tuscl.net

The following is a work of fiction. It describes a completely unrealistic fantasy encounter. None of this has ever happened. Really. Would I lie?

My one might a month outing to my preferred strip club was about to come to a close as a bust. The girls, most new since my last visit, were plentiful, and mostly gorgeous, but none of them had interested me. The brief conversations that I'd had with a few of them left me flat; they hadn't even interested me to the point where I'd buy a drink, much less a dance. I was just getting ready to leave when a dancer I hadn't noticed before, wearing what looked like a leather bikini, climbed the stairs to the stage. As the DJ announced "Welcome to the stage 'Jasmine', Ladies and Gentlemen," I paused to watch her.

Jasmine was, in my opinion, a very cute girl. Her nose was a little too big and her cheeks a little to chunky for her face to be called truly beautiful, and she was carrying a little more weight than she probably liked, but there was no way anyone could call her fat. "Pleasantly cushioned" is what I call it. Despite the extra cushioning, her knees and elbows were a little on the knobby side, and her teeth, which were all there and moderately straight, were that slight tinge of yellow, barely noticeable until one of the stage lights shone directly at her face, that screams either smoker or heaver coffee drinker. Her dishwater blond hair was long enough to cover her nicely shaped and perky "B" cup breasts when she hung her head down in front, with bangs that framed her face perfectly. She had those larger, meaty nipples that so often seem to result from feeding kids directly, but neither her belly nor her breasts showed any signs of stretch marks, though her stomach did display the barest little pouch that might have been from pregnancy.

Now, I'm not the most attractive guy on the planet. Overweight, out of shape, and pushing 50, I'm not one to criticize, so the above description is an attempt at objectivity, not to put her down. Given the shape I'm in, I'll admit I'm a little intimidated by the really gorgeous dancers. Maybe that's why this girl, for all her imperfections, was more attractive to me than most of the others; maybe I didn't feel as intimidated by her as some of the others.

She danced to two songs, a fast one and a slow one. The fast one was one of those bass-laden things that barely has a melody, but is fast and loud. Her movements were smooth, but quick and erotic. She looked comfortable on the stage, which was definitely a change from most of the other dancers I'd seen that night. As she took her g-string off for the second song, I saw that she also distinguished herself from every one of the other two dozen dancers in the club that night by not completely shaving her pubic region, leaving a triangle about two inches wide at the top, tapering to a point right above the top of her lips.

When the music slowed down, "Wanted, Dead Or Alive" by Bon Jovi, so did she, sensuously moving about the stage and just about making love to the pole. Her stage moves were more in line with what I call strip tease, rather than the legs and lips spread postures that seem to have become the norm lately. She certainly did display herself on occasion, but there was an aspect of anticipatory delight in not having it given up as soon as she walked on stage. I went up to the stage to tip her, as did a half a dozen of the other patrons, though I was the only one who went up three times.

After she came down from the stage, she came directly to my table and sat down.

"Hi," she said, without even reaching for my hand, as most of the others had done, "I'm Jasmine."

"So," she said, "the other girls told me not to waste my time with you. You haven't bought anyone a drink or a dance all night long, even though you've tipped almost everyone one of them at least once on stage. What's wrong?"

I shrugged. "Well, up until now, nobody really interested me tonight."

"Up until now? Is that a line?" she said with a bit of a grin playing about her lips.

Again, I shrugged, "The simple truth. For one thing, you look like you actually enjoy the dancing. Most of the others looked like they just wanted to get it over with and get back to the hustling. For another, you've actually managed to speak in complete sentences without sounding like a valley girl or something."

"Well, I could, like, do that, if it's, like, your thing. You know?" Should couldn't say it without giggling, though.

"Oh God, please no!" I said, laughing.

About that time, one of the waitresses came over and engaged in that time-honored Louisville tradition, "Would you like to buy the lady a drink?" Having spent barely anything all night long, it only took me a moment to decide, thinking to myself, what the hell, it at least promises to be an interesting conversation before I go home. "Sure, why not?"

We sat and talked for at least a half-hour, about the weather, her family, my family, dancing, the club, and whatever other subjects came to mind. She'd only been working there for about three weeks, before that, at another club across the river. This one was closer to home, and she made more money besides. Through it all, there wasn't any sign of the hustle, or impatience that I'd seen with the other dancers, no whispered hints of treasures untold if I bought a VIP dance, no pressure at all. Just friendly conversation.

Finally, as the second drink was just about finished, I asked her, "So, do you do lap dances?"

"Of course," she said, "I'm a stripper, aren't I? Do you want a topless or nude one? How many songs?" She did not mention the VIP, which every other girl had done first.

"How about just one topless one to start with."

She looked a little disappointed but said, "Ok. The lap dances are no touch, remember."

I paid and Jasmine led the way to the lap dance room, which had isolated, though not private booths. The one closest to the door, and most visible to the rest of the club, was occupied, but Jasmine led me to one near the back, which was relatively hidden from the other room. She removed her top, and sat down next to me in the booth to wait for the beginning of the next song. When the song ended, she got up and straddled my lap, put her hands on my shoulders, and asked, "You ready?"

The music started, fortunately, a slower song, and so did she. It was one of the best simple lap dances I've ever had. Even though I had to keep my hands on the seat next to my legs, she was not shy about touching *me*, that was for sure. She slid up and down my body, teasing me, rubbing my crotch with her ass, her breasts and her face, and doing it all in a slow, sexy way, not frenetic or with fake porno moans, or that silly heavy breathing that they think is going to fool me into thinking they are enjoying themselves. By the end of the dance, which came all too soon, I was hard and throbbing, and aching for more. This was far from the first time I'd been aroused in a strip club, and wouldn't have been anywhere near the only time I'd come close to, or event actually, finishing off in my pants, but this was in the top dozen or so for erotic encounters.

My condition was obvious, as she said, "Well, that's certainly a gratifying response. Any chance you'd like another one?"

"I think if I get another one, I'll make a mess."

She grinned, and turned to look at the door of the lap dance room. Apparently assuring herself that no one was paying attention, the other dancer and her customer had already left, she reached into her purse and took out a small packet of tissues.

"We can't get away with pulling you out in here, but put these in your pants quick, and give me the money for the second dance. I'll go pay while you arrange things."

I handed her the money, and stuffed the tissue in my pants, arranging it for maximum protection. It was only after she'd left the room with my money that it occurred to me that she didn't have to come back, but it was only a few moments before she walked in again.

The song that had started after she'd finished the first dance was still playing, but she lowered herself into my lap, saying, "Let's get started. It's almost over anyway, and I'll make sure you get a full song." Given that this club played at least five minute versions of everything, all night long, without stinting, that was just an added bonus.

If I'd thought the first dance was good, the second belied that assessment by a significant margin. There was never a time when some part of her body wasn't touching my crotch, and it was obvious that I was going to make the predicted mess in fairly short order. She was paying attention to my reactions, or reading my mind, because the last straw was when she opened her mouth, placed it directly on the bulge in my pants and starting humming to the music. Within seconds, I was using the tissue for its intended purpose, pulsing with spasms that felt stronger than they had in quite some time, though I'm prepared to admit that the circumstances might be enhancing my perceptions of the moment.

When I'd subsided, and stopped grunting, she slid back up, flipped her hair out of her face with a shake of her head, and planted her butt on my lap. With a smile, she said, "Well, glad you stuck around?"

I almost giggled, both from the too serious expression on her face, which should couldn't maintain when she saw might stifle the laugh, and from the tension release.

"We've got about a minute and a half left. You want to go clean up, or stay here for a few minutes?"

"By all means," I replied, "stay right where you are for as long as you want." I was enjoying the closeness, and the faint sweet odor of the light sweat she'd worked up dancing for me.

The song ended, and she got up and put her top back on. I reached into my wallet and pulled out an amount that was equal to roughly the cost of one lap dance. She took it with a faint, but realistic seeming, look of surprise.

"Yes," I said, seeing the look, "I know you get a healthy portion of the dance fee, but this is my extra appreciation."

"Well, then, thank you very much," she said.

"What say I go get cleaned up, and then buy you another drink before I leave?"

"Sure. I'll see you at the table." She headed for the ladies room.

After cleaning up in a stall in the restroom, I came back out, but didn't see Jasmine yet. I collared the same waitress who'd waited on us before, she was one of the less annoying ones, and told her that as soon as Jasmine came back, I wanted to buy her another drink, then went to sit down. The post-orgasmic mellow effect was hitting me, and I was pretty relaxed.

Within a few minutes, Jasmine, the waitress and the drink were also at my table. Jasmine was wearing a different outfit, a short kimono type thing, rather than the bikini, which was very shear and obviously stimulated her nipples, as they were quite visibly poking out, even though the material was very loose on her.

"Thanks again," I said to her when the waitress left, "this turned out to be a very pleasant evening after all."

"You're welcome again," she replied, "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"I'm not just talking about the lap dance, either. You've made the entire evening pleasant. I know you're here to make money, but you've listened to me talk, and seemed sincerely interested in actually holding a conversation for its own sake, as opposed to talking just so you can hustle some more money. If you're faking the sincerity, you're doing a really good job. I really appreciate the fact that you didn't make me feel like a mark, even though I know that's precisely what I am. No," I said, as she started to protest, "that's what I am, and you're here to take advantage of that. If it weren't possible to separate the marks from their money, the world stop spinning pretty quickly. I don't have a problem with the idea, I just get turned off by the methods of some of your co-workers."

"Just because it's true, doesn't mean I have to be obnoxious or pushy about it. My way works well enough for me. Most guys will ask about a lap dance if they are interested, and if they aren't, then being pushy just pisses most of them off. I'm working on the assumption that they'll remember me as someone they might want to talk to next time, instead of as a pushy and obnoxious bitch who just wanted their money. Except for the drunk ones, it works pretty well."

"Well, just so you know that *this* mark appreciates your effort."

She had the grace to blush a bit at that, which surprised the hell out of me, but in a pleasant way.

"Anyway, it's time for me to be getting home," I said, as she finished her drink. I asked her if she thought she'd still be working there next month when I was in the area again, and she said she thought so, since it appeared to be working out. In addition to Fridays and Saturdays, she also worked the afternoon shift on Tuesday and Wednesday. I told her that if she was still there next month, I'd like to buy her another drink. As I got up to leave, so did she. She gave me a hug and said "I'm looking forward to it."