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Strip Club Diary 2

tehposts

California

Note: Names changed and photos digitally altered to protect the not so innocent.

After I pay for my drink at the bar I start scanning the room and spot a cute looking girl sitting by herself at a table. I decide to make my move. “This seat taken?” is met with a welcoming smile and invitation to sit down. My confident approach, the way I’ve maintained eye contact and returned her smile, and the casual way that I sit down next to her have already subtly framed this interaction. I’ve made a good impression.

We get to chatting and I learn about her life. She’s about to turn 30 and has a kid. She used to work at a mail packaging plant but had enough of it. Decided to try dancing a couple months ago and hasn’t had any bad experiences so far, other than the guy that tried to pull too hard on her nipples that one time. She’s working day shifts but sometimes stays into the night.

I learn later by finding her on social media that she has a boyfriend, the father of her child, but of course she never mentions him.

I’ve been continuing to buy drinks from the passing waitresses and I’m starting to get a little drunk and horny so I ask her if she wants to go do a few dances.

Once we’re in the back room she strips down and dances on me for a few minutes, my hands roaming her body and doing what they do best, slowly dragging across her skin, teasing the edge of her mons. “Wait a second”, she laughs. “Who’s turning on who here?”

“I guess this is kind of like a reverse lap dance huh?” She agrees. She leans back into me as my hands continue to roam and my lips brush across her neck. She lets out a telltale sigh; a very good sign.

She’s a bit more business as the third song ends but eyes me wistfully as she stands up. Her bald pussy is right in front of my face and its hard to not state at it.

“Well, you got me wet,” she announces. “And, that’s pretty hard to do.” She looks at me for a moment and then takes my hand and pulls it toward her pussy, and I need no further encouragement, sliding my fingers across her entrance. She wasn’t lying. I smell my fingers as she begins to get dressed, loving the scent, familiar yet unique.

I sheepishly ask her name again and she admits she’s forgotten mine too. “Lexi,” she says. “But my real name is Christy. I work on Thursdays and Fridays.” Giving her real name is a sign of her interest in me. She doesn’t offer her phone number, though. I bet she would have if she was younger and more carefree, but she’s almost 30 and a mom, in a committed relationship, too practical to want to pursue something outside the club with me on a quick whim. That’s OK though, I got her all hot and bothered and that’s good enough for me, I feel like a million bucks. We hug and I tell her I’ll see her again sometime soon.

Lexi: https://i.postimg.cc/tJLv93mN/A3-C1356-D…