(Author's Note: I know parody is protected by Flynt vs. blah, blah, blah, but I've left off the last names of the girls in these continuing stories. These are all "present time" web flames of mine, but can't hold a candle to the Traceys, Tamaras, Victorias, Keishas and Christys of my youth. Maybe I'll do a retro version sometime. The astute porn surfers will figure out pretty easily who the girls are, but if you don't, or prefer your own imagination, insert whomever in your vision. I welcome any and all feedback. Enjoy.)
Hello again and welcome back to the non-stop party that is my life. It's me, your old buddy Rod. Rod Steele. Since we last spoke, my life has been one long, continuous orgy. I have been fucking all day, all night, trying to keep up with Sara's work mates (sigh). Ok, that's not entirely true. Ok, that's not at all true, in fact. Sara did take some of my business cards with her as she left my office modeling my personal batch of face moisturizer (see previous story) and did pass them around to the girls, but in the three weeks since she did, I've only been laid once. And that was Sara herself.
She was getting her contract for her new career updated and I guess took some pity on me. Even the new moves she had picked up in the business weren't enough to offset the jaded look in her eyes as I pounded into her. Afterwards, we chatted awkwardly and she left, promising to keep in touch. That night at the club, Todd the bartender told me she had quit, saying her burgeoning movie career was taking off. I went so far as to call her the next day, catching her on set, if I deduced the sounds in the background correctly.
"Hello?"
"Hey Sara, its Rod."
"Oh, hey Rod. What's up?"
I could tell from the tone in her voice she regretted picking up the call, but I pressed forward. "Just wanted to say hi, see if there was anything you needed, make sure they're treating you alright and all." I could hear someone call her name in the background.
"Fine, I'm fine Rod. Listen, can I call you back?"
"Sure, I...," but with a wet smack into the phone, she was gone and that was three days ago.
So, here I sit, right back where I started. I grossed maybe $100 doing the two contracts for Sara, hoping it would lead to more lucrative work. Ok and maybe some free pussy on the side, but first and foremost, I practice to make money. A guy's got to eat and smoke. I stub out my cigarette and throw a twenty down on the bar for Todd as the DJ announces, "And now dancing on center stage..." I tune it out and start for the door.
"Hey Rod," Todd calls. "Gone so soon?" It's a week night, the crowd thin and I think I'm the only one that wasn't nursing their second beer down to the suds.
"Yeah, just tired. See you later Todd." He raises a hand as I negotiate the dim room, wave at a few of the working girls and fist bump the huge bouncer Leroy.
"Goin' get wet Rod," he rumbles.
"What? Shit." I open the door to reveal the sheets of rain washing over the parking lot. "Great, just what I need."
Leroy chuckles as the door shuts and I grab my keys and sprint to my early model P.O.S. Shivering at the chill of the rain, I crank the car, pop the headlights and reveal the figure on the landing to the club I had missed when I exited.
From the distance, it looks like a kid. Hunched over, thin windbreaker over their head and a backpack slung over their shoulder. I realize it must be Natasha. She was waitressing tonight and had left about fifteen minutes ago, after waving shyly to Todd and myself. I roll forward and get her attention through my cracked passenger side window.
"Hey! Natasha? You need a ride?"
"No, thank you. I'm fine," she says, but then pauses and leans forward to peer at me. "Oh, hey Rod, I didn't know who that was. I thought it was a customer trolling for something."
"No, just old Rod trolling," I laugh. "Come on, get in, you're getting soaked." I can see her hesitate, but then common sense wins out and she runs over and jumps into the car as I open the door from the inside. With a spray of rain, she plops into the seat and slams the door. Dropping the soaked backpack in the floor, she turns and smiles at me.
"Wow, it's really raining out there. Thanks for stopping. I had called for a taxi, but they never showed." I pull out of the parking lot and turn onto the one way access road. I glance over at my passenger as she pulls on her soaked clothing that has stuck to her wet skin.
Natasha has been working at the club for about two months now and I know her well enough to say hey, but that's about it. She's been waiting tables during that time, not doing any dancing yet, but from what I've seen of her in the tight fitting cocktail outfits the wait staff wears, she definitely has the looks and body for it. Tiny, only about 5' on a good day, she has shiny black hair that extends just past her shoulder blades and a very fair complexion. She has small features to match her frame, a little nose and ears and delicate hands that for some reason I've noticed as she's brought me beers. Her best attribute would have to be her startling blue eyes. They seem to leap out at you from her face, given her complexion and the impossibly long eyelashes that frame them. And since this tale will definitely center around them later, I would be remiss if I did not mention her boobs.
I had occasion to see them in the flesh a couple of weeks ago. I was in the back, being a regular and all, and thought I was going into the club manager's office, but opened the dressing room door. Natasha was in there, changing before her shift and in the brief moment she turned to me before covering herself, I was astounded by the size of the tits she had on her tiny body. Mind you, were not talking the overdone volleyball stripper boobs here. These were real and definitely spectacular, a handful and a half each, sloping sexily down onto her chest. The areoles were about three inches across and capped by lovely upturned pink nipples. She squealed and covered them with her hands, squashing them between her fingers. As she turned I noticed her little bubble butt split by the blue thong before I excused myself, apologizing profusely.
Tonight, however, she looked like a drowned rat and I reached into the back seat, handing her a roll of paper towels. She thanked me and began to sop the rain from her skin and top.
"So, where to 'mlady?" It was at that point that I realized that all of the wetness on her face was not just from the rain. She stifled a sob, but I could see tears roll down her cheeks. "Hey, hey, what's wrong Natasha?"
Wiping the back of her hand across her face, she sniffled and looked at me, smiling slightly, but with eyes already red from crying. "I'm sorry Rod. I'm ok, it's just that...that..." She swallowed down another sob. "I don't have anywhere to go!"
Oh hell, here we go, I thought. Between big honks into the paper towels and the sniffles, Natasha told me that she still lived with her parents, having graduated high school six months ago. She had turned eighteen right before getting the job at the club and figured waitressing at a strip joint would be good for tips, allowing her to save money for her own place. She hadn't told her parents where she was working, but apparently a patron recognized her and had anonymously called her parents. Why some people can't mind their own fucking business is beyond me sometimes. Her dad had promptly shit a brick and thrown her out, despite her pleading and assurances that she wasn't stripping, only waiting tables. She had spent the last two nights in a flea bag motel just down the strip know for its hourly rates, but with two days until pay day, she was tapped out.
