How dejected I feel in this
moment. How could there not be the one? I see so many and they
are all dressed so nicely but my interest in each fades within seconds. The place is sufficiently not upscale enough
that there are representations of many shapes and ethnicities. And yet…I still do not see her. My stomach begins to twist and turn into
knots. I have already gone to the ATM
machine and my wallet is full of money that I am more than happy to throw
away. How can there not be – ah, there
she is. I was starting to worry so
much. She is radiant and I am so
thankful I can watch her and stare without hesitation and turn my head when she
walks bye. I wait patiently for her name
to be called.
I go in for a closer look and sit
right next to the stage. I am careful to make protracted eye
contact. She looks right at me and smiles. I look better
than most of the others sitting around the stage. I pull out a stack of
ones to let her know how serious I am. Hopefully
she will remember and then when she is off the stage she will come to me for a
private dance. I place some ones on the
edge of the stage, folding them and she does tricks with some. She rubs them on her pussy and it is gross
but wonderful. I want to spend the rest
of the night with you. You are
different. What a beautiful place this
is. She takes off everything for me and I
can see her massive areolas and that her ass isn’t really 100% perfect but it will
still do. There is something about her,
maybe a quirk or a naturalness that the others don’t have.
She is sitting on my lap and the
simple fact that her body is on top of mine is immeasurably
pleasing. I kiss her back and let the tip of my tongue run a few
inches up its center. There is a brief moment where I wonder how
many others have done the same thing tonight. I smell her hair and
it is shampoo and staying products. My left hand runs down her side
and onto her thigh. My right goes down her arm and eventually
reaches her hand and we interlock fingers. This must be something
unique. We are holding hands; there is a genuine intimacy here. I cup her breast then move toward her ass but
we remain holding hands. God shut the
fuck up already; I don’t care if you have a friend that lives where I’m from and
what a crock of bullshit that is anyway.
Stop pretending I’m witty or that you give a shit. No, she is truly interested, she’s opening
up. She is trying to save to go back to
college. That’s beautiful.
We kiss. This is not
something that all of them do. It is tender and lasts for a few
blissful seconds. She did not have to do that. But she
wanted to; in the moment she wanted to kiss me. You’re an ugly piece
of shit. She kissed you because she sensed your
desperation. You’re going to stay for another dance, probably a few
more and she’s going to pay all her house dues and start having a very
profitable night. And so what if that’s true? I am her
client and I am paying her to have a good time. If I have a good
time does it matter what her motivations are? But I do believe she
really wanted to do that. Are you sure you couldn’t taste anyone
else on her lips? I wonder if there is any disease. I laugh to
myself and think of course there must be or there will be at some
point. How could I even begin to trust someone like
this? Why am I not responding? I should be on the verge
of something great right now but I don’t feel anything. God this
music is awful. What does she think of me? She’s
made no real indication. Am I big enough? How many
different sizes does she feel every single day? What would excite
her? God, thinking about sex is such a disgusting and pathetic thing
but that’s what I want. I want to fuck her. No, I want to
make love to her, Jesus who actually says or thinks that. But I
would be able to make her happy. She’d feel something different with
me. She is so beautiful. Why does she work here? I’m
glad she does.
How does she know exactly what to
do? She knows exactly what I want to touch, what I want to
feel. Fuck, this is all so fucking stupid and
worthless. What a fucking waste of money and time. I’m
throwing away my night on this. I am a sad pathetic individual to
need something like this. No, look at that group. They’re
having a great time throwing money around. And this guy next to me
is so into things. You know, for a couple hundred we can go to one
of the really private rooms. We’d have a lot more
time. Two hundred better buy me more than a dance. I
don’t say this though, I just ask for the particulars and she skates around
things. When the dance is over she asks if I want to buy her a
drink. I have absolutely no desire to do this but I do anyway.
She gives me a card and it has a
Bettie Page type drawing on it with her stage name and her
number. She quotes me days and prices and says she doesn’t give this
to anyone but she feels like she can trust me. I knew it. I
knew she really liked me, that she really felt something. You’re a
fucking idiot if you believe that. She’s telling you what the price
is, she only hopes she did a good enough job that you’ll be stupid enough to
withdraw more money and keep going or to call her in a couple
days. Christ, she even tells me how much she typically expects for
tips. I know I’ll give her a call though. How can I
not? She is wonderful. And prices are always negotiable. Depending
on what I want to do she may lower them a bit or I can pay a little more if
need be. I see us laying together afterward, holding each other and
she sees how different I am from other clients. I won’t just be a
client for you.
I glance over at the bar and see an
obese and ugly man enter. He looks around and one of them walks over
to him. All she does is smile and extend her hand and he accepts and
they walk to the back for a private dance.
“Do you want another?” she asks me
then.
And I do.
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