I now have a new modus operandi when it comes to these private parties. I no longer try and get there early in order to beat the rush of men. I go there late, in fact no earlier than a half-hour before the party's supposed to be over. I suspect the number of men won't be much higher than it would be when it began, plus I have the added effect of night, in case I need to obscure my pee-pee.
So after tooling around on my laptop I head out west. After going from Uptown and seeing how you're able to drive from this tony area to a first-ring suburb (and see how the landscape changes -- cool; it's like seeing the history of Minneapolis), I hit this condominium complex.
When I get to the address, I remembered I should have asked her which apartment number, let alone which complex. So I call her and get the number so I can buzz the right button to be let in.
When I come in, I almost fall. There's a step up, a big step up. And I'm wearing only my flip-flops -- the easier to take them off when I'm getting my impending handjob -- so I stub my big toe, really hard. Goddamn. Why in the hell isn't there a "Watch Your Step" sign anywhere?
So I limp down to the end of the hall and knock on the door. She, the one who finally gave me her vicious hand lovin' just a couple weeks before, answers. As I walk in, a girl sitting on a couch in the living room right in front of the front door notices I'm favoring my right side. Then, she notices that my substitute porno pants are riding a little low. Babe, you suspecting I'm not wearing any underwear? Well, you're right! Too bad she said it with some level of incredulity, if not disgust. Odd -- I'm thinking she's a stripper. There's no other reason for a woman to be there. Also too bad: There was a guy sitting next to her on that couch.
This place was a well-appointed apartment -- not huge, but pretty sizable for a place for what turned out to be a pair of sisters. What is also too bad is that there were four other guys there; the three others were on the kitchen table, snarfing down some pizza.
My Girl showed me a notebook. She wanted me to sign up for an e-mail waiting list. "They want this to be on the up-and-up, so if the police show up we can tell 'em this is just a party," she said. At the time I thought it was a great idea that they were trying to go legit on this. But now I realize two things: 1) Why does a party like this need to "go legit?" and 2) There's a paper trail and my e-mail address. Oh well. I don't think there's been a party planned since. Haven't gotten an e-mail on one.
Anyway, so my dream of being the only guy in a party with a bunch of girls (so I could just drop my pants and prance around an unknown apartment with my dick hanging out) got popped, so the next thing to do was pretend that no one else knew what she and I were about to do and go to the VIP, which just happens to be the bedroom of one of the two women living there. So I act nonchalantly as she and I go inside.
She was kind of scared about someone coming in, particularly the resident of the bedroom. But she was one of the strippers who organized the party, so what do I care? In fact, I wanted her to come in and see her wanking me away. Maybe she would join in! ;-) But she was steadfast; finally, she put the laundry hamper in front of it. Didn't think that would provide much of a barrier, but if it takes her mind off of that, it keeps her mind on me dick.
With that out of the way, it was time to get down to business. There was no negotiating or hesitation. She took off her clothes, I took off my shirt, and with little prompting, she untied my pants to reveal the manly treasure hidden underneath. And this time, she didn't mind taking off her undies too! There was a point in our encounter where she turned around right in front of me. I wanted to just poke that bubble butt of hers, but I didn't have the money for that.
I did have the money for the wankjob, though, and she went in with gusto. Without me asking, she just gave my main vein a squeeze and told me to sit on the bed. (Nice sheets on the bed, by the way.) She used lotion that the hosts laid out and went to town my cock. There were still issues with time; I guess I wasn't coming within a minute like she had hoped. I got there close to 11, when the party officially ended, and once again I didn't really care that it was about to be over. But, she did work me over good. I came, a lot easier than I did the first time. This handjob around she let go of my penis to grab a towel. I probably squirted all over the master bedroom carpet before she could collect it all on the spunk rag.
She told me to get dressed and leave the room quickly. Before I opened the door I heard the host saying something into her phone. I think that My Girl, at this point or during the handjob session, said that she had a kid and she was being babysat for the evening. Hmmm. I still didn't understand the rush.
I had to use the bathroom to empty any semen still trapped in my urethra. She followed me into the bathroom and actually groped while I was about to drop trou and piss! I should've had her touch me all over again!
When I came out, I didn't see any guys there. Man, if I had just gotten there 20 minutes later. ... But what I did see there was a little girl. Oh -- that's the stripper's daughter. When I saw her, I recognized her; she used to be a dancer at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition), but I hadn't seen her in a couple years. Because she seemed to have come home very shortly after I overheard the phone call with her mom, her kid was, I presume, somewhere in the apartment complex or even just down the hall for the evening. She wasn't very young but wasn't a teen, either -- maybe 10 or 11. And she was wrapped around her mom very tightly, burying her face in her stomach. I think she didn't want any foreign guys at home, especially since she knew what they were -- and I was -- there for. I kind of thought she knew because her mom blurted out, "Yeah, I remember you from (My Favorite Stripclub [Non-Cover Edition])!" I think her daughter knows. Awkward!
I didn't recognize that there was a guy there. It was an old bartender that also once worked at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition). He was a cool guy. Kind of weird to think that he might know what I was there for. Double awkward!!
My Girl and I walked out together -- fully clothed, just talking like we didn't engage in sexual activity not ten minutes ago. We hugged and said goodbye.
I was there no more than half an hour and dropped $100 but it was worth it!
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