I Turned 20

By Jack, Los Angeles

There is a relationship going on with each person that watches you strip. Some of them enjoy having a flirtatious teasing acquaintance that can make them laugh. Others prefer a more hands on, overtly sexual fantasy-like exchange. I even made several good friends that I speak to during the daylight hours. Most of these people were actively engaged in pursuing me in some way, but let's not forget that I am a person with desires and fantasies, too.

So, there is a delicate balance going on whenever a client comes in to whom you are actually attracted, and with whom you would like to leave at the end of the night. It's important to show enough interest to give them the mating signal, but not so much that the paying folks feel like they shouldn't even bother talking to you: part of the fantasy is that I might go home with them. Shattering that fragile little image is the best way to ensure that I won't make any money that night.

The night of my birthday was particularly interesting. The bartender announced this most auspicious event to the entire club, and so my ass was useless that evening. It was too sore to actually sit on, place on someone's face, or gyrate because of the twenty-three sadistic birthday smacks I received from a drag queen that didn't like me. This was compounded by the fact that everyone in the bar felt inclined to give me a few more. It got to the point where I couldn't let anyone touch it, so my profitability suffered greatly. At a certain point, however, I bumped into a man named Chris. Suffice it to say that he looked good enough to inspire a lot of bad poetry the next day, and was the main character in my masturbation fantasies for at least two weeks. How's that for committed? And people say gay relationships never last!

As it turned out Chris was a wrestler for the army. No, I'm not making this up for the story, honey. He was that fabulous. At any rate, if I had been a woman I would have been a total sopping mess. Actually, I think I was a sopping mess anyway, so that is the best way to describe how gorgeous he is.

I had told the bartender how much I liked this guy. As I was leaving for the evening I said my good-byes to the seven or eight people cleaning up when the bartender stopped me. "What do you mean you have a birthday present for me darling? Seeing you each night is a gift in itself." The bartender made a small gesture with his eyes and chin towards the stage. When I looked over the DJ started playing a particularly nasty remix of "Justify My Love," and after a few bars Chris came out in his own little costume.

We had the combined strength and balance to create shapes that could have inspired new drawing for the Kamasutra.

His body was incredible. Sculpted from his years of army training and wrestling, he was like a fluid marble statue gliding through the space. As he disrobed, I could feel my pulse in my throat - that disturbing pounding that makes it hard to breathe or swallow. He got down to his boxers and my fingers were shaking. Then he surprised me, because I thought that this was as far as he'd go. He stripped off this last stitch of clothing and began touching himself all over.

Chris stepped down off the stage and walked towards me. He took my bag off my shoulder and started unbuttoning my shirt. Once it was on the floor, he knelt down and opened my pants and unzipped the fly with his teeth. As my shorts slipped down and over my boots I reached down to caress his cheeks and lips. His mouth surrounded me like a warm light, and the cheering of the stragglers faded away to a light drone.

Then it was my turn to return the favor. I dropped down and swallowed him whole. His body tensed for a moment as the head of his shaft bumped the back of my throat. My lips skated over his skin like ice, and my tongue was turning pirouettes. He put his hands in my hair and gently pulled me up to his face. As we kissed he lifted me up onto the bar. He pulled himself after, and laid me back gently. We kissed and pressed our cocks tightly into each other's skin, and then we started creating one of the most intense pieces of erotic choreography I'd ever seen. Yes, there were mirrors everywhere. The bar was that tacky.

Given the fact that I am a dancer and he had experience with yoga we had the combined strength and balance to create shapes that could have inspired new drawing for the Kamasutra. I think the landscapes we built would definitely have been worthy of Ansel Adams' lens. He lifted my feet over my head, and placed my knees on either side of my head so that my ass was splayed open and gazing at the ceiling. I must have looked like some kind of perverted fleshy mountain. His tongue explored my paths and ravines with a passionate interest that set me on fire.

Suddenly he lifted me up some how and we were having full out sex on the pool table. The whooping and cheering only added to the intensity of the session as I felt him moving inside me. I found myself wondering if this was at all similar to how it felt to have a child kicking lightly in the womb. He seemed so precious to me.

When we finally finished we were drenched from the exertion. He sat up and held me very close to his torso, and we kissed. That's when the voices finally started penetrating my ears, and I realized what I had just done. Surprisingly enough I wasn't embarrassed or ashamed, but I was disappointed that I couldn't enjoy these last tender moments in privacy. But you can't have everything I suppose.

We didn't exchange numbers. We didn't keep in touch. We never even ran into each other again. Perhaps this is another defining time in my life where I'm supposed to realize how useless and shallow that type of life is, but in fact it is another invaluable experience that only makes me miss it all the more. I was freer when I was a stripper: I was less practical and more in touch with my fantasies. Contrary to feeling shame about these things I rejoice in them: I was able to make other people happy in some small way, and I learned a little bit more about the person that I really am.

NO BIO AVAILABLE.