Gold Slut Standard Time Warp-Destination Y2K

Where did you spend new year’s eve 1999? Did you party like it was…? I was in the Caribbean with an old friend, who, for the purposes of this post, I will call Asshole. He is one, and he was also the first man I was with who really liked his played with during sex.

Asshole and I consummated eight years of hot-and-bothered friendship in his parents’ rental car as part of one of those vacations in paradise that travel agents (or now travel websites) live to pimp, but only happen once in a lifetime, if you are lucky. I was lucky. For the price of a plane ticket I got ten days of sun, beach, swimming, cheap and plentiful alcohol, amazing food, and the only downsides were having to share a room with Asshole’s siblings and cousins (hence the frequent use of the rental car) and increasing requests to explain the nature of our relationship to his parents when we were just figuring it out ourselves.

One night was particularly memorable. The island we were visiting had been clobbered by a hurricane a couple of years earlier, and parts of the island were just being rebuilt. This meant there were ruined ghosts of old resorts, half-built new resorts, and sections of the island that were in a limbo of aging sleaziness. We loved exploring these parts. There was a French bar. Run by a handsome Frenchman. I’ll call him Jaques, which may well have been his name. It was one of the few places that was open among the ruins of what was a particularly fancy resort. We’d been driving back and forth in search of such a port of call. We walked in and continued the day’s drinking. Asshole was (is?) an alcoholic, so there was always lots of drinking. Jaques was very friendly, flirting with me. A curvaceous woman is highly appreciated in the Caribbean. Perhaps a stereotype, but one that I was very happy to find to be true in my personal experience. There were many nights when Asshole glowed with pride to be the one walking by my side as man after man took in my figure. Asshole asked Jaques about other places that were still open in the area, and he directed us to a “gentlemen’s club.” We thanked Jaques, took our leave, with much French-style cheek kissing, and drove to the club.

It was my first visit to such an establishment. I was nervous. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to share Asshole’s attention with other naked women.

Past the entryway was a large room with a central bar. The bar counter extended around the room, becoming the stage for the dancers, who could easily move among the handful of customers. We took stools at the bar and ordered more drinks. The bartender was a particularly sexy woman, hotter than anyone dancing, even though she was wearing basic black and they were topless and in shiny g-strings. Funny how that happens. As Asshole glued his eyes to the dancers, I drunkenly flirted with the bartender, needing to keep busy.

Asshole started talking Russian with a stripper named Olga. He was the kind of guy who was convinced that strippers “got” him; that they responded to him in a different way than the other clientele; that he became their friend. He and Olga had the common ground of speaking Russian, and he was slipping her a steady diet of drinks and dollars, so sure, for the moment she was his “friend.”

I watched the women dancing in g-strings and tried really hard to get excited by it, but my attention kept returning to the bartender. Clothed, in a room of naked women, maybe that was her power. Or maybe she was just really hot. I was getting irritated by the whole Asshole/Olga thing, so I focused on her. I hit on her aggressively, asking if she was allowed to socialize with the customers, asking if she ever got up and danced. If I’d been a man it would have probably gotten me thrown out of the place, but as a woman I was getting away with it, and it wasn’t pretty. Did I mention I was soooo drunk? Asshole started to notice. He walked me away from the bar. He said that I needed to play it cool. He said that I needed to be more “minimalist” in my approach. What possessed him to use that word in this context? Aside from the sheer pretentiousness of that term in this context, he happened to hit on the one word that would send me over the edge. As an artist, as a big girl, as a smartypants… I am many things, and minimalist describes none of them. In fact, minimalism pisses me off. I have a running war with minimalism. I started to laugh. This laughter began to border on the hysterical. I fled to the lady’s room. That’s when the night began to get interesting.

I was cleaning myself up… amazing how intense laughter can have the same physical effects as intense crying. I was splashing water on my face, fixing my make-up… when who should enter the ladies room… Jaques. An angelic French visitation in the ladies’ room of the strip club. Jaques was there, embracing me, kissing me, and then we were hustling into a stall. His pants were down and I was on my knees. Not very minimalist of me, I know! I had been learning a lot about sucking cock from Asshole, really enjoying it for the first time. Jaques got to reap the benefits. He had a long beautiful cock. As I leaned in to take it into my mouth, his face was beatific. He couldn’t believe his damn good luck. I licked and sucked passionately, a woman embracing her joy in cocksucking. He leaned back against the tile wall of the stall, and said sexy French things to me. We could hear strippers coming in and out, using the sink and the other toilets. It did cross my mind that we could get in trouble, but this was too much fun.

Jaques was enjoying the blowjob very much, but he politely indicated that he wanted to fuck me. We didn’t have a lot of room in the stall, and as he lifted me to a standing position, I surveyed my options. Abruptly, I hiked up my skirt, pulled down my panties, and leaned over to brace myself against the base of the toilet, allowing my bare ass to push towards him. He wasted no time, lifted my fleshy ass to reveal my wet pussy, and plunged his cock into me. I leaned my ass back against him and rode his cock. Frankly I’m not sure if I would have tried this position if I wasn’t so well lubricated in all ways, but in the moment, staring down at the tiled bathroom floor, it made all the sense in the world. We fucked like that as long as we could manage it, the sound of strippers peeing in the next stall and chatting while fixing their makeup at the mirror by the sink was our soundtrack. But that wasn’t where we were going to finish. Jaques helped me up, tucked himself away in his slacks, and I took a quick peek in the mirror to see what state I was in. I was flushed from the laughing and the fucking, but ready for my reappearance in the club.

Asshole was waiting there with Olga as Jaques and I emerged. I ran to him and hugged him, thanking him for sending Jaques in after me. “Oh he was very eager to find you,” Asshole shrugged. Asshole had just arranged with Olga to go to the back room for a private lap dance. For a few dollars more, she was willing for Jaques and I to come along. The back room was all soft velvety cushions and leopard print: classic. Padded sofas ringed the walls. There were a couple of men having lap dances, spaced out around the room. Asshole led us all to a couch and I sat down between him and Jaques. Olga took off her bikini top and began a tantalizing dance right up against Asshole, but never quite touching him. Each time he reached out to touch her lovely, full breasts, she pushed his hands away. Perhaps she even said, “Niet!” Jaques’ hand had found its way under my skirt and inside my panties. Now I thought we’d really get in trouble! He was finger fucking me right there in the sacred back room. Olga turned her attention to me, sharing her dance between me and Asshole. I don’t know what possessed me, I’d seen her slap Asshole away enough times, but I reached out to touch her breasts. They felt so good! I could see Asshole’s outrage, when she not only allowed me to stroke her breasts, but reached out and started playing with mine. Asshole’s outrage turned to pleasure as he appreciated the show that he was getting. My other hand had found Jaques’ cock, which had somehow gotten back out of his pants. I stroked his cock, he fingered my pussy, I massaged Olga’s tits, she squeezed mine. All I could spare for Asshole was some hip and shoulder to rub against him, as Olga leaned in to kiss me. I leaned back into the soft cushions, feeling the cheap plush, tasting Olga’s champagne flavored mouth, and releasing to Jaques’s persistent fingers. Even Asshole had turned his attention to me, massaging and stroking what he could get his hands on. As Olga pulled away, he leaned in to kiss me, and though much water has passed under that bridge, I can still remember the joy of sinning with him in paradise.

Our lapdance was over. We’d spent our wad for the evening. Jaques, Asshole, and I groped our way back to the bright lights of the bar, and then out into the warm tropical night. Jaques and I kissed, and we muttered promises about meeting up again during the rest of Asshole and my visit to the island. Somehow, that never happened. But he earned a place on the Gold Slut Standard for his featured role in one of the naughtiest nights of my life.

Published in: on January 4, 2007 at 12:46 am  Comments (4)