I Fell in Love with a Stripper
It was love at first sight, or maybe it was lust at first sight? Either way, it was something. Her long red hair, the glorious curves of her body, the way she wrapped herself around the metal pole – all of it captivated me. Everything about her was captivating. You could say, I fell in love with a stripper that day.
I can still remember the first time I laid eyes on her. Let’s call her Red. She walked behind me and stroked my hair as I poured a pint, and her scent reached me seconds before she did.
“Your hair is so soft!” she said, beaming at me.
The smile spread across her face and up to her eyes – green, smiling, friendly. They sparkled in the dim light, like every cliché you’ve ever read in a romance novel. I couldn’t say anything back; I just stared, utterly entranced by her, absolutely nothing in my brain except her those gorgeous green eyes.
The second time we met, Red walked behind me as I poured a pint, once again, but this time, she wrapped her arm around my waist and gave me a kiss on the top of my head.
“Hey chick!” She smiled that same smile again.
“Hey!” I managed to blurt out back. Hey, at least I managed a whole word this time, instead of just mumbled nothings.
Her touch around my waist stayed for much longer than she did, and the memory kept popping into my mind, at regular intervals, throughout the rest of the night.
The third time we met, behind the bar again, I wasn’t pulling a pint. And, just like the first time, the scent of her familiar perfume wafted towards me before she did. The scent unlocked the memory of her arm snaking around my waist, and I smiled before I even turned around to look at her.
“Give her a kiss!” one of the punters called out, and I flushed bright red.
“Oh, I’ll give her so much more than that,” Red winked, grabbing my face with both hands and planting the softest of kisses on my lips.
I’d have fucked her right there and then, in front of a bar full of punters, if I could. Every time I watched her dance around the pole, I fell in love with a stripper a little more. The way her full breasts and hourglass curves writhed at the request of the men in front of her turned me more than it should have, and probably way more than the lonely punters who threw five- and ten-pound notes at her.
That night, when she came behind the bar to change into a different but equally non-existent outfit, she didn’t just snake her arm around my waist: she trailed her fingertips under my shirt. The touch made me gasp, but she didn’t stop; she kept going, reaching under my bra to playfully tweak my nipple with those long black nails…
The punters cheered as my cheeks flushed red, and Red went back to getting changed.
I never saw Red again. She danced in other clubs and bars, I assumed, plus I switched jobs just a few months later, leaving bar work (and the strippers) behind.
But Red…
Sigh.
I fell in love with a stripper… and I’d have probably married her.
Thank you so much for stopping by and reading my blog today! 🖤
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