If you're an underaged kid don't read this as it's real life. You're not allowed! Where's your Net Nanny?
Let me begin this narrative mid episode. Sunday afternoon. I'd just excused myself at Barbara's side from the bar stools in front of the stripper's stage. We'd gone to the strip club to see her daughter, and my best gal pal Monique, take it off in public for the first time.
Barbara and I had been there for several rounds of beer and shots. All bought for us by the horny gents who couldn't believe she was excited at the prospect of seeing her daughter's "ecdysiast debut."
The many generous men pattin' me on the back and buying my drinks assumed I was Monique's beau, I guess. Barbara, a blonde haired blue eyed Irish beauty herself, waved me away. She was too busy soaking up the sex charged male energy surrounding her to notice I'd vanished.
Of course, I well knew where the men's room was here. This place had once been the Barbary Coast. A gay dance bar in the late seventies that I used to sneak past the bouncer to enter when I was but a lad. I admit my motivation to go piss occurred about ninety seconds after that blonde sailor with the lump in his pants I'd been eyeing headed out in that direction.
Bam. I slammed past the swinging door a bit loudly in my eagerness. And there he has holding a twenty-one year old's impossibly stiff prick over the trough urinal. His body jolted at the sound of the door as he looked over at me with a goofy grin. Honest to God, he shrugged his shoulders, waved his erection at me, and extended his left arm out palm up in a 'what's a Swabby to do' gesture. Sometimes I love sign language.
Best not to break stride, I decided, as I sauntered (in my mind, anyway) over. I sided up to the freaking real live sailor erectus endorphin rush from hell's flames of temptation (what a sex biscuit). Double-time!
He said something about his condition and being unable to piss. I'll never really remember what he said, as my eyes were occupied. Commanding all of my attention, really. Did I mention he was in uniform? Yeah, and he'd let his white pants drop past his asscheeks. Gentlemen, the Pearly Gates!
I love a trough urinal. Don't you? It's the great leveler in the adult male bonding ritual.
So I agreed with him that the hot scene's got me worked up too. At this point I pull out by boner (didn't take long to go to full mast at seeing him), conspiratorial like. He giggles (sorry guys, yes, he giggled) and began wanking himself. "Man, you're hard" I commented as I extracted my balls as well. He opened his arms with his hands palm up and thrusts his hips forward in a 'check it out' gesture.
Licitly split I had his cock shaft firmly in hand. I had barely managed to confirm the he was uncircumcised, with a couple of strokes, when the fireworks began. "I'm gonna fuckin' shoot it," he spit as he thrust his hips forward. Seeing my opening, I reached back and grabbed his butt cheek mid cleft. My middle finger struck gold too. I set my finger on twirl cycle as he repeatedly death clenched his hairless gluts on my invading hand.
Three hundred and fifteen seconds after I'd left my bar stool, sailor boy spunked a respectable load of jizz all over my jackin' hand. The trough urinal. The wall behind it. My leather coat and jeans. God I love the Navy.
About fifteen seconds into his gasping afterglow I smacked him once on his naked arse, hard. That got his attention as I glanced back meaningfully at the bathroom door. I spun around, without stuffing my cock back into my jeans, and retired to the only stall with a door.
Yes, I tasted his come on my fingers. Rubbed some of it into my hairy chest too. I quickly rearranged myself for polite strip club society. Had to move my hard on down my right thigh. It showed, but so did every other guy's in this joint. I could hear sailor boy's beery flow. Sounded like a horse goin'.
We both made it to the one sink at about the same time. Not sayin' much as we washed up, splashed our faces, ran our fingers through our hair. I smacked my hands dry on my levied thighs and got my mustached lips near to his smooth face. Great God Pan himself was looking out of my eyes and into his as I got dangerously close.
There he went with that sign language again as both palms came up in a guarded gesture. "Dude, I'm married." No shit. I'd seen the gold ring while he was busy squeezin' his balls. What the fuck? The voice of Pan growled back at him--a feral grin on my face. And, like a hunted stag, he retreated back into his heterosexual forest. Good. I still needed to piss. Lucky we weren't interrupted, I supposed. Oh, pissin' with a hardon! A different guy walked in on me with a grin of his own as he whipped his pecker out while checkin' mine out. "Fuckin' A, dude." He summed it up nicely.
Six hundred seconds later and I was back, perched on my bar stool next to Barbara. She had told the surrounding gents that she herself had been a bikini dancer in a cage at the Whiskey a' Go Go in Hollywood's Nineteen Sixties. And that her mother before her had been a saloon girl on the Barbara Coast in San Francisco. Syncronicity. I hadn't known that.
Monique came out on stage in a top hat and tails with cane and tapped danced her way into the crowd's lusty hearts. She looked like a sixteen year old Marie Osmond once she was down to her G-string under those disco lights. Her father was Latin, ya see. Mmmm ... what a gal!
When her routine was done she came down and gave me and her mother a nasty lap dance. You got it. Mother daughter lesbo action. What a glorious slut. The crowd went wild.
Yeah, Navy boy was still there. I slipped a $fifty$ into Monique's black silk modesty thong and told her to show the Navy what they're fightin' for. She gave me a quick kiss and wrinkled her nose. "You smell like dick," she informed me and looked over at the Swab with growing comprehension. Barbara turned around and said, "Monique, honey. I love Lars' cologne." Monique and I looked at each other and laughed, much to the consternation of her mother.
Needless to say Monique gave that married Navy bloke the lap dance of his life. Glad to have lent a hand as well.
Lars