KISSED BY A STRIPPER
Recently, I went to a strip club. It's been a long while since I'd done that, and I'd never had a "lap dance." I was treating myself.
I sat at the bar, watched a couple dances, saw the first dancer approach a guy next to me, talk to him, and whisk him off, and then was approached myself by the next dancer. The woman who approached me was not young, and I noticed when she danced on stage she mostly had her eyes closed. She closed them often while talking to me too. I preferred to ask her questions, finding out she'd been stripping at the same club for seven years, and had done so because she'd been divorced, had two kids to raise, and could make a whole lot more money doing this than waitressing. She said her kids, 10 and 16, believed she worked at an ordinary bar; she hides what she does from them. She is hoping to get out of stripping soon and get into real estate; she's already started on that career path. I enjoyed talking with her, but wasn't interested in more: she wasn't attractive to me, and her pitch -- "Let's go get naked, honey"-- wasn't enticing either.
I prepared to leave, having spent a half-hour that was almost as boring as the ones I spent back in the day when clubs were called "topless bars." I was walking out when I almost bumped into a dancer who was standing near the stage. Because she was taller than me (and I am over 6 foot), I remarked on her height. She pointed out her heels, which she thought were 7 inches. Even so, she defined the term "statuesque." She had short, streaked-dark-and-light hair, full lips, and penetrating brown eyes. She stared me right in the face, said something inviting, and started pinching my nipples through my shirt! She invited me to follow her to a dark corner for a couch dance, and I was unable to resist. "C'mon, I won't bite," I remember her saying.
There was no discussion of terms, rules, length of stay. I sat down on a couch in a corner, curtained off from the stage, and she stood over me. Her flimsy tube top was already off, revealing delicious round medium-sized breasts above a thin waist. To my surprise, she leaned over and kissed me. She felt in my pants and moved my erection from a sideways to an upright position. And then she mounted me and started dry-humping me, with her panties on.
Inviting me to fondle and suck her breasts, she also encouraged or allowed my fingers in and on her mouth, and my hands spanking her ass and she slithered up and down on top of me. She continued kissing me too. She asked permission to suck on my nipples, unbuttoning my shirt. Pants and panties stayed on. I wasn't prepared for any of this--I thought there were restrictions on lap dancing that limited the contact, though I knew rules were different in each place. But I thought you only got contact if you paid more for it, and there had been no discussion of money. It felt as if she were just ravishing me for her own satisfaction (more likely it was just her irresistible technique of getting top dollar by risking getting nothing).
She did note the changing of the songs, which hardly entered my consciousness, and I supposed by doing so gave me a chance to stop and limit the bill. My silence implied consent. By the third dance I was suggesting she slow down and tease me more; I was feeling both aroused and overwhelmed, like a man gasping for breath under water.
Only as the third dance ended and she said she had to get up on stage did I get out my wallet. She hadn't suggested it, or demanded any money. I gave her what I had left, which I suggested was insufficient. She agreed, and told me I could get a cash advance at a bar. I foolishly asked what I owed her, she named a fairly high price, and I sheepishly acquiesced--and even overtipped. When I gave her the money she was already on stage (I deposited it in her G-string--I knew enough to follow that tradition!) and I told her if there was a next time I wanted more teasing. She allowed as to how she was the "queen of tease" and gave me a little demo on stage to prove it. Then she leaned over and kissed me again, in very sultry fashion.
I started to return the next day, then had a change of heart brought on by a change of attitude brought out by a silly little event I won't disclose. I am planning to go back though, when I feel I can afford to give myself another treat, but I'm not so sure what I'll find there--an angel, a devilish devious manipulator, the queen of tease, my comeuppance, of the inevitable deflating of expectations. My own lack of expectations and the surprise of her sudden intervention certainly added to the thrill. this time.
Does her approach seem rather unorthodox? What was going on here? Was I played for a fool? Was this standard operating procedure?
Recently, I went to a strip club. It's been a long while since I'd done that, and I'd never had a "lap dance." I was treating myself.
I sat at the bar, watched a couple dances, saw the first dancer approach a guy next to me, talk to him, and whisk him off, and then was approached myself by the next dancer. The woman who approached me was not young, and I noticed when she danced on stage she mostly had her eyes closed. She closed them often while talking to me too. I preferred to ask her questions, finding out she'd been stripping at the same club for seven years, and had done so because she'd been divorced, had two kids to raise, and could make a whole lot more money doing this than waitressing. She said her kids, 10 and 16, believed she worked at an ordinary bar; she hides what she does from them. She is hoping to get out of stripping soon and get into real estate; she's already started on that career path. I enjoyed talking with her, but wasn't interested in more: she wasn't attractive to me, and her pitch -- "Let's go get naked, honey"-- wasn't enticing either.
I prepared to leave, having spent a half-hour that was almost as boring as the ones I spent back in the day when clubs were called "topless bars." I was walking out when I almost bumped into a dancer who was standing near the stage. Because she was taller than me (and I am over 6 foot), I remarked on her height. She pointed out her heels, which she thought were 7 inches. Even so, she defined the term "statuesque." She had short, streaked-dark-and-light hair, full lips, and penetrating brown eyes. She stared me right in the face, said something inviting, and started pinching my nipples through my shirt! She invited me to follow her to a dark corner for a couch dance, and I was unable to resist. "C'mon, I won't bite," I remember her saying.
There was no discussion of terms, rules, length of stay. I sat down on a couch in a corner, curtained off from the stage, and she stood over me. Her flimsy tube top was already off, revealing delicious round medium-sized breasts above a thin waist. To my surprise, she leaned over and kissed me. She felt in my pants and moved my erection from a sideways to an upright position. And then she mounted me and started dry-humping me, with her panties on.
Inviting me to fondle and suck her breasts, she also encouraged or allowed my fingers in and on her mouth, and my hands spanking her ass and she slithered up and down on top of me. She continued kissing me too. She asked permission to suck on my nipples, unbuttoning my shirt. Pants and panties stayed on. I wasn't prepared for any of this--I thought there were restrictions on lap dancing that limited the contact, though I knew rules were different in each place. But I thought you only got contact if you paid more for it, and there had been no discussion of money. It felt as if she were just ravishing me for her own satisfaction (more likely it was just her irresistible technique of getting top dollar by risking getting nothing).
She did note the changing of the songs, which hardly entered my consciousness, and I supposed by doing so gave me a chance to stop and limit the bill. My silence implied consent. By the third dance I was suggesting she slow down and tease me more; I was feeling both aroused and overwhelmed, like a man gasping for breath under water.
Only as the third dance ended and she said she had to get up on stage did I get out my wallet. She hadn't suggested it, or demanded any money. I gave her what I had left, which I suggested was insufficient. She agreed, and told me I could get a cash advance at a bar. I foolishly asked what I owed her, she named a fairly high price, and I sheepishly acquiesced--and even overtipped. When I gave her the money she was already on stage (I deposited it in her G-string--I knew enough to follow that tradition!) and I told her if there was a next time I wanted more teasing. She allowed as to how she was the "queen of tease" and gave me a little demo on stage to prove it. Then she leaned over and kissed me again, in very sultry fashion.
I started to return the next day, then had a change of heart brought on by a change of attitude brought out by a silly little event I won't disclose. I am planning to go back though, when I feel I can afford to give myself another treat, but I'm not so sure what I'll find there--an angel, a devilish devious manipulator, the queen of tease, my comeuppance, of the inevitable deflating of expectations. My own lack of expectations and the surprise of her sudden intervention certainly added to the thrill. this time.
Does her approach seem rather unorthodox? What was going on here? Was I played for a fool? Was this standard operating procedure?
VIEW 14 of 14 COMMENTS
hm...or else?
About your journal entry, that's not legal, is it?