Lap Dance Fails: I wish they wouldn't

Every lap dance should be heaven. Not every one is. These are a few of the things that have gone wrong just when I had my hopes up. Could have broke it She was a sweet young thing. And she’d agreed to fuck me. Pretty face. Tight bod. Soft though, with a full, firm ass. I had a kung fu grip on that athletic butt as she pounded that pussy down my shaft. Her juices were flowing. Even my balls were getting wet. I was two, maybe three strokes from busting when it happened. All her grunting, panting eagerness brought her fractionally too high. She rammed me the wrong way. Nearly broke me. Brought everything to a wracked, ruined stop. She knew even if I didn’t that we were done. I wanted to get things going again. She was sympathetic. But it wasn’t happening. And she seemed to know it before I did. She didn’t ask for a cent. I paid her anyway. Some. I left more humored than hurt. I will be returning. She’s just too fine. How can this happen? Any stripper worth her tip should know her way around us. Am I right? So how is that dancers have kneed me in the balls more than once? Not for being handsy or rude in any way. Just because. A couple of seconds prior, that’s me loving it. She’s all over me. Tits in the face. Legs between mine. And now the knee is gently making its way up my thigh. Does she slip? Because suddenly she jams my scrotum. Hits it hard. Hard enough to hurt. Why me? I’ve got a fine dick and fine balls. The target zone might be bigger than average, though not anything that would explain the pain. What did I do to deserve this? No, I don’t want another dance. Can we talk about something else? One time at an upscale NYC club, my choice for the night has pulled my dick out of my pants. Check. We’re right on schedule. Then she notices that I’m circumcised. She tells me she prefers uncut cocks. Good for her. Let’s keep this moving. Nope. She tells me why she prefers uncut cocks. She wants to talk about it. She wants to know what I think. I respond politely, noting that I had no choice and how I understand for her preference. Can we move on? No. She wants to know why I like mine. (And I do. And girls do. They talk about it. Dancers and civilians. They come back for more). She wants to know what I would do with my own son. She lobbies against circumcision for the next generation of my family. By now my dick has crept back past my zipper of its own accord. No need for a tip. The cost of the room was wasted. Moment of decision The first girl to offer me extras in a club nearly persuaded me to call it off. She had come right out barside and asked if I’d like oral. Yes. Is there any other answer? We settled on a fair tip (fair to me, anyway), and we went back. I couldn’t believe what came next. After the briefest “dance,” she went into the handstand position. Yep. Hands on the ground. Legs in the air. Then she lowers those legs so they wrap around my head. My head is inches from her quim and – to quote Richard Pryor – the funk rushed out! Would have knocked me to my G—damn knees – except I was sitting down. Think rank. Rotten. How do I get out of here? I didn’t. Neither did I lick anything. I’d say I waited, but it was more like I was stunned. Just not sure what do to. Soon she released the headlock. Turned around as if all was cool. On her knees. Unzipped. Her soft mouth made up for the handstand. Conclusion I’m not actually complaining. My lap dance experiences have been good, even great, for the most part. I’m sharing these negative moments because they stand out from the rest. Looking back, the only one I truly regret is the foreskin lobbyist. I want a refund on that room. She had a really great rack. I was going to fuck those jugs.