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The Electric Dollhouse used to be a strip club in a rural area, not far from a large university. It was far enough off-campus that not many college students went there. They’d rather drink nickel beers and stare at the coeds than pay five bucks cover charge, five more for the beer and then have to tip a few dollars an hour or get the cold shoulder from the dancers, some of whom weren’t worth the trip to start with. It was in an old warehouse district, out of the way. It always sent a thrill down my spine to go there. I was about twenty-two, out of college but with the rest of the year paid for on my college apartment lease, thanks to my parents’ generosity. And with no girlfriend, there were worse ways to pass a Sunday afternoon than checking out some female flesh.
I parked my junker next to the plumbing supply warehouse, so I could get out easier than if I had parked in the cramped parking lot of the Dollhouse. It was dark and threatening to snow, wind whipping as I made my way toward the muffled throbbing bass beat and faint neon glow of the painted-over glass door to the club. Opening that door and walking through was like walking into a sort of paradise, for a guy anyway. It was warm, well, warmer anyway. The howling wind was shut out. The initial darkness seemed to warm up to a shimmering glow from bar lights and the jukebox. At first all you could see was the bar area, a few sad-looking faces of the going-nowhere old men who pass chunks of their lives in bars obliviously. There was the ex-biker-looking bartender. Maybe he was a ‘Nam vet, who knows? He was friendly enough, as long as he recognized you as a customer. He was only wary of strangers who could be cops or process servers.
As your eyes adjusted to the layout and lighting, it would come into focus. There, at the back, behind the bar was a cavernous room, with smoke hanging in the air. Cutting through all the smoke and the flashing lights and the silhouettes of the odd patron, there would be a nice pair of tits. Sometimes very nice. It was almost supernatural how I could zero in on tits from a mile away blindfolded. Occasionally, I’d enter the place at a moment when no dancer would be onstage or when she would be covered up. I always felt cheated in a way. I loved that you could walk in off the street and there were tits. Boom. Just there to be looked at.
The night I would always remember started like a dozen others, walking into the Electric Dollhouse and experiencing all that sensory stimulation. This particular night, there was no dancer up there when I arrived. It felt stupid to order a beer anyway. The bartender apologized for the lack of a dancer. He took his job so seriously. It was like I was his boss or something. I pretended to listen carefully, but I was really just thinking about what I was going to do with the rest of the afternoon if there wasn’t going to be any titty to look at here. The phone rang and the bartender was arguing with someone. I was actually taking some interest, mostly out of boredom. It seemed that the reason there was only one dancer, who would only dance 30 minutes per hour, was that the other dancer had been told not to show up until later because there was a ‘feature dancer’ scheduled to be at the Dollhouse. This was news to the bartender who practically lived there. They hadn’t advertised. There was no one in the place. She would be performing for an empty house, if she showed up.
Lo and behold as he hung up on whoever was booking the dancers, a woman burst in the place, jabbering about ‘fucking managers’ and ‘dead-ass boyfriends’. She looked to be in her late thirties with a hat shoved down over a mop of dyed-red hair. She was wearing a big overcoat, a man’s overcoat and carrying some kind of shopping bags and a backpack in front of her. She hardly stopped ranting long enough to find out where the changing room was and off she stormed. As she moved away, I could see she had some shape from behind, a narrower waist compared to flared hips. But she had sweatpants and boots on, so it wasn’t like she was dressed to impress.
About then I heard the jukebox erupt with a too-loud top-forty teen anthem. That was about all it had, I knew from experience. Power ballads. Some oldies. Some novelty tunes. Stuff the girls could move to. From behind the jukebox stepped Shanu (her inexplicable stage name). I had seen her once before. She was my type. With tits way too big for her athletic frame. She had a mane of long dark hair and I figured she was Italian or Jewish or some kind of Mediterranean heritage.
“Gentlemen, the Electric Dollhouse apologizes for the break in our program this afternoon. But here to warm things up is our own, Shanuuuuu!” The bartender did the announcement as if there was a full house instead of me, moving to a seat at the rear of the stage, and the three half-comatose old boozers arranged at the bar facing no particular direction.
I sat at my table, back to the rear wall of the place. I chose this seat from experience. çapa escort I knew that sometimes, some dancers would give you a bit more attention than the law, or the house, would allow if you were at this table because it was the only place in the bar that the mirrors didn’t give the bartender a view of. If the dancer had her back to the bar and was facing me, she could flash her cooch or ass, or even touch me, if she wanted, without being seen.
Shanu, flashed me a friendly smile. She knew what was on the mind of a young man taking that seat in an otherwise empty strip bar. And she didn’t mind. She enjoyed dancing for men. She loved being in good shape and the special attention that gave her. She wasn’t naïve. She enjoyed the money and not having to drudge for it. She could flirt or not. With a body like hers she’d get her tips whether she went the extra mile or not. She had big tits. And big tits got big tips. Everyone knew that. Even fat girls could make out as long as they had fat tits. It was a shame, Shanu always thought, that some petite girls, who had figures that any woman would envy, would get almost no tips when they danced opposite voluptuous Shanu. The men wanted boobs.
By the time she could dance over to me, I had a dollar bill out, folded lengthwise and laying at the far side of my table, an inch or two of it hanging off. She stood directly in front of me, looking down at me, straight in the eye. “Hi, I’m Shanu.” She smiled warmly. As if I wasn’t already putty in her hands, I melted even further. “Hi, Shanu. I’m Steve.” It sounded so weak and lame. “Nice to meet you, Steve,” she extended her hand and shook mine in slightly put-on matter-of-fact manner. “Haven’t I seen you here before?”
“Yes. Two weeks ago. You said you’d be back and here you are.”
“You came here for me?” She pretended that it was a big deal. Then she leaned close to me, her head just beside mine. “You’re about the only one, too. Could it be any deader?”
She stood up and did a few dancer moves. She was in one of those slit-up-the-side silky robe things with a tie around the waist. Hot pink. Her legs flashed and those black heels looked hot. She turned her back to me and slipped the robe off sexily. Her backside was bare except for the barely visible string of her thong and bikini top. She tossed her hair around giving it a wild appearance. She looked back over her shoulder at me. The arch in her back forced thoughts of fucking her doggie-style into my head. As she turned to face me, those full, bouncing tits swayed into view. The tiny triangles of fabric were really only serving to cover her nipples and most of her aureoles. Stretched so taut, every detail was visible. I was staring and caught myself. I tried to de-focus and take in the entirety being happily presented to me. Shanu saw my eyes ravishing her bust and then try not to stare. She almost chuckled. It was sweet, she thought, that I didn’t completely dehumanize her.
“You’re gorgeous. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in person. It must be so mind-blowing to have you like this in private. Wow.” It just came out. And I wanted to curl up and crawl away as soon as the words left my lips. She didn’t say anything. Instead she took the dollar and tucked it in her g-string on her hip. She kind of danced away, toward the other side of the small stage, looking toward the bar. The bartender shrugged at her.
“Whatever you want to do,” he said. “You get paid for your half of the shift. Whatever.”
Shanu walked over to me and started to say something, then stopped herself and walked over and flipped off the sound on the jukebox. She walked back over to me.
“OK. You get to be the boss. Since there’s no one here, Mongo says I don’t have to dance for just one guy. But I don’t want to disappoint you since you came to see me.”
“Hey, I don’t want to force you to work.”
“How about if I work for just a little while longer?”
I nodded and she did a twirl and clicked the jukebox back on. She stood before me. She reached behind her neck and removed the elastic that was holding up her bikini top. She slipped one forearm down over her breasts as she removed the bikini top with the other hand. She had that innate female ability to move and twist in every way possible without giving a single tiny glimpse of tit. That wasn’t really true with Shanu. She had such big, full tits, her forearm across them or even a hand cupping each big boob scarcely concealed most of the breast flesh. She had the whole routine down too. She put me through every tease and half-revealing move. She lifted and pushed and manipulated her breasts, juggled them, kissed the tops, even licked the endless soft contours. As she slowly pulled her fingers away from the aureole and showed me the holy-of-holies, at least as far as the Electric Dollhouse was concerned. This club was not supposed to allow flashes of anything that couldn’t be seen in a g-rated movie. cihangir escort Most girls would give you a quick flash by carefully leaning over or positioning themselves so that Mongo couldn’t see.
It was sexy to see her full boobs being lifted and her fingers parting to expose those coral-pink nipples, wide nubs with flat tips perched on very dark aureoles that were elongated ovals only a bit bigger than her nipples. She swayed before me undulating her body to the music and I could see how her tits moved and responded to the tug of gravity and to the support and manipulation of Shanu’s hands. I suddenly remembered where I was and instantly produced a dollar bill, which I held up vertically. Shanu moved close and draped her massive boobs around my hand. She pushed her tits together enveloping my hand in the warm softness. I was petrified I would do something wrong to ruin this incredible moment. My dollar bill extended out of her cleavage and she leaned down and snatched it from its fleshy prison between smiling white teeth. In an instant she had repositioned her top, flipped off the jukebox and she spun and sat down.
“So what did you think?” she asked brightly.
“Jesus, you know what I was thinking.” I was blushing. How direct could I be without creeping her out?
“Hey, Steve, relax. It’s just us here. I can take care of myself. I want to play with you. Come on and play a little. I won’t hurt you.”
Just the right words. That’s what they were. I relaxed.
“Look, Shanu, I don’t have much money. I’m happy to give you what I would have spent in tips. It’s more exciting to talk with you like this than to watch you dancing, like you do for everyone. I hope that didn’t come out wrong.”
She smiled. “It came out fine.”
We made small-talk like we were old friends. I asked her a lot of things I had wondered about strippers and their lives. She was a fairly pleasant exception to the rule of broken-home junkies and brainless bimbos who bought their trade for the price of some bad implants. Then, out of nowhere, the PA boomed.
“Shanu is a tough act to follow. But the Electric Dollhouse has a treat for you guys (?) that can follow her. Aiello Entertainment feature dancer Marlena!!!!”
There was an awkward pause. Then the bartender walked over and put a flyer on the table in front of me with a picture of this huge-titted chick kneeling in the surf. It said
The jukebox erupted with “The Stripper”, the old-time classic everyone associates with burlesque. And out from the changing rooms strutted the woman who had been in the overcoat and was so pissed about her manager. Now it made sense. She’s been booked here on a day with no advertising and so all she had was me for an audience. She wasn’t going to make a fortune today.
Nevertheless, she danced out and, as if there were a full house, she covered the whole stage stripping down through several layers of elaborate costumes to a sheer white bra and panty. It was a four minute dance, filled with all the bumping and grinding of the old movies. It was far from the couldn’t-care-less shuffle most strippers do and even different from the sensuous turns Shanu had done for me minutes earlier. It was kind of hokey. Fun. But I always preferred my sex without gimmicks. After the first song ended, she took stock of the nearly deserted house. But she was a trouper. The next number, a slow ballad, came on and she put down a fake bear skin and writhed about on it. She focused most of her attention on me and Shanu. But she was on autopilot, I thought. The second number ended. Not seeing any more customers, she kind of gave up.
“Did you pay a cover?” Marlena asked all at once.
“Then give me five bucks,” she said.
I was taken aback, but fished out a five. I was almost out of money. She took it and tucked it in her g-string. She flipped the jukebox back on and moved right up to our table facing away from Mongo.
As the next song started, Marlena said,” You deserve a little something extra, Buddy.” She lifted the bra up and out flopped her 48s. They were huge. As outsized as Shanu’s tits were for an athletic woman her size, Marlena’s were out of any human proportion, each bigger than her head. Her aureole were stretched circular patches, only slightly pinker than the pale white flesh that overlay fine blue veins and were betrayed by a very few symmetrical stretch marks around the masses. Her nipples were tiny on the mammoth mounds, but hard as pebbles. They were round and seemed to taper were they sprung from those boobs.
Marlena let her tits sway before our gaze. Yes, I noticed Shanu had taken an identical interest in not missing a moment of this show. Marlena looked back and forth between us smiling at the rapt attention she was receiving. A moment like that is golden. Then it was over. Marlena knelt to gather up the parts of her costume and scampered off. Shanu esenyurt escort and I smiled and talked about what we had just seen. She told me that Marlena had been a featured act for many years in the area, kind of a minor celebrity in certain circles. She had done some porno over the years, but most of it was before the big boom in video. It was real smalltime but it created an aura about her. Shanu said she thought Marlena had retired. She was in her mid-forties. In the harsher light by the bar, I had noticed the deep lines in her face. She had had a rough time of it over the years. But she was in great shape. And the pontoon-tits were fine by me. They were never too big for me. Real or fake. I had dated some girls with big ones. But they were mostly heavier girls who had no real shape, just fat tits. But I had studied all the greats from Raquel to Pam. And older women were fine by me too. I remembered the warm feeling in my crotch when some of my mom’s bridge-playing friends would come over for drinks and cards. A couple of them had big chests and I would watch them from the stairs.
About that time Mongo hit the PA again to say that the governor had closed several state highways nearby and so the bar was closing. Shanu and I stood up and started over toward Mongo when Marlena burst out of the changing room to join us.
“What?” she shrieked. “I’m not staying here. Fuck that!”
“You can’t stay here,” Mongo said. “You gotta go.”
I looked out the door and saw the snow piling up.
“Ladies, I have to go or I’ll be stuck. Can I give either of you a lift?” I said it almost as a joke. Like either of these professional big tit strippers would come to my car with me.
“Wait for me.” They both said in unison and they scrambled for their belongings. I smiled. Oh my God.
Neither of these two women could shut up. The details behind my good fortune poured forth. Shanu’s ride wasn’t due for three hours and wouldn’t be braving the roads before the ploughs got to them anyway. If I could get her to the truck stop, she’d get picked up sooner. Marlena was pissed at her manager for sticking her with this loser gig, but was volcanic because he had just driven off. She didn’t know when or if he was coming back. And her boyfriend was apparently on her shitlist too. He was a thousand miles away too. If I could get her to the highway, she would call a limo or taxi. We set out, but we didn’t get far. All the roads out of the industrial park, where the bar was, were blocked with skidded out trailers, except one. It took us toward my place, but away from the highway. A downed tree closed off another route. I was losing traction and told the girls I was driving to my place and they could arrange travel from there. I was so nervous about wrecking the car I was honestly not appreciating the fact that I had two huge-titted strippers in my car who were going to come with me to my apartment where we would probably be stuck together for some time. But as we skidded to a stop in my parking lot, it began to sink in. Still I played it very straight.
I got the girls and their stuff inside where we warmed up with cocoa. Marlena added a shot to hers. Shanu had her phone book out and was working her cell without success. The lights went out for a second and came back on. Then they dimmed to half brightness. Someone had probably hit a pole. Bad luck for some tonight.
Not me, I thought.
A little later we were sitting in the near-dark on my couch. We had broken out a bottle of wine and whatever else we could find. We passed around a couple of half-joints I had salvaged after a party a while back. We were feeling pretty cozy as the blizzard worsened outside.
“Sometimes I think about takin’ ’em out,” Marlena blurted, out of nowhere. “My implants. Just take em out, but I’m afraid of how unattractive I’d be without tits. Without big tits. I mean I love ’em. The men pay to see ’em. Women too. And I’ve been able to be a whore without being a whore, you know. Tittyfucking. It’s what I can charge more for than any flat-on-her-back whore out there. And it’s quick and easy. And I love the feeling. So everyone wins.” She was babbling.
“Well, I hope you keep ’em,” I said. “More women are sad because they are too small than too large. And you know how men look at ’em. You saw the reaction you got from me.”
“And me,” chimed in Shanu.
“Yes,” smiled Marlena. “I saw. I love it when a woman comes to one of my shows. I like to give ’em lapdances. I rub my tits in their faces and you know what? They suckle and nuzzle and enjoy the feeling just like the men. You know what? I’m breaking a lot of rules today. I never flash bare tit for nothing extra. And I never let a male customer touch the goods. In twenty-five years of doing this, I’ve fucked one man, sucked one man off and only half a dozen have ever touched the goods. And that was for a pretty penny. Here, lay your head on my pillows, boy.”
I laid back against her chest, in the deep valley between those monster FFF balloons. She shifted and nuzzled around my head. I was wishing I was face down and that she wasn’t wearing that heavy sweatshirt. Shanu moved beside us. She reached around and helped support Marlena’s jugs around my head. Those are some pillows, she thought.
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