Apartment Eight Makes A Golden Challenge - Sex Stories

Apartment Eight Makes A Golden Challenge

Wednesday night at the Fawns Over Foxes Ladies Club ... Johnny B Good2night stepped through the curtain to the small backstage “launch pad”. Breathing as if he had just ran a mile, he fanned himself with his call sheet, his shirt beneath his glittery velvet vest drenched in an uncomely layer of sweat. His ears were ringing, the screeches and screams of the crowd on the other side of the curtain sounding like a klaxon in his skull. “Amateur Night,” he grumbled. The ladies were always voracious on Amateur Night. Johnny sucked on a bottle of water then patted his large, shiny forehead with a kerchief. He looked up at the next slab of meat: a tall, rugged fellow that the ladies were sure to flay and rend apart with their eyes and lusty catcalls. He nodded and asked, “Hey, you ready?” Looking through a flimsy mask covering his blue eyes, Vasily tried to peer between the curtains. Only a sliver of harsh light slipped through, though. He said flatly, “Those women… they are like wild boars.” Johnny smirked. “Yeah? Well trust me, pal, if they hate you, they’re gonna trample you under their hooves,” he remarked. He thought for a moment, grinned sheepishly and continued, “Come to think of it, that’s what they’d do if they love you as well!” Vasily frowned and heaved a long sigh. He shifted on his feet and pulled at his costume. “This is very tight. It clings,” he said. Johnny eyed him and shrugged. “You have about twenty pounds and four inches on the guy who originally wore it… and ...

... I’m not just talking about your dick. Hey-yo !” he replied. He nodded and added, “Don’t worry about it, though. It looks good on you stretched out and with the chest popping through the collar and all that. Gives a nice preview of your package, too.” Vasily wasn’t sure if he enjoyed hearing another man remark with admiration about his package. He grimaced and continued to shift uneasily like an athlete before a big game. Johnny checked his notes. “So, is it okay if I say you’re from Moscow?” “I am not Russian,” Vasily grunted, “I am from Zaporizhia.” Johnny winced. “Zapo-wha-hah? Sounds like a cough lozenge!” He shook his head. “Look, friend, no one knows where Zapo-whatever or Zippy-dee-doo-da is. No one out there has heard of it and I sure as hell can’t pronounce it.” Vasily grimaced like a fly had landed on his nose. “Let’s just keep it simple, okay?” Johnny coached, “I go out and introduce you from wherever… it doesn’t really matter where, to be honest. They ain’t gonna get on their phones to Google it. You come out, you strip, you grind your loins in their faces, you get some wet panties thrown at you, then exit with most of your pride intact if possible. Boom-boom-boom... Yeah?” Staring over Johnny's gel-slathered hairline, Vasily, for all intents and purposes, was a statue. He didn’t like the guy, the way he talked faster than his flubbery lips and cheeks seemed capable of doing, but that was not his concern at the moment. He was more concerned with the thong he wore ...