It was mid-December now, and I was back at the Manhattan Gentlemen's club. I was hanging out at the bar with Angie, the bartender, and a new girl, Vicky, who was running coat check that night.
"This is one of our regulars, Peter," said Angie. "He's a very nice guy. You'll like him."
"Please to meet you," I said, rising to shake her hand.
Vicky was short and olive-skinned, and very buxom. I would guess she was Italian.
"Peter is also a pervert," Angie said, "and he likes to have nude photos taken of himself."
I blushed, and Vicky did too. Angie reached into a cabinet to remove a manila envelope.
"Wanna see one?" Angie asked.
Vicky looked at me, quickly ran her eyes up and down my body, and said "sure."
Angie slid the envelope across the bar to Vicky. She opened, and pulled the photo out.
"Holy crap!" she said. "This is right when you're cumming?"
"Yeah," said Angie. "Hot, isn't it?"
Vicky nodded her head slowly, and put the photo away.
"Wow," she said. "I've never worked at a place that kept nude pictures of the customers behind the bar."
"Not all the customers," said Angie. "Just Peter — he's special."
Vicky came over to give me a hug, pushing her breasts into me. As she turned away, she let her left hand glide down my chest to my crotch, where she gave my cock a squeeze. I was soft, but it felt good.
"Thank you for the photo, Peter," she said, walking away.
"And don't tell Tony," said Angie. "That's just for the girls."
Angie put the photo away and brought me a scotch and soda.
"So do you show that photo to all the new girls?" I asked.
"Yeah, pretty much," she answered. "If you're a girl and you work here, then they've seen that photo of you. Nude. Hard. Cumming all over yourself." She ran her fingers up my arm to face, and placed her index finger on my lips. I kissed it gently.
"You're a bad girl, Angie."
"And you're a very bad boy," she said, smiling.
She made a drink for the waitress at the service bar, and came back.
"So what are you doing next Monday night?" she asked.
"I'm supposed to meet someone for a drink," I said.
"Bring 'em here!" she said. "The owners are taking the managers in the bouncers out for a steak dinner. They invited the girls too, but we told them we'd prefer to stay here and have our own party. So technically we're closed, but will be open for friends."
"I'm not so sure she'd like to go to a strip club, but thanks for the invitation," I said.
Actually, she probably would. I was meeting up with Vivienne, the photographer who had taken the photo of me that was behind the bar. But I needed a gracious way to decline the invitation.
"Alright," she said. "Maybe stop by later after your drink."
"That might work."
I met up with Vivienne at the Avenue B Social Club, a new-ish bar in the neighborhood. They had live jazz most nights, and there was never any cover. (Oddly, it used to be an S/M club, and there were stories of unusual items popping up from time to time in the basement.) I saw Vivienne sitting at a table with two other women, and I joined them.
"Hi," I said, "who are your friends?"
"This is Trish, and this is Jen," said Vivienne. "These are some of my 'girlfriends.'"
My stomach dropped. Vivienne had told me that she would be showing the photos from our shoot to her girlfriends, and by the smiles on Jen and Trish's faces, I knew she had done just that.
"They wanted to meet the model," Vivienne continued, "and I was worried you would not agree to meet them. Apologies for the subterfuge."
I shook their hands and sat down.
"No worries," I said, "just a little shocked."
"He's cute when he blushes," said Jen.
"That's sweet," said Trish.
"So what went threw your mind when you called Vivienne?" asked Jen, leaning in.
She was an attractive brunette, around 40 and lanky.
"Well, I was nervous," I said.
"Nervous because you were going to be nude?" she asked.
"That, and also because I didn't know what the boundaries were."
"And when I asked if you wanted hardcore shots?" asked Vivienne.
"That helped," I said, "but I still didn't know how 'hardcore' hardcore was going to be."
"So when you saw that you was going to be pretty hardcore," said Trish, "how did you feel?"
"You must have felt pretty good, right?" asked Jen. "I mean, you were very hard."
"And he was making a lot of pre-cum," added Vivienne.
"Hi. Care for a drink? I had not seen the waitress approach the table. I had no idea what she'd heard.
"Scotch and soda, please," I said.
"We're fine," said Vivienne.
The waitress walked away.
"So when you getting hard, I mean really hard ..." continued Jen.
"I felt great," I said. "It was a huge turn-on. I mean, there was this woman — a stranger — standing in front of me, watching me. And she knew I was getting incredibly turned on. And she liked it." "I did like it," added Vivienne.
"I felt like some kind of sexual performer," I said, "where my sex and my sexuality were being enjoyed by someone else."
"I think that's right," said Jen. "I mean, I enjoyed them. I've masturbated many times to those photos."
"Me, too," said Trish.
"Maybe once," said Vivienne, with a smile.
The girls laughed, and the waitress showed up with my drink.
"I mean, it's just porn," said Jen. "And you're our private little porn star. If I'm feeling stressed, I break out my vibrator and start looking at your photos. And then I cum, and I feel better."
"How does that make you feel?" asked Trish.
"It makes me feel great," I said. "In fact, I'm hard right now."
Jen put her hand in my crotch, feeling my cock.
"Yup, he sure is," she said.
A fourth woman joined us at the table, awkwardly carrying a duffel bag.
