Writings » Behind the Strip Club

Behind the Strip Club

By Buttermilk Baby at 2007-10-12 | Romance | Printable version

   I pressed her against the alley wall. Against the cool brick, squeezing her ass in one hand, holding the back of her neck with the other.  We wrestled with our mouths for what seemed like hours.  Half sweating, half freezing in the breezy autumn dusk, she pulled her lips away long enough to get out one demand, "Tell me it's real..."

   "Not on your life bitch," I forced back, but not as hard as I forced my tongue down her throat.  And that was good enough for her.

   Amidst the passion, amidst the heat, you may be wondering, what sparked this fiery tryst?  Well, like most love at first sight, it started in a strip club.

   Bathed in pink neon, with sweat-stuck-on glitter topping her perfect breasts, she danced atop me.  Like an Egyptian Goddess, or some Navajo doing a rain dance.  It was tighter than a slave ship in this club, with no room for the girls to dance except your lap.  A lap which had already become increasingly crowded if you catch my drift.

   Sliding her body back and forth along my tower of power, I knew the truth, I needed this whore.  Needed her like oxygen.  I began to perspire.  I looked to my left only to see some Jewish guy cramming a twenty into a girl's mouth.  That shit was hot.  But the real action was at the end of my lance, a brunette in a bright red wig wearing what can only be described as shoe lace, and heels that were closer to stilts than evening wear.  I couldn't just sit there anymore, I wanted to grab her, squeeze her, feel her body in my hands.  So I pulled out the big gun with Ben Franklin's face on it.  I slid it into her ass-crack and the game was on...

   She pulled me by the wrist through the crowd and into the back.  She pushed open the fire door and we were in a damp, misty narrow behind the building.  I slammed her up against the wall, and that's when things got rough.

   After a few minutes of lip-grappling, and my hundred dollar's worth of groping (I groped this whore to all Hell), she pulled away again and declared, "Time's up, hun."  She persisted in driving her knee into my scrotum, dropping me into the puddle at my feet.  She ran back into the club and pulled the door closed behind her.

   Seven minutes later, when I finally managed to pull myself up out of the dirty rain pool, littered with scratch off lottery stubs, I was met face to face with an "officer of the law."  He wrote me a 237 dollar ticket for exiting out a fire door, and sent me on my way.  Best 337 dollars I ever spent...