Intimate Strangers

Hi hon. How have you been?

I know that you are mad at me for not keeping in touch as often as I promised. But, I've had my hands full with work stuff and life stuff. The time just gets away from me. Even my vacation to the city of angels last week turned out not to be much of a vacation.

My friend Haley (who actually lives in Anaheim) met me at the airport. From the moment I got into her car, we were dealing with her life's problems.

Wednesday night was spent with me helping her pay some bills and organize things because she was too drunk and depressed to handle anything.

Thursday night was spent in the Emergency Room. No. It wasn't for me this time. Her obnoxious sister was having female issues that she thought were related to an ill-advised encounter with some guy she'd recently hooked up with.

On Friday, Haley introduced me to a good male friend of hers. What she didn't realize was that the good male friend was angling for a promotion. So, I spent that night avoiding a cock fight with some guy who is in denial about how deep in the Friend Zone he was.

T.G.I.S. Saturday was mine. Haley was working. And, despite her attempts, I wouldn't let her pawn me off on either her sister (who was trying to use me just to start unnecessary drama) or her "friend" (who just wanted to interrogate me on my relationship with his dream girl). I had a lot planned. I intended to take the bus from Anaheim (where we were staying) to Los Angeles, and see the sights.

The only problem was that I had gotten smashed the night before. My thinking was that if my mouth was busy drinking, I couldn't talk my way into a ridiculous pissing contest over a girl who I wasn't even trying to hook up with. Maybe then, we could all actually have a good time.

The result was a sever headache. All the other pleasures of a hangover. And, I woke up too late to catch my bus to LA. So, there I was, on my one night of vacation, and I was sitting in my hotel room watching TNT. That just would not do.

Anaheim is no Los Angeles. In truth, it's the blue collar part of Orange County. It's not quite the ghetto. But, you are guaranteed to find more than a fair share of White, Black, Mexican, Middle Eastern, and Asian trash there. Still, I figured that there had to be something to do on a Saturday night.

I quickly found out that not a block away from my hotel was a swanky strip club. Also, to my fortune, it was a juice bar.

I know most guys like a little booze with their topless dancers. Not me. After having worked in a couple strip clubs, I can tell you that booze very rarely makes a positive difference. Johnny Walker judgment and black lights generally add up to less attractive dancers and less desirable patrons.

In a juice bar, the bulk of the cash is going to the dancers. So, when a girl can snag a deep pocket, she holds on with all she's got. Also, in a juice bar, you are pretty much guaranteed to get a nude show and a full contact lap dance.

Another important fact about me is that I am very particular about my strippers. A girl can't just look good on a pole to get my money. She has to intrigue me. She has to show me something that demands my attention, and holds it for five minutes. Which, after you have played in the nightlife for as long as I have, isn't that easy to do. Usually, I sit back and watch the floor show, then approach the dancer who gives the best performance. Then, the dancer, my wallet, and I spend as much time in V.I.P. as I want.

That night, lady luck walked right up to me before I had a chance to get anywhere near a chair. Her name was Piper (stage name I'm guessing). She swayed up to me like the suave sound of a smooth jazz groove. Her dark chocolate hair, teddy bear eyes, voluptuous lips, and coke bottle curves, said "I could have any man in this club. I chose you."

I was being reeled in before I realized that I had been hooked. All I could see was her. All I could feel was her. One minute I was in complete control. The next minute I was being led to the V.I.P. for a private dance with a total stranger.

From the moment we found our booth, we were all over each other. She writhed on me as if she were trying to devour my very essence. And, I was all too happy to let her. We were three songs deep and drowning, before I thought about what was happening.

I suddenly realized how submissive I had become. I thought about how much money this was going to cost me if we kept going. I thought about all of those pussy-whipped saps I'd seen blow their entire paychecks on some unattainable fantasy.

Then, I looked into her eyes. Those big, beautiful, sensual, brown eyes. And, I saw something that I've never seen in an entertainer's eyes before. I saw that she was just as drunk on me as I was on her. Here we were, two people who'd been around the block enough times to know the rules, and we were breaking them with reckless abandon.

"Sexy" by the Black Eyed Peas started playing. That soulful baseline was just the push we needed to dive off of the cliff of reality and into each other's embrace.

We kissed. And, with that kiss came a union so intimate it transcended the barriers of our physical surroundings. She was no longer a stripper. I was no longer a customer. Piper and Tony were left behind. All there was now was a single spirit, made of two parts, moving in synchronicity to the music that lifted them through the heavens.

When I touched her, I could not only feel her. I could feel me feeling her. I felt my hands roam over her body as if they were roaming over my body. I felt the pleasure she felt when she touched me. A virtual waive of carnal bliss flowing over us.

When next we kissed, it was with such a feral passion that Venus herself would've fainted from the intensity. We were nearing the bottom. Soon life and the world would be upon us again. That kiss was hello, goodbye, thank you, I love you, I want you, and so much more. Over an hour after leaving the club, I could still feel her on me, in me, like a woman still feels a man who has just pounded the pink out of her pussy. I wanted more.

It took a lot of cold air and concentration. But, I talked myself out of going back to the club. We had our moment. To ask for more would've been greedy.

So, there I was back in my hotel room. I wasn't watching TV this time. Instead, I was downloading an MP3 of "Sexy" by the Black Eyed Peas.

It was around two in the morning when my phone rang. It was the front desk clerk telling me that someone was in the lobby requesting my room number. Not expecting anyone, I slipped my MP3 into my shirt pocket (my new favorite song playing loud and clear) and headed down to meet my mystery guest.

Imagine my surprise to see my very intimate stranger standing in front of the elevator, lustfully waiting.

It was in that elevator that she spoke the last complete sentence she would be able to form before dawn. Just as the doors were closing, she looked over at me (with those dangerously captivating eyes) and said, "You're playing our song."