Bad Girl's Night Out

Bad Girl's Night Out; Maggie and Nicole part 1

So I pick up my phone and look at it. I've got a text. It's from Maria, my publisher.

"Tick Tock Tick Tock Motherfucker! You ever heard of a deadline?"

I was going to reply back to it, then again, I'd done that once a day for the last three days. She needed a call. I'd call her this time. Right thing to do and all.

"YEAH?" she answers me.

"Hey... hey... hey," I said, "is that any way to talk to your star writer?"

"That any way to talk to the person who puts up with your inability to finish your latest draft," she snapped back, "and still lets you stay at the company's Airbnb location in Harrisburg on the company dime? C'mon Bill, you have ONE silly ass chapter to go and you're done, so what's the holdup?"

"There's no holdup," I lied, turning the television down, "I'm writing one more vignette as we speak,"

I held the phone down to my laptop and tapped away at the keys like machine gun fire

...TAP TAP TAPPITY TAP TAP TAP TAP!

before adding with,

"my juices are just beginning to flow. This is gold I am cranking out... GOLD!"

"Smells like the same old bullshit to me," she shot back.

She sounded mad. I think she was mad. She definitely sounded mad.

"You mad?"

There was that enormous fucking sigh on the other end of the phone. She wasn't mad. If she'd been dead quiet on the other end... you know, with that stone cold silence where she's thinking of finally having had enough of my antics... then it would be something entirely different. Oh but the thing was, I always did this...always. I always delivered too, just I often shaved pretty close to a deadline. My bad. I blame my parents and the new math I had in junior high, all those years ago.

I certainly didn't blame her. I'd left my home in Arizona four weeks earlier to follow up a lead on a person I was researching for my new erotic novel. After I'd met with that source, I just kind of stayed at various places in Central Pennsylvania. My wife Linda was on vacation with old friends in South America and I didn't need to get back to the Grand Canyon state very fast, so for four weeks I'd simply eaten and drunk up my advance money in various locations around the Keystone State, cranking out another chapter every few days, but I was not writing with any sense of urgency. I didn't have the heart to tell Maria I was out of ideas this time and simply couldn't finish and I'd been at the company AirBnB for the last week.

Was it writer's block? Was it my almost manic sense of needing things to be oh so perfect before hitting return and starting a new paragraph? I'm not sure. I'd tried long naps, cold baths, drinking like a sailor on shore leave, even jacking off like a monkey in the zoo; all in the hopes to have one more idea for this collection of short stories but nothing was manifesting itself. It was like my own mind was cock-blocking me from cranking out my money-making filth.

Anyhow, that sigh told me she was smiling. I swear, when you've worked with somebody that long and you get to know 'em, you can hear the smile. She was shaking her head and smiling too... I know it. You couldn't tell me differently.

"Stay off the booze," she chuckled, "and write! Start tapping the keys for real. Not any of that fake stuff you do to satiate me. Oh and there's a decent steakhouse up the road from where you are. I'll send you the address. If I know you, you're not eating right... or you're eating all the wrong things. Get a decent piece of meat and a big salad so you've got fuel in you to finish this..."

"I'm disappointed," I told her.

"You're disappointed?" she laughed back, "Where do YOU get the right to be disappointed?"

"You're laughing at this," I told her, "and you're beautiful when you're angry."

She said something about my mother and about me being impossible and then

BLOOP!

the address for the steakhouse appeared on my screen. It was one of those business locations I must have driven past a dozen times and not seen. She then added she'd be calling me in the morning and that she expected something worthy of being called FINISHED in her box by noon right before she hung up.

Oooh

when she spoke to me like that I wanted soooo badly to finish in her box. I really COULD fuck the snot out of her! Yep, I blame my parents.

So I'm finishing up dinner and adding the tip with a ball game on the tv right above my booth and I look at my watch it's only 7PM. Plenty early. I've got loads of time to crank out a chapter. I might even make it an all-nighter and then go to sleep tomorrow noonish after I hit SUBMIT to Maria's hot angry box, I was thinking. Then as I'm on my way back out to my car with one of the mints my mouth from the cashier's counter, I look down a long street to the south from the restaurant and can see the gaudy flashing neon on a white building reading the words "Savanna's," a posh swanky gentleman's club I'd seen in the back of the local free papers for Harrisburg.

"Time to do some research," I thought, "I can have a few overpriced beers, ogle a few sets of tits, and still have time to service Maria's box with my sticky prose by noon tomorrow. Well... okay NOONISH."

***

I had my first overpriced glass in front of me not fifteen minutes later. I shrugged to myself about the two drink minimum. I figured at least the house rules about no cell phones meant Maria couldn't call me and see where I was at in the story.

I was right up next to the U-shaped stage at the wrap-around seating. The stage ran two strippers at a time. Most of the patrons in the place stayed back and hugged booths and tables along the side walls but a few brave souls like myself sat up at the comfy red front row chairs and had the stage basically in our laps.

I looked around at the "frontline troops" reclining around that stage; braving the onslaught of glitter, tits, and whirling spiked high heels. There were a couple of guys that looked like long haul truckers, another old grandpa looking dude being ignored by the strippers because had that aura of "No ca$h whatsoever" as he sipped his cranberry and whatever it was, and some guy who'd not even bothered to take off his brown janitorial jumpsuit with the name "Mike" embroidered over his left tit in red. Somebody still knows how to sew cursive I see.

The pair that stuck out however were two women. They had an empty chair between me and them and at first I didn't really get a good look at them when I came in and sat myself down... hell I was still smarting from the cover charge that had stung me in the wallet and was quite frankly ogling the two impossibly hard-bodied strippers (a blonde and a raven-haired brunette), both sporting coconut titties fake as campaign promise and matching red thongs so small you'd seen more cotton in a fucking Q-tip. The best word to describe me was "distracted."

So I'm sitting there amidst this haze of darkness mixed with flashing lights, wafting cheap perfume mixed with the scent of sweat & feminine hygiene products and sound... oh so much SOUND; loud does not come close to what this was. It's why I like both my sex and my porn with soft music in the background; cool jazz or New Age hums and gongs so I can enjoy the event and blow my nut butter in what you'd call aroused tranquility. This on the other hand, was like a sound-wall of today's radio hits cranked up HIGH with the knob ripped out and thrown across the room. I feel that most strip club DJ's are in a state of arrested development; never getting beyond the age of twelve and this night didn't change my thinking. It's also why I didn't notice the two women seated one chair over until the music changed and the house lights came up long enough for the bouncers to toss a thirsty handsy drunk head-first out the front entrance.

People were hooting and laughing at the loud drunk asshole as he was rag-dolly handled out the door; threatening the life of all who'd had a hand in his rough treatment despite him being all drunk talk and no fight. I snorted a laugh in my beer and looked around, adjusting to the bright lights. My eyes met those of the two ladies; one a dangerous looking red head and one a brown haired, brown-eyed hottie with a nose ring.

At first I thought they might work there, and were sitting things out between sets. Then I realized they weren't dressed in the standard club wear that a woman can quick-change out of and next thing you know dry hump a pole while American Legionnaires make it rain cash on her. No, they were dressed to watch... not to be watched.

Both of them oozed MILF. Hot MILF. MILF that liked sex, liked nudity and liked pleasure. They had that vibe.

They had something else. It was something quite familiar and I couldn't put my finger on it but I'd seen them both before. I knew it. I just couldn't piece it together. It was like hearing your favorite song from highschool only somebody else is singing it and there's an orchestra and now it's in an ad for car insurance; totally familiar note for note, but you don't have the right context to say "Ahah!"

With the new set, just like the pony express changing out horses and riders every ten to fifteen miles, so the stage changed out strippers and with that a stunning big bottomed Latina woman and deliciously thick black woman with big ole casaba melon titties ascended the stage. Likewise, the hard bodied blonde and raven haired dancers I'd just been having kids with in the back of my mind, promptly left the stage and moved out onto the floor and work that crowd.

They didn't go far. The booths at the walls and the tables in front of them were occupied with men getting their wallets humped by the always helpful club dancing faculty. The two women now turned back to the stage and I readied money for that which never came; for they walked right by me. Walked RIGHT by me and went straight to the pair of MILFs seated that one chair length away, even.

I harrumphed in my beer and began watching the two new dancers up on the stage begin to undulate and flail in a storm of fleshy boobs, bellies, and glitter coated glutes. Every now and then however, I looked back at the MILF pair chatting and schmoozing with the blonde pole goddess and her raven haired accomplice. It was all quite friendly and courteous, the way women interact in that sort of "I love your hair... oh I love those shoes and earrings," sort of thing, but it was also flirty. Heavy flirty. Even if it was a put on to separate those two MILFs from their hard earned pay I thought it was equal in heat to anything gyrating up on stage before me... and I wanted to know who the hell they were and why I felt like I'd talked to them forev...

"HOLY SHIT!" I thought... "Facebook!"

I knew em. Knew em both. I wasn't one hundred percent sure but... oh shit yeah it was them! Maggie and Nicole. It was Maggie's luxurious mane of red hair and Nicole's short brown hairdo with her nose-ring and pierced lip that jogged my memory and CLICK everything popped into place in my head.

Now look, I don't just write porn - I also meme. I make memes. I post memes. I steal memes. I'm a memer- a drunk with a chronic meming problem. No, it does not lead to riches so don't let your teenage old son tell you it's what he's going to do as soon as he can move out of the house. Anyhow...

The four ladies conversed, connected, and laughed loudly. I just barely heard their voices but they were smiling warmly and running their hands in each other's hair and flicking little bits of nothing away from shoulders, in between blushy compliments. It was a warm sort of half-groom, half-grope, head tossing sort of flirt you normally see at raves where it's Molly and weed everywhere (or at college parties with drunk coeds).

Then all at once, the redheaded MILF Maggie, pulls out a dollar and pops it in her teeth. She then leans back in her chair; playfully tugging and rubbing away at her breasts and crotch through her clothes in this over-the-top display of slutty self-abuse. The blonde pole dancer was hip to it. She knew everyone in the bar was watching and even both strippers up on the stage paused to crane necks and peer down into the darkness at the fuckery.

Without so much as missing a beat, the blonde whips out this silver chain; wrapping it about Maggie's body the way a spider ties up its lunch. Maggie was now happily caught; her winks and flaring nostrils urging the woman on. The blonde now kicked a long lanky dancer's leg over Mag's mid-section; straddling the red haired MILF. Still holding the chain, she seized Mag's face with both hands and plucked out the dollar using red beestung lips, but not before sucking out Maggie's soul in a passionate kiss. She sank her full weight down upon Maggie and began to grind; bumping her delightfully heart-shaped hiney up and down and all around in an extended mons to mons through the clothes dry hump.

"Hope the glitter comes out of that sweater easily," I thought as the crowd lost their marbles and cheered from every corner of the club it seemed. Even the two pole humpers on stage applauded before falling to the stage floor and straddling one another in a mock kitty to kitty battle, earning them a small cloud of dollars that rained their way from the janitor seated across from me.

Meanwhile from her seat, Nicole watched the whole torrid lesbo snogfest going on not a foot and a half away from her. She was completely dumbfounded by it all; that is until she realized she'd the black maned entertainer right BANG in front of her chair. The brunette reached back and raised herself with both hands until she was seated upon the edge of the stage with her back to the dancers. She then raised bent knees and brought both red high heels down onto either side of Nicole's chair with a loud KA-BLAM!

Nicole jumped in her seat; now framed between the woman's shoes. She started to say something but the black-maned temptress brought a shushy shushy finger first to her own lips, then down to Nicole's. Instinctively Nicole sucked the finger given her. I'm sure it's against some fucking house rule or something but nobody seemed to care; least of which not Nicole! She gave head to the woman's dainty digit until it was plucked coated with saliva that shined in the strobing lights. The black-headed dancer promptly brought that same slimy finger down to the front of her thong and began to furiously rub her bean through the sheerest membrane of red cotton nothingness.

Nicole made an "O" of surprise with her own pouty pucker as the dancer strummed her cunt and pinched at her own nipples, making "ooh this feels so good," faces and winking at her patron. A hand shot out before her face and Nicole found a hand with a dollar bill before her nose. It had come courtesy of Maggie, already with her second dollar between her teeth. The blonde was now executing another stage move of hers where she writhed her body all serpent-like up and down Mag's torso; both boobs squished together like a cleft chin. She then plucked the dollar from Mag's face using her udders like tweezers, but not before rubbing her titties all over the red-head's in what to me looked like the most awesome "GOT MILK?" commercial EVER!

Nicole quickly stuffed the dollar in her kisser. In one fluid movement the raven goddess hopped from her perch down to land herself on Nicole's lap in something that reminded me of the old silent westerns where a cowboy vaults and lands in the saddle before riding off. Like the pair next to her she commenced to grind and shimmy, running her fingers through Nicole's hair and using her entire body as a sort of rude masturbatory instrument against Nicole's white sweater. She kissed Nicole tenderly and retrieved the dollar as more hoots and howls rose from the booths around us.

"Definitely THAT sweater will need a rinse too!" I'm thinking.

The dance number finished up and the set was done. The dancers left the stage and the DJ mentioned cheesy-ass names for the next pair of strippers. This time I didn't even look to see who was going up to the stage. The blonde and the raven mane were leaving the MILFs and I just HAD to either make an introduction to two old friends I'd never met or execute the biggest fuck up faux pas of my adult life. I seized up my beer that cost a boat payment, took a swig for bravery and moved to the chair between me and the ladies. I figured it was just better to belt out their names.

"MAGGIE? NICOLE?"

Okay... not my smoothest move and not my finest moment. No matter how smooth you think something might go... even if you are on your game, you come off as creepy and this was no exception. They jumped. Like

left their seats and nearly peed

sorta jumped.

"WAIT WAIT WAIT!" I'm going, "Look... I'm Bill from Facebook. We are on 'Memes with Benefits' and 'Adult's Only Playground' and 'Touch Me There Please, Adult Memes' or at least somebody who looks a whole helluva lot like you is on there with me, at which point I have to warn you both you have doppelgangers,"

There was this stunned pregnant pause - a five counter. A pause where I braced and waited for them to scream for the bouncers. It's how I'd envision Gilligan's Island if suddenly the U.S. Navy parks in the lagoon and the castaways should realize they're all saved but it hasn't completely hit them. I watch too much TV... alright shaddup and read.

"Bill?" Maggie said. It was more asking than saying. Yep, she was giving me the whole deer in the headlights look but Nicole had moved on to the next level with,

"OH NO! Maggie... THAT'S BILL! It's him!"

Okay, so now the realization was made as to who I was. I wasn't going to kill them and bury them in a shallow grave by the river and I wasn't insane, it really WAS them. Now came the hugs and the 'What are you doing here?' discussions.

We caught up. We caught up right there. Nicole moved her drink and purse over to the other side of me and both girls leaned in over my arm rests and we caught up over the blast of way too loud music - for once oblivious to the naked women we'd paid way too much to see. There was so much to cover.

I won't go into all the things that had happened in the conversation, the boyfriends, the ex-husbands, the one live-in girlfriend that Maggie finally had to drive off, the hottie Nicole made-out with after a Bob Segar concert (with both women having their tits out no less). I won't talk about the drugs, the booze, the current husband, their kids; it's all now a backstory for me but as they talked and I told them here and there about my life; a connection was made. Once we'd broken the ice, I could see them (and they saw me for that matter), as a real person - not just some person dropping memes in a feed and then hearting a picture of somebody's lunch or a photo of a cat.

It was then that Mags drew in closer to my chair, just as Nicole did the same from the opposite side. Their demeanor was conspiratorial. Anyone who has been in a place like that realizes that whispering is pointless; not unless you are lips to ear and even then you don't get the whole thing said. They simply leaned into my chair bubble and Mag's started with,

"We want to get out of here soon," she explained.

I started to say, "Well it's okay then. I was hoping to buy you both a drink and maybe..."

Nicole put a hand on my knee and leaned in even tighter. I could feel her breath hitting my ear and cheek. It was warm and little flecks of saliva hit my face in a mist as she said,

"NO, she means she wants us both to leave AND TAKE YOU WITH US! We want to go do some other things around this town that we can't do in this place."

She squeezed my knee for emphasis and then Mags gave my opposite thigh a squeeze before she slid her hand down to my package, giving my junk a squeeze as she turned my face to hers and kissed me hard on the lips. I second later and her hand was replaced by Nicole's (who followed suit and pulled me in for a kiss while giving my baby-maker a nice aggressive grope like she was wrestling with a puppy through my pants).