I don't usually respond publicly to one flame. But you know me, I'll make an exception to any rule.
Seems one reader took offense that I don't advocate using condoms in my stories, and that I don't warn readers about the dangers of sex at each and every opportunity. He/she further accused me of being a misogynistic asshole, a charge to which I plead guilty, though only in a most lighthearted way.
So for this reader, and any others who feel the same way, I offer the following disclaimer. I suggest you print it out and hang it over your computer, or "cut and paste" it into the beginning of any story you download. I think it should do the trick.
## DISCLAIMER: ## Sex is dangerous. It can kill you. AIDS is a deadly disease which can be transmitted sexually and is fatal. There are more Sexually Transmitted Diseases including gonorrhea, syphilis, and herpes, among others. Any or all of these diseases can cause pain, suffering, disfigurement, and possibly even death if not treated promptly. See your doctor.
Condoms can reduce the risk of transmission, but they are not 100% effective. The only truly safe sex is no sex at all.
Also, be careful when using sharp instruments near your genitals, do not put your balls in a Vise-Grip, and use caution when inserting your penis into electric sockets. Never go out with a woman named Lorena.
Also, you should not try to insert a pumpkin in your vagina (women only) or in your anus (equal opportunity warning) because your asshole is probably not big enough, except in the case of one particular reader I can think of.
Finally, don't put a hot poker up your butt when tending campfires, and for heaven's sakes don't lie down in the fast lane of the Interstate to get a blowjob.
That should do it. In case you hadn't guessed, I prefer to set my stories in a kinder, gentler world where these dangers are remote, perhaps even non-existent. It's fiction. I'm allowed to do that. Reminding the reader of all the perils of life at every opportunity is kind of like shouting "Watch out for the pipe truck!" while you're still in the driveway, even though you might crash into one later in the day and have a steel tube run through your head.
If you have trouble distinguishing my fictional world from your real one, I have no further advice for you.
Well, perhaps you should get a grip.
I do have one rule you should follow: If you're under 18, don't read what follows.
Hey Pumpkin Ass! Thanks for helping me set such a nice tone for the story.
I walked into the topless club, frustrated and angry. For one thing, I'd had a fight with my wife, June. For another thing, I'd had writer's block. For nearly a week.
Now I've watched writers with Brian Lamb and on Rolanda and those other important TV shows and I've heard authors talk about "block". I had never experienced it. Until last week.
I was used to sitting down at the typewriter, thinking of a sexual experience I'd had sometime somewhere, getting a woodie, and writing the story I was thinking about. But for a week I'd come to a dead end. Again and again. I had 23 stories just one or two paragraphs long. I had a half a forest of crumpled up floppies in the wastebasket. I was mixing my metaphors, dang ling my participles, and even dropping vowls! It was like I had incontinence of the keyboard. Lucky for you there's no "Shit" icon, or your screen would be a mess right now.
My system wasn't working right, and something had to give. That's why I walked into the topless club. I needed a change. I needed a charge. I needed a blowjob. It was the only place I knew of where I could get two out of three for a reasonable price.
I was the only patron in the place; they had just opened a few minutes earlier. The joint didn't get jumping until about 9PM. I'm the schmuck who walked in at 6:00 sharp. I sat down, and a pretty waitress came over and offered me a beer. Well, not offered, exactly. $6 for a Bud, plus tip.
Two girls came out of the dressing room to keep me company. Daisy and Rose. They were always named after flowers. Or jewels. Or months, like April or October. I sniffed the flowers. Nice. Daisy was in a low cut bra top that showed the top half of her breasts. She had on a pair of tight white satin panties, topped by a see-through scarf, also white. Rose was covered from the neck to the knee. She wore a plain one piece black dress which couldn't have camoflaged her enormous tits if the Air Force had designed it at the Skunkworks.
"I'm sorry to put you to work," I said. "I didn't realize you just opened. Now I feel bad. If I weren't here, you could be in back, having a smoke."
"Oh that's fine, sugar, Daisy said. We'll just have a smoke here and keep you company."
We talked for five or ten minutes, and another guy walked in and sat down on the other side of the stage. With that, Daisy nodded her head at the unseen DJ and his voice boomed out of the speaker system. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome to the 2-Cute Lounge, home of the world's loveliest girls." He wasn't wrong, at least so far. "And now please welcome Lily!"
"It figures," I thought to myself. Lily stepped up on stage, dressed in a one piece teddy. During the music of the first number she took her arms out of the armholes, but went no further. Her tits bounced but somehow managed to keep the garment up for the duration. The DJ spun another record. Now she pulled down the top, revealing her breasts to us. Like all breasts everywhere, they were lovely. Smooth mounds topped by a pair of cherry tips. A perfect size and shape. I turned to Daisy and said "She has lovely breasts. Just perfect."
"Yes, she's beautiful," Daisy replied. I'm sure she'd had this conversation a thousand times before.
Lily pushed the teddy to the floor. She stood there in a pair of panties, which would never leave. The zoning in our town allows topless but not bottomless. About 40 miles away you can find full nudity. Like it's OK to look at a cunt in Xavier County but not here. Go figure.
I took a dollar out of my wallet. I walked up to the stage and offered it to her. She pulled on her elastic garter, and I slipped the dollar in. She snapped it shut. A dollar for a pretty smile from an almost naked girl. It seemed like a fair exchange.
I talked with the flowers, and even bought them a drink. You know, the lemonade the bar sends them for $6 of your money? What the hell, they deserve it. They work hard. They take off their clothes in front of stupid men (like me) they make useless conversation with stupid men (like me) and they pretend not to notice when you look at their tits. Well, some of them actually like it. I'll bet you wouldn't get the same reaction if you stared at them like that in the mall!
Lily finished her dance. The DJ introduced Flora. Of course. She was a tall girl with a very slim figure. But she knew how to move her pelvis, bumping and grinding, and going through the most explicit sexual motions with her hips. Boom-ba-boom-ba-boom. She was great. I offered her a dollar.
She smiled and accepted it gracefully. She walked over to the table after her number was finished and asked if I wanted a table dance. I declined. I'd just gotten there, and I had a budget to watch. Anyway, if I'm going to pay $20 for a table dance, I want the girl to have decent tits.
The next girl was Rhoda. I expected the DJ to announce her last name as "Dendron." She was a slutty looking girl with hard plastic boobs. Not my type at all. She did a bump and grind through two songs, and even when she took off her clothes, did nothing for me. I like the preppy college girl type, myself. Sweet. Innocent.
I had another beer. Daisy and Rose left for greener pastures. The club was filling up now. A second stage was opened, and more girls appeared as if by magic from some back room that must have been overflowing with pulchritude a half-hour earlier. Now they came in endless procession: Pansy and Pearl, Sunny and Bunny, Holly and Dolly, Ginger and Garnett. On Stage 1 was Kitty. Stage 2 displayed Dixie. A girl named Cherry went to Stage 3 to start her act.
An hour passed, then another. I watched with the wonder that every man must feel as beautiful women walk past, taking off their clothes, showing their tits, smiling, and appearing grateful for the appearance of a single dollar bill. It's amazing to me. Within the confines of this club, the laws of the universe change. Outside these walls women sneer at men, get insulted if you stare, slap you if you get too close. It's like another dimension, the 2-Cute Lounge. That's why they get $6 for a Bud.
Another hour passed. Another two beers for me and a drink for a lady. Another 60 minutes filled with Robin and Storm, Taffy and Tuesday, Velvet and Candy. All lovely. All topless. All got one of my dollars. Another hour came and went, filled with Scarlotte and Willow and Gypsy and Brooke. Chastity was my favorite from the 10PM group. She had jumped to the rafters and hung there while doing chin-ups with her legs spread. Now THAT's talent! The leg spread would have been oh-so-much better without the hard opaque panties, naturally, but the zoning laws required them. I made a mental note to find out who my city councilman was.
.... There is more of this story ...