My buddy Frank was getting married and the bachelor party was going to be a fucking horror show.. Frank is a stone psycho, his brother Dominick is worse, and there would be 15 other crazed and dangerous guys along for the ride into infamy. Dominick planned the party. A big cookout at his place, lots of ribs and steak and beer, and then after everyone showered and dressed, we'd pile on a bus Dom rented and head off to Club Erotica, the best "gentleman's club" in the city, with three stages and 75 dancers and private lounges for lap dances and whatever lusty and slippery fun you might care for.
And I was voted designated driver.
"Hire a driver!" I protested to Dom. "Why don't I get to have fun too?"
"'Cause it's gonna be BAD, you know, and I don't want some poor asshole having to wait outside while we burn the place down. I mean, what if we bring some girl on the bus, to have some fun with Frankie? A civilian might object."
"Then why me?"
"'One, you know how to drive a bus, right? Two, and I mean this as a compliment, you're by far the most responsible guy in the bunch. You'll get us home in one piece."
"Fuck," I said. He had a point. When I was in college I drove a school bus for a camp I worked at, and I still had my Class 3 license. And no way would any of the other guys stay sober during this apocalyptic chickfest. It was gonna be heavy-duty.
I made sure I got a good night's sleep before the party. The cookout was fabulous, Dom is a genius on the grill. Had a steak, some ribs, corn, potato salad, a terrific spread. I left after I ate, telling everyone that I was going home for a nap before the festivities. I had to conserve my strength. Dom picked me up around 7, and he drove me to the rental place to get the bus. It smelled faintly of vomit. It was going to be worse come the morning.
The guys piled on. Club Erotica was BYOB, you checked your booze at the door and they put it in a numbered cooler for you. We had 16 guys. Brought 8 cases of beer, 8 bottles of whiskey, eight of vodka, a dozen bottles filled with liquids of various hues, and mixers galore. Twenty bucks a head to get in. I had $200 of my own cash with me, and the guys pushed handfuls of tens and twenties at me to hold onto, so they wouldn't literally throw money around after they got shitfaced.
We took over one whole stage. The girls, fucking fantastic. Girls with blonde hair, girls with brown hair, joined by various redheads and raven-haired beauties. Chicks with perfect (but fake) 38DD juggs and chicks with cute little natural 34B titties that made your eyes roll back in your head. Long legs, tight asses, and they all smelled GOOD. Not cheap perfume, not overwhelming, but when a girl leaned down to accept your proffered bill, you caught a whiff of a tantalizing feminine scent, sweet and spicy and heady.
My crew was pounding shots and draining beers by the gallon. I polished off half a case of ginger ale and resisted banging my head against the stage. It's just no fun being around a gang of guys getting loaded and rubbing against hotties when you're clear-headed and checking your watch. Well, it's still fun watching the girls, but it would be more fun with a beer in hand.
Downstairs were the stages; upstairs were the private areas. For $20 you could go up with a girl of your choosing and lie on a comfortable leather couch and the girl would mount you and slide up and down your body, rubbing herself against your erection, her breasts just inches away from your mouth. There were two rules. You had to sit on your hands, and keep your tongue in your mouth. It was still fucking delicious. Drunk and horny as they were, my guys knew better than to break the rules. There were maybe 25 bouncers in the place, with an average weight around 260, and they didn't take kindly to guys pawing the ladies.
That is, unless you were willing to part with a bit more money. And then you might be invited to the third floor, where you and your girl could have even more privacy. And, for a fee, she might be willing to pleasure you in a more direct manner, with her hands, or her mouth, or with the magical place between her legs. Most girls there would give handjobs, some would give blowjobs, a few would actually fuck. There were enough for a picky guy to choose from if he really wanted to get laid. And I knew that Frank and Dom and most of the guys would end up on the third floor eventually.
Girl after girl danced on our stage. I was sitting at the bar on a stool, just taking everything in, shaking my head in disbelief and the outrageous hooting and braying of my friends. I didn't notice the girl who sauntered up beside me and then snuggled herself between my open legs.
"Hey, why are you here all by yourself? You look lonesome."
God she was incredible. Maybe 20 years old, I'd guess. Thick brown hair that fell just below her shoulders, bright brown eyes, toned arms and slim, smooth legs, and she had those firm bouncy 34B titties that make me hard like a drill. Her luscious lips were full and curled in a sly smile. Her pussy was clean shaven except for a little bikini stripe. I somehow managed to swallow and say, "No, not lonesome, just unlucky. I'm the designated driver."
She smiled. "You poor baby, you'll have your hands full getting them home. But that doesn't mean you can't have fun too." She slid her hands up my thighs. She was so delicious. Her nails were scratching me under the hem of my shorts, she had beautiful nails, long and French manicured.
I'm not a fool, I knew she wasn't coming on to me because of my good looks and winning smile. She's a working girl, drumming up business. Normally I'd be more than happy to indulge myself, but I wanted to keep on the straight and narrow tonight. But again, she was a working girl, so I pressed two twenties into her palm and whispered, "I'd love to have fun with you, because you just stole my heart, but I should be a good boy tonight. But my friend Zack over there," I pointed to my tall, drunk, but relatively well-mannered friend who was standing behind Frank staring in reverent amazement at a dancer with tits like balloons, "Zack I think would love to have fun, but he's too quiet. Would you get him in a partying mood?"
She smiled, obviously pleased that her approach had been successful. "He'll come down with a grin on his face, I promise you."
"Well, you already have me smiling," She left, took Zack by the hand, whispered something in his ear, and led him to the stairs. He looked back at me a bit confused, and when I raised my glass in salute he smiled nervously and let the girl lead him away. "Zack, you lucky, lucky bastard." I said as I gulped my drink.
The night wore on. We paid $100 for Frank to go up on stage and sit in a chair and have three strippers just totally assault him, rubbing their pussies in his face, playacting at riding him and giving him head. We paid $350 to have two of the girls take Frank to the 3rd floor and give him a double-header blowjob. One by one my friends went up to the 3rd floor for some naughtiness. Even Zack went upstairs with one of the girls for a slippery handjob, though not with the girl I'd sent to him.
She danced three sets, and each time I made sure I went over to her and slipped a ten between her breasts. She was really gorgeous, beautiful, a sexy and lithe dancer, though not as polished as the other dancers. I still had $100 in my wallet. I wanted her, badly. But no, not that way. You don't just ask a stripper out on a date, come on. They do this for money. Forget all the bullshit about how they love to flirt and tease and be the center of attention. Maybe they like that too, but girls who strip do it for the money. They can flirt all they want on their days off. This girl could get any guy in the world to pay attention to her just by wearing a miniskirt.
Bobby was sick. Going to be sick. I saw it and I grabbed him and hustled him outside. "Need some air," I told the bouncer by the door and he gratefully opened the door to let us out. I walked him around to the side of the building and Bobby knelt and blarrf, it all came out. "That's it, buddy, you'll feel better, let it out."
"Fuck," he moaned, and another quart of puke poured out of his mouth.
"Ewww, is he going to be OK?" a voice asked behind me. I turned and two girls were standing on a small patio outside a door. I could see the glowing tips of their cigarettes. And one of them was my girl.
"He'll be fine," I said. I walked over to them and gave Bobby some privacy. The other girl said, "Gotta go back for my last set, see ya," So I was alone with her.
I have always had a thing for women smoking. I've never dated a girl who smokes, but I find something incredibly, irrationally sexy about girls who smoke. I would never want someone I date to smoke, I know its unhealthy, but seeing a sexy girl holding a cigarette in her fingers, lifting it to her mouth, sucking on it, blowing out the smoke, makes my dick hard as marble. As it did when she did this in front of me.
"I'm sorry, I never asked your name," I said.
"Melissa, I'm Melissa. I know your name is Eric, because the whole time I was with your friend Zack he kept saying, 'Oh, thank you Eric, thank you Eric!'"
I laughed. "He owes me bigtime."
She dropped her cigarette in a trash can. "Still plenty of time tonight. You sad I stole your heart, I could give you a chance to buy it back."
Still the working girl. But she was nice about it. And suddenly a thought came into my head, so suddenly that I almost swooned. Something I wanted her to do with me that turned me on so intensely that I could feel the hot blood sizzling in my cock.
"Melissa, if I asked you to do something, uh, a bit weird, would you?"
She didn't bat an eye, but she said, "I only do lap dances. I don't do sexual acts. Not even hand jobs, sorry. I could make more money doing that, a lot more, but I just don't feel comfortable with that yet." She was talking too much, she was nervous. So was I. I licked my lips and I said, "I...I really get turned on my girls when they smoke. Would you, um, smoke a cigarette, sitting on my lap or something? If it's too weird, I understand, but..."
She smiled and showed her teeth. "That's not weird, it's sexy. I think it's sexy."
"You don't think it's weird?"
"You think that's the strangest thing anyone ever asked me to do? I'll meet you up on the third floor."
"Um, how much?"
"Oh, just twenty. But we should go to the third floor, so the smoke doesn't bother the guys getting lap dances."
"I'll be there," I said hoarsely. She went in the side door, and I went back inside. Bobby was recovered somewhat, though he was drinking beer now instead of shots. I got two ginger ales from the bar and walked up the two flights of stairs, to find Melissa waiting for me. "Let's go," she said. We walked down a long, dark hallway. We passed one door and I heard a man softly moaning, "Oh, oh baby, yes, baby, do it, oh..."
Our room was the last one on the right. There was a leather recliner just like there was downstairs for the lap dances. I was shivering with anticipation. "I brought you a drink," I said.
