian times and could almost hear the bawdy old music hall songs ringing out.

Down the passageway I went, past doors with handwritten signs fixed to them bearing the names of Dusti Miller and the other performers in the revue, until I came to Hannah’s dressing room.

I pushed the door open a little way and went to step into the room, only to be greeted by a sight that stopped me in my tracks. Hannah sat in a chair, her eyes closed, and her head thrown back. She hadn’t removed her stage makeup, but her tasseled pasties lay on the counter in front of a large mirror surrounded by brightly illuminated lightbulbs. She cupped her bare breasts in her hands, teasing the tight points of her nipples between her index fingers and thumbs. A man crouched down before her—his head buried deep between her creamy, stocking-clad thighs. Though I couldn’t see his face, I recognized him as one of the dancers from the show. His light-brown skin was dusted with shimmering silver body glitter and his hair in short dreadlocks, their ends dip-dyed blond.

I should have backed away, left them to their privacy, but something compelled me to stay. Watching this fit, handsome man worshiping Hannah’s pussy couldn’t help but remind me of how long it was since I’d last been with anyone. Hannah was always telling me I should set up a profile on Tinder, get out there and have some fun, but since I’d discovered my last boyfriend, Dean, had been doing exactly that behind my back, I’d found it hard to trust the claims of anyone who used a dating app.

Not for the first time, I wished I had Hannah’s confidence, her boundless self-belief, her ability to shrug off setbacks when it came to looking for love—or sex. Hannah knew exactly what she wanted, and nothing held her back from going out and getting it. She’d been seeing Robin Sansoucy, one of the stars of the wildly popular scripted reality show Knightsbridge Nights, off and on for the best part of a year, but they’d split up for the second time a couple of weeks ago. The way she shuddered under the ministrations of the dancer’s lips and tongues, I got the feeling that even if she and Robin were currently together, she wouldn’t have turned this guy’s advances down.

“Oh, yes, that’s it. Right there.” Hannah groaned and grabbed fistfuls of the dancer’s hair, pulling his face hard onto her sex and writhing in the chair. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Only half-aware of what I was doing, I dropped a hand down to my crotch and began to massage myself through my soft patent-look leggings. The layers of clothing in the way did almost nothing to dull the stimulation, and my clit swelled as I rubbed my fingers over the contours of my pussy.

The dancer broke off for a moment to gaze up at Hannah. I caught sight of his reflection in the dressing room mirror, Hannah’s juices glazing his smiling mouth and the point of his chin. “You like what I’m doing, baby, huh?” He had a Southern American accent, and his words were a deep, sexy drawl that hit me straight between the legs.

“Mm-hm, but please, Joel, less talking and more licking, okay?”

“Anything you say, mistress.”

Mistress. The word conjured up images that had my pussy clenching with flutters of need. Joel, blindfolded and bound naked to an X-cross while Hannah draped a soft suede flogger across his back and the taut globes of his ass, telling him he was a bad boy and deserved to be punished…

I stroked myself harder, faster, biting my lip so I wouldn’t make a sound as the first stirrings of orgasm roiled low in my belly. Hannah and her lover had no idea I was lurking in the shadows, watching them, and I wanted to keep them in ignorance.

“Oh, I’m almost there. Just a little more…” Hannah’s voice cracked, and her throaty pleas became incoherent gasps and sobs as she held Joel’s head in place, riding the waves of her bliss.

At almost the same moment, my own pleasure crested, with spasms so powerful my legs threatened to buckle. I had to put a hand over my mouth to stifle my cries as I came.

Joel rose from his kneeling position and slid up Hannah’s body to press a lingering kiss to her lips. I knew she had to be tasting herself on him, and she grabbed his muscled ass cheeks and pulled him a little closer into her.

At the same time as they finally broke apart, somewhere behind me, a door creaked open. Hastily coming to my senses, glad I hadn’t given in to the temptation to pull my leggings down so I could slide a finger or two into my wet folds, I straightened up, ran a hand through my hair, and knocked on the dressing room door.

“Who is it?” Hannah called out. If I hadn’t seen what she’d been doing only moments before, grinding against Joel’s face the same way she’d writhed on that huge fake candy cane, I’d never have known. She sounded perfectly composed.

“It’s me, Jess.”

“Come in, darling!”

As I went to push the door open, Joel emerged. He looked me up and down and gave me a smile before he disappeared along the passageway.

“Who was your visitor?” I asked as I walked over to where Hannah was sitting. She’d thrown on a pale-pink kimono and was wiping away her eye makeup with a cotton wool pad.

“Hm? Oh, that’s Joel. I wanted to see him about employing his dance troupe for a show I’m putting together in the spring.”

“I can see why you’d want to use them again. They were great tonight—and so were you. The audience really loved you.”

“Thanks, hon. You know I’m always nervous when I debut a new routine.”

“Well, you looked fabulous. Hey, do you want to grab a drink in the bar once you’ve changed?”

“Oh, Jess, I’d love to, but I got a call from Robin before the show. He wants to take me for a late supper at this little place he knows in the West End. They have this smoked salmon pasta dish that isn’t on the menu, but they’ll put it together if you ask for it.”

I swallowed down my disappointment. Given the on-off nature of their relationship, it wasn’t the first time a date with Robin had come between me and Hannah. “Don’t worry about it. If you two are back on, that’s great. Honestly, Hannah, you’re really good together.”

“Yeah, but I sometimes worry he’s only doing it to get publicity for the show, you know?” She tossed the makeup-smeared pad into a waste bin and reached for a fresh one.

I shrugged. “I don’t think Robin’s the type. And even if he were, publicity for him is publicity for you, too, if you think about it.”

“You’re probably right. Can’t live with him, can’t live without him…”

You seemed to be doing all right without him when Joel was in here.

“Anyway, Jess, we’re still on for dinner at mine tomorrow, right?”

It had been our tradition for the best part of a decade. A couple of days before Christmas, we’d have dinner, one year at Hannah’s place, the next at mine. This year, Hannah was hosting, and I knew that meant a fun, boozy evening with lots of gossip about the people she knew on the burlesque circuit.

“Sure. Do you want me to bring anything?”

“No, I think I’ve got it all in hand, honestly.”

“Okay, well in that case I’m going to call it a night.” I pressed a kiss to Hannah’s cheek. “Say hi to Robin for me.”

“Of course.”

She turned her attention back to the mirror, and I let myself out of her dressing room, closing the door behind me.

As I headed for the Tube, I was still thinking about Hannah’s rapturous expression as she came and wondering if I would ever manage to find that kind of wild, uninhibited pleasure for myself.