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Subject: {ASSM} The Stripper Who Knew Too Much (MF) ~ by DrSpin (new)
Date: Wed, 22 May 2002 07:10:04 -0400
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The Stripper Who Knew Too Much (MF) 
By Neil Anthony/DrSpin

---------------------------------------------------------
* The author welcomes comments and opinions from readers 
and is invariably motivated to respond. Write to:
drspin@newsguy.com or neil@ruthiesclub.com

* DrSpin's Standard Disclaimer: 
I write and you read, if you care to. That's all there is 
to it. Any reader who is offended should not have been here 
in the first place.
---------------------------------------------------------

Middle-aged men should not do stag nights. As you get older, 
you gain lower expectations of supposed good-time events that 
fall into a compulsory category. Like New Year's Eve, for 
example. You know what I'm saying is true - the last time you 
had a good time on New Year's Eve was when you were too drunk 
to remember it.

Stag nights are even worse. Yo ho ho, a man is getting 
married, which means we'll all have a great time, right? 
That's the way it's supposed to be, but everyone tries so hard 
to make it happen that the event often falls flat on its 
face. The standard recipe: Alcohol plus a stripper equals a 
guaranteed good time for everyone.

Vern was getting married for the second time. You'd think he 
would have learned the first time that stag nights generally 
flop. But no, he wanted one. Had to have it. Tradition, you 
see.

So there I was, gathered with a bunch of other middle-aged 
friends of middle-aged Vern in the party room of an upmarket 
restaurant, drinking imported beer, nibbling from a table of 
cold seafood and waiting for the stripper to arrive. After 
that, having shown I was a party animal and that I really knew 
how to have a good time, I could make a convenient excuse and 
go home. Vern had closer friends than me. Let them pick him 
out of the gutter at dawn.

The stripper's chaperone looked like an ex-stripper. Bit too 
old for it now, face too lined with experience, body 
undoubtedly so. She addressed us as "gentlemen." Actually used 
that word. She looked and sounded relaxed and comfortable, and 
I guessed she realised a bunch of older guys in business suits 
were unlikely to cause trouble. One of the other guys slipped 
her a wad of notes. She turned her back to us and counted. 
Then she left to get the girl.

The stripper was wearing a party dress. She was pretty. She 
was young. I knew exactly how young - as old as her best 
friend, who happened to be my daughter. 

The stripper's name was Melissa. She was 19, the same age as 
my daughter, Victoria, who was in another State attending a 
music college. Their birthdays were just weeks apart. Melissa 
had been a regular at my house since she was nine years old. 
There was nothing I didn't know about Melissa.

She had a fixed, stripperish smile on her face, and her eyes 
slid around the room and across her audience in an unfocused, 
professional way. Maybe we were the third bunch of guys she 
was stripping for that night. Maybe she had two more functions 
to do. Like everything else, stripping is a business. You took 
the money, you got on with the job.

I sat on my high-backed chair while guys whistled and tried to 
act enthusiastically like guys are supposed to act on stag 
nights. I was going to get the hell out of the place but I 
feared it would draw Melissa's attention to me. I was right in 
the middle of about 15 guys. She hadn't seen me. Maybe she 
wouldn't see me. As long as she didn't see me, it would be all 
right. I'd never mention it, and it would be as if it never 
happened.

The chaperone flicked a switch and music started. Stripper 
music. Melissa, smile fixed in place, started dancing. I sat 
right back in the chair as others, most of them standing, 
pressed forward to see. The lights in my part of the room were 
dim. I was near invisible. It would be all right.

I didn't have a clear view, but I could see she was unzipping 
her dress, taking it off, getting straight down to it. Maybe 
she really did have more bookings that night. White underwear, 
expensive. Silver-white glitter stockings. A garter belt, of 
course. I remembered seeing Melissa in her underwear, coming 
out of our bathroom. She'd been 14 or so. She wasn't wearing a 
garter belt then.

The guy next to me whistled piercingly and surged forward, 
blocking my view. But she was dancing around, and I saw she 
had her bra off. She shimmied her bare tits, and they barely 
wobbled. Small but lovely, tipped with reddish-pink nipples. I 
remembered seeing her nipple. One morning, after she'd had a 
sleepover with Victoria, I'd knocked on the bedroom door to 
wake them up. She blinked her eyes open and looked at me, and 
one breast was part exposed. She was 14 or so. She pulled the 
sheet up unhurriedly and smiled a good-morning-nice-morning-
hello-type smile. 

I caught glimpses of her as she danced about. The stockings 
were coming off, and she poked out her backside and wiggled it 
as she bent over. Melissa had always had a long and lithe 
figure. She'd been a little honey of a girl. She was tall now, 
but long-legged still, and slim, pale, and smooth, and as fit 
as a dancer.

I sat at the back and took no part. She was out of my view for 
a while, and after a crescendo of whistles and cheers the 
music switched to a slower tune. A saxophone drawled and I 
guessed she had taken her pants off. I guessed she was naked.

Through a break in the crowd I caught a glimpse of her. She 
was sitting on Vern's lap, lifting a bare leg and pointing it, 
stretching her toes. Vern had a stupid grin on his face. The 
guys were laughing. She looked like she was naked, but the 
crowd closed in and blocked my view again.

Suddenly people parted, and through the gap, pushing through 
with her elbows, came Melissa. Eyes fixed on mine, she 
straddled my legs and sat down in my lap. Her arms, slick with 
the sheen of dance work, went around my neck, and she pressed 
the tips of her breasts into my chest. She smelled mainly of 
perfume, but also slightly sweaty, like a dancer or a gymnast.

Her mouth was against my left ear. Her lips brushed it, and 
goose bumps sprouted on my arms. "Hello there, Mr. McKenzie," 
she murmured, so only I could hear.

She leaned back on my lap, stretching, her breasts pointing at 
me. The guys were all around, looking, hooting. I feigned a 
smile, but it was weak. Melissa was naked, sitting on my lap. 
Her smile was not fixed at all. Her small, white teeth showed 
and her eyes laughed, knowing. She had me pinned like a 
collector's butterfly, and for some reason she thought it 
was funny.

She darted her head forward and planted a swift kiss on my 
mouth. At the same time her hand reached down, found my rock-
hard cock in my trousers without even searching, and gave it a 
squeeze. Then she was up and gone, lost again in the crowd.

I was horrified. Exposed, caught, accused, guilty. She was my 
daughter's best friend. I'd known her since she was a little 
girl. I knew her parents. I'd helped with her homework and 
I'd coached her at softball.

But all I could see was the vision of Melissa's bare cunt. 
Smooth as a baby's. Not a hair on it. Not even a shadow.

Oh, my God.

I sat, stunned. The music stopped, people applauded, and I 
guess she and her chaperone left the room, because the guys 
were milling about, talking. I got up quietly and slipped 
away, unable to take any more. I had to get out of there and 
get home.

I was in the car park, unlocking my car, when somebody thumped 
on the car roof. It was Melissa and she was grinning at me. 
"Hello again, Mr. McKenzie," she said. "I was hoping you could 
give me a lift home."

Uh. Over her shoulder, a few cars away, the chaperone lady was 
standing, waiting, looking anxious. Uh. Melissa was wearing 
her party dress once more. Uh. She was the one who took off 
her clothes. Why was I the one who was so embarrassed?

"Sure," I said brightly, faking wisdom, maturity, and savoir 
faire. "Of course, Melissa. No problem at all."

She waved at the chaperone, who nodded and got into her own 
car. Uh. Now I was going to have to drive Melissa home. What 
if she asked me what I thought of her act?

"So what did you think of my act?" she asked, immediately we 
left the car park. 

"I was, er, um, er, surprised," I said carefully.

She chuckled quietly and I couldn't look at her. Every time I 
looked at her I saw smooth, bare cunt. "Turn here," she said, 
pointing. "I don't live with my parents any more."

In a few minutes she had directed me to a fashionable 
riverside area, where outdated warehouses had been turned into 
upmarket apartments. I stopped the car at her instructions.

"Come up for a moment," she said. "I'd like you to see it."

She meant her apartment, of course, which I hadn't seen. Her 
smooth, bare cunt I had.

I followed her up three flights of stairs, watching her slim 
hips sway and her tight buttocks bounce in the silver-grey 
party dress. She had great legs. She'd always had great legs.  

Inside the door she flicked a master switch and the whole 
place took on shape and style as the light built gradually. It 
was one big room, without walls, screens, partitions, or 
divisions. Everything looked new except the view, which was 
down over the old and sluggish river. I crossed the floor and 
looked out. A flat barge ablaze with lights slid silently 
past, shunted by a tugboat. You didn't see the barges much any 
more. The river had once been an income for this city, a 
reason to work and to live. Now it was just a quiet and 
melancholic view.

"Spectacular," I said enviously. "I want it."

She came up behind me. I could hear her breathe. "It's why I 
strip," she said quietly.

Yeah. It was a reason. "Good money?" I asked.

"Sinfully good," she said. "I can't play the violin like 
Victoria. She was always better than me."

Both had been gifted as kids but, true, Victoria had been 
marginally better. The violin is a hard mistress.

Something was biting at me like a tiny spider trapped in my 
clothes. "Melissa, is stripping all you do?"

She turned away, her heels clacking on the polished wooden 
floor. "The money is too good to refuse," she said, so easily 
and simply I knew she hadn't mistaken my question. "But I 
don't do it much. Just occasionally. I don't take risks."

I turned and she was holding out a bottle to me. Single malt, 
good brand. Too good to refuse, and I nodded. "It's your 
life," I said evenly, trying hard not to show my extreme 
disappointment.

"It is," she agreed, handing me a glass. "Don't worry, I'm not 
making a career out of it. Two, maybe three more years, and 
then I'll be set. I won't be famous like Victoria, but I'll be 
set."

I gestured at the apartment, the view, everything. "Does 
Victoria know about this?"

"I have no secrets from Victoria," she said. "Except maybe 
one."

"You won't tell her about seeing me?" It came out more anxious 
than it should have.

"Ah," she said. "That's the secret, you see - the one about 
the crush I've had on you for as long as I can remember."

I winced. The smooth, bare cunt was back at the front of my 
brain, and the way her slick and sweaty torso had smelled when 
she sat on my lap. The light in the apartment slipped and 
tilted.

"No," I said, without knowing what I was saying it about.

She advanced a couple of slow paces and she had a crooked 
smile on her face. "I have an older man thing," she said. "I 
think it's your fault."

"No," I said again.

"Back there at the party," she said, "I was so excited when I 
saw you. Finally I was going to get you to see me naked. 
Finally. After trying so hard all those years."

"No."

"You have no idea the tricks I tried," she said. "But you 
never turned up in the right place at the right time." The 
smile was still crooked, uncertain. "You were so good looking, 
so solid, so square, and you never knew a thing about it. I 
was hoping you'd see me and sweep me up in your arms. But the 
McKenzies are such a goody-goody family. You didn't, and you 
wouldn't have anyway."

"No."

"But you will now."

"No."

"Don't be silly, Mr. McKenzie. I might not have known what I 
was doing then, but I do now."

She put down her glass on a side table and, looking at me with 
a smile grown more confident, slowly raised the hem of her 
dress. And there it was again - smooth, bare cunt.

"What happened to your nice underwear?" 

Ridiculous question. What did that have to do with anything?

"In my carry bag," she said, watching me steadily.

"Right," I said, not able to look away.

She lifted the dress up and over her head and dropped it on 
the floor. She was naked but for her shoes. "Stay with me a 
while," she said.

Hypnotized, I stayed. On the big bed in the big room with all 
the lights on, I tried to get my dry lips brushing across that 
smooth, bare cunt. But she would have none of it. Eyes 
gleaming with excitement, she demanded instant impalement, 
hands pushing at me, urging me on. I slid into Melissa, my 
daughter's best friend, and she laughed out loud when I was 
fully lodged.

Some women look away when you fuck them. Not Melissa. She 
stopped laughing but she never stopped smiling, and she never 
stopped looking right into my eyes. God knows what she saw. 
It's lucky guilt doesn't affect the hardness of an erection. 
If anything, and who knows why, it makes it like tempered 
steel.

Guilt, or perhaps it was the lazy passage of the barge on the 
river outside, also took away the fever of my fucking. I 
pushed into her at measured pace and full length, and her eyes 
said she liked it. But her eyes were saying many things, and I 
knew I wasn't getting all the messages, and I also knew I 
wasn't meant to get them.

I moved slowly inside her. Slowly out, slowly back. She was 
co-operating, but minimally, leaving me with most of the work. 
I carried the thrust slowly home and lifted and ground into 
her, pressuring. She opened her mouth and her head lifted from 
the pillow until I resumed my rhythmical stroking.

That seemed to act as some sort of trigger. Her eyes narrowed 
and she joined the rhythm with her hips rolling. Slowly and 
deliberately, she pulled up her legs and wound them around my 
waist, crossing and locking her heels. I rammed home hard and 
ground vigorously into her pelvis, shaking her like a cat does 
a mouse as she clung to me. "Oh shit," she said clearly, and 
when I looked into her eyes she was looking back indistinctly, 
her mouth open. She was hunched into me and I ground against 
her, making friction. I withdrew but slammed back quickly, 
crushing hard against her again. "Jesus," she muttered. And 
again: "Oh shit." All of a sudden she went over the precipice, 
gripping me tightly with her legs and throwing her arms wide 
on the bed. Her head lifted from the pillow, her eyes tightly 
shut and her mouth wide open. I saw her back teeth and the 
strained and corded muscles of her neck. Then she fell back 
wordlessly and her legs rolled off my back and down beside me. 

She opened her eyes and looked at me with frank amusement. 
"Well, that's a bonus," she said. "I was happy to have you 
just because you're you, but it's all the better if you have 
some idea about what you're doing."

"Thank you, I think," I said.

She chuckled and wriggled her hips. "Stop holding back, Mr. 
McKenzie. Finish the job."

I took the advice, slamming into her while she continued to 
look into my eyes. "Ah," she said, as I spasmed and shook, 
letting it go. She stroked my back gently as I collapsed on 
her. "Such a nice man," she said absently, "but a man 
all the same."

Yeah. Right. And a married man, too. Cold sweat broke out on 
my forehead as I lay on top of her, still buried within her. 
Idiot. I wasn't a cheater. Well, not by intention, anyway. I 
could forgive myself for being tempted to fuck a beautiful 
young stripper, but for God's sake not Melissa. What had I 
done?

I rolled off her and looked at the high ceiling. Idiot. Fool. 
Nincompoop.

"I can smell you panicking already," Melissa said dryly. "I 
guess you won't be staying the night."

Careful. If I pissed her off she could cause all sorts of 
trouble, not the least telling Victoria she'd screwed her 
father. I needed to think. I needed a strategy.

"Oh, go on," she said. "Leave me. You have a home and Mrs. 
McKenzie to go to. You know, I never liked Mrs. McKenzie all 
that much. It was you I liked."
 
Careful. Watch that tongue. "And Victoria," I added.

"Yes, well, that's another issue," Melissa said. "We had a big 
fight six months ago. We haven't spoken since."

Idiot. Nincompoop. Fresh sweat broke out on top of the older 
and colder. "That's nothing, surely," I said. "You two were 
always fighting. That's what good friends do. Well, girls, 
anyway."

"Not like this time," she said. "Victoria is such a goody-
goody."

"Ah," I said. "She disapproves."

Melissa rolled over quickly and put a hand on my chest. Her 
smooth, bare cunt slid lazily and suggestively on my thigh. 
"But you don't, Mr. McKenzie," she said, blue eyes sharp and 
penetrating. "You don't disapprove. You can't disapprove, 
'cause you just fucked me."

Enough. The longer I stayed the wider the jaws of the trap 
opened. Self-preservation was an urgent priority, and it was 
time to get the hell away. There was going to be no smooth way 
to do it, so the answer was simple. Do it.

I rolled away and out of the bed, searching for my clothes. 
She propped her head on an arm and watched me. "So," she said, 
"you really are leaving?"

I struggled into my trousers. "You know I have to go, 
Melissa."

"It's not even eleven," she said. "You could stay a couple 
more hours, easy."

I buttoned my shirt and sat down to slip on my shoes. "No, I 
really do have to go."

"I could ring Mrs. McKenzie. I could tell her we met up and 
we're having a chat about the good old days. I could say we're 
talking about Victoria."

I stood up and slipped on my coat. "Melissa, no."

She lay on the bed, head propped, perfect little breasts 
slumping just a little. "Go, then," she said. "See if I care."

I headed for the door and almost reached it. I heard her 
running behind me and I turned. She had an empty glass in her 
hand, and she had it raised in the air, ready to strike. I 
waited, passively. She lowered her hand. "Go, then," she said 
icily. "You're a bastard, Mr. McKenzie, and a creep. I never 
want to see you again."

I opened the door and left. Behind me I heard the glass 
shatter on the floor. I kept on walking, down the stairs and 
into my car.

Little girls grow up but older men never do. Two weeks later 
Victoria came home on vacation. My wife rang me at work late 
in the afternoon. Victoria and Melissa had patched up their 
differences, she said, and wasn't that nice. Don't work late, 
she said, because Melissa was coming to dinner. It would be 
nice, she said. Just the four of us, like it was in the good 
old days.

I had been thinking I'd gotten away with it.

ENDS

Edited by Ruthie and Nat.

---------------------------------------------------------

* DrSpin/Neil Anthony is at http://www.ruthiesclub.com

* also at neil@ruthiesclub.com and at http://www.ruthiesclub.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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