And then a note on a 2012 goal.
But the lappy first. As many red blooded, vibrant, living, heterosexual, male human beings, I have a certain fondness for women. This fondness spans a great reach of reasons, both physical and non-corporeal. Companionship. Love. Friendship. Compassion. Fuckin’. The lap dance doesn’t really fall neatly into in one category and may in fact be a category of one. But that’s not something I would like to debate today. Rather, I’d just like to acknowledge that it can be quite a lot of fun and that it offers an often great, though brief, close, physical experience with the fairer sex.
Which is all fine and good and usually something that I don’t much care about. Not the close physical experience, that is. I mean, let’s not get crazy. I love’s dah booty and dah boobies. However, these experience in the form of a lap dance are usually pretty lame. You get a bit riled up, you can’t touch the lady. You are not likely to get touched by the lady. They reek of cocoa butter, bad perfume, and strong liquor. Some are hot but most are a little haggard. Ridden hard and hung up wet. They look depressed and probably are. They often don’t work hard for the tip and rarely deserve it. But sometimes… yeah, sometimes.
At the strip club that my friends and I frequent most, the experience is usually no different. However, there are a handful of regular strippers that are not so regular. There are a few white chicks with awesome bodies and/or awesome faces. There is one black chick who is just a fuckin’ knockout. There used to be a chick from Colombia…. or at least of Colombian decent who was fuck-off hot, along with some other big-boobied, thick-tailed Latina ladies. But in my pat few visits I seem to have been getting lappies from the same chick, and I just can’t seem to help it.
She’s not super beautiful. In fact, I might say she’s average at best, though it’s difficult to know for sure with all of the poor lighting, drunken haze, and blahblahblah. At some point she coerced me into getting a lap dance from her. She grabbed my hand and tugged me to the dark, sleazy, dance area. I skeptically sat down and spread my legs in that oh-so-familiar fashion. She sat on my lap and said, “Let’s wait for the next song” which I though was pretty considerate, being that this song had just started. If it’s that close to the beginning, most of the dancers just get started. Instead, she asked me to give her a back rub. Pretty cool. The back rub turned into a side rub and a butt rub and then a new song started. And she immediately started grinding. And man, do I ever mean grinding. Her ass was crushed, full-force against my now hard, throbbing junk. It was as if her ass were the pestle, my lap the mortar, and my dick was some secret collection of roots and crystals meant to be pulverized to release essential oils and some kind of incredible, magical substance meant for ancient incantations. In a good way. She stood up and planted my hands on the cushions of the couch we were sharing, spun around, and brought her less-than-ample yet still appealing breasts to eye level. She pulled in close, arching back and forward to keep in full contact, rubbing her crotch, belly, boobs, and face against my loins before sliding back up, this time past bringing her left leg over my head and sliding her panties to the side. Pretty cool. Facing me, she pinned her hips to mine and started grinding my hog again. If not for the stiffness of denim and the occasional pass-over from the front button on my boxers, it would have felt as though I were inside of her. She pulled in more, exhaled into my ear and bit the upper lobe. She reached down and grabbed it – and I mean really, really grabbed it hard – somehow managing to get a full grip in spite of the jeans in the way and motion about with it for a while. She did a bit of all of those move over and over until the song started to come to a close and frankly, so did I. If that song were just a few seconds longer, I might have gone all cumsies in my pantzies, and that would have been quite a joyful embarrassment.
When the song finished, she mostly stopped the lappy, instead just sitting there on that club in my pants. At that time, I could have probably used it to club rocks. She asked if I wanted another, and I almost said “yes”, knowing that it could only end one way. Instead, I said no thanks. I paid her and tipped well. With what must have looked like an angry squirrel in my pants, I limped back to the table my friends and I had acquired earlier that night.
It was an aggressive lap dance, and it was great.
I got another one (actually two… long story) from her later that same night, and they were somehow better. Somehow, I say as if I don’t know why. No, I didn’t finish or anything. I may, however, have had a nipple in my mouth. Being that I am quite a fan of nipples, I’d say that was a pretty cool.
Since that night, I’ve been back a few times. Each time I go with a plan to seek out some mega-hot dancer with big-ol’ boobness and hope for a chance to motorboat, and each time I reluctantly agree to once again receive the best lap dances I’ve ever had. How she manages to locate my sad little turtle with her tight (I assume) little den with such accuracy absolutely boggles the mind, but one does not ask such questions. You just sit back and enjoy it.
tl;dr – The lap dance feels like half a step down from actual sex, and I’ll bet she’s awesome in bed. Suck a booby.
Oh, right. The goal. Today’s featured picture is that of me back in my military days. I forget exactly when it was, but I’m gunna guess 2004 – 2005. All I know is that it is exactly how I want to look and in 2012 I am going to post that thing all over my house, desk, car, and everywhere else I make poor life and health decisions to remind myself to get as close to looking like that guy as possible. That’s pretty much that.
Fuck, I really want to go get another lap dance from that skank.