by Joanna Angel
Now that I thought about it, Jill always did have a weird thing about going in public bathrooms. She got through all of freshman year without ever using the bathrooms in school, ever, because she was deathly afraid of them. But regardless, Charlie was the lead in the high school play, he allegedly scored a perfect score on his SATs, and he was the captain of both the football team and soccer team. He was not a public restroom. His mouth had been very NOT public, and had remained only open to Jill for many, many years now, and she should really, out of the goodness of her heart, have peed in it.
I sat in the dark corner listening intently to every word. I was figuratively on the edge of my seat, but not literally, because then I would not be in the dark anymore.
“Tell me more about it, while I grind on your cock,” Brandi said, and she gently put her hand on his crotch. He reached into the pocket of his pants and handed her two twenty-dollar bills. She stuck them in the garter belt wrapped around her thigh, and she put both her knees on the couch, put her breasts back in his face, and slid onto him like a Tetris puzzle piece. It was a dance, but also a business transaction. But also, all done in the name of urinating in Charlie Silversteen’s mouth, which was kind of beautiful.
I was taking copious mental notes. All that talk was the foreplay, or therapy maybe? I wasn’t sure. Maybe a bit of both. She slid her silver bikini top triangles to the side, and she smothered him with her breasts while grinding up and down on him. She had her mouth right next to his ear—I couldn’t hear what she was saying to him, and he was mumbling a bunch of things to her that I couldn’t hear either. She gracefully moved up and down while they stared intently into each other’s eyes. He had his hands on her ass, and he was leaning himself into her as she pushed against him. They were having as much sex as they could possibly have with clothes on, without kissing.
He put his hands all over her ass and her breasts, without touching the nipples. She grabbed onto the collar of what I assumed was a designer shirt that came from actual Nordstrom—not Nordstrom Rack—and used it as leverage to grind up against his cock harder. I was aroused watching them. It felt like my ex-boyfriend and my current girlfriend were having sex in front of my eyes as a special kinky show just for me, only I never dated him . . . or her . . . and they weren’t having sex. He started to smile, and she started grinding harder and harder. As she reached some kind of climax, she moaned heavily into his ear and then began to come down, going slower and slower, ending her dry humping as the song that was playing also ended. It was a good catchy beat to have in the background while talking about wanting pee in your mouth. She kissed him on the cheek and said, “I’ll be right back.”
Charlie had an almost empty bottle of Naked juice next to him on the couch. Brandi grabbed it. Was she offering to recycle his trash for him as a complimentary thank you for getting a lap dance? She walked away and grabbed my hand, pulling me off the couch as she walked past. I wasn’t sure where we were going with this 70 percent backwash and 30 percent juice mix, but wherever it was, I was ready.
She pulled me into the bathroom, emptied out the remainder of green healthy drink into the sink, and gave the bottle a quick rinse. She handed it to me. Was I getting into the stripping industry at the wrong time? Were we going to go exchange this somewhere for five cents?
“How much did you hear?” she asked.
“Most of it!” I said.
“Good! I’m glad you were paying attention. Well . . . can you pee in this bottle for me? I’m pretty dehydrated right now.”
“What!” I laughed. “Are you serious?”
“Yes! Come on! I know you can do it!” She pointed at the bottle of water in my hands, which I’d been nursing while taking notes on their lap dance. She locked the door to the bathroom. This seemed to be the women’s bathroom for customers, but there were no actual women customers, so this bathroom was whatever we needed it to be.
She pushed me against the door and kissed me, and I was completely caught off guard. Wasting no time, she got down on the ground and went for my pussy. She licked me fiercely. It took her .00025 seconds to get to the same spot it took my last date a good twenty minutes to get to. Don’t tell him I said that. This woman knew her way around a vagina. She curled her fingers and slid them inside me, and I was shocked that (a) this was happening and (b) her acrylic nails slid right in and didn’t hurt at all. I felt my pussy clench up, so tight around her fingers, like it was going to snap them off.
She was fucking the shit out of me with her curled fingers. My legs trembled, I was so confused. I felt like the teacher I had a crush on was fucking me in some secret teachers’ lounge. She licked my clit and moved her fingers in and out of me at record speed. In and out, and then . . . gush. I started squirting, or peeing, or whatever I was doing. I lost control of my own body, clear liquid spouted out of me, and Brandi continued to finger me as the liquid spilled. With her other hand she simultaneously got the bottle undeath me. Some of the liquid leaked all over Brandi’s hands, and some went directly into the bottle.
I was quivering and shaking, moaning softly, and I wasn’t sure if we were sneaking around—could you “sneak” sexual activity in a place where it was our jobs to be naked? But we were in a public bathroom with the door locked. I looked down and basked in the beauty of Brandi on the floor of the strip club bathroom. Her blonde hair, her slim hand that was half inside of my pussy, her Dcup breasts, her tan smooth skin, and her curvy round ass . . . I was so turned on. I forgave Jill for ditching me for the juniors because she made this moment happen.
Brandi licked her fingers and grinned. “You taste good,” she said. She got up and kissed me—I wanted to keep kissing her, but she clearly had places to go and bottles of my fluids to deliver. She screwed the top onto the bottle, kissed me on the cheek, and said, “Whatever he pays me for this, I’ll give you half.”
She unlocked the door and walked out. I stood there with a smile on my face and a dripping wet pussy. Just this morning I was fired for spilling fluids on someone, and now it was like I’d been promoted for that very same action. This was karma coming back to me in a very filthy way, and I liked it.
To go back and see Naomi give a lap dance, turn to page 52.
To continue with Naomi in this fantasy, turn to page 67.
Over the next couple of months, Brandi and I became quite the dynamic duo at Club 42. She was like my stripper sensei, and Club 42 was our dojo. I was typecast as her “shy nerdy friend,” and I found it quite humorous. To my friends who knew about my new profession, I was by far the most bold and daring person they knew. But somehow, to her, I was “shy” even though I was spreading my legs open on the same stage that she did. One day she brought me a pair of thick black glasses with tape in the middle of them. She said they made her think of me. They became part of my wardrobe here, and I paired them with short plaid skirts and suspenders. I was Club 42’s resident Steve Urkel.
On some days, we’d divide and conquer. We’d pick and choose sections of the club, designate one section to each of us, and lap dance our way through everyone. Then she’d attempt to work backward, and go back to everyone we’d already danced for, convincing them to get “doubles” with the two of us. I’d report to her if I knew someone was into busty blondes, and she would report back to me if someone was into “nerds.” She had an uncanny ability to know the limit on anyone’s credit card just by looking at it, and she also knew how to get them to spend to that limit, with a twinkle in her eye and a smile on their face.
She’d been dancing for over ten years, and she’d been at Club 42 for seven of them. Under her wing, I got some special privileges. Tony would let her run her own credit cards, so anytime a customer wanted a VIP room, she could process it herself—all the other girls had to track down Tony to do it for them, which was problematic when he was nowhere to be found. Sometimes he’d wave both of our house fees, just because.
She played a good ditsy blonde, but she was incredibly smart. I didn’t know if she knew how smart
she really was. She’d dropped out of high school and had no real formal education. If she applied her stripper sensei skills and used them to major in business somewhere, there was no doubt in my mind she’d be at the top of her class. On the other hand, I knew several people who did graduate at the top of their class in business school, and they worked at coffee shops, so . . . better she continued to channel her intelligence into the VIP room.
“The guy over there just asked me for a double VIP room—let’s do it!” I said, running over to Brandi. I was proud of myself because this would be the first time in our stripper relationship that I would initiate a double VIP. She seemed a little confused, and I was moderately insulted.
“Which guy?” she said suspiciously.
“That one! Over there!” I said, pointing to an unassuming medium-build man in gray pleated pants and a white button-down shirt. She scanned him with her X-ray stripper vision.
“He’s been here for over an hour and he hasn’t tipped anyone,” she said.
“Yeah, I know, well maybe he was saving it for someone special,” I said. “Like us!” I was so excited, and she was so not excited—she kept staring him up and down and scanning the room. Perhaps the time had come when the student had surpassed the teacher! Or at least, gotten somewhere close. She still wasn’t convinced, but she walked in his direction anyways.
“So, baby, you wanna take us to VIP?” she said. I stood next to her, pushing my glasses up and down my nose like a proper nerdy sidekick.
“Yes. Yes I do. I would like to purchase a private VIP room,” he said in a completely monotone voice.
“Alright! Let’s do it!” I said. I mean, sure, the guy seemed kind of weird, but it’s normal for people to come in here and not know how to interact with us. I was a shy nerd after all, so I knew just how to fix it. I could read him Harry Potter or, like, talk to him about chess or something while Brandi and I took turns riding his cock outside of his pants.
“That’s $400 for a half hour, and that doesn’t include tip. We take cash or cards,” she said matter-of-factly. She was usually much more flirtatious with the customers. Perhaps I should have just danced for this unenthusiastic man myself. This was not the same Brandi I was used to.
I noticed her glancing over at Tony in the corner of the club. They were communicating something to each other, but I wasn’t sure what. They exchanged several meaningful stares, and then Tony ran in the direction of his office. The customer took out four hundred-dollar bills and held them in his hands.
“If I pay you this cash, would you perform oral sex on me in the VIP room?” he asked. Jeez. I’d had customers hint at doing “extras” before, but they were never so straightforward about it. What a polite way to ask such an impolite question.
“Nope. We don’t do that here,” Brandi replied.
“But don’t worry baby! We will still have a lot of fun!” I added, trying to lighten the mood. Brandi had her arms folded and didn’t seem at all amused. What the hell was going on? Why was she not taking this guy’s money and trying to get everything else in his savings account along with it?
“Is there anyone I could talk to here about purchasing crack/cocaine in this establishment?” he asked. Okay, so he wasn’t going to be interested in me reading any Harry Potter passages. Apparently this guy was into blow jobs, and crack.
“Nope! No one here, at all, has any of that,” Brandi said. “You should take your money and go somewhere else, this is a licensed gentlemen’s club that runs 100 percent legally,” Brandi added. And then, we all sat there in silence. I didn’t think this interaction could get any more awkward than it already was, but I was wrong.
A group of a dozen or so armed policemen, a few in actual riot gear, and a giant, unfriendly dog with a K9 vest on it burst through the double doors. As you might assume, it wasn’t here as an emotional support animal for any of the strippers.
“Usually the undercover agents come in a week or two before a raid. Did you not sync up your calendars or something?” Brandi put her hands on her hips and frowned at the guy who clearly was not going to be getting a lap dance.
TJ immediately stopped playing music. I’d say there was a record scratch, but there were no records to scratch here. It was definitely just a series of mouse clicks, and all the colorful epileptic blinking lights and fake smoke came to a complete halt. The girls in the club screamed, and the customers all got up and made a beeline for the door. The way that so many horny men ran in the opposite direction of so many naked women defied the basic laws of human nature.
Brandi grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the middle of the pandemonium with the screaming topless women in heels and sparkly thongs. They all attempted to re-dress themselves, while still panicking.
“What the hell is going on?” I whispered to Brandi.
“Just try to blend in and stay quiet,” she replied. I didn’t want to ask any more questions, but I did have a whole lot of them. This was an operation right in the middle of Times Square, with a sign out front, and a flyer guy forcing people to come in. If this was some kind of illegal operation, then they were sure doing a bad job of hiding themselves.
“Everybody, calm down, I need you all to follow my instructions and we’ll be out of here as soon as possible,” said a large, stocky officer with a tag on his uniform that read “JOHNSON.” “I need everyone to get out your IDs and hand them to me,” he added.
“Officer, can’t you see we’re naked? We don’t exactly have our wallets on us,” Brandi retorted. The other girls laughed, and so did I. I’m not entirely sure if laughing at armed policemen was the smartest thing to do, but it certainly lightened the mood. The K9 dog sniffed around the carpet of the club. This carpet had to have been there since the ‘70s, and it simply wouldn’t be fair to blame any of us for any remnants of narcotics that might be interwoven into the fibers. Someone needed to explain to the dog that this was just a case of a long-overdue recarpeting.
“Where’s the locker room in here?” Officer Johnson turned to TJ to ask this question, which was ridiculous since he was one of the only people in here at the moment that never used the locker room. But naturally, the officer was looking at the only man in the room as the person of authority, even though the only authority TJ had was over what songs got played and what color the lights were.
“It’s upstairs,” TJ replied, and he pointed toward the stairs.
“Officer, why do you need our IDs? Is this a drug raid, or a sex trafficking raid? I’m guessing you didn’t bring the dog here to sniff out underage strippers. Most of us don’t feel comfortable sharing our personal information with you. I know a lot of you officers come in here asking for weird shit on your off hours.” I saw some of the officers smirk. I scanned the room to see if any of their crotches came into memory, but none of them were ringing a bell. Brandi continued. “If this is a drug search, focus on what you came here to do, and don’t compromise our fuckin’ safety.” I had never seen this side of Brandi before, and I was seriously impressed. She didn’t even flinch as she flexed her knowledge to the pack of officers in her micro bikini, while all the other girls stood around trembling. This apparently was not her first stripper raid rodeo.
Suddenly Tony walked out of the bathroom. As soon as the door opened, the drug dog started barking and sniffing like crazy. It even let out a few dribbles of pee on the carpet as it lost control of itself, which would just be one added reason to get a new fucking carpet here.
“Officers! Good seeing you back here. How can I help you?” Tony said, trying to speak as loudly as possible over the barking dog.
“Everyone stay fucking still!” said a cop in riot gear, raising his gun. I mean, were we getting our IDs or were we standing still? What the hell was going on here? And what was with the gun? Did they plan to shoot at a brick of cocaine if they found it? We didn’t exactly have anywhere on us we could possibly conceal a weapon. We could barely find a way to conceal our own nipples.
Several of the cops ran into
the bathroom, while the other cops kept an eye on the group of petrified strippers. I heard Brandi mumble underneath her breath, “Tony, you fucking idiot.”
Moments later, the leader of this raid came out of the bathroom with several dripping wet extra-large Ziploc bags. Some were filled with an assortment of colorful pills, and some were full of what appeared to be cocaine. Brandi put her head in her hand.
Apparently when Tony was trained as a drug dealer, he’d skipped the lesson on how to flush drugs down the toilet properly and efficiently.
“Well,” Officer Johnson chuckled. “Looks like each and every one of you are accomplices here in a drug ring— how many bags of cocaine did your manager get you to sell with every lap dance?” He looked directly at Brandi. If there was some stripper drug ring going on here, I was actually offended no one asked me to be part of it, and I certainly didn’t deserve to go to jail for something I was so inconsiderately left out of.
Several girls started crying. I knew a few of them were mothers, and some were battling to get citizenship. I mean, being an accomplice in a drug ring doesn’t look good on your record in any circumstance, but I imagined it would be a lot worse if you were waiting for a work visa to be processed.
While I was still incredibly offended that Brandi, someone I really considered a friend here, didn’t invite me to her secret drug ring with Tony, I put my ego aside and focused on the problem at hand. Was there anything I could do to smooth this over? Maybe I could try to flirt with the officers . . . or maybe that would make everything even worse.
To see Naomi try to flirt with Officer Johnson, turn to page 75.