Sbm27

Feather Maid

"You wanna lap-dance?" she asked.

I looked in her eyes, then turned away so I didn't exhale my smoke in her face. She was a white girl, about 5'9" and in her late twenties.

"How much?" I asked.

"Twenty."

I looked her body over. She was an hour past voluptuous on her way to cellulite city. I love women and all their imperfections, but if you are not perfect on the outside and you got a nasty attitude, don't come up to me like you are God's gift to men. I figured her for a lesbian. Most of these strippers were. I couldn't blame them. What horrors must they go through to get past the tender ages? Horrors at the hands of dirty men with one-track minds. Who else can they turn to for tenderness, compassion and a break from the violence that is all-too-often testosterone-fueled? Being a stripper only educates them more on the true, dark nature of Mr. Dick-for-brains.

I sipped from my third beer.

"What do I get for all that money? " I asked, as if it was my first time in here.

"One song. "

"What are the rules?"

"Can't touch my breasts or my pussy," she said, lacking any emotion.

"Can I pull my pants down?"

"No," she said, disgusted at the thought.

"I'll think about it, " I said, slapping her ass lightly.

She walked away, not saying another word.

You wanna lap-dance. Women swear men have the worst pick-up lines, but at least they vary somewhat. I sweat my ass off and risk my life pumping concrete for my money. You walk up and ask for it and it's supposed to be yours like that? No "Hi, my name is ..." not even pretending to be interested in my name or anything about me. I've heard the same line a million times. It's the first and only sentence to come out of these dime-a-dozen stripper robots' mouths. I'd rather hear "what's your sign" or any of the cheesy pick-up lines that men use on women. I guess I'm too much of a romantic to fall for it, too much of a pervert to stop going to strip-clubs. Where's the seduction? Where's the effort? Or are you too doped up to be good at your job? They're not all like that, but most of 'em.

I ask Pam, the bartender, for change for the pool table and hand her three bills. She walks towards the register and I look at her body. Now that's voluptuous. The rump roast hanging out of her hot pants looks like a meal fit for a king. I think to tell her what's on my mind, and then decide against it. If these girls actually learned how to seduce me I'd probably end up blowing my rent money here every week.

She hands me my change and gives me a free beer. I'm a good tipper, so the bartenders treat me well here.

As I head for the pool table, the DJ announces Mystic on the main stage. I look up and see a tiny but plump ass peeking out under a maid's outfit. A "scrub the ground" – type southern rap song blasts over the speakers.

Standing up all of a sudden made the beer kick in. The small blonde on stage in black stockings, sanitizing the pole with a towel and alcohol, brought other feelings to me. She swiveled on the pole and I finally saw her face. Heather.

She was my neighbor a couple years back. Her older sister, Amy, used to baby-sit my daughter. The little depressed girl I knew and admired from afar was now an exotic dancer. Compared to the average dancer in here, she really WAS exotic. Her moves versus these other girls' moves were like a snake's versus a worm's.

She slithered to the floor on her stomach. Her ass rose up to the sky and her feet pointed straight at me. I walked over for a closer look. Her hose-covered toes wiggled inside her open-toed see-through heels.

I looked for singles, but I was out. Pam was too busy for me to bother her for change now. I pulled out a $5 and stood behind her, watching her butt cheeks move to the music. When she arched her back and turned her head, she noticed me watching her. She smiled, kicked her legs up and down, and then slumped on the floor as if she lost control of all her muscles suddenly.

She got up and walked to me slowly. Her eyes were powder blue. Her make-up was minimal. Her glossy, bubble-gum lips puckered as she looked me up and down. She stopped in front of me, my eyes level with her crotch, and she lifted her leg up over my shoulder. I took the hand with the five in it and caressed her ankle, tracing her leg up to the thigh where I put the five in her stocking. Her crotch was in my face, but I never took my eyes away from her eyes. I blew some air into her crotch as I was known to do under such circumstances and she licked her lips for me. She rotated her pelvis in time with the music before dismounting and going back to her dance.

I racked up the balls on the pool table and played by myself. Until she got off the stage, I was distracted enough to miss most of my shots. When she was done she went straight for the bathroom. The next dancer was a much older woman with too much plastic surgery.

I was aiming to put the 8-ball in the corner pocket when there was a light kiss on my cheek.

"Thank you," Mystic/Heather said, genuinely.

"Any time, baby girl." I said. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Sure," she said, trying to hide her shy smile from me.

We sat at the bar. I got a beer and she got an Alabama slammer.

"You look familiar," she said, sipping through a straw.

"Is your real name Heather?" I asked.

"Yeah." She looked down, her secret identity having been revealed.

"Didn't you used to be my neighbor?" I asked, lighting two cigarettes.

She looked into my face for answers. "Ed?"

I smiled. "That's me." I handed her a cigarette and downed half my beer, washing it down with menthol.

She was relieved, her curiosity having been satisfied. "How's Brandy?"

"She's fine," I said. "Real smart. They are thinking about skipping her to the fourth grade.

"That's great," she said.

"How's your family?"

"I'm staying with Amy now. Wait 'til I tell her I saw you. My mother's fine, I guess."

"Sounds like your southern accent's got thicker since the last time I saw you."

"Oh God," she said, rolling her eyes.

"I said southern, not country. Relax."

She laughed and sipped. We continued to make small talk. I wanted to take her in the champagne room and cum all over that maid's outfit, but I decided not to ruin the moment by coming on too strong or treating her like a prostitute. I did put my hand on her thigh and she didn't seem to mind so I massaged it gently.

Her cell phone rang and she answered it. As she talked, her legs opened up, so I moved my hand 'til I felt her panties. They were soft and silky; slightly damp. She put her free hand over my roaming hand beneath the bar and squeezed her thighs together for a second. Just when I thought she was gonna pull my hand from between her legs, she switched hands holding the phone so she could look at me better and spread her legs wider.

I pulled her panties to the side and slid my finger up and down her lips 'til I got deep enough between them to rub her clit on the upstrokes and wet my finger on the down strokes.

Just watching a girl dance on stage has never been enough to get me hard, but this does the trick. Those rare moments when you cross the line and break the rules but it's ok because who's gonna tell? The strip-club is the land of broken promises with the aroma of sex, but this is one promise kept.

I hope she's talking to her man

, I think to myself, as she soaks my fingers. My dick starts to poke at the fabric of my pants and I adjust myself into a more comfortable position. She hangs up the phone.

"My mom," she says, smiling.

I look at my watch. "I gotta go soon, baby girl. I wanna see you outside of here. Is that gonna happen?"

"Prolly not," she says apologetically. My boyfriend wouldn't like it too much."

I wanted to put my finger deeper inside her, but I couldn't the way she was sitting.

"Well, as long as he don't mind me fingerin' you at your job, it's all good, ain't it?"

She moans with pleasure and squeezes my hand with her thighs again. "He would mind, actually, but I think you deserve it. I used to have a huge crush on you. I think Amy did too, actually."

"You know how hard I am right now, Heather?" I put her hand in my lap to prove my point. "You are not even my type, but I've always been attracted to you. I dunno what your man is like, but I guarantee I could give you a one of a kind experience."

She looked at me, and then squeezed my dick. Then she patted it like it was a puppy's head. "I gotta go," she said. "I need to try to get some lap dances in before I go back onstage."

"Good luck, baby girl," I said. Can I have a hug before I go?"

We put our arms around each other and I squeezed her tight. "I'll miss you," I said.

"Bye, Ed," she said.

Alone at Last

I got home and checked my messages. There was one from my landlord about not using the tap water between 8 and 6 on Thursday 'cuz they were fixing the plumbing. There was one from my daughter's mother about my weekend visit. The last one was from my boss, Sandra. She claimed it was an emergency like she always did when more likely than not she just wanted to listen to herself talk for a half-hour or so. It was part of the job, I guess, so I called her.

She was over-reacting as usual, but who else would have the patience and understanding to humor her like this besides me? Luckily, she had a sexy voice.

If Heather wasn't my type of woman, Sandra was. Too old for me, too chunky for the average man, and too smart to fall for whatever seduction I might throw at her. The long, conservative dresses she wore left much more to the imagination than the strippers I was used to, and even the younger girls at the dispatch office, but that was fine with me. I've always had a vivid imagination.

As she talked to me, I said, "uh-huh" in random places so she would know I was still there. I pretended that we were in the same room and that, as she talked, I was hiking up her dress. I took off my clothes and lay in my bed, dick in my right hand. I remembered fingering Heather earlier and switched hands so I could put my finger up to my nose. I inhaled deeply. It still smelled like Heather's pussy. Powdered sugar. Just add water.

"Mmmm," I said, loud enough for Sandra to hear me. She probably thought I was agreeing with her because she kept talking. I squeezed my dick, imagining myself caressing Sandra's hosiery-clad legs under her dress. The head of my dick looked like it would burst if I squeezed any harder. I bent it away from me and curled my toes. I moaned throughout the conversation, wondering how loud I would have to get before she realized I was playing with myself. I added in heavy breathing and cut a hole in her pantyhose in my mind.

I imagined her pussy to be twice as fat as Heather's, and hairy instead of shaven. I put my stinky finger up to my nose again and a wave of cold ecstasy shook my body. I saw myself taking Sandra from behind, her still conducting business. No matter how hard I would pinch her ass or ram my dick into her uterus, she would keep conducting business in a lady-like manner. Taking my dick out, it would be coated with her sticky natural lubricant. I rubbed my thighs together and pinched my nipples, trying to keep the phone up to my ear and keep myself hard at the same time.

Near the end of the conversation, she stopped talking at the moment I screamed out. She asked if I was ok. I said I was fine.

Just a li'l orgasm,

I wanted to tell her, but didn't.

Why don't you play with yourself so we can cum together?

When we got off the phone with each other, I kept doing what I was doing, but I switched my focus to Heather. She was up on stage looking down at me with her sweet puss in my face, moving like a she-devil. I stuck my finger in her ass and rubbed my nose in the fabric of her panties.

That was enough to drive me over the edge. I came on my stomach, most of it landing in my belly button for some reason. I stuck my finger in it and made little circles on my stomach 'til I was done cumming. I took a shower afterwards and went to sleep.