I need to talk about this. I've waited for the heat to die down, and I finally have wireless connectivity, for now (more on my thoughts about that shit mess later), and since I won't have time to do this tomorrow, I'll talk about this now.
So I went to one of My Favorite Stripclubs a week or so ago, ostensibly because I wanted to talk to this girl about what happened to her performing artist troupe -- something about a schism amongst the acts. Anyway, I had to wait until a Friday because my All-Time Favorite at this particular My Favorite Stripclub said for sure she works on Fridays. I avoided those days because I always get the impression it'd be filled with downtown workers who decided to work only a half-day and start their weekend early.
Not quite, but there was a lot more commotion, a few more dancers than on another weekday, and another staff member. Who I did not see was my ATF, ******e. I overheard one of the guys working there that he was waiting for her to show up -- she's very punctual -- and that he's surprised she hasn't come out yet.
I was entertained by a lithe blonde with a tramp stamp when I finally saw ******e storm out of the back. Once the stage set was done and the two-for-one began, I was ready for my usual with her. But when she got up from the couches where they usually lay when nothing's going on, the girl who was sitting next to her stood up too. I couldn't make her out through the darkness, but when she walked alongside ******e, I finally saw her face -- it's ***a, the girl I wanted to see!
I told her I'd be back for her while ******e did me a solid in the beds in the back. I saw the same guy lamenting ******e talk to ***a, but I didn't think anything of it. It's not as if I was pulling my dick out in the open with so many more people around. No, that's what the bed stalls were for. The last time I was there ******e couldn't stop touching my ass while I was empyting my pockets. I figured if she was going to do this again, I was going to surprise her by whipping my pee-pee out and turning around; maybe then she'll really get aggressive with me, like I want her to.
But as I turn around to present myself, I see ***a at the opening. I literally screamed! What was she doing here? "Do you want to buy [******e] a drink?"
I was floored. "You're a drink girl today?" (Drink girls are waitresses who, as is supposed to be the case in places like this, hit you up for more money under the auspices of slaking your girl's thirst before you start your dance. I hate that. She hates it too, and she knew the drill, so I didn't have to say no.)
Then, for no particular reason, ******e asks a question that never occurred to me: "Are you an exhibitionist?"
Why would she ask that? Well, it's not as if it's a totally weird question; I mean, we are at a strip club. But I didn't think having another girl there would trigger thoughts in me about showing. ... Well, I need to back up here. These two girls seem to get along, which is rare at a nudie bar; later I saw them looking at ***a's laptop. And I like both of them, they're my two favorites there. So I've had a dream for a long time where I'd get them two alone and I'd show them how they made me feel.
Well, this horny haze just comes over me again and I realized that I have the ideal situation that I wanted right now -- my two favorites, a bed stall, darkness, and no one able to come in and spy on us nor bother us. This is totally what I want, dude!!! It's just that Justine kind of ruined the setting by asking such a stupid question. She asks weird, non-germane questions a lot. I think she might have Asperger's syndrome.
Anyway, she and ***a were just talking. I said -- hopefully I said, instead of stammered or even mumbled some unintelligible language that showed all my blood was going into my cock -- "Well, does that mean she's cool with ..." and then the dick, which I put back when I turned around and saw ***a, I took back out. I knew ******e's seen my manhood, but it's for ***a to. Except that she wasn't; she was looking and actively talking to ******e. Yet I was undaunted; all I can think about, all I wanted, was for her to look at my true essence. Either she was into her conversation with Justine or she kind of knew and/or saw with her peripheral vision I was out and wanted to avoid seeing it. I was staring at her eyes, waiting for her to shift them down and to the right, and I wanted her reaction to viewing my cock for the first time ever.
lookatitlookatitlookatit
And finally -- finally! -- I saw that she couldn't help but look down at my pee-pee. Yay, one of my greatest wishes has come true!! And she ... she ... she turned and walked away. Huh? Shoot, she didn't do that in my dreams. No, she was supposed to get a smile on her face and then grab my pee-pee and yank it vigorously. Not walking away in ... disgust? Confusion? Fear? She's a sweet Suicide Girl -- petite, pale, long black hair and lip piercing. She ain't down?
I was all disappointed with myself when ******e kind of yelled at me: "You shouldn't have done that."
"I thought it'd be OK."
"Put that away."
I love ******e, but lately she's been really scared of getting caught. I still believe she won't, yet her hesitation has led to some finishes that weren't explosions, more like pudouts. And now she really didn't act like she was in the mood. I sheathed my cock but left it unbuttoned; when the music began she quickly buttoned me all the way before she rode me. Was she scared of the presence outside, was she mad at me for presenting myself to ***a, or both?
Regardless, I wanted to push our relationship further -- kinkier, tougher, a tad more S&M. I've always wanted to bite her tits. She lingered her beautiful natural nips upon me and I took a chomp. She shivered, pulled her away from me, grabbed my wrists and put them above me, and told me not to do it. Or else what, will you punish me? Please?? Pretty please??? But she didn't. It was the worst dance I ever got from her -- no touching, the grinding wasn't even good, and most of the time she was asking me questions I just give a shit about. I gave her $100 because of our previous history.
---
Immediately jumping out of the bed stall I wanted to apologize to ***a. I kind of knew in the back of my mind she wasn't that type of girl, but I couldn't help myself, and now not only was I afraid she would get me kicked out, but she would hate me forever.
She was onstage almost right after I got done with ******e. I was profusely apologetic. Either she's a really cool chick or she shut off part of her heart for me for good, but she was "no big deal" about me flashing her. We talked about her new burlesque troupe at the tip rail and when we did a 2-for-1 at the couches. She invited me to their next performance later this month. But I'm still wondering if I lost her for good after that stunt. Man, this is why you don't take chances. Or maybe I'm just sad that she won't touch my pee-pee.
---
Well thank God, then, for ******e, a girl who I've quickly realize will always deliver without paying any mind to staff interference (and by the way, she spells her stage name with an "i" instead of an "a." Glad I asked her.) After I got done with ***a, I was ready for ******e. More than ready, in fact; I was ready to blow twice this visit, and I saved myself for it. But after getting blue-balled by ******e, I needed the sweetest hand lovin' she could provide.
She did, and she didn't fuck around. Once we got into the benches -- these are the cheaper-priced seats, and they're a little more conspicuous, and there is a smidgen more light in this area -- she knew what I wanted, and she was ready to deliver. She crammed her hand down my pants, and then I just ripped my pants open. Before she got down to business she said, "Hold on," and she reached back to get her purse. Inside, she dug for something she squirted onto her hands. "What's that?" I asked.
"Just a lube." Ah! I am in expert hands!
She told me not to completely drop my pants on the floor, so I opened the front of it open and let my pee-pee laze there, like the pistil of a blooming flower. She was afraid the management would think they were up to something, but with the way she was standing up while she was jerking me off (vigourously, the way I like it, the way ******e didn't and never has treated me), if anyone poked their head in, they should know the jig is up. But I love ******e because she doesn't care. She took care of me good; we were there for a 2-for-1, but I was done well before the first song ended, and so I had to close up shop and she had to writhe on top of me to keep up appearances. The damage, nevertheless, was done.
I'm starting to think I need to replace ATF's. ******e and I have never gotten into deep conversation, just stuff about how things are doing with us, but I've spoken to her about my unemployment and she's been encouraging, even if it is with bromides. Contrast that to ******e, who, after I ordered lunch to dry off, plopped down in the chair next to me and asked questions she really had no good reason to ask. Example: "What are you doing tonight?" Why does she want to know that? She's not inviting me anywhere.
I try to turn the tables while eating my hamburger. What I want to know from a stripper is personal information. ******e told me once she had a son, so I ask her how is he. She immediately snaps back, "Why do you want to ask about my son?" The same reason you asked me what my plans were that evening -- to start a conversation. So she shut me down, yet sat next to me, even though I was concentrating on my burger. I should've whipped it out right then and there.
I need to give her one more chance; so much has gone on between us, especially where our bodies collided back in the beds. I'll go at a time when she's there and ******e isn't, and hopefully it's a day that's quieter, and maybe then she'll forgive me and jack me the way I want to.
Man -- you expose yourself and a girl could react in a multitude of ways.
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