The Dancer At Club 28

This is Part 1 of what I envision will have two to three additions. While I have a rough idea of what will happen next, I often find myself taking unexpected routes to get where I'm going, so perhaps I'll find more to explore in the relationships of the story below.

Also, as you can see by the word count, this is not a short piece. 1,500-word stories where the only two characters are fucking by the fifth paragraph, are fine, and certainly have an audience. I personally prefer stories that have a build-up. I hope, dear reader, you find your patience rewarded.

This is my second story here on this site. I greatly appreciated all the feedback from my first piece and hope you'll find this story worthy of your time and comment at the end.

Chapter 1 -- Jazmin's Mysterious Ways

I could hear the bass pulsing inside even before we entered the club. Jack, the owner of the place where we tended bar, The Watering Hole, said he could handle things by himself if Bill and I wanted to knock off early. I wouldn't have minded staying on to closing, I could use all the hours and tips I could get. Bill, however, jumped at the chance to jet out early and, since he was my roommate and my ride, I joined him.

I shouldn't have been surprised when Bill drove us half a block down the street to Club 28, a strip club he liked to go to and had taken me a long a few times. Strip clubs were a mixed bag for me.

Naked women? Excellent. Sign me up.

Loud, bass-heavy music, which tended to be mostly hip-hop or pop? Ugh. I was very much a classic rock type of guy.

Ogling the naked women in a room full of mostly sketchy-looking old guys? Kind of awkward.

Bill was a semiregular at Club 28, so when we arrived at the door to pay the $10 cover charge, the guy at the door gave him a head nod of recognition. Though that night at The Watering Hole had been slow, the previous week had been busy, so Bill and I were flush with cash. By "flush" I mean mostly singles and a few fives, and enough to somewhat comfortably afford to throw it away on a couple lap dances and $1 titty kisses.

I followed Bill into the club where it took my eyes a minute to adjust to the dimly lit room. Naturally, my eyes were drawn to the dancer currently on stage, an attractive blonde with large tits which were already on display, swinging around the pole to Eminem's "Lose Yourself." Bill and I found a small table not far from the stage, but far enough that we weren't obligated to tip the dancer.

"Good crowd here tonight," Bill observed. "There'll be a lot of girls working."

"That's good," I answered, not really sure how to respond.

"Billy!" A girl came up behind us and put her arms around Bill, giving him a reverse hug, making sure to trap his head into her bikini-covered breasts. Bill looked up into the smiling face of a slightly thick, dark-haired girl... woman, actually.

"Raven!" Bill gushed, "You're finally working! Last few times I've been here you've been gone. I was starting to worry I might never see you again."

"I could never stay away from you for too long, Baby, you know that." She smiled, still looking down at him, her hands running themselves flirtingly up and down his arms and shoulders.

I took a quick look around at the girls in the place, patrolling the tables, offering themselves for private dances in the back, and figured Raven had to be among the oldest in the joint. She had to be in her late 30s, possibly early 40s. Attractive yes, but I was still a little surprised to learn she and Bill were on a first-name basis. Well, first-name/stage-name basis. Raven's thighs were round, and her medium-sized breasts probably weren't sitting as high on her chest as they used to. But she definitely had an alluring aura to her. You knew what she may have lost in natural beauty she more than made up for with experience and, perhaps a willingness to do what the younger girls wouldn't.

"You just got here, right?" She asked.

"Yeah, we did. Hey, Raven, this is my buddy, Mike. Mike, say Hi to Raven."

"Hello," I said, lifting my hand up briefly in salute.

"Michael, hello." She left her perch over Bill and moved herself around the front of our little table. She leaned over at the waist to put her arms around me in a hug, giving me an ample view of her B-cup cleavage. "I hope you and I will get a chance to get to know each other."

"We'll just have to see what the night brings," I replied, pleased with my quick thinking, being polite and a little flirty back but also non-committal. Raven was pretty, and I wasn't opposed to the idea of a private dance from an older woman, but I wasn't swimming in cash, either. I wanted to explore my options. The blonde on stage, for example, was quite appealing.

Raven returned to Bill, perhaps she picked up on my non-commitment as well, and sat astride on his lap, her arms around his neck. As they continued catching up, I looked around the place. Five or six other dancers were engaging with other patrons at tables. Perhaps they were familiar with them, like Raven was with Bill, or they were on the prowl for men, or women, as they were a few scattered around the club, who would be interested in going behind the curtain.

For the low, low price of $30, the dancer of your choice could take you to the right side of the club where a dozen or so booths each contained a small sofa. Closed off to prying eyes by a curtain, your girl would give you a private dance in your lap for a song or two.

The girls around the club were all quite nice looking, though there was a good amount of variety. Blondes, brunettes and red-heads, white, black and Latinas, large breasts and small-chested, skinny or thicker, older, like Raven, or young -- a couple girls looked barely out of high school. Whatever your preference, Club 28 tried to accommodate.

Bill and Raven continued to chat with one another, while the girl on stage, now fully nude, showcased a neatly-trimmed mound -- not a natural blonde. She sat on the edge of the stage, her stiletto shoes resting on the arms of a chair occupied by a man who appeared in his 40s. He laid a dollar bill in front of her. She picked it up, placed it in his mouth and then pulled his head into her breasts. She rubbed them together on him for a few seconds, before releasing him, the dollar bill, now in her possession between her bosoms.

Another girl, slim, with pixie-cut brown hair, dressed in a short, tight-fitting blue dress, walked up to our table.

"Can I get you guys anything to drink?" She asked.

"Jack Daniels," Bill said. "Can I buy you a drink, my lovely?"

"Rum and Coke, please, Becky?" Raven said, as if Becky wouldn't bring her just a coke but with the price of rum included.

"Labatt Blue," I said.

I watched Becky, the waitress, walk away, swaying her hips as she did so. I wouldn't have minded seeing her on stage.

"Put your hands together for the sultry Savanna!" The DJ said over the loudspeaker. The blonde on the stage gathered the bits of clothing she began her routine in, along with a few stray dollar bills that slipped out of her garter and made her way behind a curtain leading backstage. There was a modest smattering of applause. I always felt the applause at a strip club was terribly awkward. It feels rude to stare at a beautiful woman strip and gyrate in front of you and not show an appreciation for the effort. But if you're the only guy applauding with approval, you also come off as creepy. So where is the line? I have no idea.

"Goddamn, there are so many hot-ass ladies here at Club 28!" the DJ continued. "None of them are hotter than our next dancer. Give it up for, Jazmin!"

Another few claps greeted the new dancer as she appeared from behind the curtain.

"Oh, you boys arrived just in time," Raven said to us, while still wrapping her arms around Bill. "I'm not into chicks, but I'd fuck Jazmin in a heartbeat. Maybe if I bring you along, she'd let me," she added while rubbing herself into Bill's lap; a freebee for him, hoping he'd buy some more.

It took me approximately 0.69 seconds to understand Raven's appraisal of Jazmin. She was nothing short of breathtaking. She stood about 5-foot-4, with thick, wavy brown hair. Her wardrobe was not extravagant; she wore a sleeveless, ivory-colored blouse, with only the middle two buttons clasped. Under the stage's bright lights, a plunging black bra was clearly visible, covering what looked to be a pair of incredible tits. Jazmin strode to the center of the stage in green high-heel shoes and matching green thong. She spun herself around the pole at the front of the stage, where men, and more than a few women, had suddenly appeared, sitting at the edge of the stage on both sides. As Jazmin danced with the pole, I got to see her backside for the first time. Her thong rested between a pair of exquisitely curved ass cheeks. The front, meanwhile, clung inconveniently snug to her mound and was not nearly as see-through as her top.

While Jazmin's physical features were sublime, her allure was more than skin deep. She moved on stage with a grace and elegance that went far beyond the norm for a strip joint. Her music was not the typical high-volume, bass-heavy dance music or hip hop as was the preference of most of the dancers. She didn't just move to music; her body was music.

I appreciated her taste as I recognized the song as "Love is Blindness" by U2 -- a deep album cut -- but never knew it could be used so sensually. It has a slow beginning, but is emotional and atmospheric throughout, including a piercing guitar as it built. Jazmin's hips swayed in a hypnotic fashion, drawing the eye to her toned waist. Her left hand then ran itself over her stomach, grazing the front of the thong and continued downward, pulling Jazmin lower, until her fingers caressed her toes. As Jazmin returned to a standing position, her blouse fell off. Her right hand had clandestinely undone the two buttons holding it in place. She was like a magician, drawing the eye to the part of her body she wanted everyone in the room to look, while setting up her next great reveal. It was the sexiest sleight of hand ever conceived.

Studio 28 was a large club. Its stage was like a phallically-shaped W, with three stages extending into the audience, with seats lined up all along its perimeter, allowing as many eyes, and dollars, to get as close as possible to the dancer. Each of the stages, left, right, and center, had a pole fixed from the floor to ceiling.

While many of the dancers relied almost exclusively on the poles for their seductive moves, Jazmin used it sparingly. She never climbed it. She never twirled herself around it like an X-rated gymnast. Instead, the brunette beauty used the pole merely as a stand-in for a partner. Jazmin moved herself around it, sometimes with her back on the pole, facing her audience, who sat in rapt attention. Then she'd turn to the pole, lower and raise herself against the brass, as though she was dancing a feverish tango with an invisible lover.

She moved from stage to stage. Her hands ran along her body, a look of passionate longing on her face, choreographed with Bono's lyrics of heartache. Jazmin wanted her hands to be your hands. Caressing her. Making her weak until her resolved collapsed and her bra slipped off. I never even saw how she unclasped it. But then again, a magician never reveals her secrets.

What Jazmin did reveal, however, was the most perfect pair of breasts I had ever seen. They were perfectly round B-Cups and sat almost impossibly high on her chest. Her nipples stood at attention, protruding from her quarter-sized areolas.

"And those are real, boys," Raven said, with a note of awe in her voice that reflected my own. "Don't ask me how the hell they stay up there like that."

Jazmin had danced through her first song, at the end of which she bent at the waist, letting the club gaze at her wonderous backside. She slowly lowered her thong off her ass, to her legs as "Love is Blindness" faded out to another U2 song, "Mysterious Ways." As the first guitar riff thundered out of the speakers, the thong hit the floor of the stage.

She turned around and exposed her perfectly bald pubis. Jazmin held everyone in her trance. No one was immune. Not the dancers among the crowd, not the waitresses, nor the bartenders, bouncers, and DJ. Everyone remained immobilized. An entire room frozen by the unyielding force that was Jazmin in the spotlight. Her energy and pace increased with the faster tempo of the new song.

"I'm going to start getting offended, Bill," Raven said, noticing his attention was fixed on the flawless specimen only about 30 feet away.

Jazmin spent most of her second song on stage dutifully collecting the numerous dollar bills awaiting her on the stage. Smiling broadly, with a dazzling set of white teeth, Jazmin titty-kissed every one of her admirers, lingering noticeably longer with the women. As she moved from one lucky person to the next, she never failed to do so with grace. She'd lift her legs, unwrapping them from her tipper, sending them high into the air, seductively roll on the stage 180 degrees to the next person. There, she brought her legs down around them, giving the lucky viewer a glimpse of the magnificence between her legs, and then brought their head into her chest. Her breasts may not have covered as much surface area of the tippers' faces as Savanna's had, but no one showed any signs of their money being ill-spent.

While most of the dancers on stage only did two songs, Jazmin's tippers were so numerous, she required half of a third song, another U2 rocker, "Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me" to complete her tour of the W-shaped stage. Closing out her set, she returned to the mesmerizing movements of her hands, hips and legs.

For the first time in my life, I understood the meaning of the term Exotic Dancer. I'd never thought it was real. Nothing more than a polite, politically correct term for Stripper. But now I understood what it meant. It wasn't twerking, or humping a pole, and it sure wasn't a lap dance.

While Jazmin was objectively beautiful, her appearance was not what set her apart from her co-workers. Her performance was not about her nudity. True, she became nude during the course of the performance, but that was more a byproduct than the objective. She danced because she was meant to. Had the room been empty, with just a small handful to see, I knew her dance would not change. She moved with elegance but also, somehow, with an integrity I never knew was possible in a place such as Club 28.

Jazmin had danced herself back to the front of the center stage where she ended her routine in synchronization with the closing notes of the song.

Silence echoed through the club as the speakers reverberations calmed in the wake of the music's conclusion. All at once, a cacophony of noise erupted as everyone stood on their feet, applauding, cheering, whistling and roaring their approval of the dazzling display they'd all just witnessed.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the DJ bellowed into the loudspeaker, "give it up for the amazing JAZMIN!"

The room redoubled its praises. Jazmin, bending down to pick up her blouse, bra and thong, gave the adoring crowd a beaming smile, and playfully blew kisses to a couple in the front row who tipped considerably more than a dollar when it was their turn for her attention during "Mysterious Ways."

"When did she start working here?" Bill asked Raven.

"She's been here for a little while," she answered. "I guess just not on the nights you've been in."

"What'd you think Mike?" he asked.

"I think I found who I'd like a private dance from," I said, realizing after the fact I may have inadvertently insulted Raven.

"Sorry, Sweetheart," she replied. "Her shift is over. That was her last dance of the night."

Chapter 2 -- The Watering Hole

"Maggie says the food here is pretty good," Janet said as she pulled her car into the parking lot. "And apparently there are a couple hot guys behind the bar."

"Well, Maggie's standards aren't exactly what I would call a high bar to clear," I said back.

I had to resist the instinct to roll my eyes at the subject of hot guys behind the bar. It had been almost 15 minutes since Janet pestered me on the subject. I loved the girl, but I did wish she'd let the topic die for once.

"Oh, come on, Maggie knows a thing or two about where to find a warm body and then keep him happy."

"Is she working tonight?" I asked, hoping to subtly change the subject as Janet parked the car and we stepped out.

"I'm not sure," Janet said, grabbing her phone out of her purse. "I'll find out."

We arrived at the bar, where I opened the door for my friend while she typed on her phone as she entered. The bar wasn't what I was expecting from a place recommended by Maggie. She was nice and all, but Maggie wasn't exactly someone I wanted to take life advice from. Four kids from three different men, none of whom were in the picture, wasn't exactly role model material. At work, sure, she was a wonderful mentor on how to do the job, enjoy it and not let its seedier moments get to you. And I was grateful to her for that. But outside of work? I thought Janet and I could do more than fine on our own.

The bar was dimly lit, but clean. There was music playing, but not so loud to dominate conversation. One half of the place was devoted to pool, darts and a shuffleboard table. Tables for parties of two and four filled the other half with booths lining the perimeter walls. On the far side of the place stood the bar, pretty full, but two open stools at one end. Perfect.

"Nope, Maggie is off tonight," Janet said, lifting her face from her phone.

"Let's go have a seat at the bar," I said, grabbing Janet by the hand and walking together across the room. I could feel eyes on me, not that I wasn't used to it. Nor did I mind. Janet looked damn nice too. Our friends liked to say what one of us didn't have, the other did. We could go anywhere, the two of us, and every man in the room would find something to like.

Janet was tall, about 5-foot-10, long, straight blonde hair that she made sure to keep updated regularly. I hadn't seen a black root since the day we met as freshman year roommates. Her chest was bigger than mine, D cups, which she loved to show off with tube tops, spaghetti straps and low-cut blouses. She had a screaming body, but her personality was even louder. You never had to wonder what Janet was thinking. She was bold and direct. Some might call it opinionated, but I preferred to keep company with someone who didn't put up with any bullshit.

We sat down at the bar and a moment later one of the bartenders brought us a menu. "What can I get you ladies to drink?" he asked kindly, looking first at Janet and then me. We caught each other's eye for a moment, maybe two.

"I'll have a martini," Janet said.

"Just a Rum and Coke Zero, please," I ordered and held out my ID, knowing he'd want to confirm my age.

The bartender leaned over the bar, taking my ID from me, brushing his fingers momentarily with mine. He scanned my driver's license quickly and handed it back to me.

"Your name is River?" He asked, a tone of curiosity in his voice.

I know it's an unusual name. Who names their kid after a slow-moving body of water, right? My dad, that's who. He loves the outdoors. If given the choice, he'd quit his job as a financial advisor and spend his days outside, hunting for his food, clothing and shelter.

"Yep. River. That's me." I smiled back. People often had such a reaction to my name. But I didn't mind.

"It's beautiful," he said, "And it suits you."

"Awe, how sweet," Janet's smile grew fast on her face. A shark smelling blood in the water.

"I'll get those drinks right up for you while you look at the menu," the bartender said. "If you need anything at all, just let me know. My name is Mike."