Sunday, November 18, 2012


Josh Olsen is a writer, teacher, and father from Southeast Michigan. His first and maybe last book SIX MONTHS is available from Zygote in My Coffee/Tainted Coffee Press.




Sam was the third girl on stage.

She was one of two Asian women dancing that shift, but while the other was taller, thinner, flat-chested, and Chinese, Sam was petite, yet curvy, and Japanese.

I didn’t often find Japanese women sexually attractive, and I definitely didn’t obsess and drool over them like so many men I knew did, but my physiological response to Sam was immediate and irrepressible.

In laymen’s terms, she made my dick as hard as a rock.

So, after Sam’s routine, when she sauntered off the stage and asked, “Are you gonna windowshop all day?” I had to fight my instincts and try to play it smooth.

“Well, I just got here,” I replied, “so I’d like to have a couple more drinks, first.”

And, with that, she was gone, off to proposition the next customer.

With the exception of employees, the bar was nearly empty, and it was rather brightly lit and smelled strongly of cleaning products.

Everything seemed so square and straight and sober.

I was…uncomfortable.

It was a weekday afternoon, and the first time I’d gone to a topless bar by myself, and I was beginning to regret my impulsive decision to pull in, but after a few beers, I began to loosen up, and by the time Sam made her second appearance on the main stage, I was pleased that I had decided to come.

At first, I’d merely stopped to see some tits and drink a beer or two and leave with some cash in my pocket, but after seeing Sam, I decided to splurge on a lapdance, and she must have intuited what I was thinking, because after she finished her second performance, she didn’t even ask me what I wanted.

She took me by the hand and led me to a dimly-lit, curtained booth.

We made some brief small talk and she complimented my moth-eaten cashmere sweater and told me that I looked like an engineer, but when the music started she went straight for my cock.

She stroked it through my jeans, at first, but since I didn’t object, she undid my belt and pulled it out.

To say that I was shocked would have been an understatement but, goddamn, it felt fucking good.

It was only a handjob, but it was a thoroughly unexpected handjob, and at the time being, I couldn’t have asked for anything more.

It was exactly what I needed.

For the duration of three songs, Sam enthusiastically jacked me off, and I came close to cumming several times, but I wasn’t quite sure about the proper etiquette.

Was I even allowed to cum, and, if so, could I shoot it on her tits, like I wanted to do?

And so I played it safe and managed to hold back until she finally whispered, “Gimme that poison,” and right before I let go she gave me an uppercut to the testicles, which made it feel like I was cumming from the tips of my toes.

“Nobody’s ever done that to me before,” I confessed while putting myself back together, and Sam smiled knowingly, and the crow’s feet around her eyes made her look much older than before.

She was still beautiful, and her tits were still perfect, but cumming seemed to improve my eyesight.

“That’s as far as I ever go,” she proclaimed, after asking if she’d made a repeat customer out of me, and after I paid her I offered to buy her a cocktail but she told me that she didn’t drink.

“Well…have a good night,” I said, and she gave me an emotionless peck on the cheek, then I made my way towards the exit after stopping in the bathroom to wipe some of the cum off my lap.

I felt kind of bad for running off so suddenly, and I worried that it made me appear guilty or ashamed of what had just happened, but the alcohol and lust had worn off, and it was just about time to pick up my kids from school.



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