Illinois Park, IL
After work the next day Big D and I decided to take some coworkers out for dinner. We started around 6pm. I toned down any intentional game during the dinner as to not lose any professional credit during my visit. To my surprise, one of the coworkers had begun to flirt with the waitress. Cyclically: Neg, flirt, neg, cocky funny, rinse, repeat. I was dumbfounded as I watched. He was way too good. He was married and she was clearly responding regardless of his mention of wife and kids. He had a natural pull that was really hard to describe. He came off as a prick, but a very playful prick. There was no kino escalation, and he exited set on his own almost as if it were extremely important that he left our group, but it was not clear if his intent was actually to go home or not. The rest of the guys took a couple shots then left, leaving Big D and I to plan out the rest of the evening.
We reminisced from the night before and discussed how much fun we had. I recalled seeing another strip club called "Scores" on Google Maps. I brought it up and it didn't take long to realize exactly what we wanted to do that night. We had been warned that this was one of the pricier clubs in Chicago.
We arrived at Scores and realized why it was so much more expensive. The girls here were higher class, ranging from HB7s to HB10s. We promptly took a seat that seemed to be amidst the most cross-traffic while still far enough away from the main stage that we wouldn't be expected to tip the various dancers. It was about 5:45pm and we were promptly greeted by a waitress that was far from outshining anyone else there. She asked what we wanted to drink and we ordered two waters. She warned us that since it was early and slow that we would be hit on frequently. She returned a few minutes later with two glasses of water in hand. "Eleven dollars" she announced, a little too proudly. We talked amongst ourselves for a good 20 minutes before the first stripper ever approached. There were plenty present, but they were all lined up near the bar area chatting to themselves. It was like they were all waiting for something, as if as soon as the clock struck seven everyone in the club would start accepting dance offers. We didn't let this affect us. We went on enjoying each others company and push-pulling the girls that did approach with lines like "You're probably just like all the rest of them." and "We like to judge how classy you are by how quickly you leave us after we let you know that we are waiting 'till later to get a dance." This provoked them to stay and let us run a few practice routines on them. Most of them would've stayed, but once business picked up so did the amount of girls and we wanted to get to them all. We dismissed them; It felt good to have that little bit of frame control.
One girl in particular had been watching us from the bar. As soon as we were both alone again she approached Big D to try her luck. She sat in his lap and he ran the same cocky funny he had been running, and I erratically pitched in with disqualifying statements like "We're no good for you sweetheart. Are you sure you belong here?". She ate is up, but was soon called to the main stage to dance. They called her by her stage name: Sonya Blade (yes, from Mortal Kombat). When she left, yet another girl approached Big D. He held onto her for a good while. Yet again, I was not approached. I was somewhat thrown off by the fact that girls religiously chose to approach Big D over approaching me. Did I seem too cocky? I later found out that he had been making eye contact with girls at the bar that he wanted to come approach, as he actually had the intent of buying dances, which I was unaware of at the time. I took this next opportunity to relax, and take in a little bit more of my surroundings. Sonya Blade was now topless staying nearer the center of the stage while a couple guys approached the perimeter. She was new at this. The HB10's consistently approached the overweight men, with good reason. The one HB?4 in the room was on the stage furthest from the center of the room, near a pole topless, but entirely motionless with her hands on her hips and no facial expression whatsoever. She was either remarkably cracked out or so consumed with insecurity that it paralyzed her movement. Big D had ordered a shot of tequila with his new entertainer, I feared that this may become a habit. The waitress, now standing near the bar, scowled in our direction. Was it because we hadn't bought a dance? I didn't care.
Sonya Blade quickly returned to our group as soon as allowed off stage, a bit too quickly. She noticed Big D already being run by another girl and elected to approach me. "I'm not one for sloppy seconds," I playfully responded as I pulled her into my lap. "Please don't tell me you're just like all the rest of these girls. Gosh, sometime I just feel like such a piece of meat!" She laughed, hard. I continued with a few of the same lines while playfully pushing her off of me, mid-way between 'of course I'm kidding' and 'seriously get the fuck off of me'. We joked about her name and how she didn't have nearly the bust that the real Sonya Blade had, which turned out to be the primary source of her insecurity. I'd have to be careful around this topic going forward. I yes-laddered her into telling me her real name. We discussed video games and what kinds we played growing up. She seemed as if she might still be growing up. I lifted her up off of me, all 95lbs in the air, and sat her in the chair next to me for The Cube. She was interesting but even more 'interested'. She wanted to know what I did for a living, if I was a psychologist, how I had learned of the cube, all of the questions that are normally asked after you describe to someone exactly who they are. Luckily I had more time to observe her body language than in the majority of cases I had historically run The Cube; It was a spot on read. Another half hour of conversation passed and she grew increasingly more interested, despite my playful attempts to shoo her toward other patrons. She was called to the stage again and I was awarded yet another breather. This time, I made her pinky promise (oh the sacred bond) to return to our table. It was my last night in Chicago and I was now set on making this pull.
By now Big D had already left and returned on two separate occasions with dancers and had consumed two Cap'n and Cokes at least one more shot of tequila. We had bought the rounds of Cap'n and Cokes for our group of three in an attempt to relieve the tension between our group and the scowling waitress still at the bar. I had made it a point to Sonya Blade that I normally don't buy drinks for girls, that she just happened to be at the right place at the right time, and this was true. Interestingly. there was an unspoken tension between Sonya Blade and I while she was on stage. I knew better than to allow her to catch me looking, and she knew better than to let me see her catch her looking. Knowing this, I could have looked and she wouldn't have known, but I didn't on the off-chance that she let her head turn in my direction. She returned as promised. She refused to take the chair and sat much higher on my lap than the first time. The next 15 minutes of communication were entirely non-verbal. I finally broke it when I pulled out my phone, hesitated, smiled at her and said "Nah, never mind." and put my phone back in my pocket. A flash a dread showed on her face and vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. She hadn't meant for me to see it. I pulled her even higher on my lap and she began caressing my neck with her nose, and I mirrored her. We began talking on a deeper level, with hidden implications in every word. My questions were pointed at discovering what she really wanted in life, what she would be if there were no limits, what she would do for fun if she had to choose one thing for the rest of her life, etc. Our eyes constantly drifted to the others lips and would quickly revert back to the others eyes while making it painfully obvious that our intent, if went unrestricted, was to make out right then and there. That was my pull, here comes my push. After a long moment of eye contact, I forced her back in the chair aside me, and turned to address Big D about if he'd had enough to drink and was ready to go home. "OH YAH!" he exclaimed. She jumped back in my lap to let me know that it wasn't an option. I said, "I'm sorry but I'm not buying a dance from you." She only giggled, she knew it was my type of shit test. I decided to revisit the phone number idea. "Will the pit boss get mad at you if you gave me your number? I'll try and hide it just in case." I placed the phone on my crotch and let her type in her number, she didn't make a fuss. I found out she got off at 2am, and it was currently about 1:30am. I could make it another half hour. She was called up for another dance, the tension remained. I let the now drunk Big D that my intent was to bring her back to the hotel, that she would drive herself and he would have to sober up in the next two hours so that he could drive back home when I brought him back to his car. He agreed and managed to try and sober himself up, although it looked more like he was trying to take a nap.
That was her last dance for the night. When she returned, I reminded her of our intent to leave around 2am, when she got off. She nodded with a slight look of disdain. "You're free after this, yeah?" "Yeah..." she agreed. "We should all hangout when you get off, it'll be fun." She nodded again. "Okay". We were all three perfectly clear on what this meant. We continued our conversation while Big D and I closed our tabs. My earlier perception of the scowling waitress was spot on. She insisted that I had earlier agreed to buy a different dancer a Redbull and had put it on my tab. Strangely, she brought that up five minutes after I paid my first tab. It was a low blow on her part. Her stammering, awkward body language, and lack of eye contact indicated she was lying. It was a trap, if I simply agreed I'd look like a pushover, and if I argued I'd look like a prick. I played out the different scenarios in my head before answering. Luckily what little alcohol I did have had worn off by this time. I let her know that it wouldn't be in my best interest to buy a dancer a Redbull when I could simply buy her alcohol if my intent were to buy her a drink, but that in order to not cause a stink I didn't mind paying $6.50. It's only $6.50.
At about 2:30am I looked back at my watch. "It's time for you to get out of here." We got up to leave and I told her I'd text her where we'd meet up. She kissed me on the neck and we headed out. I texted her a screenshot of my phone with the directions to my Holiday Inn Express, and wrote "Room 141". She replied "Okay", as everything else was implied. I bought condoms from the bathroom assistant before we left and drove Big D to his car. I had about 15 minutes to clean the room and relax before she knocked on my door. I answered it, far more comfortable than I thought I would be, and let her in.
Honestly, at this point I had no idea where to go from here. We hugged and I walked her to bed and offered her a beer. She had never had a Dos Equis before. What was I doing? The environment had changed and so had her body language. There was no longer an expectancy for her to be all over me, so neither of us knew how much touch was appropriate. I decided to do everything in my power not to let it bother me. and brought this up in conversation. She agreed and finally loosened up a little bit. I turned on Comedy Central and brought her slightly closer to me. We discussed what was on TV and how 4am infomercials were on every channel. We watched QVC and laughed at the "subtle" selling techniques. I brought her closer again. I had to kino escalate, but how without making her feel that I just wanted to sleep with her? I went with palm-reading, even though I had forgotten 80% of what I used to know about it. She was comforted by my forgetfulness, which I didn't really expect. Hands now finger-locked, I noted the impression that this same-night hook-up was a first for her. Without thinking, I brought that up too. We discussed managing expectations, and I described how I really just wanted to spend time with her but that I wouldn't fight the connection we had built that night. She agreed and we finally held each other close once again. We neared kissing several times before I told that I didn't want to kiss her, that tonight was perfect the way it was. She smiled, I kissed her.
I followed all the rules. No tongue in the first minute, always two steps forward, one step back. The TV droned in the background, the programming had now become an infomercial about some new type of food processor. How do these things always infiltrate the moment? She was a good kisser, careful and hesitant to use any tongue at all as if she didn't want to mess anything up. Over the clothes ass grab, lifted shirt up, put shirt back down. She let out a soft moan. Pulled her shirt straps down almost exposing the nipple, kissed her chest, pulled her straps back up. She briefly commented on how she didn't like how the shirt fit. Her Chicago accent grew thicker the more turned on she was. Under the clothes ass grab, bit her breast, kissed her neck. I was surprised by the lack of resistance. I flipped her on her back and nibbled on her ear while beginning slowly grinding. I lifted her shirt and began kissing her stomach. She had an incredible stomach. She put her hand under my shirt and felt my back, as if exploring a Braille book for the first time. I wondered what she was thinking. I lifted her shirt almost all the way up, occasionally exposing her breasts for just enough time to suckle them before returning her bra to it's original position. My hand drifted back into her pants, grabbing her ass even lower, barely grazing the opening to her vagina. Finally, she LMR'd. "I think we need to slow down." "I agree," I obliged. I took my hand out of her pants, pulled her shirt back down, and lifted her to the top of the left side of the bed before taking my side on the right. I sat completely straight up, brightened the hotel lamp, grabbed the remote, and started flipping through channels nonchalantly. I pretended not to notice the deer in headlights to my left.
Thirty seconds later, she pounced. All rules were off, the intent was perfectly clear. I quickly pulled off her shirt, kissing her while she struggled with the bra. She seemed to be in a bigger hurry than I was. As soon as it was off I spun her around to her back again and began kissing her stomach, all the way down to the button of her jeans. I unbuttoned them and removed her jeans and thong at once in a rather swift motion. They came off much easier than I expected, but got hung around her feet for what seemed like forever. We laughed at this. While kissing her neck again I removed both my jeans and boxer-briefs entirely. I inserted my fingers, she was ready to go. I hit the g-spot in a playful manner, not allowing her to cum during foreplay. I kissed all the way back up to her mouth from her belly button. I considered going down on her, but feared she wouldn't want to kiss if I had. It was time. I rested my captain's head against her slightly extroverted pussy, teasingly. She made no mention of a condom or birth control, it was tempting. I groaned "Ugh, condom..." and pulled it out of the night drawer and slid it on, making extra sure to leave enough space at the tip. She mounted me as I kissed her once more, and slowly slid it in.
She was tight, thank goodness. She had defeated the modern stripper stereotype. She moaned as I slowly pulsated in and out, working the grease on the axle. We continued to kiss throughout. We stayed in that position for at least 10 minutes. The insecurities of her breasts resurfaced as she held them while bouncing up and down on top of me. I wasn't about to let that happen. I grabbed her hands and pinned them down to the bed, bringing her face closer to mine and alleviating the pressure on my now full bladder. I stopped kissing her lips for just long enough to udder "They're great..." This seemed to bring her confidence up. My bladder was still uncomfortable but I pressed on. She clenched as she climaxed once, maybe twice, before I ceded to the pain in my urinary tract. After the next fall from climax I lifted her off and said "I hate to stop here but I really have to use the restroom." She smiled and rolled over. That piss lasted at least five minutes, no exaggeration. Still entirely naked from waist down I returned to the bed. To my surprise she had put her clothes back on. I didn't know what to think. Had she thought I was rubbing one out in there? Was she just tired and wanted to go home? I knew I wasn't that bad. I got back in bed and while lifting the comforter over both of us asked, "So, why are all of your clothes back on?" She replied, "Do you know how many orgasms I had?! Two!!" I laughed at her, not mockingly, but because it was genuinely entertaining. Apparently, that was more than she was used to. "That's nothing sweetheart, not to mention I haven't had my turn yet." Without saying anything else I removed all of her clothes, again, and started back up with a fresh condom. This time we changed it up a bit, switching from position to position, experimenting with different things. She came two more times by my count, three more by hers. I wasn't sure which to believe. After I had my turn we slowed things down a bit. We held each other close, as if we had been dating for quite some time. Then she turned facing away from me, toward the far wall of the room. I remember noticing the detail of the tattoo on her back. I realize now that this was an invitation to spoon, but at the time I considered it a subtle notification that she needed to cool down, so I turned, my back to hers, with a slight hope that she would turn to me, commenting on my back tattoo. She didn't. It was 7:30am.
I woke up. She was gone. It was 11am. I had missed four calls from work, and my flight for Dallas left in two hours. Fuck. I made the necessary work calls to cover my ass, while running around my room to make sure I hadn't been swindled. I was good. She even left the cash I had mistakenly left on the dresser. Turns out she had as much class as I'd hoped she would have. I texted her when I arrived at the airport.
"You are my favorite part of Chicago."
"I really enjoyed spending time with you
"_Hunter_