Fools for Lust Read Free Page A

went walkabout as he tried to recognise the rock and roll tune she was, badly, dancing to.
    Several shimmies and swirls later, and a liberal shake of silicon-enhanced mammaries exposed, the song (some country and western standard given an electric and gloom Americana twist) came to an end and the stripper quickly bowed, picking up a few stray dollar notes thrown onto the stage by the isolated punters on her way off.
    â€˜Is that all?’ Susi turned to him, asking.
    â€˜I think so,’ he said.
    â€˜But it’s not even bottomless. She didn’t even show her cunt!’
    â€˜Maybe because it’s a bar. I don’t know,’ he said, ‘there must some local bye-laws or something. Don’t know much about the rules in American strip clubs,’ he continued, surprised by Susi’s interest.
    Another stripper, black, stocky, took to the stage and a soul number burst out of the speakers. The previous performer was on the other side of the dance area, soliciting tips from some of the men. One whispered in her ear as she accosted him. She nodded. The man rose and he followed the woman, who now wore a dressing gown, to a darker corner at the far end of the bar. Susi nudged him and they both peered in that direction.
    They could just about see the stripper throw back her gown and squat over the lap of the man who had now seated himself.
    â€˜A private dance,’ he said to Susi.
    â€˜Wow! Cool!’ she said, one of the more irritating mannerisms he had picked up on when they chatted online back in Europe.
    There wasn’t much to see. The stripper moved in silence. The man appeared to keep his hands to himself, but the darkness engulfed the couple.
    â€˜I’m turned on,’ Susi said in his ears.
    â€˜Really?’ he said, finding the atmosphere in the bar quite unerotic, the black stripper now strutting her square rump a few feet away from his face.
    â€˜Yes,’ Susi added. ‘I don’t think I’d make a good stripper. No tits, as you well know. But I sure could lap or table dance. I’d like to do that for you ...’
    He grinned.
    â€˜Sure. Later in our hotel room, I’ll look forward to your demonstration.’
    â€˜No. Here,’ Susi said, a deep tone of excitement in her voice.
    â€˜Here?’ he queried.
    â€˜Yes.’ He could see that her right hand was buried in the folds of her dress, that she was fingering herself through the material. ‘Can you arrange it? Please. See the guy at the bar, he appears to be in charge. Get him to agree. Please pretty please?’
    He shrugged.
    It cost him fifty bucks and some haggling.
    He walked back toward the stage where Susi was downing the rest of her Jack Daniels.
    He nodded. ‘It’s yes,’ he said.
    She rose, a mischievous glint in her eye. She took him by the hand and led him to a chair, nowhere near the darkness that offered shelter further down the bar but in full view of all. She pointed a finger, indicating he should sit down, which he did. Sensing what was to happen now, the bar attendant stationed himself at the door to Bourbon Street to prevent further spectators and a possible loss of his license. Susi camped herself facing the chair he now sat on and pulled her dress above her head. You could hear a pin drop as the barman and the few spectators dotted around the stage witnessed her naked form emerge from the cocoon of the fabric, whiter than white, shaven mound plump, and so bare, like a magnet for their disbelieving eyes. A couple of the attendant strippers peered out from the dressing room on the side of the bar counter.
    The music began and he had no clue what it was, his mind in such turmoil.
    Susi began writhing a few inches away from him, knowing all too well how much she was the centre of attraction.
    She danced, wriggled, swerved, bent, squatted, obscenely, indecently, her hands moving across her bare flesh in a snake-like manner, her fingers grazing her, by