Tales from Da Club #49

I know from deeply personal experience that it’s a really stupid idea to crush on a stripper. So why am I doing it? Because I’m a glutton for punishment? Because I’m a total masochist? Because I’m not broke enough already?

It had not been a bad night at the club. A smoking hot military gentleman came in fresh off a tour who had, just the morning prior, been observing the crumbling, dusty vistas of Tehran and starving in every way possible. He bought two steaks and devoured them. Then he bought eight dances and devoured ME.

I danced for a couple who had been fantasizing about that sort of thing for a while. Afterwards, while I was dancing onstage, the man came up to tip me and slipped his wife’s phone number into my G-string. The flattery of it all left me swooning.

An older gentleman came in who consulted for Bluebonnet Brewing Company, Round Rock’s only brewery. They are considering a downtown expansion but were hesitant about the high rates. I encouraged him to go for it. Due to Apple’s billion dollar expansion into the far northwest submarket, they’ll have a LOT more customers very soon. He had not been aware of this development and left very pleased with the real estate investment advice he received from his stripper. AFTER buying a number of dances from me, of course, and at my encouragement, also from Arwyn the Fierce Celtic Warrior who was celebrating her birthday by forcing the deejay to play only 80s music. 

My final dance of the evening was for a 20something also celebrating his birthday. He told me he wanted to feel special so I sat in his lap for awhile and told him all my funniest stories. During the dance, I gave him a couple of bombass foreplay moves to try out on his next lucky lady. He left glowing, and it reminded me how rewarding it is when my clients leave that happy. I also appreciated the opportunity promote foreplay, which, much like courtship, feels like something of a dying art in the Age of Tinder.

Shortly before last call, Luis the Coke Dealer and Not-so-White-Bread Connor showed up. (If you are following these tales as closely as I think you should, you’ll remember from a previous tale that Connor is not quite as mild-mannered and white bread as one’s initial impression might suggest.) In a damn near repeat of the last time they showed up together, the three of us left before close and went over to Foxy’s. I was better prepared this time, however, and wore a tiny, pink, black-light-reactive dress with a million slits in all the right places. You know it was great because it was hell wearing it outside.

At 3 am, Foxy’s was still utter chaos. Standing room only. Connor knew I was crushing on Jasmin, so he scoured the club to find her. In the meantime, when I slipped away to the bathroom, two men approached and asked for dances. Damn, what an easy crowd!

At the end of the night, Jasmin finally approached. Connor stuffed a wad of twenties into my hand and disappeared. Jasmin was either really happy to see me or a great actor. With the best strippers, it’s impossible to tell.

Jasmin began dancing, and I lost all track of the song count. She slipped my top down and began lazily tonguing my nipples while staring into my eyes. She had large green eyes almost too big for her petite features and that’s when I realized the source of her charm: She’s basically the human version of a hentai character. “You have perfect nipples,” she murmured. 

She pushed my knees together and held my legs above my head so she could stroke my pussy through my panties. A bold one, this one. She was worth every penny of Connor’s money. I was sad he wasn’t there to share this moment with me. Luis, on the other hand, gazed with rapt attention. This is why he parties with strippers.

Then my legs went down, Jasmin’s face popped up, and she asked if she could kiss me. 

Her kisses were short and sweet and perfect. Her hands squeezed lightly at my breasts. “Come dance with me heeeeeeere,” she pleaded. “We could walk around together, and I could tell people you’re my girlfriend. HA!”

“Yeah, I don’t know . . .”

Her tone abruptly changed from seductive to sardonic. “What’s the matter, girl? You afraid someone’s gonna grab your pussy?”

Remember that Foxy’s is an all-nude club while Rick’s is not.

“Oh, they do that all the time at Rick’s,” I told her.

“See, girl!” she crowed triumphantly. “They don’t do that as much here! There’s more respect for the pussy at an all-nude club.”

“Really? Why do you think that is?”

She pulled my top back up over my breasts just as the lights came on in the club. “The MYSTERY is gone.”

I wondered if Jasmin would be as sweet and friendly if I became her competition rather than her customer . . .

On the way out, a group of three men called me over. “Were you on MTV?” one of them asked.

“Um, no.”

“Ah, shit, we coulda swore we saw you on MTV. Were you on any reality show?”

“Um, no.”

“Where’d we see you? How we know you?”

Off to the side, talking to someone else, Luis looked over and hollered, “You saw her on BET!”

I grinned. “I have NO idea.”

“I know!” he said, “We saw you on Instagram!”

He most certainly did not see me on Instagram. Both of my accounts are private, and I’m too lazy to hashtag.

“Yeah, I’m on Instagram,” I told him.

“I’mma follow you right now!” he exclaimed, pulling out his phone. “What’s your name?”

“Circus Macabre,” I said.

“Girl, I do not even know how to spell that. What even is that? Czechoslovakian?”

“Yes,” I said, typing it in for him. “Czechoslovakian.” No wonder this crowd is so damn easy.

I went to home to find one of my ears covered in bright red lipstick. I have no idea where it came from.

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