The Return of the ATF
EPDreamer
Florida
I'd seen her across the room, blonde mop top and neon green bikini bathing suit, and then the DJ called that name. Her name. And she took the stage. I couldn't believe it, I had to find out. I went to tip her on the raised stage, and when she saw me, she just stopped. She recognized me, after at least five years, and a change in appearance - she said she recognized my eyes.
Much like Garth Brooks' song Unanswered Prayers, I saw how much she'd changed - or maybe how little. The hairdo was a bit longer, and darkening at the roots, and her face wasn't quite as perfect as I'd remembered, but it was still her.
She gave me a big hug and told me that she'd broken up with the guy *that night*, and I said "Good riddance to bad rubbish". After her stage set, we hit the bar and talked, while one of her friends came over to provide drunken color commentary. She told me boyfriend woes of cancer and no sex, while the friend loudly confided he must have been gay. Didn't care much either way if he was, but him turning down a no strings attached blow job from my beauty didn't help his position much. She complained there was no sex for four years. I gladly offered to solve her problem.
We went up to the VIP and she started to grind. It wasn't quite what I remembered, but this was for her benefit, not mine. Five or six songs she went before she came, and climbed off to take a rest. A bit later she climbed on me and repeated the process. No moans or screams, but my pants were definitely damp afterwards. Too bad it was only a topless club. She was scared about how far we could go / what we could get away with.
She disappeared for a while after that, and I was reminded of what happened when I last saw her. Though totally in lust with her and wanting to fuck her brains out, some of the stripper shit was really bothering me. She'd wander off to the back for a full rotation, leaving me high and dry and getting pissed off. I thought I knew a little better now, but it still rubbed me the wrong way.
After she returned, we talked a while - she'd been on the phone with her mom sharing the now ex-boyfriend news. I couldn't quite fault her for the long departure because she had a reason, but still. She saddled up and rode herself to completion yet again. After this time though, she mentioned paying her and heading off to circulate the room and make some money. Even though I had a fat wallet that night, I acquiesced to the send off. A little while later, I caught her on the floor to say goodnight and headed home.
Not quite the happy ending I was in search of, but a decent one no less. I have her number, and plans to get together next week for her thirtieth birthday. I offered her thirty orgasms as a present, she accepted. I'll see how it goes.
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You mentioned significant stripper shit; take a few moments to attempt to remember and deliberately ponder the bad things that happened, and decide whether or not the good things are worth it. They might be, but don't make that decision without considering them.
Of course, a good fuck is a good fuck, and can indeed be worth a fair bit of shit.
Good luck.