In keeping with my decision to expose more of myself, I've decided to bare another personal story today. Today I'm going to tell you about the first time I almost had sex with a stripper. So get comfortable, make some popcorn, and visualize, if you will, a 19 year old hormone addled youngster with high ambitions and few moral guidelines. Let's see what happens...
At 19 years old there are few things that men won't do to find a hole. We will beg, cheat, lie, kill, commit genocide, matricide and suicide for the chance to see breasts. Imagine what we would do to actually have sex.
I once stabbed a puppy through the eye with a rusty nail just to see Courtney Anderson's cleavage. True story, in that I made it up. But I won't lie to you again. I'm sorry, and I'm glad we've moved past it.
So, let's get to the real story. As a typical 19 year old bastard, I worked a shitty job, and I hated every minute of it. For legal purposes I won't say the name of the place I worked, but I made a lot of copies. It was opened 24 hours. We wore blue smocks with ties, and we over-charged for faxes. Let your imagination take you where it will.
I worked the evening shift, and one night the phone rang. On the other end was what my teenage brain envisioned to be the most attractive woman ever to utter a sound. She said she needed a favor. Cui bono? Fuck if I know what that means. I don't speak Latin, I barely speak English. At any rate, she needed a flyer designed.
Far be it from me to turn away a beautiful (in my mind) woman. She stated that she worked for a strip club, and her boss had demanded that she find a way to get 500 flyers designed and printed by the next morning. I sucked it up and played as though I were vastly more confident and less desperate than I actually was. I explained that this type of order took 24 hours to design, and we simply could not have it ready by that evening as she had requested.
A slight coo in her voice came out as she pleaded for a way to get it done faster. Knowing that I was fully capable of preparing this order, I decided to engage in a bit of philanthropy.
After designing the flyer, she sent her boss up to the store to approve it and have copies printed. True to her word, the gentleman showed. He certainly had all the familiar signs of a strip club owner. His left ear was pierced and struggled to hold the large golden hoop that hung from it. His hair was shaved prison-style, and his cheap suit smelled of smoke and bad decisions.
He left me with several free passes to the club, and asked that I print up the flyers. So worst case I knew I was going to get free passes to a strip club. Having never been to a strip club, that sounded like a good excuse to go. Naturally my glands were still throbbing at the impending visit of the goddess-voiced stripper herself that was going to come pick the flyers up.
An hour passed, and the phone rang again. "I'll be there at 9 to pick up the flyers! Thank you so much! I owe you!!!" "Damn straight you owe me!" I said...in my mind. At 9-o-clock I received another call, "There's a car blocking me into my driveway, but I'll be there in 15 minutes!" Patience has never been a virtue of mine, and so the waiting began to take it's toll. I began imagining all the porno movies that start out with a ridiculously hot woman that finds herself indebted to some random schmuck (a copy store employee perhaps?) and finds herself trying to may him back with every orifice that the good lord gave her.
The clock clicked closer to 10...the end of my shift. Damn it all to hell! Curse this bullshit work schedule! Then, another call, "I don't think this car is going to leave. I am so sorry... I really have to get the copies tonight though. Is there any way...well...do you think you could bring them to my house? I know you aren't supposed to, but I would really owe you! I'm only about two blocks away."
Just like that my faith in Jehova was renewed. You couldn't write a better scene. Copy-Guy delivers strip club flyers to the strippers house, and as repayment she pleasures his body in ways that would make Ron Jeremy blush. This was it. This was my Nirvana.
I took 10 seconds to explain the situation to the overnight guy. His jaw dropped to the floor, and I patted his arm and ran out the door with boxes of flyers in hand.
She hadn't lied. The address was about 2 minutes from the store. I could have walked it. Sure enough, there was a car parked at the end of the driveway blocking it. i approached the door. My face must have been completely pale as every ounce of blood and liquid in my body had swelled within my groin.
I took a deep breath, and I knocked on the door. This next part...well... it gets a little implausible. I can't lie, it sounds like bullshit. It sounds like the plot of a shitty 80s "coming-of-age" film. It's not. This is the wonder and splendor that is my life.
As I let my knuckles wrap gently against the door, the door pushed open. Just a crack, but enough that I could see it hadn't been closed all the way. A mature, rational, experienced person would see this as a warning sign and run like hell. I was none of these things. I poked my head inside and meekly uttered, "Hello?"
I could hear the shower running down the hall, and I heard a voice yell, "Hey! Come on in! Thank you so much! I'll be out in just a second!" Yes. That is right. The door was open, she was in the shower, and she invited me in.
My mind began racing. "Why is she in the shower when she knew I was coming over?" "How did she call me if she's in the shower?" Valid questions, but all of these pushed aside with the question, "Should I take off all my clothes and get in the shower?" Fucking horny teenage bastard...
Before I could act on any thoughts I might have had, the water shut off. The bathroom door cracked open, and she stepped out, dripping wet, a white terry cloth towel wrapped around her body. And now's the part we go all M. Knight Shamalan on your asses.
She would later explain that she was a special type of stripper. She was the type of stripper many men hired for bachelor parties and other such events. A "Fatty" stripped. Yes, this 5-foot beauty as every bit of 350lbs. Nothing against my voluptuous lovelies out there, but this is not exactly what a horny 19 year old has in mind when he's going to a strippers house.
We discussed for a moment the finer parts of her kitchen. She tipped me very heavily. She blew me for a minute or two, and then I left.
All in all, it was a pretty good night.
There's no real moral message here. This is just a story I wanted to share. If you take anything from it, know that hormonal men, as I've said before, have no sense of judgement, morals, right or wrong, or reality vs fantasy. We are easily manipulated with the mere possibility that sex will be offered.
As always, peace, love, and loose fat strippers for you all.
I remain,
- G
At 19 years old there are few things that men won't do to find a hole. We will beg, cheat, lie, kill, commit genocide, matricide and suicide for the chance to see breasts. Imagine what we would do to actually have sex.
I once stabbed a puppy through the eye with a rusty nail just to see Courtney Anderson's cleavage. True story, in that I made it up. But I won't lie to you again. I'm sorry, and I'm glad we've moved past it.
So, let's get to the real story. As a typical 19 year old bastard, I worked a shitty job, and I hated every minute of it. For legal purposes I won't say the name of the place I worked, but I made a lot of copies. It was opened 24 hours. We wore blue smocks with ties, and we over-charged for faxes. Let your imagination take you where it will.
I worked the evening shift, and one night the phone rang. On the other end was what my teenage brain envisioned to be the most attractive woman ever to utter a sound. She said she needed a favor. Cui bono? Fuck if I know what that means. I don't speak Latin, I barely speak English. At any rate, she needed a flyer designed.
Far be it from me to turn away a beautiful (in my mind) woman. She stated that she worked for a strip club, and her boss had demanded that she find a way to get 500 flyers designed and printed by the next morning. I sucked it up and played as though I were vastly more confident and less desperate than I actually was. I explained that this type of order took 24 hours to design, and we simply could not have it ready by that evening as she had requested.
A slight coo in her voice came out as she pleaded for a way to get it done faster. Knowing that I was fully capable of preparing this order, I decided to engage in a bit of philanthropy.
After designing the flyer, she sent her boss up to the store to approve it and have copies printed. True to her word, the gentleman showed. He certainly had all the familiar signs of a strip club owner. His left ear was pierced and struggled to hold the large golden hoop that hung from it. His hair was shaved prison-style, and his cheap suit smelled of smoke and bad decisions.
He left me with several free passes to the club, and asked that I print up the flyers. So worst case I knew I was going to get free passes to a strip club. Having never been to a strip club, that sounded like a good excuse to go. Naturally my glands were still throbbing at the impending visit of the goddess-voiced stripper herself that was going to come pick the flyers up.
An hour passed, and the phone rang again. "I'll be there at 9 to pick up the flyers! Thank you so much! I owe you!!!" "Damn straight you owe me!" I said...in my mind. At 9-o-clock I received another call, "There's a car blocking me into my driveway, but I'll be there in 15 minutes!" Patience has never been a virtue of mine, and so the waiting began to take it's toll. I began imagining all the porno movies that start out with a ridiculously hot woman that finds herself indebted to some random schmuck (a copy store employee perhaps?) and finds herself trying to may him back with every orifice that the good lord gave her.
The clock clicked closer to 10...the end of my shift. Damn it all to hell! Curse this bullshit work schedule! Then, another call, "I don't think this car is going to leave. I am so sorry... I really have to get the copies tonight though. Is there any way...well...do you think you could bring them to my house? I know you aren't supposed to, but I would really owe you! I'm only about two blocks away."
Just like that my faith in Jehova was renewed. You couldn't write a better scene. Copy-Guy delivers strip club flyers to the strippers house, and as repayment she pleasures his body in ways that would make Ron Jeremy blush. This was it. This was my Nirvana.
I took 10 seconds to explain the situation to the overnight guy. His jaw dropped to the floor, and I patted his arm and ran out the door with boxes of flyers in hand.
She hadn't lied. The address was about 2 minutes from the store. I could have walked it. Sure enough, there was a car parked at the end of the driveway blocking it. i approached the door. My face must have been completely pale as every ounce of blood and liquid in my body had swelled within my groin.
I took a deep breath, and I knocked on the door. This next part...well... it gets a little implausible. I can't lie, it sounds like bullshit. It sounds like the plot of a shitty 80s "coming-of-age" film. It's not. This is the wonder and splendor that is my life.
As I let my knuckles wrap gently against the door, the door pushed open. Just a crack, but enough that I could see it hadn't been closed all the way. A mature, rational, experienced person would see this as a warning sign and run like hell. I was none of these things. I poked my head inside and meekly uttered, "Hello?"
I could hear the shower running down the hall, and I heard a voice yell, "Hey! Come on in! Thank you so much! I'll be out in just a second!" Yes. That is right. The door was open, she was in the shower, and she invited me in.
My mind began racing. "Why is she in the shower when she knew I was coming over?" "How did she call me if she's in the shower?" Valid questions, but all of these pushed aside with the question, "Should I take off all my clothes and get in the shower?" Fucking horny teenage bastard...
Before I could act on any thoughts I might have had, the water shut off. The bathroom door cracked open, and she stepped out, dripping wet, a white terry cloth towel wrapped around her body. And now's the part we go all M. Knight Shamalan on your asses.
She would later explain that she was a special type of stripper. She was the type of stripper many men hired for bachelor parties and other such events. A "Fatty" stripped. Yes, this 5-foot beauty as every bit of 350lbs. Nothing against my voluptuous lovelies out there, but this is not exactly what a horny 19 year old has in mind when he's going to a strippers house.
We discussed for a moment the finer parts of her kitchen. She tipped me very heavily. She blew me for a minute or two, and then I left.
All in all, it was a pretty good night.
There's no real moral message here. This is just a story I wanted to share. If you take anything from it, know that hormonal men, as I've said before, have no sense of judgement, morals, right or wrong, or reality vs fantasy. We are easily manipulated with the mere possibility that sex will be offered.
As always, peace, love, and loose fat strippers for you all.
I remain,
- G