Got out of the gym 45 minutes later than I planned because the Southern Conference Championship Game became much tighter. Should've changed before the game was over; the lobby TV just after the front door is reachable, so I could have changed its channels and been out of there earlier.
The one thing that would've convinced me to not go to the house party happened ... sort of. In the mail today I got a claim form from the rental company. Now, I don't really know the vagaries of car insurance, but this tells me that I will be held responsible for the cosmetic damage to the rental I had in St. Louis, despite the fact that I don't know what happened, or how it happened, or even when it happened, or even if it happened while I had it. I'll need to go to my insurance agent to help me fill this out; hope I don't crash along the way. Maybe I should just ignore this. Actually, what I should have done is just not report it to the rental agency. Add another thing to my list of bills.
Called Amber. There was a lot of music playing in the background. Shoot, it wasn't going to be a flop of a party where only she and another stripper's going to be there so I can freely whip it out? I took out $100 just in case, but I quickly extinguished the flights of fancy in my head that caused my heart to race wildly before working out. Still, I could've just said I couldn't come, but I was really horny tonight, so despite my impending deductible, I went anyway.
It wasn't far, thank goodness. The party was at a cul-de-sac. The path to this community was replete with condos that look completely alike, and instead of names the signposts just list the number range that go down each dead end. These new developments are weird.
I wanted to park at the garage of the condo across the way, but I didn't need more car trouble, so I parked outside the cul-de-sac. I didn't want to wake anybody up, so I called inside and a guy opened the door for me. Nice guy, but damn, I wish he weren't there.
The condo's a nice place -- well, except for all the men there. It was dark, but the living room was lit with the visual montages accompanying the songs playing on the cable radio channels. That served as the jukebox and DJ for the dancers giving lapdances in the living room. Everybody else (and there were about four girls and a dozen customers) were in the dining room and kitchen, hanging out, eating pizza and smoking.
Amber greeted me in a small blue bikini. It was loud and she's sometimes incomprehensible, so I decided right then and there that my visit was going to be short, quick and cheap. I didn't want to be rude, however, so I asked her for one dance.
She was lovely and understanding. I could get away with a lot more here than at the strip club, obviously, but I just wish it were me and her, one-on-one. Or maybe her and another girl. Or all four girls and me, just the five of us. Anyway, there's more contact with hand and mouth, but for a guy who gets around like me, I've gotten much hotter.
Still, I was more jacked up than I was before the evening began, and I felt emboldened to at least get some rise out of Amber for my own selfish obsessions. So after I was done with my one dance I tricked her into escorting me down to the foyer on my way out. With us at a lower level and mingling with their custy or fellow pathetic loser, we were all alone, no prying eyes espying me leaving. Which meant that after I gave her my $20, I said, "Forgive me," and unbuttoned myself. It was really dark, so I had to look down to make her look down. She kind of bolted up the stairs and said, "I won't tell." She didn't seem upset, so I'll take her at her word. But just in case she immediately told someone at the party, I ran to my car and drove off, a mere 15 minutes after I arrived.
Remembering me showing Amber how I feel, I was able to touch myself to orgasm. Ah! But as so often happens, as soon as my urge passes I start to feel completely unhorny, and even concerned. Now I feel like I should call her and apologize, just to make sure she isn't traumatized or anything. Of course, if she's cool with it, maybe I can show her again!
Verdict: Mixed. When I have more money, I'll try again.
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