I met Sky at a friend’s bachelor party. She definitely turned heads. The only girl that trolled the floor in a dress. My friends and I spent at least a hour brushing off dancers. Sky was pointed out to me by one of the guys. The bachelor was hoping to buy a lap dance from her, but was sidetracked by a Pat Benatar look-a-like. Unlike most of the women, Sky waited behind our couch and watched the show. I caught a look from her and I was on my way.She lead me by the hand to another dance floor. It was her turn on the poles. A perfect body was unveiled as she strip away the few layers of clothes she wore. I was enthralled. A woman sitting next to me thought I worked at the club because I had escorted Sky to the floor. We made idle chat about dancing regs, but I couldn’t turn my head from Sky. I know, this is sappy.

Once her song was over, Sky lead me to a dark corner. In a sweet soft voice, she asked me to take off my over-shirt. I sat there in my Stewey–”I’m a dirty, foul, little boy” t-shirt. Sky curled up in my arm and rubbed my chest and flirted with me. Her soft round butt was just a few inches from my hands. I am an ass grabber and it took superhuman will to resist. I didn’t want to bounced.

My past experiences with strip clubs laid down the rules of behavior. Hands to yourself, no inappropriate touching. Sky gave me enough rope to hang myself with. I asked about rules for her club. As long as there isn’t too much touching, the main thing is that the customer is supposed to have fun. Her hips bushed close to my face.Sky put herself close to me. I could smell her skin and hear her sweet sighs cooes, and moans as she ground her hips into mine. I have never had an experience like this with a stripper. I could touch her. I even kissed her a few times. Never on the face, but on the shoulder, the back, the abdomen. She put all this in my reach. My only repayment for all this were a few slips of green paper and a foot massage.

If this hadn’t been so unreal, it would have lead to sex. Sky seemed to take great pleasure in knowing that I was rock hard. My crooked little cock made it difficult for her find an angle for her own pleasure, but she persisted. Eventually, I straightened myself and we continued to grind. I flirted and we rocked on ground. She enjoyed the foot massage and told me that I was sweet.

I enjoyed running my fingers through her long soft hair and brushing her cheek. I didn’t want to leave. At the back of my mind though, the cynic piped up. She does this for money. Her compliments and flirting are to entice me out of more money. Sky is god-awful beautiful, leggy, and sweet voiced, but she also uses these to extract money out of the patrons’ pockets. Ultimately, my love affair with a stripper is monetary and hollow, but it is honest. For a few minutes, she made me feel sexy, charming, and asked nothing for this but a few dollars. No hassles, no hang-ups. No love. Maybe there are few things that I would want and would be willing to trade some hassles and hang-ups for.