New Years’ Eve eve.  I picked up my car from the shop. The neighborhood was gritty. The lunchtime sky was grey, the air wet and penetratingly cold.

I had left home without a specific timetable. My wife, content to cuddle under a blanket with our dogs and read her phone or a book while nursing her cold, had wished me a cheerful good day.

I cruised the street slowly. I was on the other side of the tracks. Here was a car dealership, followed by the yard where the city busses are serviced. A low-rent motel, the kind filled with users, pushers, hookers and pimps. Another car dealership, a liquor store, a decrepit gas station, another economy lodging. I found myself wondering about the people whose lives played out in these spaces.

The road took a bend, and the sign in front of my windshield was impossible to miss. Erotic World. An “adult emporium.” A low-block building with no windows save one by the door, which was on the side. A single neon “open” sign was lit. Two cars in parked toward the back of the lot.

Next door, another cinderblock building. “Sensual Escape”. A strip club. I chuckled quietly at the absurdity of the names. Nothing sensual or erotic about either of these establishments.

And yet, I felt the urge to explore. My libido, after a week with a house full of family, was on edge. I had the time. I turned in.

It being a holiday week and an early hour, the lot was nearly empty. I parked discreetly toward the back and hustled down the side of the building to the door. I quickly stepped inside. There was no bouncer at this early hour. It would cost me nothing to look.

It had been a long time since I’d been inside one of these places. I took in the scene. It brought back familiar memories. Dingy, somewhat dirty, and dark. A bar to the right, some high-top tables beyond, and toward the back of the room the standard stage with seating on three sides.

A couple of patrons were hanging out at the bar, one older gent talking to a dancer who was perched on the stool next to his sipping the drink he had bought her. Another man, on the other side of the bar, was nursing his beer and didn’t seem to be minding much at all.

A single dancer gyrated on the stage, with a lone elderly fellow feeding her tips. She was of indeterminate ethnicity in the low light, but I could tell she was skinny. Across the room, near the door to what I presumed was the dancers’ dressing room, another performer sat, lost in her phone. She, too, was skinny, and I could see her face well enough to know that I wasn’t intrigued. She seemed to be waiting for her turn on stage.

The dancer on stage moved without enthusiasm as slow techno music played. The vibe was dull, numbing, and seedy, the utter lack of energy matching the chilly grey outside.

I took a seat at a high top. It afforded a view of the room and stage, but also a measure of solitude. I wasn’t sure how long I would hang out. I suspected just a few minutes, unless someone interesting mounted the stage.

A few minutes passed, and the dressing room door opened. From the corner of my eye, I detected a dancer entering the lounge. I didn’t look up but I could sense her approaching, which made entire sense as I was the only new mark in the room.

I waited until she spoke to look up. She was on the heavier side; one might describe her as thick. Definitely not fat. Her tits were huge. Not really my type, but pleasant enough. Her face was pretty; I will give her that.

“Hi.” Standard greeting.

“Hi.” Standard adult club response from me.

“What’s your name,” she inquired, holding out her hand for a shake.

“Chris,” I responded, taking her hand lightly in mine.

“I’m Sapphire,” she offered in response. “Have you been here before?”

“No,” I replied, truthfully.

“What brings you in,” she inquired.

“Just in the neighborhood and thought I’d check it out.”

“Are you from here?”

“No. Just passing through.” That was a lie.

“Oh. Do you come through here often?” she probed.

“From time to time,” I answered.

She was pressing her hip against my arm. I glanced down. Her thighs were large, but firm, her skin smooth and creamy white. I moved ever so slightly, brushing the back of my hand gently across her thigh to find it as smooth to the touch as my eyes had perceived.

“Would you like a dance?” There it was, the sell.

“Not right now, thanks. I’m just settling in.”

“Okay. I’ll check back in a bit.”

“Okay,” I responded.

“I’ll be back in five minutes.” It was indeed quiet today.

I watched her sashay across the room toward the dressing room, hips swaying rhythmically in the practiced way that women in her profession naturally perfect. I sized her up. I don’t tend to favor bigger women, but something in the way she carried herself and her demeanor piqued my interest. I must admit that, on the right day, a woman of her size has a certain allure.

She disappeared through the swinging door, and boredom began to set in. I decided to cut my losses and head out before she returned. My curiosity had been satisfied. Before I could get up, though, the lone waitress approached for my drink order. Out of guilt I ordered a Diet Coke.

In five minutes sharp, my new acquaintance returned and took another chair at the high top.

“So, about that dance… interested now?”

I couldn’t very well turn her down, and so I slid a ten onto the table and she began to move to the beat, sliding off the stool and pressing up against me. My legs opened instinctively and she turned around, grinding into my crotch. It was hard to hide my rapid hardening, and she pressed a bit more intently. I had to admit it felt good.

Not knowing the rules, I tentatively brushed my fingertips lightly across her ass. When she didn’t move, I traced them across her cheeks and down the outside of those ample thighs. Her skin was velvet.

When the song ended, she took her place back on the stool.

“Thank you,” I offered.

“Thank YOU,” she replied with a smile.

I complimented her, “You’re a very sexy woman.”

“Thank you again. Tell me a little more about you. Do you visit clubs often? You seem comfortable here.”

“From time to time,” I responded. “But I don’t hang out for dances all that long.”

“What do you mean,” she inquired.

“I don’t come for the dances. I come for the dancers.”

Her eyebrows arched in surprise. “Well, I can certainly understand that. There are plenty of women here who work on the side.”

“I don’t pay for sex.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” I replied. “I don’t expect anything. But it has happened.”

“So let me get this straight. You come to strip clubs looking to pick someone up, take them back to wherever you’re staying, and expect that they’ll have sex with you for free?”

“Yes,” was my quick reply.

“You’re fucking crazy.” She waved her arm to indicate the room. “You know what this is? This is the sex trade. We’re selling flesh. If you don’t mind my saying it, you’re being pretty disrespectful, asking a woman who sells a fantasy to give you the real thing for free.”

“I don’t mind at all. But trust me, I don’t mean any disrespect. Don’t get me wrong, I’m looking for sex. But I’m also looking for some level of connection. Call it chemistry”

I continued. “Most dancers I’ve talked to have boyfriends. They’d laugh in my face. Others, I can tell they’re not attracted to me in any way. No chemistry. But every once in a long while, it clicks.

“Most of the time I don’t even bring it up.”

“But you just did,” she replied. “Why so bold?”

“Honestly, it’s a combination of things. I came here really aroused. And you’re a very attractive, sexy, woman. You give off a certain vibe.”

“A certain vibe…”

“Yes. Very sexual.”

She laughed. It could have been genuine or derisive. “Well, no shit. Aren’t we all giving off that vibe here? That’s what we’re selling after all. The more sexual we are, the more we make.”

“Not that kind of sexual. There’s a lot of faking in these places,” I responded. “I don’t have to tell you that most performers are pretty jaded. That’s hard to hide.”

“Fair enough. But we’re all nice people underneath. This isn’t an easy life.”

“I realize that, on both counts. Especially the part about life. I see how you all are treated by a lot of your patrons. I don’t know how you do it.”

“You develop a hard outer shell,” came her response.

“And yet you. There’s something about you that struck me as different.”

“That’s the biggest line of bullshit I’ve heard in a long time, buster,” she spat out, and rose to go. She turned back and hurled one parting line. “You’re just like all the others.”

Before she could turn again, I called out.

“I’m sorry. I really am,” and I rose to head to the exit.

She turned back away, but not before casting a look that said ‘yeah, right.’

I slowly made my way past the bar to the entrance. I opened the door and stepped out into the light of early afternoon. I walked to my car, got in, and sat for a moment to gather my thoughts.

That hadn’t gone well. I was too clever by half. I didn’t know what I was thinking. I guessed I wouldn’t be frequenting another adult cabaret anytime soon.

I looked down to push the start button when I noticed a presence approaching the car. Oh shit, I thought, now I’m about to get rolled. This is going from bad to worse.

My alarm turned to surprise when I saw it was her, overcoat wrapped tightly around her. I rolled down the window.

“Buy a girl a coffee?”

I motioned for her to get in.

She knew a place about a half mile down the street. It was still in the rough neighborhood but was clean, well-lit, and seemed safe. We ordered coffee at the counter and grabbed a booth.

Not many words had passed between us on the way over, so I began.

“Why did you follow me?”

She cast a shy look downward and then fixed me with a steady gaze.

“As soon as I got back to the dressing room, I realized I’d been too hard on you. I mean, you may still be just another jerk, but I figured I owed you a chance to show me otherwise.”

She continued. “Don’t get any ideas.  I just want to talk. Plus, I could use a break from that place. It’s dead today.”

“No expectations at all,” I replied. “I was way too forward back there.  You deserve better.”

“That’s nice of you. I must say, I find your whole M.O. intriguing. I still can’t believe you’d ever get anyone to say yes.”

“That’s because no one ever has. And that’s because I’ve never asked. I lied. It’s been a while since I’ve even been in a club.”

She gave a wry chuckle. “So, you’re just a bullshitter.”

“Yep, you could say that.”

“Just here to test a fantasy like all the others.” She glanced at my wedding ring.

“I’ve done more than test. Just not in strip clubs.”

“Do tell.”

“I travel a lot for my work,” I replied. “It affords a certain discretion. Plus, there’s something sexy about hotels in distant cities.”

“Where do you meet these women, if not at a club?”

“Typically, it’s the hotel bar. A fellow traveler like me, away from home, looking for a little adventure.”

“So, you’re a player,” she said.

“That depends on how you define the word. Have I fucked women other than my wife? Yes. Am I a serial pick up artist? No.”

She leaned forward. “But you are a four-f guy.”

I was puzzled for a moment and then remembered what it stood for. “Not exactly. I never forget them.”

She gave a little snort. “Well of course not. After finding them, feeling them, and fucking them, you’re not likely to forget them. Unless, of course, the sex was really bad.”

“It’s not that,” I replied. “At least not the way you’re thinking about it. I don’t forget the person.”

“You have a little black book?”

“Well, I do write their names down. But that’s because each name is associated with a real human being, a real soul.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I said it back in the club. I seek connection. I treasure the experiences I’ve had. They only work if we part both smiling and hopefully carrying warm memories of our time together.

“And I’ve been blessed to have seen some women more than once. Multiple times, even.”

“Blessed?” Her tone was somewhere between skeptical and sarcastic.

“Please don’t mock me. I meant to use that word. Each experience is a gift. It’s not about an orgasm. I can get that jerking off to porn. Or fucking my wife. It’s the experience of meeting someone new, connecting, and sharing passion. It’s about intimacy, not just sex.”

I leaned forward and brushed my fingertips against hers.

“Kissing is very important to me. Without that, nothing else matters.”

She leaned back, let out a breath and simply said, “Wow. You’re either the biggest bullshitter I’ve ever met or an incredible man.”

I took a chance. “That might be for you to find out.”

“You’re flirting with me,” came her reply.

I found a shot of courage. “Yes I am.”

“Why? I’m just an exotic dancer. Nothing special to look at. Those men who come into the club, they’re not that choosy. They just want a little thrill, something that will make their dicks hard and give them a memory without actually cheating.”

“Because you’ve got that certain something. Don’t ask me to name it, it’s just there. There’s chemistry in at least one direction. You’ll have to decide if it goes the other way.”

She looked down again, and when she looked up, she said, “Take me to your place?”

“Can’t do that. I lied twice. I’m not passing through. There’s somebody back home.”

“Oh.” I could sense the disappointment in her voice.

“I can find us a room,” I offered.

A long pause ensued. Another glance down at the table, a sip of coffee.

“We can go to my place.”

My heart began to pound. “You live alone?”

“Yeah. No boyfriend.”

“I’m not looking for complications.”

“Neither am I.” She leaned closer and whispered, “But I am intrigued. Let’s go, before I lose my nerve.”

As we made the ten-minute drive to her apartment, she lightly stroked my leg. I could feel my cock stiffening in anticipation. Every light seemed to turn red. At the last light, a particularly long one, she leaned over and whispered in my ear.

“We’re almost there. Kiss me.”

I turned toward her and our lips met. A barely audible moan escaped her, followed quickly by the sharp blast of a car horn. I looked up to see the light had turned green.

Her place was in a mid-range complex on the second floor. Not a bad neighborhood, but not the type I would have occasion to visit. Her unit was a tidy, modest efficiency that was sparsely furnished with a couch and easy chair near the entry and a double bed in an alcove.

She shed her overcoat and hung it on the hook by the door. Beneath she was wearing the lingerie and fishnets from the club. Her breasts were practically spilling out of her bra, and I approached her and tugged it down to expose them. I gently tweaked her already-hard nipples and leaned in to continue our interrupted kiss.

They started slow, tender, lips brushing lips, mouths gradually opening, tongues touching gently. We continued to embrace, wrapped in one another’s’ arms now, our kisses growing more urgent. My hands returned to those tits, grazing against them softly and then slapping them lightly. She gasped, then kissed me even harder. My hand traveled down between her legs, and I pressed against her thong.

“Fuck, you’re already wet.”

“Yes,” came the whimpered response.

She dropped to her knees as I shed my own jacket, unbuckled my belt, fumbled with the button on the waistband of my jeans, and jerked the zipper down forcefully. Her hands grabbed my hips and guided my jeans down, taking my boxers with them. They had hardly pooled at my ankles when my rigid cock was down her throat.

Fuck, was all my brain could muster.

What little clothing she had on was soon shed, and I quickly threw mine off as well. She took my hand and led me to the bed. I pushed her down and straddled her face. She slobbered on my cock. I spun around and spat on her pussy. My tongue found her clit.

“Holy shit!”

I came up and bit her nipples. Hard. She tweaked mine until I pushed her away. Two fingers entered her and found her g-spot. For a moment all that could be heard was the squishing of my fingers and her moaning.

I increased the violence of my thrusts. Her back arched and she rewarded me with a small gush, her body going rigid and a low, guttural moan escaping her.

She spit on my cock and stroked it while I fingered her to a second climax. I pulled her hand away, slapped my cock against her face, then turned her over, ordered her hips up, and slammed into her from behind.

We fucked, then, on the bed, the kitchen counter, the floor, bent over the bathroom sink, on the sofa, against the front door. I was an animal uncaged, and so was she.

I presumed she kept condoms, but there was never any mention of them.

The filth streaming from our mouths would have made the devil blush.

The end of the beginning: she on her back on the bed, me pounding into her mercilessly, our eyes locked. My cock began to swell and she, familiar with the signal, screamed out for me to give it to her.

“Cum in me.” Her voice was pleading. “Please!”

Her cry was like a trigger. Like a dam bursting, I erupted deep inside her. As I shot jet after jet of cum into her womb, she screamed and her body convulsed with her most violent orgasm yet. I let out a cry of my own and continued to pump my fluid into her, our bodies slapping together.

When I had emptied myself, I pulled out, and a healthy dollop of my essence spilled onto the bedspread where it puddled, a symbol of our passion. I reached two fingers into her, scooped more cum out of her cavern, and fed it to her. She accepted the gift eagerly, taking my fingers into her mouth and licking them clean.

I gave her no rest. My fingers were at work again, strumming her clit this time, and she arched her back and squirted a mixture of boy and girl cum all over my hand and forearm.  I wrapped my soaked palm around my still-rigid member and stroked it slowly while gazing deeply into her eyes.

“Put it back in me! Please!” she cried.

I had other ideas. I flipped her over and entered her from behind. She was beyond sloppy wet, and the slurping sounds as my cock moved in and out drove me into a frenzy. Without warning, I pulled out and fingered her to another squirting orgasm, cupping my palm beneath her pussy to catch as much as I could. I gave her cunt a quick slap and then smeared her juice onto my cock and the opening to her ass.

Positioning the tip against her second hole, I paused. Hearing no protest, I pushed forward until the head was safely inside. Another guttural moan emitted from within her, and I eased deeper and deeper until I was buried to the hilt.

Her breathing was labored, and I sensed that she was struggling to accept me, so I began slowly. Gradually I built in speed and intensity. Her screams of “oh shit” and “fuck” echoed off the studio walls. I grabbed her ample hips and drove into her with everything I had.

Pulling out, I moved to her face and offered my cock. She took it greedily into her mouth, and I could feel my second orgasm building. Pulling out of her mouth, I drooled more saliva onto my manhood and began to stroke myself. As I did, she begged me to cum on her face.

Such a pretty face. I had noticed that back in the club. Someone’s daughter. Something nasty triggered within me, and I blasted more cum all over her mouth, chin, cheeks, forehead and hair. The orgasm hit me like a freight train, frightening in its intensity, volume, and immediacy after my first.

I tipped her chin up, leaned down, and kissed her tenderly. She cleaned my cock and scooped my sperm off her skin, swallowing it down.

We collapsed then and held each other close.

She broke the silence.

“Fuck. I needed that.”

“We both did. That was hot,” I replied. And I meant it.

“It was amazing,” she responded. “You know how to fuck.”

“It takes two to tango. You’re incredible. You brought out the animal in me.”

We lay side by side. I stroked her hair and gently brushed my fingers across her cheek. She threw a leg lazily over mine. Her breasts were pressed against my chest. My still semi-erect cock was pressed against her lower belly, her pubic hairs tickling my balls.

“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like that?” I asked gently.

“The money’s not bad, especially if you can stay away from the booze and drugs. And it’s mostly under the table. The staff look out for you, so it’s safe."

“But what about the patrons. Aren’t they a pretty sleazy bunch?”

“Some, yes,” she replied, “but mostly they’re harmless. Men in search of an escape, a fantasy. If I can give that to them, I feel I’ve done something nice.”

“I never thought about it that way.”

“Besides, there’s always a chance a prince might walk through those doors.” She gave me a soft kiss on the shoulder.  “My name is Rose, by the way. I thought after what we’ve just done you should know that.”

“And mine is Chris. I like it when my lover calls me by my real name.”

“I’m glad you came into the club, Chris. And even happier that you made a move on me.”

“That makes two of us, Rose. I’m glad you came out to see me. And even happier that you followed me to the car.”

“Do you think sometimes things happen for a reason,” she asked.

“I totally believe that. The Turks call it kismet. We might call it fate.”

We cuddled, kissed, gazed into one another’s eyes. I was blissfully happy just to share this time with her. We kissed some more. The bed was wet beneath us. We didn’t care. Time stood still.

Suddenly I was aware that the light coming through the window was fading. As much as I hated breaking the spell, I was flirting with danger and had to be on my way.

She offered a shower to keep me out of trouble, and I invited her to share it with me so that I could spend a few more minutes enjoying her. She stroked me to hardness one more time, and much to my surprise and delight, coaxed a third orgasm out of me, our deep kiss being the trigger.

As I reluctantly gathered my clothing and dressed, she sat on the edge of the bed, her naked, Rubenesque form glowing softly in the low light.

“I’m really glad you came into the club today. And that you took a chance. I thought you were just a cocky asshole. I had no idea.”

I rushed over, took her face in my hands, and kissed her tenderly. “You’re really special. I mean that.”

She gave me a tentative smile. “You know where to find me. That is, if you ever feel the urge.”

As I reached the door, I took one last look back and smiled.

“Oh, I don’t think there’s much doubt about that. Happy New Year, Rose.” And, blowing her a kiss, I walked out into the fading late afternoon light.