Waste our money one day. Risk it again the next.

All too often, I throw good money after bad. That makes me a degenerate. You? You know what I’m talking about. That once a week trip to the club you allow yourself. Only this week was a bust. So I’m going again. Just this once. Because there was no one I liked last time. Or no extras. Or the extras just weren’t good. Or good enough. This will be the exception. I deserve it. We delude ourselves. I did. One of my most elusive pursuits is petit, skinny girls willing to suck and fuck on the couch. In my long and extensive experience, I’ve found that petit, skinny girls are scarce in the clubs I frequent. Yes, they can be found at fancier clubs. The problem there is they don’t fuck – or when they do, it’s at a price past my value point. At the downscale clubs – where girls like the extra bucks that come when I do – they tend to be bigger. Which is fine. I just prefer petit. So I was working on this one. Maybe 90 lbs. Definitely pretty. Surely the worth the investment of time and effort to persuade her to do more. This was a girl who had stated unequivocally that she only “danced” in the back. Yet I saw something else in her face. I’d take my time. And in time, she’d take the D. My time had come. We’d had several drinks together over several weeks. We’d even done that more platonic style of dance where my zipper didn’t budge. Still, she knew what I wanted. It had been discussed. Negotiated. I’d made my intentions clear without applying any pressure. This time she said: “Let’s just have a dance and see what happens.” On the walk to the curtained room, I figured the chances my zipper would budge were less than 50-50. That’s fine. I’d pay her the $25. I’d pay her plenty of (legitimate) compliments. I’d try again. The first thing she did after closing the curtains was drop her panties. Now this is one of the greatest sights in a strip club. Maybe it’s because the tits are already so readily on display. Maybe it’s because of what it says about what is next. Whatever it is, the shutter in my mind clicks every time. Every time a girls drops her panties in the back, it’s recorded for me forever as if there were confetti and balloons falling from the ceiling. And what a sight. That flimsy red rolling softly down the long white thigh. That shaved little cleft peaking at me. The corner of her eye catching mine in sly recognition of our secret. I would have done better to come right then. I should have given my dick some air, paid her and walked away because it wasn’t what I’d wanted, what I’d worked for. No oral, she said. We’re not going to do that. She produced a condom by magic and slid it over me like she was being graded for health class. She straddled me, grasped my shaft and inserted just an inch or two without so much as a smile. That’s how she fucked too. No style. No joy. Nothing like I expected. Nothing like I wanted. I paid the usual rate. I regretted every dollar. Which is how I ended up at an AMP two days later. Unsatisfied, I wanted satisfaction. And found it. Beautiful. Petit. If you can believe it, a really great booty and big, full, natural breasts. I haven’t even gotten to the best part. If club girl sucked at fucking, AMP girl loved to fuck. And we did. She let me take her. She let herself go. That’s what we degenerates do. Waste our money one day. Risk it again the next. The panties sliding down her legs will be with me forever. The impossibly sexy AMP girl I’m going to fuck again. And I’m going to be looking for more. I’m going to look for more petit girls in strip clubs, more petit girls who fuck.