I was in Phoenix. Not that I especially wanted to be in Phoenix, but that's where the trade show was, and one has to go where one has to go. If one wants to continue doing mundane things like eating regularly, that is. Days weren't bad; I had lots to do and little time to be bored. The evenings were something else entirely. Just what does one do in Phoenix in the evening. The magazine provided by my hotel wasn't any help. It quite blatantly was interested getting me to an expensive restaurant so I could leave some of my per-diem in town, and then back to bed so I wouldn't tax the local resources.
My hotel was in a faintly seedy part of town, a mixture of industrial area and poor residential. I wouldn't want to live there; those who did probably didn't want to either. Grand Avenue might once have been the Broadway of Phoenix, but the bright lights had gone elsewhere.
One establishment caught my eye as I drove by on the way back from a sales meeting. A rustic wooden building with a big parking lot and a grand illuminated sign proclaiming that this was the "Great American Bush Company."
Well, I had seen it before, but this was the first time I really looked at it. A glance at the picture on the sign sufficed to show what kind of bush was being sold. One didn't even need to look at the "Female Dancers Wanted - over 18" tacked to the bottom of it. A strip joint. A fairly classy one, from the look of it, but still, a strip joint.
Ah well, what else was there to do in Phoenix in the evening? I was hungry and needed some supper. Perhaps later. The sign said they were open from seven to three AM, so there was lots of time.
Later, however, I found myself having second thoughts. Sure, I didn't mind sitting in a noisy room, sipping a highly overpriced drink while some not-to-terrific girls removed what little clothing they wore to begin with. I'm a big boy; I know what it's all about. I also knew about the off-stage girls who circulated selling god-knows-what. Drinks, private table dances, a trip to another room. All of which cost extra, of course. Sometimes a lot extra. Now I support a mortgage and a Long Island sized tax bill. I sell stuff for a living. Cheap stuff, not expensive stuff with big commissions. I get along, but the little extra I can save from my expense account often is the difference between meeting the bills and extradition. Did I really want to get involved with something which could sap my wallet like that?
Of course I did. It took me two days to admit it, but I finally paid my ten dollars at the door, read the warning that I had to buy at least two drinks, and found my way through the gloom to a tiny round table one tier back from the semi-circular stage. I usually try to avoid the stageside seats. The view is better, but more is expected of you.
The music was very loud, the lights flashing in seemingly random patterns, making it hard to really see anything. A "hostess" was quickly at my table taking my five dollar drink order. Coke seemed safe enough. I tipped her a dollar, and didn't even get a smile for my trouble.
The girl on the stage was just starting her act. A hidden DJ announced her as Ruby, and was loudly trying to stir up some excitement without much success. Ruby was a gaunt, thirtysomething almost-blonde. I have to admit, she did try. She couldn't dance, but she could smile, and did from time to time. It didn't matter; nobody was there to critique her dancing or her smile. She started out without much on to begin with, which told me that this wouldn't be so much a strip tease as a nude dance. She wore a white floor length robe, unfastened in front so she could flash glimpses of her tits and a g-string. By the end of the first record she had shed the robe and was down to the serious business of selling her crotch. I must admit she managed to look less bored than she must have been. She snapped a few lazy bumps and squatted down a lot with her legs spread wide. She rubbed herself in a way she must have thought would be a turn-on to her audience. I waited patiently for her to take off the gee string and really get down to business.
One of the "hostesses" predictably ambled up to me at this point. I prepared to say "no thanks" to whatever she offered. Whatever it was, it was likely to cost me more than I wanted to spend and leave me completely unsatisfied. That's the whole point; keep the customer on edge and the money flows. Give him what he wants and he smiles and goes home happy.
"Hi. I'm Shirley", she said. Great opening gambit.
"Hello," I responded with great aplomb.
"Want some company?"
"Look," I explained, "Yes, I'd love company, but frankly, I haven't much of anything to spend, and you'll do better somewhere else." There. I'd said it. Now she would go away and leave me alone.
"That's OK. You don't have to buy anything. It's slow tonight, and I can sit with anybody I want." She slid into the other chair at my table. She was wearing an almost transparent baby-doll nightie, about hip length, with panties of the same material. Even two layers of the fabric couldn't hide the fact that she was a real blonde. I tried not to stare at her.
She giggled at me. "Hey relax, lighten up. I don't bite, and you're allowed to look. That's why we're here, right?" She put her hand on my shoulder and pressed her breast against my arm. Oh shit! What do I do now? I must have flinched, because she looked like she was wondering if she had made a mistake. "You do like girls don't you?" she asked.
"Oh sure. I like girls all right."
"Well OK then, relax. Look, you've got a nice soft girl on your shoulder and you can't guess what she might be willing to do, so why not sit back and enjoy it?" She peered at me with a carnivorous expression. "Who knows what might happen if you play your cards right?" She slid her chair closer and touched the back of my neck, sending tingles up and down my back. Her voice dropped as her mouth came closer to my ear. "Would you like me to rub your neck while we watch Ruby take off her clothes?"
"That would be very nice." I allowed cautiously. What the hell was going on? Obviously I was being hustled, but for what? So far, she hadn't asked for anything.
"All right then." Her hand was around my neck, gently rubbing. "Closer," she whispered. "I won't want to shout." She pressed her body against me, so that my upper arm was enveloped by her heavy breasts. They were visible through the thin nightie, but it was so dark that details were sketchy. However, the tactile sensations made up for what my eyes were missing.
She began to sensuously massage my neck. After a moment, she leaned close and nibbled on my left earlobe. She whispered in my ear, "I saw you looking at me. Like what you see? Do you like my breasts?"
"Yeah, they're very nice."
"Do you like how they feel?" She worked my arm further into the deep crevice between them.
"I thought you would. They're soft and sensitive. I love to touch them. It feels so good to hold them in my hands and tweak my nipples. Would you like to touch them?"
I was so surprised I didn't answer. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Shy? It's OK. Here." Damned if she didn't take my right hand and press it against her breast. "You like that? I do. Isn't it soft? And heavy too. Here..." She moved my hand underneath the globe. "Feel how heavy it is. Lift it. You don't get to do that every day, do you?"
I was disappointed when she removed my hand and put it back in my lap. But then, I felt her own hand on my leg under the table, her fingers digging into my groin. I inhaled quickly. Her fingertips were millimeters away from my steel-hard cock.
Her mouth brushed my ear again. "You like looking at Sally?" Sally was the current dancer. Ruby, having finished, had gone. Sally was reaching the part of her routine where most of her clothes were gone. She had just taken off what amounted to a bra and was shaking her breasts for the few spectators. "She going to take off her panties pretty soon you know. In here, we all spend some time without our panties. Do you like to watch girls take off their panties? That's why you came in, isn't it? So you could see everything."
Describing Sally's remaining garment as panties was like calling a piper cub a wide-body jet. It was a tiny G-string held up by a thin band low around her waist. Another thin strap went down through the crack of her ass and expanded into a narrow cache-sexe which cuddled her pussy without really hiding much. She stretched even that to the limit when she spread her legs.
When I didn't answer Shirley's question she persisted. "I know you do or you wouldn't be here, but I want to hear you say it. Tell me how much you like girls who take off their panties for you?" Her hand clutched my leg, so close, so close.
What was she doing to me? "Yeah, I like that." Well I do! Show me a guy who doesn't. A straight guy anyway.
"I knew you were the kind of guy who appreciates the finer things," she purred in my ear. "Does it really turn you on? Watching a young lady take off her undies and show you everything she's got? Does it make you big and hard?" I felt an electric shock as her hand brushed the front of my pants. "I see it does. Oh my, you're quite a man, do you know that? I like a man who's strong and hard" -she dwelt on the word- "as nails. Look at me."
I turned. Her face was close to mine, her eyes half-closed, her lips pursed in a half-kiss. I could feel the closeness of her, smell her femininity. Her lips brushed mine lightly in a ghost of a kiss. "I'd love to take mine off for you. Or would you rather do it to me? Slip them off my bottom and expose ... well, you know. When a girl is ready for it, she just has to have it."
.... There is more of this story ...