This one is about a stripper, who we're gonna call R. Yes, I am selling a story of stripper conquest in discussing my aloof nature. Don't worry . . . I stick to my guns by eventually disappointing her.
I'm not a hardcore strip club guy. I go to a strip club when I'm depressed enough that drinking and trolling for women just doesn't appeal to me. Yes, there are times where you just don't want to be among the normals.
This was the first time I had seen R. It's a dive-y club, even by the relatively low standards of strip clubs. But, dive clubs can be fun, frankly, because you can get away with all kinds of shit. You get the right dancer on the right night, say she's on a bender and she broke up with her boyfriend, you got a chance to get laid. That doesn't work at better clubs, where the level of professionalism ruins everything.
R liked me from the word go. After the first set I saw her on-stage, she came down and sat with me. We chatted and chatted until her next set. She did her set and when done came back down and sat on my lap. It went on like this for hours and expanded to hand-holding and necking until one of the bouncers actually griped about it. And then we just sat and held hands and kinda played with each other below the table.
R falls under one of my types that I like. R was a nerdy black chick. She had a cartoonish figure in the tradition of the sexiest black stereotypes. Probably 140 or 150 pounds, but fairly tall. Like maybe 5'9". She wore thick, ugly no-fuck glasses that she could not see without. She cracked pirate jokes and nerd jokes and pretty sounded like a page from Reddit. And she wanted to show off every silly stripper costume she owned to me.
No money changed hands except when she was on stage. I tipped because tipping is the thing to do. The bouncers were not amused by it. I overheard a couple of the dancers talking about it and one of them said, "She likes him."
So . . . seven hours later, after her shift was over, we're on her couch. It's like 2am at this point. R does a little bit of tease for half a minute, we lose the clothes and she straddles me as I sat there.
It's weird what happened next, because I was starting to like R. But, simply put, R fucks like a guy. No foreplay. No cuddling. No oral. Very hard, very quick sexy. And she's not a small girl, so it wasn't particularly easy on my back or my legs.
I realize a fair number of guys would hear a story of quick, rough sex with a stripper and think, "Sign me up." I'm not like that. I don't particularly enjoy sex in itself, anyhow. I far more enjoy just being close to a woman than fucking her brains out.
Stunned, and feeling a sudden insight into rabbit sex, I told R that I had a bit of a drive ahead of me and needed to get up for work tomorrow. She wrote down her number for me. I left.
I never called her. I thought about it for a couple weeks. After that I stopped even thinking about it, realizing how awkward that would be. When I finally went back to that club, the girls there told me she had moved back to California.
It's kind of pathetic, considering I liked her on a personal level. You don't like to think that sex can ruin everything. But, I couldn't get past it. And it didn't strike me there was an easy way to tell a girl you like her, but that one-night stand was way too rough. Not to mention how much of a pussy I would have sounded like saying that.
So, I let it go.