Posted in sex, strip club | August 4th, 2008 by Coy Pink
Kids dropped off at babysitter’s house – check.
Down a couple of drinks – check.
Wallet full of cash – check.
Looks like we’re ready to hit up the strip club!
We pull into the parking lot at the club and have no trouble finding parking because it is D-E-A-D. Admittedly, we’re there pretty early for a Saturday night. So while there will be less chance for shy little me to blend in, I know we’ll have our pick of dancers. This is our third visit to this club. My third visit to a strip club ever. I’m more comfortable there now but there is still a part of me that feels a bit sheepish. It’s a mixture of nervousness and excitement. Other than the dancers and waitresses, I’m the only girl there. I find this fact equal parts silly and thrilling. I especially stand out tonight since there are only about ten patrons in the club. But I know that my husband is enjoying this. Walking in there together is a statement to all who see us – this guy is getting laid tonight. We pay our cover charge, pick out a seat, and settle in to watch the girls shake their stuff.
The dancer that is on stage when we come in is a bit scary. I waste no time telling Hub that I don’t care to have a private dance with her. (She came to talk to us later on in the night and it turns out she has the same name as one of our daughters. Yet another reason I wouldn’t be enjoying that dance!) We sip our drinks as we watch the girls cycle through on the stage. They’re beautiful. Many of them are quite impressive with their pole skills. I am earnestly trying to decipher their tattoos. I wonder about their lives. I marvel at how they walk on shoes with such high heels. But I need to stop thinking, picking apart the situation and start enjoying show. I’m missing out on all of the jiggling tits and pussy flashing while I’m busy wondering if they ever fall over on stage. Sometimes it’s hard for me to turn off my brain and just let go.
When it becomes clear that we’ve seen all of the dancers working that night, I tell my husband which two I might be interested in getting a private dance from. One is an older (by strip club standards) blond. She’s not too tall, has a nice body, and doesn’t appear aloof (this is important to me). The other dancer I point out is Roxy. Although she’s very beautiful, she doesn’t have the stereotypical look of a stripper. It’s obvious that without her giant shoes, she is of average height. She has straight brown hair cut in an inverted bob (I love this cut). Her body is amazing. Not stick thin, curvy in all the right places. The clincher – her glasses. She looks smart and sassy as she crosses the club to the stage. She looks like a real girl. She’s confident and sexy, never once getting the bored look on her face that many strippers have. She’s my first choice. We wait to see if she will work her way to our table but she never does. Hub takes matters into his own hands and approaches her. Though she hasn’t danced for many women or couples, she agrees. We follow her back to the VIP dance area.
She points to the seat I should sit in and slips off her shoes. She chats with me for a minute, waiting for the next song to start. My husband is sitting on the seat next to mine, smiling over at us. She slips off her sheer skirt as the song starts and moves closer to me. She has me spread my legs and straddles my knee. She grinds herself onto me and I am in heaven as she leans in close. It’s all happening in a blur. One moment she’s standing in front of me, shaking her ass. The next she’s right up in my face, allowing my hands to caress her hips and thighs. I want to touch her but I don’t want to be rude. She likely deals with men groping her all the time, I want to be different. I look up into her face and want to melt. She pulls her top down and lets me touch her breasts. At this moment I am aware of nothing more than this gorgeous girl, right in my face, biting my neck, and allowing me to touch her hungrily. Too soon the song ends. I look expectantly over at my husband, my eyes asking for permission for one more dance. He eagerly agrees. The second dance is more of the same intoxicating hotness. She is all over me. Running her hands across my breasts as she wiggles on my lap, moaning softly in my ear. I lose myself in the moment, believing for the few short minutes she’s with me that she wants to be there.
The second song ends and we stand up. She and I both giggle nervously. I thank her, telling her how cute I think she is. She smiles and compliments me on my hair. I am floating. My husband pays her and he and I walk back to our table. More people are filling the club now and it appears that more dancers are working. We chat and laugh together, enjoying our evening. I tell him he can get a dance if he likes, I won’t be jealous. He smiles at me, saying he’s just happy to be there with me. I beam, thinking to myself what a lucky girl I am. We watch the dancers for a while longer but I don’t see anyone else I’m dying to get a private dance from. I can see that the night isn’t going quite the way Hub had planned. He scans the club, looking for Roxy. One more dance?, he asks. Who am I to turn that kind of offer down? He finds Roxy and she leads me by the hand to the back of the VIP area.
The last dance is much like the first two but with more roaming hands. She leads my hand up the inside of her thigh. I run my hands across her chest. I wish I could kiss her. I try to savor the moment and soak it all in, knowing we’ll be leaving soon. She laughs and smiles at my husband. She is so sweet and adorable, I wish I could take her home with me. As Hub pays her she mischievously says she’ll be keeping her eye out for the two of us. After the treatment she’s given me tonight, I’ll be looking for her too. Roxy is my new dream girl.
Having spent a good deal of time and money at the club, we decide it’s time to leave. Time to head back to our real life. We walk to the car, hand in hand. I’m still floating in a dreamy state, on a high from being so close to a girl. We get into the car, Hub in the drivers seat. We may be heading back to our lives of being Mommy and Daddy but there is still some time until we get to the kids. The gleam in my husband’s eye tells me he has something planned for the drive. Little do I know this night will end up being one of the hottest nights ever.
When he pinched my nipples so hard and without letting up I thought, “He’s in charge tonight.” The contrast between the pain of the pinches and the delicious pleasure of his finger on my clit was overwhelming. He placed my feet upon his knee, giving him access to my ass. I love it when he spanks me. He spaces the spankings apart, heightening my anticipation. Striking me just when I think he’s finished. I melt under his hand, yielding to whatever it might be that he has in mind.
He knows just how to work me. He licks his fingers and sinks them deep into me. Rubbing in just the right places at just the right time. He fingers me until I am wet then withdraws his hand and concentrates on my clit. He’s driving me mad. I want to come but I want him in me. I wait, enjoying the pleasure, to see what he has planned. Will he climb on top of me? Will he order me to my knees and bring out the paddle? I can feel my orgasm building but this isn’t how I want to come. I can no longer be patient. Time to switch things up.
I move his arm away, climb up, and push him down on his back. It’s my turn to be in charge. I love when he runs the show but tonight I am usurping his power. I climb on top of him, my mouth on his, as he sinks deep into me. I am so close that I know it won’t take much for me to come. I keep him firmly pinned down as I ride myself closer and closer to the edge. He lifts his face to mine and I push him back down with a firm kiss. I am thrilling at having taken over, knowing he is enjoying the exchange of power and position as well. I kiss him, stare into his eyes, moving faster. Then I come. This release has been building and is more than I anticipated. I gasp, throw my head back, and give myself over to the delicious pleasure. I am a woman possessed. I want more and so I continue to ride him until he can no longer hold back. I push my body to his as grips me tight.
I lay my head down on his shoulder and gently kiss his neck. He runs his hand over my back. I am completely satisfied and blissfully soak up this moment of quiet calm. The night could have turned out just as fulfilling had I sunk deeper into the submissive role I so often enjoy in bed. But for tonight, I’m glad I chose to grab hold of the reins and Switch things up.
I like girls. Love them, in fact. They’re fun, beautiful, soft, strong, and never what they appear on the surface. It’s taken me a long time to realize and acknowledge that I am attracted to women. I don’t think I could ever have an exclusive relationship with a woman but I can certainly appreciate their lure and often dream about being intimate with them. But where is a girl like me supposed to find another girl like me? The majority of my everyday life is consumed with being a mother and wife. Though I’m not old (33), I’m no young thing out tearing up the clubs every weekend. So with my husband’s blessing, I dove into the world of Craigslist.
Have you ever browsed your local Craigslist Casual Encounters section? I liken it to a car wreck – so fascinating you just can’t look away. Men, women, couples. All looking for something. Sex, companionship, a blow job. You name it, it’s most likely on Craigslist. The forum is also filled with lots of ads that didn’t pertain to my search. I plugged on, determined to find a listing that I could respond confidently to. However much I searched, I could not find a woman that fit what I was looking for. They were all either too far away or looking for something that I am not. Feeling discouraged with my search and wondering if I was the only woman in the situation that I found myself in, I decided to post my own ad. It was, in my mind, a long shot but what the hell. What did I have to lose? The worst that could happen: no one would respond. The best: I might find HER.
My Craigslist post was honest. Maybe honesty isn’t the sexiest thing but I wanted to weed out the undesirables before they could even get to me. I wrote the kind of ad that I would have responded to. Days passed. I thought to myself, oh well, at least I tried. Then I got an answer. I had found her. Just like me. So similar on the surface that I was amused. We exchanged pictures, ironed out a few details about further activities (can my husband watch? yes, after we’re comfortable with each other), and decided to meet.
She emailed her phone number to me a day or two later, saying she’d had a bad day and if I was free, maybe we could meet up. My stomach was instantly in knots. I can’t remember ever feeling so nervous. I called her. She sounded surprised at hearing from me so soon and was flustered and shy on the phone. It was adorable and immediately put me at ease. We agreed to meet that night, at a small restaurant between our homes, for drinks. I was excited and nervous, happy that we had decided to have drinks instead of coffee. I knew I would need some liquid courage to overcome my nervousness.
I arrived at the restaurant first and seated myself at a table in the bar. I’m pretty sure I was the only girl there and felt very conspicuous and out of place. I ordered a Cadillac margarita and proceeded to drink it as quickly as possible. I kept thinking to myself, “I’m having a blind date!” A strange thought, that. I’ve been with my husband for almost 15 years, 13 of those married. I have not had a date since I met him when I was almost 19. Now I was not only having a blind date but I was having a blind date WITH A GIRL! I was feeling a strange mix of nervousness and calm confidence. I wanted this girl to like me but I didn’t need for her to like me. There was some comfort in that knowledge, it helped to put me a little at ease.
I heard the bells on the door to the restaurant jingle. I looked up and she walked around the corner. She was cute. Punky, shy-looking, with a haircut almost identical to my own. I noticed a piercing in her septum and a tattoo on her arm. They told me she was not your average girl but not in an in-your-face kind of way. As she sat down we both smiled and acknowledged how nervous we were. Getting that out in the open, along with the drinks we were hiding behind, helped us to ease into conversation. She was outwardly anxious, fiddling with her drink, twisting her hands together. Seeing that she, the more experienced of the two of us, was so nervous somehow calmed me.
I liked her almost immediately. This is the kind of woman that I would seek out to be friends. She told me about her life, I told her about mine. We had enough things in common to keep the conversation going and enough differences to be interesting to each other. I was enjoying her company and knew that even if nothing more came of this meeting, I wouldn’t regret having come for this date. As she was talking, I kept having to remind myself that I was here as a prelude to hooking up with this girl for sex. Sex! With a girl! I wasn’t just having drinks with a new friend, I was interviewing a potential new lover. Thank goodness the tequila was keeping me chatty, smiling, and fun. Without it I may have just clamed up, crushed under the reality of the situation.
After chatting for a good long while, I paid for our drinks and we wandered outside. Neither of us were ok to drive yet so I suggested we sit in my car and chat. I was thankful once again for our similarities as I let her into my messy car. Here my primary life of being a mom – juice boxes, fish crackers, kids books – and my secondary life as a sexually charged woman were colliding. I was grateful she was in a similar position in her life and could appreciate the state of my world. I fumbled with my Zune, playing some of my favorite songs, and nervously making small talk. I think we both knew why I’d asked her to my car instead of just parting ways. I asked her if I could kiss her. She said yes. I leaned over and placed my lips on hers. Her mouth was small and she kissed me gently. Once or twice when I leaned into the kiss, she moaned softly. My hand slid from cradling her head to resting gently on her exposed chest. All I could think was, holy crap I’m kissing a girl! After we finished kissing we both giggled shyly. She told me she loved that I was a little shy and unsure, just like her. She lowered her eyes, smiled, and told me she was very glad we’d met up that night. We talked about setting up another meeting, this time at my house, for the coming weekend. It seemed we were moving forward. We said our good byes and parted ways, with the understanding that we would firm up our plans soon. I drove off, floating on a cloud, a mess of emotions swirling inside of me.
The further I drove, the more unsure and confused I became. I thought back to the kiss. I remember having the thought while I was kissing her that I wished I was kissing my husband. I tried to imagine her coming to my house and how our encounter might unfold. By the time I reached home, I was in a full panic. I felt scared, my head was spinning, and the only thought I had was, “I can’t do this.” My husband was waiting for me, expecting a hot ending to the night. I fell into his arms and confessed that this was all too much for me. I thought I would be more than happy to pick up a girl and have an amazing time being with a woman for the first time. What I discovered was that I’m unable to turn my heart and my head off as easily as I’d imagined. When fantasy crossed over into real life, it was too much for me to take. All I wanted in that moment was to be completely enveloped in my husband and his love. I wanted him, no one else. As always, he gave me just what I needed.
Now I had to tell this lovely lady about my feelings. I felt, for lack of a more eloquent description, like a total ass. I had placed this ad. I had set up the date. I had kissed her. I had made plans to take things further. Now I had to tell her I’d changed my mind. I sent her a message, trying to be as kind as I could, laying out the facts for her. Lucky for me, she was very gracious and thanked me for being honest. She also said that she would still like to be friends. We’ve written back and forth a few times since the date and it has been lovely to have a new woman friend to talk to.
Not quite the dream ending, eh? Funny how things never turn out the way you expect. I haven’t decided if that night was the end of my search for a physical relationship with a woman. I still have the desire to be with a girl. Maybe it just has to be a different woman, a different time. Or maybe the fantasy of it all will just have to be enough. But I can tell you how I wish an encounter would go… (check back for that!)
When it comes to things related to sex, I’ve always had this bit of shyness that overtakes me. I don’t know why, I don’t know where it comes from. I’ve felt embarrassed to say what I want, what I feel, what I like. Why? I’ve been with my husband for almost 15 years now. We’ve had sex countless times, he’s seen me at my worst and at my best. Why has it been so hard for me to come out and tell him my inner most thoughts with regards to sex? If ever there was a person to trust with the dark, sexy thoughts in my head, it’s him. What is holding me back?
I’m getting better at sharing, that’s for sure. I’m starting to believe that all the talk about women reaching their sexual peak in their thirties is true. I’m becoming more confident, less apt to care about what others think of me. I wouldn’t say I’m 100% happy with my body but I can appreciate my good features. I’ve grown up, given birth, and my attitudes are changing. I’m starting to see that there’s no sense in being coy when it comes to my sexual desires. If I never tell my husband what pleases me, what I want, what I need, how do I expect him to know these things? Oh, he is skilled at figuring out on his own what I like most of the time. Fingers here make her squirm, kisses here make her shiver. But if I never say out loud what is brewing in my mind, all the steamy thoughts I have about spankings and women and dominance, I have no one to blame but myself for not having those needs and desires fulfilled.
So I am now taking the lion’s share of the responsiblity for my sexual satisfaction into my own hands, in a manner of speaking. If I want it, I need to say it. If I desire it, I have to let it be known. I will no longer be embarassed about sex and its trapings. It serves no purpose. I want to explore my sexuality with abandon. What better place than the wide open, anonymous internet for me to write about all the lovely, dirty little things I have spinning around in my head.
