All my wives were trophy wives. Without exception people would tell me that my wife was better looking than I deserved. Couldn't agree with them more. They were hot. They were so hot in fact that I couldn't hold on to them for very long without getting' burned. Takes a lot of money to keep a hot number happy.
This story is about my third ex-wife. We had so many sexual adventures I don't have to make any of this up. I just wish I could remember all the details. Anyway, on this particular night we went to Sweeties, the best of the up scale gentlemen's clubs in Houston. The dancers there were gorgeous.
Most women would not like to go to a club like that since they would feel that they couldn't measure up to the perfect bodies on display there. But number three looked as good as any of them. In fact, she looked sexier with her clothes on than these little honeys looked with their clothes off--Although she really wasn't covering up all that much.
As we walked in, a blonde little cutie was on the main stage, and she gestured for me to give her my cowboy hat. It was a really nice white Stetson straw I paid over a hundred bucks for, but I just handed it over with a big grin. She stuffed both her boobs into the hat and it stayed on her as she danced around the stage. That hat had a really nice smell for about a week.
We had gone to this club trolling for some serious sexual action. Number Three was always willing but tonight she was raring to go. Of course going to a gentleman's bar pretty much limited us to picking up other men—what we had in mind.
We sat in one of the deeply upholstered U-shaped sofas, which encircled a large coffee table that the girls used for table dances. From there we also had a good view of the main stage. It seemed that whenever I took a good looking woman to a topless bar, we would always get the best seats where everyone could see us. Maybe they thought couples gave the place a little more respectability.
Not long after we sat down the little blonde made her way to our section with my hat and offered to dance for us. I slipped a twenty under her G sting, for which I received a big toothy smile and got my hat back. If I didn't know better I would have thought she was sincere.
After a few drinks, the sofa opposite us became available and three Japanese businessmen almost ran over to take their places where they could enjoy a good view of the stage and have someone else paying for the table dances. They were dressed in identical dark blue business suits, white shirts, with blue and red ties. The only variations were in the ties: one stripes, one dots, one diamonds.
I took a stroll around the bar to check out the prospects. Mostly yuppies, a few urban cowboys, one or two older businessmen, a couple of guys who looked like cops, couple of attractive women with their dates—maybe they were trolling too. I was pretty sure Number Three would be happy to entertain just about anyone in there. So I decided to just wait and just let things happen on their own.
As I turned back toward our table I saw one the Japanese guys pulling on Number Three's arms trying to get her to stand up. Three was laughing but resisting. As I walked up, she spoke to me, and the Japanese guy turned to face me with a look of surprise and sudden understanding. He had just then realized that Three didn't work there, but was my date. He started bowing and apologizing. We just laughed and tried to calm him down.
I found out later that these three guys worked for the same Japanese oil tanker conglomerate. The one pulling on her arms was the local rep stationed in Houston. The other two were visiting big shots from the home office in Tokyo, and he was showing them the local talent.
After they sat back down, they no longer looked our way even when a girl was dancing at our table—like they were embarrassed. Three was flattered that they thought she was one of the show girls, so I asked her if she would be interested in taking these three guys home with us. She said no right away.
Generally I don't like it when women or horses balk, but I just let it slide. I asked her to look around and if she saw someone she liked to let me know. I guess she had already had one too many drinks because she was starting to get surly and said she didn't see anyone she liked. I thought that she was just trying to irritate me because the place was filled with good-looking young men and we had already agreed that tonight we were going get a strange man to work her over.
That is the problem with half-breeds. They don't hold their liquor worth a damn. Now, Number Three didn't look hardly at all like an Indian with her red hair and freckles, but she had a Choctaw face, brown eyes, and a fine lean body like an a savage. Once she got started, she could consume your precious body fluids without working up a lather. But I really had to be careful with her drinking. She had to have a little to let her inhibitions down, but too many and she turned ornery. Surly was just the first sign, if let her keep drinking she would eventually get to the stage of being down right mean. When that happened, there'd be no fun that night.
So to spite her a little and to let her know that I was the one who decided who got to fuck her, I went over to the other side of the coffee table and sat on it facing the Japanese guys. The local guy was the only one who appeared to speak English, and I could barely understand him. The music in there was pretty loud, and I had to ask him several times if they would be interested in going with us.
I could see pretty quick that this was going to require a lengthy and difficult conversation, and I didn't want to be shouting for everyone to hear me offering them my wife. When I asked him if he would come outside with me, he looked terrified.
Now I am not especially big, but I was a lot bigger than this guy, and I reckoned that he thought I wanted to take him outside for a pounding. I explained as best I could, and then pointed to my ears, and he sort of understood. As we stood up I looked at Three, and she did not look happy.
We went outside where I explained that I wanted him and his associates to come home with us. That seemed OK with him. I guess he thought we wanted them to have dinner with us or something, because he just didn't seem to get it. So I tried sign language. I pointed back into the bar and said, "my wife" and gestured the international sign for boobs. He got that part and looked a little more interested. Then I pointed to his crotch and held up one finger, then pointed back in the bar and said "one, two, three." He smiled thinly.
I said, "You come with me (pointing at me) and my wife (sign for boobs). You (one, two, three) fuck (circle with thumb and forefinger with stiff finger going in and out) her (sign for boobs). OK? He smiled broadly, but his eyes showed that he had a question.
"How much?" he asked.
"Ha!" I exclaimed. "No money. No money. Just have fun. She will dance for you." I wiggled my hips and showed the boobs sign again. He seemed to understand but seemed incredulous. We went back inside.