After I had helped my hot seat girl out of her chair and gave her a hug, I walked back to the dressing room. Since we were at Red Velvet, the dressing room was what I had pictured one would look like all those times I came here to be the john rather than the trick. There were mirrors with bright bulbs lining them, counters, and nasty carpet. There were Polaroids of the strippers that worked there during the week posing in their novelty outfits. I looked around and saw a lonely clear platform stiletto with the strap ripped off. It was a small room, so the guys usually hung out by the bar during acts and when it was time for tip sets, they gyrated on the girls in the crowd. It was odd, though, because you couldn’t give what you would think would be called lap dances. They were more like… hover dances.
I didn’t have much time to think about how well I did or didn’t do. But I do remember thinking I couldn’t believe I was doing this down the street where I lost my virginity. Err, my second virginity. The virginity I didn’t sleep through. Such a bitter split second to think about how my sex life and perverted mentality had evolved. It was de-evolutionizing. I finished taking my mechanic costume off and went out for my set.
Since the stage was only big enough for two guys it was just Brett and me. The women screamed for him and threw dollars on the stage. One lady folded a dollar horizontally and laid it long ways on the brass railing two feet above her eye level. Brett walked over and hopped on the railing, placing his ass cheeks around the area where the dollar was and hopped back down. The dollar was gone. He reached back and pulled the dollar out his crack to show the woman his magic trick. My fear detector was alert. The ladies at the end of the stage waved me over as they swayed side-to-side to the music.
When the set was over, we walked back and Lance was getting ready for his pimp act. He dressed up in an orange velvet cloak with zebra print lining, a matching hat, a plastic gold medallion, and cheetah print velvet pants. Mr. Twinkles walked in as Lance left to get his hot seat auctioned off.
“Hey Brett, sorry I’m late. I got stuck in traffic,” he said noticing me.
“It’s cool. Go after Lance if you can get ready,” Brett replied. “If not, Bryan, do you care about going next?” He turned to Bryan who had been straightening out his costume, spraying each item with AXE.
“It’s cool,” Bryan said. Brett didn’t really like Bryan because he worked loyally for Leon. He conspired that Bryan was being Leon’s spy during Brett’s show. But since he needed one more guy and there was no one else at MIH Brett tolerated, Bryan would have to suffice.
“What’s up man, I’m Greg,” Mr. Twinkles introduced himself.
“I’m sorry, I thought you were Mr. Twinkles,” I confessed.
“I am, Greg’s my real name. Just don’t go telling these ladies,” he chuckled. Taylor was in his late 40s. He was the local founder of the hot seat concept. He had danced for Chippendales before it was called Chippendales. During those days, before the fame, they had an up close and personal show. The hot seat allowed them to get intimate with the ladies and was a brilliant gimmick to make money for nothing rather than collecting money from the door. Twinkles brought it to this area in the mid-80s. He had been worn down by years of tanning and having to work for the telephone company to pay child support for his seven kids by nine ex-wives. His words, not mine. He used the money he made from dancing to get by… and because he couldn’t leave the spotlight.
Lance’s act had finished and Twinkles still wasn’t ready, probably on purpose. Bryan would have to go next. I could tell he was displeased but he was too much of a punk to say anything to Brett. Lance and I went on stage for his tip set. Twinkles and Brett were dressed and went to the bar to take a shot. Some groupies in their early 40s approached Twinkles and gave him hugs. I’d later learn that they’ve been coming to see him for the last 23 years. Once a groupie; always a groupie. And morals—or lack there of—never age.
Lance and I went back to the dressing room and Bryan got ready to get auctioned off. Twinkles and Brett re-entered the dressing room with shots of Gran Marnier for all of us. We did wait until Bryan got back from being auctioned. Brett raised his shots and toasted, “Here’s to sleeping triple, seeing double, and being single.”
I chuckled and took my shot. Lance gave me his, “Here, I don’t drink.”
He proceeded to tell me that he once had been an alcoholic and didn’t like where his life was going, so he had finally left the bottle. He took his last shot the night he came to Red Velvet on a Sunday night before learning it was ladies night. He’d been attracted by the attention and money that filled the atmosphere and talked to Brett about dancing. The rest is history.
“Hey, I think you’d do really good at my show,” Twinkles said to me.
“Oh yeah?” I respond.
“I got this show I do on Friday nights at Van Gough’s downtown,” he told me.
“The black club?”
“Yeah. I don’t dance but I have some black guys that dance for my group. I pay them 50 bucks base pay just for showing up. So you know you’ll at least make some money. Hell, your Latin ass would do good there.”
“Hey, I don’t discriminate on booty. Especially the green kind.”
Taylor turned to Brett, “I like this guy.”
I made $287 that night. I was impressed with myself and my confidence had grown a little more that night. I was beginning to feel like a dancer and my ego had introduced himself to me. So much show that together with myself, we went on the prowl.
“Hi, I’m Rico,” I said to the cute chubby girl at the bar. Her breasts overflowed out of her shirt.
“I know. I was the one telling you to smile more,” she said.
“I’m Amelia.”
I thought to myself, Amelia is an awkward name that I wasn’t expecting to come out of her mouth. I started imagining a 60-something year old woman with a mole on her upper right lip working in a high school cafeteria with a nametag that read Amelia.
“You want to fuck?” Was the next thing out her mouth. The real Amelia, not cafeteria Amelia.
“You’re forward,” I replied.
“You’re stalling,” she struck back. She downed her beer and began walking away, “You coming?”
I rushed to the dressing room to get my bag. As I rushed back out through the crowd, I felt like OJ in those Hertz commercials, dodging and ducking groupies. I didn’t have time to mingle with anymore groupies. It was almost sad to watch them stay so long after the shows and tell the dancers little FYIs about their monotonous lives and to just collect their weekly hugs because it’s the only male interaction they got.
I bumped into Lance, who was walking out of the dressing room and heading to his truck. “What’s your problem, dude?”
I told him about meeting Amelia and that I was about to go bang some pounds of her chunky ass.
“Amelia? I fucked her a few months ago,” he told me. I suddenly lost a little interest in rushing to get to her house knowing that it’ll be an even easier lay. Fuck it. I got a wild hair up my ass. “Want to run train on this bitch?” I asked Lance. When I learn a girl is a slut, I start thinking of ways to really bring out her slutness and degrade herself even more. I told you, I was ready to see women suffer the way the women of my past made me suffer. I wanted to see what humiliation looked like. I wanted to feel what having the power to humiliate another human being with some kind of inner feeling felt like.
“You get down like that?” He was surprised to learn I was just like any other dancer.
“What the hell? I’ve been getting pussy way before I started stripping,” I informed him. What I didn’t mention was that no matter how much ass I had gotten up to that point, I always tried to find the romance in it. Even if I was cheating on a girlfriend. What can I say? I loved to love women.
“Let’s go.”
Lance was stopped by some groupies on his way to his truck. I was lucky I was still too new to have to have dealt with too many of them. I saw Amelia sitting in a black Mustang waiting for me. I pulled out of the parking lot and followed her, honking for Lance to hurry up.
After driving for about five minute without seeing Lance in my rearview, I called him. I told him to speed up so he could follow me. He told me he was just leaving because some chick had offered him a blowjob, in which he obliged her.
“Just text me the directions when you get there. I’ll find it.”
I hung up the phone and turned the volume up on my radio. I turn it up loud and roll down my windows. I was about to get some easy pussy. I reminded myself to make sure not to kiss her. I was not the first stripper she’d taken home, and I didn’t like the idea that if I did, it would pretty much be like kissing other dudes’ dicks. I’m sure most guys still do it all the time. Only difference is they don’t normally know the dick they’re kissing. Ignorance is bliss.
I started thinking about the last time I ran train on a girl. I had gone to a 7-11 to pick up some chips or something and seen a skinny girl with glasses in the store. I thought she was do-able and took her looking back at me with a smile as an invitation. She asked me what I was up to and I told her that my boy and I were just hanging out. She said she was bored too and invited herself to follow me to my apartment. When we walked in, I took her directly to my bedroom, wondering if by chance she was whore enough to fuck me without knowing my name.
As I walked past Reggie, he looked confused, as he didn’t recognize the girl. “She came with the chips,” I joked. I left my bedroom door open so he could watch me fuck this girl from the living room couch. I began kissing her—hey, I didn’t know her, so I didn’t know what face went with what dick—and wasted no time undressing her. I grabbed her waist with both hands and realized that if my hands were just a little bigger, my fingertips would touch. I paused and told her to hold on. I exited the room free balling with my cock saluting. I did a roundabout into the kitchen to get a condom out of the cookie jar that we used as community property. The rule was to by a box whenever there were three left. Reggie still had the confused look on his face, but with his eyes closed, “C’mon man! Clothes on in the communal area.” On my way back to the room, I tossed a rubber at him.
“I think she’s whore enough to let us both fuck her,” I told him.
I put the condom on as I walked into my room, dropping the wrapper at the threshold. I flipped her over and she immediately went on all fours. I didn’t hesitate to stuff all of my dick in her and felt that her snatch incredibly tight. It wasn’t as pleasant or hardcore as it might sound. It’s not like in the pornos when some stage hand lubricates the bitch with KY before the director yells action. This twat was rather dry and it felt like I was squeezing my cock in a vice grip.
Reggie eventually walked in and positioned himself on the bed so that her head was hovering over his dick. She WAS whore enough to let us run train. She began blowing him put paused a lot as she too realized my dick was too massive for her hole. She had a very, very small hole.
I looked down at her ass and was disgusted by how narrow it was. I spread her cheeks as to give it sustenance to see if it would look better. It did not. She just didn’t have any hips. I notice she was stopping in the middle of her blow job, so the next time she put her mouth on Reggie’s dick, I pressed on the back of her head. She gagged and Reggie shoot me a grin and shook his head. “Chill,” he said through a smile.
A few thrusts more and she was still not tending to the blowie. I pushed down on her head again. Again she gagged. “Hey,” she moaned out. Reggie puts up his hand and motioned me not to do it again.
A few thrusts later and she was concentrating too much on the pain I must have been giving her and let go of his dick completely. He replaced her hand back on it and she started blowing him again. As she began, I gave the back of her head an extra push and heard her gag louder.
“Gwulk-gwak!” She tried to press off of his dick but I left my hand firm on her head. At the same time, I began thrusting faster, harder, deeper. I wasn’t enjoying the fucking sensation, but I was enjoying the comedy at watching her flap one of her hands in the air, motioning me to stop. I eased up a bit when she began coughing on his dick in between gags.
“Yo, man, stop,” he whined. But he couldn’t help but to laugh. I left my hand on the back of her head for about five seconds, laughing harder at each gag, which was enough time for her to reach under and pinch my sack. I pulled back my hand and sack and she lifted her head up. She raised herself on her knees and made my dick slip out. It actually hurt more to have her tiny tight coochie damn near snap my dick off than it was when I first slammed it in there. As she tried to speak, she also tried to suppress her gag reflex. But it was futile as those gags mixed with sniffles and coughs. And then from the depths of her sinuses, a gush of ultra-green snot poured out of her nose onto Reggie’s balls. I mean poured like that green glop from Ghostbusters. Straight ectoplasm, my friends, and lots of it.
I pulled behind Amelia’s Mustang into her driveway. I started wondering if she lived home with her parents. I’m not convinced that a young 20-something girl, probably working as a waitress, could afford a one story, ranch-style single family home. I got out of my car and walked up to her slowly. “You live here with your parents?” I asked.
“No. I live here with some roommates.” We walked around the right side of the house to enter the garage from the back.
“Why didn’t we go through the front door?” I questioned.
“My friends are having some lame house party and my ex-boyfriends here,” she explained. Her slut meter began rising.
I told her that was cool and that I’d need a minute. I admitted that I had to text Lance directions. “Lance? You mean Lars,” she said.
“Huh?”
“Lars is his real name,” she revealed. It’s weird the names you picture certain people having. I knew Lance was a stage name, but I never thought about what his real name was. I guess if I had to think about what I would have thought it might have been, I would have tagged him as something douchier. Like Blake, Zack, or Nathaniel.
“Oh. Is that cool? I mean, you guys already fucked,” I said bluntly.
“Whatever. I’m drunk anyway.”
Bless her little slut heart, what a whore. And I loved it. I think I’ll call her Slorendella. She continued into the garage as I stood outside to dial up Lance. It was too dark now to text and my battery was running low. Through the backdoor window of the garage, I saw her walk up the steps inside the garage probably into a kitchen. He answered and I gave him directions telling him to enter around the back.
I finally entered and sat on the couch on the back wall of the garage. I leaned back and relaxed my arms across the top of it and left my legs opened, hoping she’d just walk back in, unbotton my jeans, and start blowing me. She stumbled back in a few minutes later. Her titties jiggled as she started walking towards me.
“Are you gonna take of your clothes?” She asked.
“Aren’t you?” I responded, meaning her undressing me.
Slorendella proceeded to pull her DDD-cup titties over the top of her shirt, exposing her areolas the size of drink coasters and pulled up her skirt.
“There. You ready?” She demanded.
She startled me as she jumped on me and started kissing my neck, pressing her titties against my body. I grabbed them forcefully and gave them each a healthy squeeze. They were real. They were clammy, too. I hate tittie sweat, but I still leaned her backwards and sucked on her nipples and licked the underneath of her heavy breast. She reached down, unzipped my jeans, and pulled out my dick, which was semi by that point. She jumped off and lurched towards the washing machine where she left her purse. She pulled out a box of condoms and returned to the couch, handing me one.
“Here,” she said. I was expecting this slore to do it for me, but I’m sure she was too buzzed to focus on any minute motor skills. I put it on in three moves. Rip open, pull condom ring out, slide on, pull tip for canal. Okay, four moves. She impatiently waited as I took a second and admired my precision condom-putting-on skills. I was impressed by my technique. She saddled up again, pulled the front of her thongs to the side and slipped my dick right in. She began riding me back and forth. She was grinding too hard for me to enjoy it and was pressing against my inner hipbones, but I just pressed my face into her tits and tried to escape to a happy, horny place.
The garage lit up, as headlights flooded the garage. Lance’s truck pulled up. By now I had switched to the doggystyle to recover from the bruises on my pelvic. Slorendella showed no emotion as to whether she was enjoying this or not. Either way, I was ready to bust my nut. There’s nothing worst than a boring fuck. And unlike my first, I had to put in work so I didn’t get the pleasure of taking a power nap.
Lance stormed in through the backdoor. I turned around to give him thumbs up. “On the washing machine,” I told him, referring where to find the rubbers. He looked confused but saw the open condom box.
“I got my own,” he responded. “Watch out, son, let me show you how it’s done,” he said as he pushed me out of the way.
He undid his pants and began to fuck her hard. Slorendella finally woke up out of her drunken stuper and moaned when he slapped her ass. It echoed throughout the garage. I positioned myself on the top of the couch, took my condom off, and sat in front of her. Every time Lance gave a thrust, my dick poked her in the nose. I positioned my dick closer to her mouth to hit her lips every time she was thrusted forward.
When she finally reached for it, I let go. She began jerking me off and I could feel her hot breath on my balls. I caught the smell of her bad beer breath. I grabbed the base of my dick and lined it up against her mouth, splitting her lips. She finally got the hint, grasped my dick again, and began sucking the tip.
“You better…not…cum in my mouth,” she whispered out in between thrusts. I said nothing. She continued only to suck the tip but that was all I needed. I was too exhausted from having to do all the work. It was almost like necrophilia. This must have been what my first felt like. In two minutes I grabbed my dick back at the base. She tried to control her neck motion as she continued to thrust forward.
I decided it was time to break this slore’s slut meter. I slowly placed my hands on her shoulders and began paying attention to Lance’s rhythm. After one 8 count, I timed the next forward thrust with a thrust of my own. My dick thrusting deep into her mouth, balls deep. I heard her gag as Lance continued thrusting her forward. The wetness of the deeper parts of her mouth actually felt good to the point that I busted my nut very quickly. Too quick for me to pull out and respect her no-cum-in-mouth policy.
As I pulled my dick out, she took a big gasp of air and began coughing. Lance continued to pump away. I sat back against the couch, half laughing and half wondering if I needed to call 911. I certainly wasn’t ready to give her mouth-to-mouth should she stop breathing because her lings were drowning in semen.
Lance fucked her harder and slapped her ass. He reached towards her neck and hooked his finger in her mouth, pulling her head sideways as she continued to cough and gag. He did this for a few thrusts and when her head returned to face me, the largest gush of vomit flows out hrough her nose and onto my dick and nuts.
All I could do was watch this waterfall of spew drench my crotch, trying not to catch the fumes that would send me into a vomiting spell of my own. Lance let out a howling growl, slapped her ass one more time, and pulled up his pants.
“Okay, dude, see you tomorrow,” he said as he walked back out of the backdoor.
Slorendella turned and sat on the couch, putting her titties back into her shirt. She dropped her face into her hands, and then lifted her head up again. Still in shock, I left my expression and arms in the air, waiting for some normalcy to return to what had just happened. She let out a disappointed sigh and blew some strands of hair out of her face. After checking a few strands for vomit chunks, she turned and looked at me.
She sat there looking at me with a blank expression. I looked back at her not knowing what to say or do next. I squinted as the headlights flooded the garage, again.
Slorendella raised her eyebrows, giving me the “what next” look. Now I was the one with the blank look. This went on for a good three minutes as the vomit now dripped down into the crevice of my ass cheeks.
I finally decided to just accept it. I buttoned my jeans and left… with her beer remains sloshing around in my undergarments.
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