"Hello Commando!"

Okay, it's confession night here. It's a little long, as a worthy confession should be, so strap in and read for a while.

Since you liked my "commando" HNT this week, and my strip club story in the post before that, and since I'm headed off for a travel adventure for a week or so - and may or may not have internet access along the way, - I'll leave you with a story that combines elements of both with a confession kicker. A true story.

It's the story of the one and only time I got, without asking for it, "extras" in the lapdance.

One of the many lonely nights on the road a while back I wandered into a strip club to find some solace. Some simulated intimacy of a transactional nature. I had some cash in my pocket and a certain knowledge that some lapdances were on the agenda for the night. The only question was - with who? What dancer, or dancers!, would I get to spend time with?

I had been to this particular club before. Knew some of the dancers. "Know" in the I've-paid-them-to-grind-on-my-lap-before way. None of them were there that night, though, and I didn't recognize any dancers that were. Well, one. Never had asked her for a dance before. Always had declined if she asked me. But not that night.

I said hi politely, with a dollar bill tucked in her G-string, at the stage. "You look very nice tonight", I offered non-comittally. It was enough. She made a bee-line for my table after her stage set. I asked her to sit with me. Why not, I thought. Let's see what I've passed up.

Some small talk at the table. The usual - where are you from, what do you do, etc. All of the questions that I always deflect. Let's don't get personal. Let's get semi-naked, but not personal. I was a little bummed out by life and she was a little bummed out by the slow night, so she offered a solution.

"So, are you read to go back to the VIP with me and let me give you a handjob yet?"

Wow! That was pretty direct. I didn't believe her of course, so I just kept the small talk going. I knew the rules of this particular club, and handjobs weren't on the menu. I must have heard her wrong. I just pretended that wasn't said and kept talking.

"So, why don't we go on back and I can get started playing with your balls?"

"You're kidding, of course" I offered with one eyebrow raised.

"No. I'm not. Are you ready to go back?"

Of course she was kidding. It was just part of the sales pitch. Probably she was just a little extra "handsy" and not shy about running her hand over my bulging Dockers. Probably. Anyway, I was ready for some private time and I wanted to get to know her. Okay, not know here - I already said that. Experience her is more accurate.

We hit the VIP for a planned half hour rate. Dancer found us a couch as far back and away from the doorman as possible. A nice little couch almost hidden from view. She sat on a little ottoman in front of me for a little more small talk.

"So, have you been back here before?" She asked, fidgeting as she talked.

"I have."

"Please tell me you've been with a "fun" dancer before."

"Define fun."

"Who has danced for you before?" I gave her some names. "Oh my God, you're like a virgin!" I laughed a little at that. Twenty years of strip clubbing made "virgin" a little funny to me. But, she said it so earnestly.

"Give me your wallet", she said as she put her hand out - palm up.

Hmmm. I've been asked to pay up front before, but I've never had them take the money right out of my wallet. More curious by the moment at this little play, I complied. She flipped through my wallet for a while as I looked on amused. Until she asked...

"You're not a cop, are you?" Uh, that would be a no. "Okay, let's get started." She had my full attention.

I reclined back on the couch in my safe "no-hands" position to let Dancer know that I'm not a grabby groper. Turns out - she was.

We started out with standard lapdance stuff for a couple of songs or so. Dancer was a pretty girl and definitely had skills. Some getting acquainted stuff for a while. Dancing in front of me to shed her skimpy outfit. Some ballet moves across my lap to "arouse" my interest. Some hot breath on my neck to get the blood pumping. Mission accomplished - full arousal. Lot's of time left.

Dancer started pouring it on back in our hidden world semi-alone. Unbuttoning my shirt first, to find and then suck on my nipples. Yeow. Then, moving to straddle my lap to simutaneously hide me further from view and to get a grip on my belt -unbuckled - and my zipper - unzipped.

"Hello Commando!" she yelped, very surprised as she tugged my pants down a little. "I wasn't expecting that from you, Mr. straightlaced!"

I was. I always go commando to the strip club. Better friction, which is after all the goal. I know dancers may consider it tacky. But, hey, if you had a penis and you were thinking ahead you would do it too. You just would.

Not a problem though, because it actually facilitated her work, and my pleasure.

Dancer assumed a position, straddled across my lap in girl-on-top, that best shielded me from view. And the handjob began. Okay, now I believed her. Dancer balanced over me. Working my rock hard cock in one hand. Massaging my nipple with the other. Leaning her pretty face up next to mine in a near miss, hot breath continuously on my cheek. Pumping, slowly, deliciously.

She had a practiced hand. Heavenly technique, not that I've had a lot of handjobs to compare it to that weren't mine. She had a way of wetly rubbing the head of my dickbetween her thumb and forefinger, like it was a flint and she was trying to start a fire, that created a continuous electric feeling. Awesome.

Stroking. Circling. No sound but her hot breathing near my face. A very erotic sound.

Dancer was patient. Working through song after song. A brief pause as a doorman appeared to announce "two more songs". And then furitively back at it when he left.

Now, all of this time I know exactly two things:

First, this feels awesome and is an incredibly sexy situation. A beautiful girl that I met less than an hour ago is sitting on my lap with her dainty hand doing awesome and nasty things to my exposed cock! I'm 100% focused on a pleasurable sensation.

Second, there is no way I'm going to come. I'm going to enjoy every second until she lets go. Absolutely, with every fiber of my being. But, I'm not going to get off. Maybe back when I was 18, but not anymore. Why? Because, as good as it feels it's not the way I'm use to hand stimulation. I've been beating off for a long time now. I have a "way" that I do it. And as good as this felt, it was not my way. Wasn't going to happen. I didn't tell her that. I just enjoyed what she was doing.

Until the last song ended and there was no more doing it. She looked disappointed. I certainly wasn't.

"That was awesome, my dear", I offered as I buttoned and zipped back up.

"Really? But you didn't get off."

"That's okay. Wasn't going to happen. Wasn't your fault. You were incredible. That was incredible."

"You were just nervous", she decided. "Because you haven't done this before."

"Maybe."

"Well, come back again soon. And, next time, plan on making a big mess on my tits."

Wow. It's been a while now and there hasn't been a next time. But, thank you Dancer for the experience and the memory.

Okay, that's the confessional story. Now, who's got questions?


I may be gone for a week or so, so I hope this story tides you over. Read it again and again until you can visualize it!

Or, if you're new here, jump into the archives and read "Semi-Celibate Erotica" from the beginning.

Or, check out any of the excellent blogs on my sidebar links.

Or, and I like this one best, write me some naughty emails to read if I can get online or when I get back. Talk to me. Flirt with me. Proposition me. I like it when you do....