Part II: Dave

Shit. I can’t believe you’re even asking. Yeah. No. She didn’t go.

It was right before all of us went to Greece. The normal crew, most of the usuals. We went to Costa Rica a couple years ago, rented that house that slept like sixteen or some ridiculous number. I figured all the women we’d meet would have been from Costa Rica but it turned out all of them - almost all of them - were American women. Fly all the way to Costa Rica to meet women from Texas and from Georgia and Florida. Women I could have met at a Hard Rock Casino or whatever shitty place was in every city everywhere. Anyway, basically same group of people. Had to hit town in time to make sure we made the flight, so we all chipped in and got a huge place a couple nights before. First night we walked around the city, then hit it hard until practically dawn. Got up late and someone had a buddy who’d been to some strip bar that turned out to be way too far in the middle of nowhere.

The girl was there when we got there. With her husband. Offered them shots, talked her into a body shot. Maybe 25, decently tall with a good tan. But she had the biggest, biggest most innocent eyes you can imagine. They were brown, but like some metallic brown almost. Husband seemed fine. Let me do a shot off her too. She wouldn’t let me lick her neck (then) but she did fucking unzip her shorts and told me put the salt there, that’d be better. Sure. I’m licking salt off where she’d shaved that morning. My lips and tip of my tongue feeling those sharp little spots where the hairs want to come back.

Then she ends up stripping. Really. She and some real stripper get sloshed and she decides to dance. Ends up taking everything off. And let me tell, you this girl ... this girl was something else. She was 5 foot 8 maybe. Skinny. Dark, dark tan. She’s got her husband right there and she’s got a thong on, she’s taking off her top and she’s got these fucking amazing tits. Not huge, not tiny. But full. Pointy. Those tits like the girl dancing in the truck in that Pink Floyd movie, except her tits are tanned brown and her nipples are darker, that kind that point up. Fucking amazing tits. Some of the best I’ve honestly ever seen.

She ends up doing a couple dances with the other stripper, but she isn’t just up there having fun: she actually dances for a few guys around the stage before the songs end. Puts their hands on her. I mean I’d be thinking she’s actually a stripper looking for a job, except if that’s it then what’s the show for? She’s light years ahead of anyone else there. She could get hired in a second.

I can picture her applying for the job. Some skeezy owner, probably overweight, balding, sweaty chewing on a cigar. Her wearing some tight tank, no bra. He probably makes her dance for him and she plays along, peeling off her top slowly, exposing those amazing nipples with her eyes directly on him, him looking back and forth between her eyes and those amazing tits. Hell, they weren’t tits: they were breasts. Amazing breasts. She had breasts. And she’d touch those breasts to his face, slide them down his chest after she unbuttoned his shirt, her soft skin flush against his hairy chest. Probably she ends up giving him a hand job, wiping his jizz off herself as he asks her what schedule she’d prefer. She’d take the best shifts and kill it.

But that’s not her. She isn’t a stripper. She was just ... doing what she wanted to do. She seemed to be having fun. Her husband was into it, the stripper was all for it. Obviously, I was good with it and so was the rest of the bar. You know it’s kind of funny: there’s girls there all day long, drop their top a half a song in and buck naked a few minutes later. They’ll take you back in a room. But get one regular girl, one girl shows up in regular clothes with a ring on their finger. Get that girl up and the second her bra comes off every guy in the room goes rock hard. Makes zero sense. None. Those other are literally pros. Know how to make a guy do what they want, follow them back to some room and give them twenty bucks a dance for not much more than you get at the stage. Those girls can definitely get your attention, but just put some girl from anywhere up there and everyone pays twice as much attention. That’s why they bring them up. Gotta suck, being some hot 22-year old who has to pretend she’s into some woman twenty years older and half as good-looking, knowing that will get more dollars thrown on the stage. Gotta figure there are some plusses to the job but that’s probably not one. Of course this isn’t the situation right now. The stripper and the girl up with her are pretty much on an equal playing field. At least with their clothes off.

Anyway, she does her dances, all of us are up there cheering her on. She really did a great job. I stick around to give her a twenty, because seriously this girl fucking deserved it. No tattoos, no baby fat. This girl was fucking fantastic. I call to her and she comes over. I want to talk to her, wave her to bend down because I’m sitting at the stage; my face is like shin-high on her. Figured she’d lean over. But she didn’t. She crouches. Hear what I’m saying? She crouches. She’s got her face leaned down close to me so she can hear. Her tits are fucking inches away; I could have just reached out and...

And her cunt. Her pussy ... think about what I said: she’s squatting. She’s just ... she’s splayed out in front of me. I can see her lips spread. I feel like I could lean up, reach under, stick my fingers inside her. Touch her asshole another inch further. I swear there’s no way I could smell her, but man: I could smell her. All salty and fucking dreamlike. I’m getting hard just thinking about it. I’m getting hazy. For real.

But seriously, who does that? She was sending a message right then. Second one. Unzipping her shorts. Showing me inside her. Insider her. What the fuck. I was ... I was entranced. I know that word sounds really overboard, but that’s what I was. I got up and went back to our table in a fog. An hour before I was all about going to Greece, but now? Now there’s like a buzz in my head. I don’t hear people clearly, I don’t think clearly. I’m not reacting to questions around me. Everything – every decision I’m making – is taking an extra beat. All I’m thinking about is this girl I just met. Said maybe three sentences to and who I’ve fucking barely ever heard talk. And I’m standing there at my table getting ready to head out and I’m seeing her tits up on that stage and imagining a smell I’ve totally made up in my mind and all I can think about is having her. Making her eyes flutter and her nipples point at the ceiling.

I know that all sounds insane and crazy and wound up. I’m mostly good now. But that’s where I was at that moment. I figure it happens to every man - maybe everyone - once in a while. Once in a while? Once in a lifetime? God, don’t tell me once in a lifetime. But I’m not ready to rule that out.

Anyway, I’m ready to go, paid the tab (just me, as usual) and Phil or Billy or someone says shit, you see her? We should ask them to come to the room. Maybe she’ll get naked again. My heart is fucking thumping after he says that. Trying to not look like a maniac I tell him to go invite them. Make sure he knows the right room number. He comes back and he says they’re coming. We all head out.

So the rest? They show up at the room. Husband is a nice guy, good sport about the strip bar. They’re hanging out, talking to people, it’s all good. And I’m looking at how her tan looks against the white shirt she’s wearing. She’s not even flirting at all. She’s just hanging, holding her husband’s hand, being picky at the food table. And all of it’s driving me crazy. Her husband gets all interested in the video games, and I decide to talk to her. She’s really nice. They are going to Mexico tomorrow. Suddenly I’m trying to figure out if we’ll be in the same terminal at the same time. Maybe we’ll run into each other at the airport convenience store. Maybe our gates will be close together, or we’ll go through security around the same time. I picture security singling her out for the X-ray machine, her legs and arms spread as the security guy grins at her amazing rack in the monitor. Yeah, she’ll get pulled out of line. My mind rifles through a thousand scenarios: anything where I can talk to her again.

We’re at the food table. She’s avoiding carbs. I’m talking about how amazing the room is - five bedrooms. Get gutty; ask if she wants a tour. That’s a pretty clear message, right? She says sure. Then she sees her husband in line for the bathroom and decides to go tell him what we’re doing. Dave wants to show me the rest of the place. And he’s good with it. No issues, I think she even gives him a kiss before takeoff down the hallway.

So after her stop-off with her husband, I’m out of business. But I’ve still got to go through the motions of acting like I really wanted to give her an actual tour. I’m literally walking her down a hallway showing her rooms my friends are staying in. A few rooms with views of the city but shit, they are staying in a hotel a few blocks away, it’s hardly a revelation. My room doesn’t even have windows. We’re at the end of the hall and I point it out, ready to return her to her husband and fucking give up. Give up whatever I’m even trying. She comments on how it sucks I didn’t get any windows and I say well, it’s the master bedroom, so at least it has its own bathroom. It has its own bathroom, she asks. The line to the other bathroom keeps getting longer. She’s right. I mean, that’s where her husband still is. She asks if she could use the one in my room. Please? Of course, I’m not telling those big round eyes no. I’m slipping into friend mode at this point. Giving tours. Letting her use my bathroom. Not only am I not coming on to her, I never even found myself in a position to start coming on to her. She was just so nice. So platonic. I fucking saw her pussy lips spread out in front of me earlier in the day and here we are buddies touring a hotel penthouse.

She heads into the bathroom and I stand there in the dark. She went through the bedroom into the bathroom so fast she didn’t even look for the bedroom light. Now I’m standing there in the dark. Pull out my phone and text my ex-girlfriend back at home.

So we’re going tomorrow morning.

I see the three dots immediately, so she saw it. She responds.

I’m sure you’ll all have fun.

It would be more fun if you were going, too.

D, you know you don’t really want that.

I don’t know how exactly to respond to that. But she starts typing again.

Neither do I.

She’s washing her hands in the bathroom. I’ll send her back out to the party. Gonna need to respond to “Neither do I.” But how?

I don’t believe that. And you have to know I want you here. Want to go to Greece with you. Would stay behind if I was with you.

The bathroom door opens. I hit send. No dots come up yet. Keep looking. Still not yet. I start to type again.

Hey, she says from the bathroom door.