(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.
I asked her if she had a girlfriend from school she could call or someone from the club she could crash with. Her sobs came faster as she explained that she had only moved to the area a few months before graduation and hadn't made any real friends during her employment. She sat quietly, almost shrinking into the seat beside me. I mentally cursed myself for what I was about to do, but still opened my mouth just the same.
"Well, you could crash at my place tonight. I have a pull out sleeper sofa."
She blew another honker into the paper towel and shook her head. "Oh, thanks Rod, but I couldn't ask you to do that...."
The way she trailed off, I could tell that with a little more encouraging, she'd seize the invite with both hands. So again, over the nagging "this is not a good fucking idea" in my head, I said, "No, no, it wouldn't be a problem. I've got room. You can crash tonight and either patch things up with the folks or rope some other sucker tomorrow." She laughed a little bit at that. "Look, worse case scenario, you camp out 'til payday."
She looked at me with those big, wet blue eyes shining with gratitude and I congratulated myself on my suckerness. "Thanks, I mean really Rod. I promise I won't get in your way. You won't even notice I'm there!" Fat chance of that, I think. It's been a while since I've had anybody shacking up with me, even on a platonic level. The odds of me not noticing a woman that looks like Natasha under my own roof are nonexistent. We drive in silence for a while, before pulling up in front of my humble abode. The garage door opener is broken, like a lot of things in my life, so we make a run for it, the rain pelting us and re-soaking what had dried in the drive over.
Once inside, I drop my keys on the coffee table and point out the bathroom to Natasha. "You'll find towels and such in there. Sorry, my toiletries selection is probably not up to snuff." Natasha laughs and walks towards the door. Right as she's about to close the door, I call to her, "Natasha?"
She pokes her head back out. "Yeah, Rod?"
Embarrassed at what I'm about to say, I jam my hands into my wet slacks and look down. "Hey, I hate to ask, but I really don't know you, I mean, your name's probably not Natasha, right?"
She opens the door more and leans against the door frame. I can see a change in her eyes, but she tosses her wet hair back and looks back at me. "What do you want my name to be?"
I throw my head back and laugh, shocking her. She smiles hesitantly as I cough my way (damn cigarettes) through the best laugh I've had in a while. "No, no, nothing like that. Look we're just friends and I'm doing you a favor. Hell, you're young enough to be my daughter. It's just that, well hell, in today's climes you can't be too careful. How old are you again?" At this she smiles and opens her backpack, pulling out her ID which she hands to me.
I look at it. Her name isn't anywhere close to Natasha, but I could care less. The thing I'm interested in is making sure she's 18 before I let her crash here. My intentions are honorable, but you can never be too careful. Sure enough, she turned 18 over 6 months ago. I hand the card back and apologize.
She smiles with that sweet girl next door look she has and says, "No problem, I understand."
We stand there for a second before I turn away. "Um, don't let me hold you up. Are you fixed ok for clothes?"
