Friendly and safe, but rather sketchy

"The Castaway Lounge," (aka Club Castaways) is a joint I frequented in the nineties when it was limited to stage dances. No private dances. I went back in 2010 and they club offered lap dances. Those dances were conservative as lap dances go. The girls were young and pretty, and at least played at having a good time. There was no intimate touching allowed. As soon as my hands reached for the blonde dancer's ample bosoms, the slapped my hands down like she was performing a well-practiced martial arts move.

In 2013, I returned again. This time, a statuesque thirty-something dancer with long blonde locks, and a face like Christy Brinkley talked me up at the bar. She and I talked for a while as we ordered drinks. She flirted with me and massaged my thigh. She asked about LD. I said I wasn't sure yet, and I wanted another tequila first. Heidi, that was her name, went on stage. I sat stage side and she schmoozed me some more. At one point she put her leg over my shoulder. Her toned thigh felt like silk against my cheek and my face was an inch from her sweet snatch. She brushed her ample breasts against my face. I was sold on a lap dance.

We went back to the semi-secluded LD area. I sat down on the little couch. Heidi jumped in my lap and ground against me with vigor. I had a had rush. Both heads. There was more boob-to-face contact. She turned around, but over, and posited her fragrant and engorged pussy, which had an earthy, womanly fragrance, and her bunghole was nearly in my nose with its tart and mildly fecal aroma. She dropped to her knees and put her beautiful mouth over the bulge stretched over my left thigh.