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It was when I saw Katie, the bartender, standing there with my drink waiting (a very weak rum and coke; just enough rum to blunt the sweetness of the cola) before I had finished making my way across the thick maroon carpet to the bar, that I realized I was now considered a regular at Pussy’s.

And why not, I told myself. Since I’d retired – early retirement, I always reminded myself – I was here two or three afternoons a week. I mean, I had nothing else to do, had a nice pension, a decent-paying additional retirement fund, the lunches here were good, and the drinks reasonably priced. And the naked girls were a plus.

One of them, a statuesque long haired blond that looked like she stepped out of a Mickey Spillane novel, nodded to me as I passed the circular dance floor that stood in the center of the room.

“Hello, baby,” she said with a mild Eastern European accent, as she stooped over to pick up the bikini she had discarded just before my entrance. Her name on stage was Vanessa. She was a lot of fun in the Champagne Room. “Missed you the other day.”

“I know.”

I gestured to the bar. “The usual?”

Vanessa moved her head vaguely to her left. “I have private first.”

I followed her gesture to one of the couches that surrounded the stage a few feet back from the stools and found a fidgety dark-haired guy, looking like he was in his twenties and in danger of cumming if he moved. “Later, though,” she said, as she collected her clothes and stepped down the stairs toward the dressing room, deliciously nude until she disappeared from view.

The kid looked like he could barely contain himself until she returned.

I made it to the bar, peeled a ten out of my pocket, and handed it to Katie. She went to the register and brought back my change in singles. Her shirt tugged up as she slid them over to me and I could see the pointed ears of her dragon tattoo poking just above her jeans.

“Where the hell were you Monday?” She pushed the bills toward me.

I sipped my drink. “I’m getting worried. Everybody knows me here now, knows my schedule, knows my drink…”

“We know about the mole on your dick, too, though. You should get that checked.” She headed down to the end of the bar where two of the dancers were being bought drinks by a heavy set, perennially smiling black guy.

By the way, she was kidding. There isn’t a mole on my dick. But I was kidding, too. I wasn’t worried about being a known quantity here. In fact, it felt pretty cool, to be known here. Of course, I had no illusions. If I stopped coming here in the afternoons, they’d get over it, and if I ran out of money, they’d get over me. I might be a well-regarded customer, which was good, but a customer nevertheless.

But as long as my pension held out, I was happy.

I turned and looked back at the empty stage. Vanessa stepped out of the dressing room, crossed to her waiting fan, and held out her hand. The kid nearly tripped over his feet getting up to take it and the two of them headed for the private dance area to the left of the bar.

I envied him. He was in for the wettest hand job known to man. Of course, he was likely to be one of those freaks of nature – the skinny, dorky guy with a ten inch dick attached like an anchor.

I turned back to the bar and picked up the one-page menu. I was in the middle of choosing between chicken tenders and a bacon burger when the music started up again. The DJ announced to the handful of patrons that JJJJAAAAADDDDEEEE was coming up for her first dance.

I looked across at Katie. “Jade’s back?” Jade had been my first Champagne room dance here, a few months ago. A slightly older woman by stripper standards, with long, auburn hair that reached below her breasts, she was masterful at the use of saliva to lubricate your dick while stroking it. It was hard to go beyond five minutes of a half hour session without exploding into her hand and then, after cleanup – she always supplied her own tissue – just sitting and chatting on the loveseat, she naked and me with my pants still around my ankles, for the remainder of the time.

She had left after an argument with Spiroo, the manager, about her tips.

Katie shook her head. “No, it’s a new girl. A new Jade. Just started.”

I set the menu down and turned around on the stool. A young black girl, skin the color of caramel and sable hair in a soft curl down to her shoulders stepped onto the stage in a white lacy one-piece. Her first few steps seemed a little hesitant as she tried to balance herself on the clear stilettos that embraced her feet.

It was that move, that careful, self-conscious step that attracted me to her right away, although I couldn’t see her face, shadowed by the bright light behind her.

I grabbed the singles from the bar and headed for one of the seats around the stage. As I sat down and fanned out the bills on the stage in front of me I heard her footsteps, just a little heavy for her to be a seasoned dancer, as they approached me.

“Oh, Maltepe Escort my God,” I heard, not shocked as much as bemused, and looked up into the face of Alonda Lattimer.

Up until last June, when I retired, the only place I had normally seen Alonda had been the front row of my fifth period World Literature class, a few feet from my desk. Actually, I had been her teacher her Junior year, British Literature, as well.

She was a quiet student who got good grades but not enough to make the Valedictorian shake in fear over the prospect of losing her place. She had an affinity for longer, tiered skirts and tended to sit at her desk, legs stretched out in front, her right ankle resting over her left, her green eyes scanning her books or her notes.

Before class, she had a tendency to chat with me – “It’s cold outside,” “Last night’s work was hard” – that type of thing, nothing earth shaking. When the bell rang, she would become immersed in whatever work I had for them, and when the class ended, she would say a quick “goodbye” and move on. When she graduated, I assumed that, like the majority of kids I had watched graduate, I would never see her again.

And now here she was, an only slightly embarrassed smile on her face, bringing the straps of her teddy down over her shoulders, pulling her arms through, and releasing her soft, full breasts with their dark, erect nipples, from their white laced prison.

“Hello, Mr. P, ” she said.

“Hello, Alon- I mean Jade.” I picked up a couple of singles and held them up. She leaned forward and crouched a little – her breasts, teardrop shaped, tiny nipples surrounded by firm latte-colored flesh, swayed inches from my face. I inhaled the soft lilac smell of her perfume as she parted her legs and indicated the white garter hugging her upper thigh.

After I slipped the bills into the garter, she stood up in an endearingly clumsy manner – still not used to the shoes – and let the thin white barrier between her and the air fall to the floor.

# # # # #

“Am I the first student you’ve ever seen naked?”

We were sitting at the bar after her trio of dances. The white teddy was back on; her legs were crossed and she was turned slightly toward me. She was so close I could feel the warmth of her body.

I had just ordered another rum and coke for myself and, being not legally old enough to drink, Alonda/Jade had ordered a regular coke for herself. Katie had gently reminded me that strippers’ drinks were still the same price whatever they were, which I already knew. Most strippers’ drinks had little or no alcohol in them anyway; this time they just couldn’t bullshit about it.

The next dancer, a short, pleasantly chubby Hispanic girl named Foxy, was dancing her first of three. Like most strip club songs, the music was loud, pulsing, and just this side of headache-inducing.

“You’re not a student.” Katie brought the drinks and I took a long sip. I had told Katie to feel free to put a full measure of rum into this one. After seeing Alonda Lattimer’s smooth, spotless coffee-colored body, the firm, perfect breasts, the “U” of her tiny hairless pussy at the junction of her shapely thighs, parading on the stage before me, I needed the alcohol.

I set the half empty drink in front of me. “You’re an ex-student,” I replied. “You’re graduated and an adult.” Keep telling yourself that, I thought to myself. Maybe it’ll make you feel less creepy. “Anyway, weren’t you supposed to be going to Southern?”

“Next semester. In January. They messed up my housing so after a lot of back and forth I decided to wait a little bit.”

“And spend the time working in a strip j – I mean, a gentlemen’s club?”

She shifted a little closer so that her legs were barely touching mine. My already confused cock was pushing hard against my pants. It kept telling me that I was in a strip joint and a beautiful nearly naked girl was touching me with her body. My brain kept trying to remind me that this was a student. All right, an ex-student.

She stirred her coke with her straw. “I just wanted to explore a few things for a little while.” She leaned over and lowered her voice. “Mr. P, I can tell you this -“

“Jim. I think we’re already beyond Mr. P.”

She laughed. “I guess. But, anyway, I don’t mind telling you this. I didn’t mess around at all in school. I was a virgin until prom night.”

I pushed away the image of big, dumb Renza Patterson grinding into her, her prom dress in a heap on the floor of some motel room.

“But now I have some time, some freedom, and I want to explore a little. I know I look good, right?”

This gave me an opportunity to run my eyes up her body, from her feet, encased in clear stilettos, up her legs, the dark, shadowed triangle of her crotch – feeling my eyes on her she opened her legs just a little – to the white one-piece that did nothing to hide her breasts, to the green eyes that looked back from an oval face. “Yes,” I croaked, and reached for my drink.

“Well, Anadolu Yakası Escort I know the effect I have on males and I want to, like I said, explore that before I go back to school.”

“Your boyfriend’s ok with that?”

She laughed. “Renz? I broke up with him in July. I was with another guy, Michael, you don’t know him, and we broke up in September because I thought I was going to school.”

I finished my drink and gestured to Katie. The buzz from the last drink allowed my mind to click into normal strip club behavior mode and I leaned forward into Jade and gently put my hand on her bare knee. “How long have you been here?”

“I started yesterday, just dancing a couple of sets on the stage. I’m only going to work afternoons. I know how crazy this place gets at night. I still want to be in control.” She glanced down at my hand on her knee. She covered it with her left hand and reached for her drink with her right.

Katie brought my drink, took the bills from the counter, and began the usual memorized speech given after a guy had been sitting with one of the dancers for ten minutes: “If you’d like a more personal encounter with Jade, we have private champagne rooms available for fifteen minutes, a half hour, and a full hour…” and rattled off the prices.

I looked across at Alonda, or Jade, or whatever I was supposed to call her now. Her eyes met mine and she raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“What do you think?” My mouth was beginning to get a little dry and my hand on her knee began to shake.

“Why not?”

“Have you been back there yet?”

She put her drink down. “No, like I said, I only danced on stage yesterday.”

I fumbled a little for words. “You know what goes on back there, don’t you?”

She leaned over and softly kissed my cheek. “Of course,” she whispered in my ear. “Let’s go.” She pulled away and our eyes met again. There was just a hint of nervousness behind the bravado.

“Well,” I said, reaching into my pocket for the money I had brought with the intention of spending on Vanessa, “I come in here pretty often. We’ll probably end up back there anyway, so we might as well do it now.”

There was nervousness behind my bravado, too. It was one thing for me to mess around with the seasoned dancers like Vanessa or Foxy; a new girl, barely eighteen,am and someone I knew as a student five months ago was an entirely different matter. But it didn’t make my dick any less hard.

She laughed. “An assignment in logical thinking. Ok. Have Katie get Spiro and pay him. I’ll be right back.” She gave me another peck on the cheek, slid off her stool, and headed toward the dressing room behind the stage.

# # # # #

My hands were actually shaking as I handed over the bills to Spiro, a short, balding guy with a friendly smile who was probably the most innocuous looking strip joint house manager ever. By the time he finished counting the bills, plus his tip, I had ordered another drink – my fourth, a new record for me at Pussy’s.

Jade had freshened up and was at my side. The lilac perfume was a little stronger, but not annoyingly so, and her lipstick was a little redder.

She took my hand as we followed him all the way to the end of the bar and through the arched door with “Champagne” emblazoned in pink neon and into its cavernous depths.

The first of the six curtained cubicles was occupied. Through a small opening I could see Vanessa straddling the newbie on the imitation leather loveseat, his pants around his knees, the pink soles of her feet facing me, her long blonde hair covering her naked back, her bare ass grinding away on his lap.

Spiro opened the curtain on the third room, waved us in, and pulled the curtain behind us. The six by eight room was bathed in a soft yellow light that shined on a fake leather loveseat next to a table, on which flickered a candle that smelled vaguely of cinnamon.

I put my drink on the table and sat down. My throat was dry but I resisted the urge to take another drink. I looked up at Jade, who discreetly slipped something out of the elastic on the bottom of her teddy and set it next to my drink. A condom.

She smiled bashfully and slipped into the seat beside me, our sides and legs touching. “What did you think when you saw me here?” I asked.

She hunched forward and began to slip off her right shoe, revealing a small, sexy foot tipped with pink nail polish. “They tell us to take off our shoes so we don’t mess up the furniture. I hope you don’t mind.”

I ventured to put my hand on her back. “I know. I’ve been here before. And I think bare feet are sexy.

“Me too.” She slipped off the other shoe and flexed her toes. “Anyway, when I told Foxy I had graduated from Douglass she told me one of its teachers came up here and said I could stay in back if I recognized him. They way she described him I figured it was you.”

“No hiding in the back from me?” I gave in and took a sip of my drink.

“No. I’m glad it was Ümraniye Escort you. I was afraid it might be Mr. Marks or someone. At least you I know. And liked.”

“Alonda, I’ve been too old for a student crush for a good ten years.”

She looked directly into my eyes. “Don’t sell yourself short. But, no. It was more that I got along with you and you were always cool with us. You know we always wonder what teachers do when they’re on their own.”

She dropped her eyes to my lap and placed her hand between my thighs, slowly moving it up to my enormous hard on. “Is that for me?” She began to stroke me through my pants.

I rested my hand on hers and followed her stroking movements. “I guess it is.”

“How long do we have?”

“Half an hour.”

She rose from her seat and stood in front of me. “Well…let’s get started.”

With a quick, deft movement she peeled the one-piece down and let it slide down her legs onto the floor. She stepped out of the lace heap at her bare feet and moved toward me, our knees barely touching. “How are you feeling?” She parted her legs and began rubbing her already glistening pussy.

This was the excitement, the realization of their own sexiness, their appeal, that older strippers were trying to recapture. With Jade, or Alonda, it was fresh and real.

Before I could answer, she leaned over, her breasts tantalizing inches from my face, and went back to stroking the bulge in my pants. “I guess you can’t lie right now.”

I began to stroke her thighs with my fingertips. “Nope. That’s a perfect lie detector. How do you feel?”

She moved her hand away from her pussy, took my hand, and put it where hers had been. It was coated with her juices. “Does that answer your question?” I kept my hand there and felt her grind against it as I leaned forward and took one of her eraser-sized nipples into my mouth. I felt it grow hard and tight between my lips in an instant.

“Ooohhh,” she moaned into my ear as my forefinger found the little rosebud of her clit and began teasing it.

She slid onto my lap and began grinding on my cock as I took my hand away. I could feel her wetness on my pants and was thankful I had had the foresight to wear the black jeans.

Her soft moans and the feel of her breath in my ear as she whispered in my ear were stretching my dick to the limit. I reached down and adjusted myself.

“Don’t worry about that,” she whispered and sat straight up. Tiny beads of sweat appeared on her chest as she unbuckled my belt and unzipped my pants. As she tugged my jeans, along with my shorts, down past my knees my cock bounced out, flagpole hard.

Alonda/Jane’s eyes widened. “Mr. P!” She was either impressed or a really good actress. I placed my hand back between her legs, her womanhood still warm and wet, and inserted a finger as she spit into her hand and began treating me to long, gentle, slick strokes.

“I can’t believe this.” My own words surprised me. Here was little Alonda Lattimer, beautiful student, but always just a student, sharing her nakedness with me and giving me otherworldly pleasure with her fingers while I was pleasing her with mine.

“Neither can I,” she whispered, between quick breaths.

The music pounded through the curtains as we continued for a few moments, our heavy breathing the only sound. Then she stopped and exhaled “Just a minute.”

She reached for the table and picked up the condom. As she ripped the foil I took a sip from my drink, which was by now mostly rum with a splash of coke. Her warm hands stroked me once or twice to ensure its continued rigidity and I felt the latex embracing my penis as she rolled it down the shaft. Once she had finished she looked at my cock, then at my face, then at my cock again.

“Are you ready for this?” I was beginning to wonder if I should feel guilty.

“Yes,” she whispered, barely audible over the dance music coming from outside our little cubby-hole. She moved up over me, took my penis into her hand, and began to rub the head against her slick labia, playing with us both, teasing and frustrating us and exciting us more.

Finally I could wait no longer. I took her hips and pulled her down on my cock. She gasped loudly in shock and I was afraid I might have hurt her. Then she leaned forward, put her arms around my neck and began moving her hips in time, her eighteen year old pussy wrapped tight around my nearly sixty year old dick.

I pushed upward, stroking deep inside her, filling her with myself; her smooth, naked ass touching the top of my ball sac when she thrusted down, tiny cries reaching my ear with each stroke.

We continued pushing against each other, in perfect time. She peppered my face with small kisses, then pulled away, her body still rhythmic with mine, my cock getting hotter and harder inside the condom, trying to push farther and farther inside her with each stroke, our excited eyes locked together, exploring each other’s faces as we fucked.

She leaned forward a little and I heard her whisper something.

“What?” I could barely gasp out the word.

She giggled a little between quick breaths as we continued to stroke in time, my pubic hair wet with her excitement. “Gilgamesh…in your class…thinking of Enkidu and that woman…”

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