My buddy Frank was getting married and the bachelor party was going to be a fucking horror show.. Frank is a stone psycho, his brother Dominick is worse, and there would be 15 other crazed and dangerous guys along for the ride into infamy. Dominick planned the party. A big cookout at his place, lots of ribs and steak and beer, and then after everyone showered and dressed, we'd pile on a bus Dom rented and head off to Club Erotica, the best "gentleman's club" in the city, with three stages and 75 dancers and private lounges for lap dances and whatever lusty and slippery fun you might care for.
And I was voted designated driver.
"Hire a driver!" I protested to Dom. "Why don't I get to have fun too?"
"'Cause it's gonna be BAD, you know, and I don't want some poor asshole having to wait outside while we burn the place down. I mean, what if we bring some girl on the bus, to have some fun with Frankie? A civilian might object."
"Then why me?"
"'One, you know how to drive a bus, right? Two, and I mean this as a compliment, you're by far the most responsible guy in the bunch. You'll get us home in one piece."
"Fuck," I said. He had a point. When I was in college I drove a school bus for a camp I worked at, and I still had my Class 3 license. And no way would any of the other guys stay sober during this apocalyptic chickfest. It was gonna be heavy-duty.
I made sure I got a good night's sleep before the party. The cookout was fabulous, Dom is a genius on the grill. Had a steak, some ribs, corn, potato salad, a terrific spread. I left after I ate, telling everyone that I was going home for a nap before the festivities. I had to conserve my strength. Dom picked me up around 7, and he drove me to the rental place to get the bus. It smelled faintly of vomit. It was going to be worse come the morning.
The guys piled on. Club Erotica was BYOB, you checked your booze at the door and they put it in a numbered cooler for you. We had 16 guys. Brought 8 cases of beer, 8 bottles of whiskey, eight of vodka, a dozen bottles filled with liquids of various hues, and mixers galore. Twenty bucks a head to get in. I had $200 of my own cash with me, and the guys pushed handfuls of tens and twenties at me to hold onto, so they wouldn't literally throw money around after they got shitfaced.
We took over one whole stage. The girls, fucking fantastic. Girls with blonde hair, girls with brown hair, joined by various redheads and raven-haired beauties. Chicks with perfect (but fake) 38DD juggs and chicks with cute little natural 34B titties that made your eyes roll back in your head. Long legs, tight asses, and they all smelled GOOD. Not cheap perfume, not overwhelming, but when a girl leaned down to accept your proffered bill, you caught a whiff of a tantalizing feminine scent, sweet and spicy and heady.
My crew was pounding shots and draining beers by the gallon. I polished off half a case of ginger ale and resisted banging my head against the stage. It's just no fun being around a gang of guys getting loaded and rubbing against hotties when you're clear-headed and checking your watch. Well, it's still fun watching the girls, but it would be more fun with a beer in hand.
Downstairs were the stages; upstairs were the private areas. For $20 you could go up with a girl of your choosing and lie on a comfortable leather couch and the girl would mount you and slide up and down your body, rubbing herself against your erection, her breasts just inches away from your mouth. There were two rules. You had to sit on your hands, and keep your tongue in your mouth. It was still fucking delicious. Drunk and horny as they were, my guys knew better than to break the rules. There were maybe 25 bouncers in the place, with an average weight around 260, and they didn't take kindly to guys pawing the ladies.
That is, unless you were willing to part with a bit more money. And then you might be invited to the third floor, where you and your girl could have even more privacy. And, for a fee, she might be willing to pleasure you in a more direct manner, with her hands, or her mouth, or with the magical place between her legs. Most girls there would give handjobs, some would give blowjobs, a few would actually fuck. There were enough for a picky guy to choose from if he really wanted to get laid. And I knew that Frank and Dom and most of the guys would end up on the third floor eventually.
Girl after girl danced on our stage. I was sitting at the bar on a stool, just taking everything in, shaking my head in disbelief and the outrageous hooting and braying of my friends. I didn't notice the girl who sauntered up beside me and then snuggled herself between my open legs.
"Hey, why are you here all by yourself? You look lonesome."
God she was incredible. Maybe 20 years old, I'd guess. Thick brown hair that fell just below her shoulders, bright brown eyes, toned arms and slim, smooth legs, and she had those firm bouncy 34B titties that make me hard like a drill. Her luscious lips were full and curled in a sly smile. Her pussy was clean shaven except for a little bikini stripe. I somehow managed to swallow and say, "No, not lonesome, just unlucky. I'm the designated driver."
She smiled. "You poor baby, you'll have your hands full getting them home. But that doesn't mean you can't have fun too." She slid her hands up my thighs. She was so delicious. Her nails were scratching me under the hem of my shorts, she had beautiful nails, long and French manicured.
I'm not a fool, I knew she wasn't coming on to me because of my good looks and winning smile. She's a working girl, drumming up business. Normally I'd be more than happy to indulge myself, but I wanted to keep on the straight and narrow tonight. But again, she was a working girl, so I pressed two twenties into her palm and whispered, "I'd love to have fun with you, because you just stole my heart, but I should be a good boy tonight. But my friend Zack over there," I pointed to my tall, drunk, but relatively well-mannered friend who was standing behind Frank staring in reverent amazement at a dancer with tits like balloons, "Zack I think would love to have fun, but he's too quiet. Would you get him in a partying mood?"
She smiled, obviously pleased that her approach had been successful. "He'll come down with a grin on his face, I promise you."
"Well, you already have me smiling," She left, took Zack by the hand, whispered something in his ear, and led him to the stairs. He looked back at me a bit confused, and when I raised my glass in salute he smiled nervously and let the girl lead him away. "Zack, you lucky, lucky bastard." I said as I gulped my drink.
The night wore on. We paid $100 for Frank to go up on stage and sit in a chair and have three strippers just totally assault him, rubbing their pussies in his face, playacting at riding him and giving him head. We paid $350 to have two of the girls take Frank to the 3rd floor and give him a double-header blowjob. One by one my friends went up to the 3rd floor for some naughtiness. Even Zack went upstairs with one of the girls for a slippery handjob, though not with the girl I'd sent to him.
She danced three sets, and each time I made sure I went over to her and slipped a ten between her breasts. She was really gorgeous, beautiful, a sexy and lithe dancer, though not as polished as the other dancers. I still had $100 in my wallet. I wanted her, badly. But no, not that way. You don't just ask a stripper out on a date, come on. They do this for money. Forget all the bullshit about how they love to flirt and tease and be the center of attention. Maybe they like that too, but girls who strip do it for the money. They can flirt all they want on their days off. This girl could get any guy in the world to pay attention to her just by wearing a miniskirt.
Bobby was sick. Going to be sick. I saw it and I grabbed him and hustled him outside. "Need some air," I told the bouncer by the door and he gratefully opened the door to let us out. I walked him around to the side of the building and Bobby knelt and blarrf, it all came out. "That's it, buddy, you'll feel better, let it out."
"Fuck," he moaned, and another quart of puke poured out of his mouth.
"Ewww, is he going to be OK?" a voice asked behind me. I turned and two girls were standing on a small patio outside a door. I could see the glowing tips of their cigarettes. And one of them was my girl.
"He'll be fine," I said. I walked over to them and gave Bobby some privacy. The other girl said, "Gotta go back for my last set, see ya," So I was alone with her.
I have always had a thing for women smoking. I've never dated a girl who smokes, but I find something incredibly, irrationally sexy about girls who smoke. I would never want someone I date to smoke, I know its unhealthy, but seeing a sexy girl holding a cigarette in her fingers, lifting it to her mouth, sucking on it, blowing out the smoke, makes my dick hard as marble. As it did when she did this in front of me.
"I'm sorry, I never asked your name," I said.
"Melissa, I'm Melissa. I know your name is Eric, because the whole time I was with your friend Zack he kept saying, 'Oh, thank you Eric, thank you Eric!'"
I laughed. "He owes me bigtime."
She dropped her cigarette in a trash can. "Still plenty of time tonight. You sad I stole your heart, I could give you a chance to buy it back."
Still the working girl. But she was nice about it. And suddenly a thought came into my head, so suddenly that I almost swooned. Something I wanted her to do with me that turned me on so intensely that I could feel the hot blood sizzling in my cock.
"Melissa, if I asked you to do something, uh, a bit weird, would you?"
She didn't bat an eye, but she said, "I only do lap dances. I don't do sexual acts. Not even hand jobs, sorry. I could make more money doing that, a lot more, but I just don't feel comfortable with that yet." She was talking too much, she was nervous. So was I. I licked my lips and I said, "I...I really get turned on my girls when they smoke. Would you, um, smoke a cigarette, sitting on my lap or something? If it's too weird, I understand, but..."
She smiled and showed her teeth. "That's not weird, it's sexy. I think it's sexy."
"You don't think it's weird?"
"You think that's the strangest thing anyone ever asked me to do? I'll meet you up on the third floor."
"Um, how much?"
"Oh, just twenty. But we should go to the third floor, so the smoke doesn't bother the guys getting lap dances."
"I'll be there," I said hoarsely. She went in the side door, and I went back inside. Bobby was recovered somewhat, though he was drinking beer now instead of shots. I got two ginger ales from the bar and walked up the two flights of stairs, to find Melissa waiting for me. "Let's go," she said. We walked down a long, dark hallway. We passed one door and I heard a man softly moaning, "Oh, oh baby, yes, baby, do it, oh..."
Our room was the last one on the right. There was a leather recliner just like there was downstairs for the lap dances. I was shivering with anticipation. "I brought you a drink," I said.
"Oh, thank you! My throat does get dry when I smoke." She sipped and put the glass down on a small table at the side of the recliner. "I actually don't smoke regularly. Usually just when I'm out partying, or when I'm here. Or after sex," she said with a mischievous smile.
She had a small bag with her and she pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights, a lighter, and a silver tube. She twisted the tube and carefully reapplied her dark red lipstick. "Oh, God," I sighed
She pulled a cigarette from the pack, put it to her lips, and flicked the lighter. She inhaled, winked at me, and blew a plume of smoke to the ceiling. "Want me in your lap?"
I nodded like I was drunk. I was supposed to sit on my hands, but it was a bit awkward for her to get situated without my help. I gently took hold of her waist and lifted her into my lap so she was sitting sidesaddle. "Oh, sorry," I said, but she said, "No, it's OK, you can keep your hands there." I rested my hands on her tiny waist, intoxicated by how smooth her skin was. She put the cigarette to her lips and dragged again. "Is this what you wanted?"
"Oh, God, yes."
She smiled. "It's funny, I know exactly what you mean about getting turned on by smoking. It turns me on. If I'm trying to get a guy hot for me, I always have a cigarette. That's how I break the ice with a lot of guys, I go up and ask to borrow a cigarette, or I ask for a light." I watched with rapt attention as her dark red lips closed around the cigarette again and she drew the smoke deep.
"I guess I like it because it's a taboo, something that only bad girls do," I said, my eyes shifting from her face, to the hand holding the cigarette, then back to her face.. "If a girl smokes, maybe she does other naughty things too."
She exhaled. "Are you thinking about doing naughty things with me?"
I nodded. "The mind boggles."
She twisted in my lap and I thought she was going to get off of me. Instead she lifted her left leg over and across my head, and settled herself so that she was straddling me. I kept my hands on her hips. She drew on the cigarette again. "Having fun?"
"Oh yes." She tried shifting again and I lifting her a bit and helped her settle in. "Comfy?" She nodded. She held the cigarette with one hand and my shoulder with the other. I kept my hands on her waist. My erection was rubbing against her vulva and I was frantic with lust. I started thrusting against her, vainly trying to insert my bundled penis inside her silken pussy.
Melissa dragged again then suddenly exhaled with a startled gasp. "Oh!"
"What, are you OK?"
"Yeah," she said, a big dreamy smile spread across her face. "You just rubbed me in the right place. Ah! That's it, right there. Uh, oh!" She twisted a bit in my lap, the cigarette held tight in her fingers as she adjusted herself.
She started rocking back and forth in my lap. Every time my know popped out from between her legs she let out a little grunt. She put her palms on my shoulders so she could glide back and forth against my cock. Her eyelids fluttered and she bit her lower lip hard.
"Eric, put your hands on my breasts. Touch me." It took me a few seconds to work up my courage, but she opened her eyes and saw the expression on my face and she nodded. I slid my hands up her body until they were filled with her warm, soft globes. I gently caressed them, rubbing my fingertips over her stiff nipples. .
I watched in amazement as she let herself go, sliding back and forth and up and down, her cries barely audible as she pleasured herself on my cock. I eased her body along, doing my best to help her reach orgasm. She took a quick puff on the cigarette and set it in the ashtray.
"Oh, God," she groaned. She wasn't noisy, she wasn't moaning and screaming like a banshee. He eyes squeezed tight shut and her hips shook spasmodically. The quivering spread from her hips to her entire body. "Ahh, " was all that she said. She sighed, swallowed, sighed again. She lowered herself and let her forehead rest on the top of my head. She sighed again, long and deep.
"Wow." She leaned up and her breasts escaped from my hands. I really wasn't supposed to be touching her, and I was suddenly embarrassed. She looked at me as though she'd just noticed I was there. Her face was flushed and she looked so ripe and delicious that it almost brought me to tears, because I knew I wasn't going to have this beautiful woman.
Without a word she took my head in her hands and pulled my face up and crushed her lips against mine, kissing me hard, her tongue probing my mouth, searching for my own. I'd never kissed a girl who smokes before and the taste excited me. I kissed her back fiercely, cupping her ass with my hands and pulling her body tight against me.
She pulled away and arched her back. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "I haven't come that way since junior high. That totally caught me by surprise."
She slid off me and my heart sank, but she reached for the cigarettes and lit a new one. "Now I REALLY need a cigarette!" She put it to her lips and sucked deep, filling her lungs. "That was really nice, I mean it."
She slid off me and this tip hopped off the recliner. "Would you do something for me?" She sounded a little unsure of herself.
"Take all your clothes off."
I was torn between leaping to my feet and ripping my clothes off Hulk-style and just sitting there frozen. I ended up in between, taking off my shirt, shorts, boxers, and sandals like an automaton. Melissa tapped the cigarette in the ashtray as she watched me. She held it delicately in her fingers, the smoke a loose twisting ribbon floating to the ceiling. When I was naked she said. "You're pretty cute. Lay down."
I did. Now I was shaking. The tip of my cock was slick with pre-cum. I was hard as a chisel. She reached under the recliner and pulled out a towel and a tube of lubricant. "I want to try something. I've never done this, not here, you know what I mean. I want to see if I can do this. I can make a lot more money if I give handjobs, and I want to see if I can. Is it OK if I don't give you blowjob?"
I guess I nodded. I was paralyzed. She was going to touch me. She was going to touch my cock. She squeezed some of the lubricant on my cock. It was cool and it felt good. "I'm only going to use one hand. I"ll keep the other free for this." She waved the cigarette. "This probably has you going crazy."
"Yes," I croaked. Her slim fingers holding the cigarette, those long, slim fingers, with their long nails...and the fingers of her other hand closed around my penis. She smeared the lubricant all over my shaft, then she made a fist and let my shaft slide inside it. I thought she would pump me fast, but instead her hand gliding up my cock with maddening patience, then down, then up again. She was staring at me, locking her eyes on me.
"I don't think you'll be able to last very long," she said, and I proved her right. Maybe twenty strokes and I slipped past the point of no return. "Oh, Melissa, oh, no, no," I cried. I wanted this to last but it was impossible. I started pumping my hips and she let me fuck her hand. I shot like a geyser, My semen shot high in the air and fell on my chest like rain. She pumped and pumped and I came and came, her eyes never leaving mine, as I lifted my hips off the recliner and desperately milked every drop of come our of my orgasm.
I was spent, totally, utterly spent. Melissa cleaned me up with the towel, wiping the come off my chest and legs, and swabbing the lubricant off my cock. "Get up honey, get dressed." I obeyed. As I dressed she reached under the recliner for a spray bottle and cleaned the chair.
When I was decent again she said. "Are you OK?"
"Yes. No. Yes."
"Thank you. There's no charge. I had to find out if I could do that."
"God, you sure can."
"No, I know how to give a hand job. I didn't know if I could give a hand job to a stranger for money. And now I know. I can't."
"You can't? But...I'm sorry. I didn't want you to do something you didn't want to, really, I'm so sorry."
She laughed. "I liked doing it to you. I feel comfortable with you. But I wouldn't feel comfortable with a stranger. Anyway, I owed you one, right? Ready to go back downstairs?"
We walked down the three flights. I wanted to hold her hand. Great, I was in love with a stripper. I was telling myself that it was just my dick talking, but it was sound asleep and my feelings hadn't changed. Unbelievable.
It was closing time. My buddies were so wrecked at this point that hadn't noticed that I'd vanished for about half an hour. Frank was incoherent, Dom was babbling something about the fucking government, Zack was passed out with his head on the bar. Melissa said, "Looks like you have your hands full."
"Oh, shit." I began the laborious process of getting them out of the bar and on the bus. It took six trips. I made sure the were all aware of the special precautions I'd taken. Scattered throughout the bus were six big buckets filled with kitty litter. Yes, pure class.
I went in one last time to see if I could find Melissa. She wasn't in the bar. One of the bouncers said, "You OK to drive, man?"
"Yeah, I didn't drink all night. Once I get those maniacs to bed I'm gonna have a couple, though."
"I heard that."
"Hey, do you know where Melissa is?"
He shrugged. "Probably getting changed. You want me to send her out?"
"Please, if she's not busy." He disappeared, and a minute later Melissa walked out. It was odd, she was totally nude, her perfect body exposed to the world, but I hardly noticed that anymore. I was focusing more on her face, how she looked, if she was pleased to see me or annoyed . She was adorable.
"I don't have a lot of time, I'm sorry," I said. "I wanted to ask you out. On a date. Dinner or something."
She smiled, but she said, "I don't think so."
I wasn't about to give up so easily. "I'm not a idiot. I mean, I'm an idiot, but not a total idiot. I'm sure you have guys hounding you all the time. But I like you, a lot, and not just because of, uh, what we did. I liked you before all that. Guys ask girls out on dates all the time. So, how about it?"
"So, you want to go out with a girl you met in a strip club, who propositioned you twice, dry humped you, and gave you a handjob? You sound a bit crazy. I have standards for myself, you know."
I didn't know if she was kidding or serious. "Dinner. Me and you. Clothing required. If you want we'll split the check. Kiss goodnight totally up to you. Sex not even on the table."
She laughed. "Tell you what. Give me your phone number and e-mail, and I'll think about it. I get asked out 20 times a night here and I've never said yes. Then again, I never had a guy ask me to smoke for him, never had an orgasm with a guy, never gave a guy a handjob. So, let me think about it."
I wrote my home number and e-mail on the back of my business card. "I hope you call me." She wished me good night, and I did the same, and I left.
I got the guys home somehow. The bus...let's not talk about what shape the bus was in. Christ. Anyway, a day went by and not a peep from Melissa. Then a week. Then a month. I thought about going back to the club to see her again, but no, what was the point? She was just working that night, doing her job. My heart was broken, my penis bereft. I wanted her SO MUCH that I skipped going out with my friends, I didn't date anyone. I didn't tell anyone why I was so depressed, so they thought I was just fucked in the head. And I was.
After work on Monday the following week I walked of my building and hiked to my car. I had the feeling I was being watched. I turned around and sure enough, a girl was walking right behind me, she must have waited for me to come out. She was wearing a plain gray T-shirt and blue jean shorts and sandals. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wasn't wearing makeup.
"Three things before we go to dinner tonight," Melissa said. "One, this is how I look on my days off. Two, I quit smoking after that night you were at the club, for real this time. Three, I'm in the mood for Chinese food."
I paused to think it over. "Chinese, huh? Deal." I opened the passenger door and she skipped inside. I floated to the drivers side and got in.
"Quit smoking, huh?" I asked as I pulled out of the lot. "Good for you."
"Yeah, right. You're dying inside right now. But no more cigarettes for me." She paused a second, then flashed me a dirty look. "Unless I have fantastic sex with someone, then I'll probably have to have one."
"You haven't smoked since that night in the club?"
"Want to stop at a gas station to buy a pack right now?"
She showed me the inside of her purse. I saw a pack of Marlboro Lights and a box of Trojans. She said, "keep your eyes on the road."
"How about we skip dinner?"
"What kind of girl do you think I am? You have to at least buy me dinner first!"