Bestowal - Sex Stories

Bestowal

... wants to go." She thinks about it for a few moments. "I'd like to see what he finds in it," she declares. "Can we go back there?" "You sure?" I question. "It can get a little . . ." I search for the proper adjective, ". . . raunchy, I guess." "But a woman like me wouldn't be accosted, would she?" "No, not as long as you were with a guy." "Well, I've got you," she decides. "Come on." At a stoplight I make a U-turn, and three minutes later the bouncer is letting us through the panel door, relieving me of five dollars in the process. "No cover for you, sweetie, its ladies night," he says, pointing to the poster of events behind him. We turn a corner and enter the establishment. Quickly, I scan the crowd and realize that it's early, only twelve or fifteen guys are in the dive. Four or five of them are gathered by a pool table in the corner, more interested in solids and stripes than the wriggling flesh on the stage in the middle of the room. We find a table somewhat out of the way where we can observe the action, Christie takes in the horse-faced woman on the platform, now topless and playing with her g-string. A bikinied woman comes over to take our order; I order a scotch, Christie opts for vodka tonic. Now she's full of a thousand questions. "Are these girls prostitutes? Do they make a lot of money? The guys seem to just sit there." As I answer her questions, the song ends and the girl on the stage is replaced by another and the announcement from the DJ, "Folks, put your ...

... hands together for the lovely Angela." Christie watches intently as Angela, dressed as a construction worker, begins to gyrate and tease the few patrons. After the girl is down to bare boobs and panties, Christie asks another question. "The signboard said last night was amateur night, what does that mean?" "Oh, sometimes guys bring their girlfriends in, and they get up on stage. Usually there's a fifty dollar prize or something." I notice, even through her bra, that Christie's nipples dilate at this suggestion, and wonder if she's excited with the idea. "Did you and Jake ever bring your girlfriends to these places?" "A few times. Once Jake got a girl he was with to go up on stage." On the dais, Angela is down to her panties, and a customer slips a large bill between the fabric and skin. Angela gives him a big smile, and as the third song of the set begins, she daringly pulls the elastic of the waistband further and further until, finally, the panties join the rest of her getup discarded on the stage, and Angela's bush and labia are displayed for the few observers, including us. As Angela trots off the platform, only to be supplanted by still another strumpet, Christie lets out a long sigh. She waves her empty glass at our waitress, and soon our drinks are refreshed. Christie observes while Angela steps from behind a curtain, now skimpily dressed, and goes to wait on one of the few customers. We have little to talk about now, and Christie watches the next stripper. Ten or fifteen ...