Raising the bar

Strip clubs are seedy dives, places where the stage is behind the bar, the customers are only allowed to look, and everyone seems a bit sad. My buddy Dave is a stripper connoisseur, and drags me along once in a while. I don’t have extra spending money, and I’m not enthused to pay too much for my drinks. Particularly in a bar where the women are off limits. It all feels like a tease, harder to get drunk, and impossible to get laid.

We are just out of college, on one of the ill-advised road trips that will turn into stories decades later. Dave has a strip club stop all planned out. I’m not excited, and angry Mike, the other guy on this trip, wants no part of it. Mike and Dave argue, it gets heated, and Mike stays in the hotel bar while Dave takes me on “an adventure.”

Our road trip has taken us out of state, and the clubs are different than Dave’s usual dens of syphilis and depression. The girls here are scorching hot, and they dance right in front of you. They drape a leg over your shoulder while you slip a bill in their garter or their waistband, and the over-muscled bouncer doesn’t bat an eye.

I’m a big man, a big boy at the time. Twenty-three years old, a decade of Andre the Giant jokes and “why don’t you play basketball” questions haunt me. I’m self-conscious. It will be five more years until I fully embrace and own my look and my physique.

Dave comes from a moneyed family, he’s not careful with money. I am. As I see the gorgeous dancers in the club, I resolve not to break my trip budget on night two. It would be easy. This is a time before “making it rain” was a thing, but the money flows in these joints.

Mercedes takes the stage as we arrive. Super cute. Dark hair in a bob cut, striking red lipstick, and porcelain skin. She’s wearing a black panties and stockings, and a lacy stretchy black bra that is losing the battle against a pair of disproportionate boobs. Mercedes is 5’7” with her 4” heels, a small framed girl. Nice butt, but her D-cup tits on a tiny, toned back are the focus.

She takes off the bra for her second song. I’ve never seen tits like this in real life. Round and firm, nipples pointing up. I’ve seen bigger, but on this tiny girl these D cups look enormous. I’m impressed. So is the crowd, Mercedes is popular. She takes off her panties for her third song, but the boobs were the show. She finishes her set, and makes her way around the bar collecting tips. Dave talks to her for a long time, but after I tip her, my attention is back on the stage.

The DJ’s voice warbles through the sound system, telling me to put my hands together for Amber, and telling DeeDee that she’s on deck. Amber does not immediately command my attention. She’s conventionally hot, which isn’t my thing. A cheerleader type, wavy dirty blonde hair, nice everything, 5’8”, and a thousand watt smile. She’s Dave’s type. She moves to her pop-dance music, and she’s decent on the stripper pole. She’s very nice to look at, but I don’t want her. I begin to regret letting Mercedes walk by.

Amber finishes her set, and the crowd is in love. In lust, I suppose. She’s perky and breathless as she collects her tips, but I don’t see any of that, the next girl has my full attention.

DeeDee takes the stage. If you’re a stripper called DeeDee, guys might expect boobs. DeeDee is not giving you what you expect, she is a flat chested girl with long straight brown hair. She’s all legs, and looks almost a foot taller than Mercedes. She’s perfectly toned and fit, and is wearing what I will later learn is called a slingshot bikini bottom. There is no waistband, it goes straight from crotch to shoulders.

She is statuesque, a goddess of a woman. And then she moves. She’s a dancer. Not a thrashing haired stripper dancer. She twirls into a split, every move on stage is graceful, magnified by long legs and lean body. Unlike Amber’s thousand watt toothy smile, DeeDee is thoughtful, unsmiling.

She removes her bandeau top after her first song, and her slingshot bottom after her second. Her third song is by a hair metal band called the Cult, a song called Edie. It’s not a style or a band I like, but I love that song decades later. DeeDee dances nude to that song, a beautiful, graceful, ethereal 5’11” woman wearing four or five inch heels that make her at least 6’3”. Her perfect body and aloof face and effortless grace drive a red hot railroad spike of lust directly into my brain, searing it all into place.

As she leaves the stage, Dave is the first guy to talk to her. I’m uncharacteristically angry. She’s mine, dammit, and I suddenly understand animals fighting over mates and territory. Nine minutes on stage, and I’d spend all my money on her, or beat the piss out of someone. My young brain is not prepared for something like DeeDee.

She leaves Dave, giving a long stroke of her perfect hands down his arm as she walks away. Another handful of undeserving perverts are between me and this goddess, giving her dollar bills and making pathetic attempts at small talk. Hurry up, losers, I’m waiting.

She twirls away from the man to my right after he puts a bill in her garter. She takes the wad of singles and fives and puts them in her purse before walking up to me. She caresses my shoulders, pressing her body into my back, and whispers “you’re a tall one, aren’t you? Stand up for me.” I stand and turn around. In the heels, she’s just a couple inches shorter than my 6’6”. She’s wearing almost nothing and has a ballet dancers physique… she seems taller, somehow.

I tip her a five, and ask her some dumb question, making some feeble attempt to be cute or clever. I panic briefly, worried that I’m no better than the other primates around the stage. She looks at me, and she smiles. She smiled at that garbage line? I’m out of my funk now! I’m making confident eye contact and pulling her close. She’s only got eyes for me, I’m feeling good.

She asks if I want to go to a private room. I say sure, I’ve got a hundred on me. She says “let’s go”. As we walk back, she talks to an older lady at a table in front of a beaded curtain. “Room 3, a half.” Older lady looks me up and down and responds “him? really? I would never guess.” I’m sure this is some stripper code, I’m mostly paying attention to DeeDee’s ass, and she’s holding my hand leading me forward, like some puppy dog.

We go into the room, I sit on a large leather couch. She closes the door, and she straddles me, her perfect legs across my lap. She grabs my shirt and pulls me forward, and asks if she can have it. “You want my shirt?” “Yes.” My brain isn’t working, it takes a second, then I struggle to take off the shirt without standing, I’m enjoying a lap full of DeeDee. My struggle was wasted, she gets up and hangs my shirt over the camera on the wall. Then she returns to my lap.

“Was that a…” but she interrupts me with a “shhhhh.” She leans into me, and kisses me. On the lips, which surprises me, but I kiss back. It’s hot, and she starts biting my lower lip. My brain says “holy shit” and a deeper part of my brain that I ignore a lot says “this is a bad idea.” She is kissing me deep and hard, and she is grinding out a symphony on my bulging pants.

I say “you are gorgeous, I wish I had a chance to do more than a couch dance.” And she replies “we’ve got a half hour in here big guy, and no camera.” She goes down to her knees between my legs. She unbuckles my belt, unzips me, and pulls down my pants, then my shorts. My little friend has never been so hard. She asks “do you want me to strip for you?” and I nod.

She stands, and gracefully removes her stretchy strapless top. Then her slingshot bottom. She bends at her waist, away, showing me her perfect ass. I see she’s shaved clean, something I’ve never seen this close. She twirls, and straddles one leg, grinding. She puts my hands on her chest, and I roll her nipples with my thumbs. She’s enjoying it, or great at faking it, I’m 23, it’s all the same to me.

She moves back to the floor, and rubs my cock between her hands and against her cheek and on her chest. She tells me it’s huge, I think she’s flattering me, looking for a tip. I don’t care if it’s lies or truth, she’s naked. My dick is so hard it feels like it’s going to tear free. She reaches into her purse and says “I wish I had the right one for you” as she rolls a condom down my cock. It’s tight.

She rubs my cock a bit more, and rubs her fingers on her own pussy lips. She stands, so fucking tall in her heels, and straddles me. Her face is in my face as I feel her grab my cock and guide it into her. I feel her hot sweet breath on my cheek. She moans, and slides down half way. Her voice is scratchier, breathier now, “you are a big fucker,” as she starts riding the top half of my dick. She is tighter than my ex girlfriend, and as she leans back, I can see her lips stretched tight around me. Jesus.

She leans into me, grunting now, still working the top half. I wonder if she’s teasing me somehow, some stripper thing. She’s grunting and pushing on my cock. The too-tight condom is giving me staying power, I’m loving this. She is no longer the thoughtful looking dancer she was on stage. She is grunting and gritting her teeth a bit and I catch her saying “big fucker” one more time before she gets all of me into her.

She settles on top of me, in control and squirming on me. “Oh, you’re fun” she says as she starts moving her hips back and forth. I can feel her firm ass pressed down on my hips, and she is rocking without sliding up. Her nails are digging into my shoulders, I don’t care. She’s got a look of determination on her face, and I’m amazed I haven’t popped off yet. She puts my hands on her ass to speed her rocking, and she shows me the best fake orgasm. She’s a stripper, couldn’t be a real orgasm, I’ve never given my girlfriend an orgasm, not yet at 23.

She flops her body into mine, still impaled on my cock, a sheen of sweat on her. “Five minutes left, baby, how do you finish?” I tell her I’m usually done by now, and my mind scrambles for what will get me off, “I’ve never tried reverse cowgirl.” She stands up. My dick comes out of her and slaps loudly onto my stomach. “Well, you’re trying it now”.

She turns, grabs my dick, a bit roughly, and sits on it, going deep much more quickly than before. She puts her hands on my knees, facing away, and starts aggressively slamming herself onto me. I’ve had one partner before this. She was missionary mostly, never anything like DeeDee. The dancer is rising up and sliding down with a purpose, long deep strokes.

I tell her I’m ready to come. She doubles her speed, and I pop about three strokes after that, grabbing her hips and holding her down on my spasming cock. “Damn, baby, that thing gets even bigger when you come.” I’m really eating up the stripper flattery.

She dismounts as a voice crackles “two minutes, DeeDee.” She helps me clean up as I take off the condom. I dress, and she puts her stripper gear back on. She is almost eye to eye as we stand, and she drapes her arms over my shoulders and kisses me again. She’s in the middle of saying “Highlight of my week” as the older lady’s cracking voice comes over the speaker, “times up” and the door to the room opens slightly.

We leave the private room, and DeeDee gives me a peck on the cheek before heading to the girls’ dressing room. I see her come out 15-20 minutes later, in a lime green string bikini. She’s fucking gorgeous, and talking to the other patrons. Dave is grinning like a moron, and now I’m bored with the strip club. We leave, and pick up poor Mike before we go to the regular bars.

Hours later, we are at a well known bar in the beach town when a pair of girls approach us. Dave orders drinks for all five of us. The short girl looks familiar, the other one is facing away. She turns to me and flashes her thousand watt smile. “I’m Lisa, and this is Jen” she says as she winks. She’s Amber, and Jen is Mercedes without the ruby red lipstick and the tottering heels. Their shift is over, and Dave is a fucking gifted talker. Lisa says “Woo, big boy, Dee loved you.” Mercedes, sorry, Jen, cut her off, “if I thought you’d drop a grand, I’d have taken you back there first.”

I blinked. I was pretty fucked up, we had been drinking for hours. I wasn’t trying to pick up, so I was matching angry Mike, drinking hard. Did that girl say a grand? I only had a couple hundred on me, I couldn’t have spent more than a hundred and twenty. Dave saw my drunken confusion, and shook his head, signaling me to let it pass.

Lisa, Amber, tried her hardest to get angry Mike to flirt with her, but he was embracing his inner demons. Jen was adorable and chatty, but my mind was still on that goddess. I asked Jen why DeeDee didn’t come out, she said DeeDee never came out after the shift. She told me that a lot of girls, particularly Lisa/Amber, are willing to risk things and fuck customers in the rooms. DeeDee wasn’t one of those girls, she’s stuck up, she doesn’t go out for drinks, and she never broke club rules. The conversation moved on, to shallower things.

I rolled through that town for a weekend every summer after that, for six years. I went into that joint, and called ahead, and tried to cross her path again. Never saw her, but I can’t hear that song by the Cult without remembering her. I’m sure Dave paid that grand to her. I know she fucked me for the money, but did she *enjoy* it for the money too? The thousand dollar experience? I’m not completely deluded, but there are parts that feel real to me, even now, decades later.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/ar7t91/raising_the_bar