Welcome to My Mid-Life Crisis Ch. 01byxxistential©
It had been a year and a half since his divorce and it hadn't gotten much easier. He hit rock bottom when two months after he had signed the papers, he got a wedding invitation from his ex. The bitch actually sent him a wedding invitation. She's been divorce again since, then, just recently. He had read the divorce announcement in the local paper and gotten a bit of a chuckle. Another poor schmuck added to the club.
It was Friday night, and Frank was out drinking at the local strip club, trying to forget that his life was an empty hole, but even a dozen pairs of perky bouncing tits that were constantly being flung in his face couldn't lift his spirits tonight. He sighed and was just about to chuck it and go home when he heard the man at the table next to him telling a sad story to a big breasted stripper who was kneeling on his table. "So we date for a couple months, and she says we have to get married because she can't stand the stigma of being a divorcé. So I figure, what the hell, there's obviously chemistry there and she's one of the best fuck's I've ever had. Six months later, it's goodbye Ronnie. Traded in for a younger model. Caught her in the fucking act, pardon the pun. So the bitch says, fine we'll get divorced, but she wants alimony and all that other crap. Come on, I'm one of the best divorce lawyers in the state, I catch her in my bed with some 20 year old frat boy, and she thinks I'm gonna pay her alimony?"
"So what happened?" asked the red head curiously.
"I sued her for alimony. She's some big advertising exec up in St. Paul. Took her to the cleaners for alienation of affections. As a matter of fact," he said placing another dollar down the front of the dancer's g-string," darling Vicki is paying for this table dance!" The stripper giggled and flipped her hair at this idea.
Frank started choking and nearly shot scotch and soda out his nose. He looked over at the man at the next table and couldn't resist asking the question, inebriated as he was. "Excuse me," Frank said, "but would you be referring to Vicki Porantello?"
"Yeah," said the man a bit stunned, "How'd you know?"
"Lucky guess," said Frank. "Look, I have to ask, was she already divorced when you two got together?"
"Yeah. I met her through another buddy of mine. He's an attorney too and handled her divorce. I need to remember to kick his ass next time I see him. He really set me up with a winner. Guess she gave him an even better story than she gave me!"
"She was probably fucking him too," said Frank.
"Hmm, entirely possible. That bitch did have entirely too much ability at mind control." Ron slid another dollar into the stripper's waistband. "I feel sorry for the poor sonuvabitch who had to endure her before me. She had to have been screwing around on him to."
"Count on it," said Frank with a smile. "I didn't get your name."
"Oh yeah," said Ron reaching around the buxom table dancer to shake Frank's hand. "Ron Reynolds, attorney at law."
"Nice to meet you Ron. Frank Maroni, poor sonuvabitch."
The stripper got Frank's meaning immediately and stopped gyrating in on the table. Ron took another mouthful of beer before realization hit him. He spit out the mouth full of beer in surprise and stared at Frank. A half second later, Ron realized he had just drenched the poor dancer, foaming beer cascading down her cleavage.
"Oh shit, I'm so sorry," said Ron, reaching for a napkin and starting to sop up the beer. Suddenly he realized what he was doing and snatched his hands back guiltily looking around for the bouncer he was sure was coming to pound him for touching one of the girls.
The redhead just laughed and got off the table. "I think you have bigger problems than I do," she said and walked away smiling.
"Um..." said Ron sheepishly, "buy you a beer?"
Frank burst out laughing. "Sure, why not. Especially if it's on Vicki."
Frank joined Ron at his table and Ron ordered a couple rounds of drinks. Frank laid out the story of how Vicki had just came home from work one day and said that she was burnt out and couldn't take living with him anymore. She dropped a packet of divorce papers on the counter and said it was over. He'd given her the house being an idiot and thinking she would get over it and they'd work things out.
"I didn't want it to get ugly," said Frank. "I really believed that we'd work it out. God I miss that house. I loved it."
Ron looked up embarrassed. "This may not be the time to mention it, but your address wouldn't happened to have been 1345 Durstin would it?"
"Yep, that's it."
"I know what you mean," said Ron, "I love it too."
"You mean loved it," said Frank suspiciously.
"No I mean I still do," said Ron warily. "I got it in the divorce."
Frank's jaw hit dropped. "Look," said Ron hastily, "When we got married I had a great apartment. Nice view, overlooking the bay. The bitch talked me into selling it and moving in with her. She talked me into selling all my shit to cover this big ass wedding she wanted, since she had the big house and all. So I did, gave up everything from my bachelor life for her. After that, there was no way she was getting the house!
"Think of it this way," said Ron placating, "at least she isn't still living in it."
Frank stared at Ron for a minute, his mind working furiously. Then he started to laugh. "You know, you're right. I don't suppose you'd entertain an offer to buy it back would you?"
"Geez, I've known the guy 10 minutes and already he's trying to get me to sell all my stuff. This is very reminiscent," said Ron with a smile.
"No," said Frank quickly, "that's not what I meant. I just..."
Ron started laughing and cut him off. "Just giving you crap Frankie boy. I'm not exactly in a position to sell at the moment, but should my situation change, I'll give you first crack. I'm certainly not emotionally attached to it.
"Besides," he said raising his drink, "I'd feel kind of like the conquering hero, returning the stolen manor to the wrongfully ousted lord."
Both men enjoyed a rolling laugh. The redheaded dancer returned, having toweled off and changed her g-string. Gone was the sparkly black thong, replaced by a tiny sheer green g-string. "Glad to see you two haven't exchanged blows yet," she said with a smile.
"Nah," chimed in Ron, "It's apparent that we were never rivals."
"Yeah," said Frank, "just unwitting victims."
"Look honey," said Ron apologetically, "I'm awful sorry about what happened."
"That's ok," said the stripper, "I've had a lot worse sprayed on my chest than that."
Both men laughed. "Ok," said Ron, "I suppose some introductions are in order. Frank this is Tara. Tara, this is Frank, my ex-wife's ex-husband."
"And you two just happened to meet here tonight?"
"Yeah, serendipitous, eh?" said Frank.
"So where were we?" asked Ron, pulling out a wad of bills.
Tara giggled huskily and strolled around to Ron's side of the table. As she passed Frank, she let a hand wander through his hair and trail down his arm. "Don't you think you should share with your new friend?"
"A capital idea," said Ron enthusiastically. He stood up offering Tara a hand, which she took and stepped from the floor to a chair and finally up to the table.
Stretched her arms up over her head arching her back, her large breast pushing skyward. Frank could tell this wasn't your average stripper. Tara wasn't the list bit boney or anorexic looking, but she wasn't heavy either. She had a natural smoothness to her curves that spook volumes about a healthy lifestyle. No forced diets, or excessive drinking here. She was trim, yet voluptuous. Her ass was a bit on the largish size and well rounded, in his opinion perfect. Her breasts were easily D cups, and swayed in a way that could only be termed as natural. Her nipples, a pale pink on her very white skin, drooped ever so slightly, again denying any augmentation and screaming to their natural origins. As she bent over in front of him, he could see a pattern of very pale freckles playing across her ass, making him think she was definitely a real red head. He was sure that under that sheer fabric would lay a fiery red patch of pubic hair, if there was anything there at all. Judging by the brevity of the g-string she wore, he doubted there was much.
Tara swung gracefully down to kneel on the table, her ass pointed toward Ron, look Frank right in the eyes. "So Frank," she said, arching her back and cupping her breast with both hands, "I've heard Ronnie's story. What's yours?"
"Not much to tell really," said Frank. "We were married for two years, everything seemed great. We both worked nine to five jobs, made a decent amount of money and had everything we ever wanted. She was happy, I mean really happy. Too happy, I guess.
"So she just shows up one day and hands me the divorce papers. I was stunned, I really never saw it coming. I've thought time and again that maybe I was in denial and just couldn't see the signs. Oh as I look back, I can see signs that she was screwing around on me, but not that she was angling for divorce. She totally blindsided me.
"So I packed up and moved into a hotel, thinking we'd be able to work it out as soon as she told me whatever it was that had set this off. A week later, the bank account is cleaned out and I'm selling my Mercedes to pay for the lawyer fees and to make it until my next pay check."
Tara stopped dancing and looked at Frank. "Seriously Frank, no stripper bullshit here, that sucks, and I'm really sorry." Frank saw her eyes were a bit watery, even in the low blue light of the bar.
"Hey, not your fault kid," he said. "Not unless you were banging her too." At this she laughed and flipping her long scarlet hair back resumed her dance.
Frank took another drink. "I just feel so stupid, you know? I mean, I honestly never saw coming."
"Yeah," said Ron, "I know what you mean. Everything was great, our lives seemed perfect. Then one day I come home and..." He paused and Frank could see him turning a bit red.
"What?" asked Frank. "At least you caught the bitch early one. And you won in the end. She cleaned my ass out!"
"Yeah, but it was so cliché," said Ron.
"What do you mean cliché?" asked Tara?
"Never mind," said Ron hastily, his reddening face looking purple in the blue light.
"Come on, said Tara, "you never did tell me how you caught her. It'll be therapeutic."
"What are you," quipped Ron, "a psychology student putting yourself through college as an exotic dancer?"
"Yes," she said, "as a matter of fact I am."
"Come on Ron," said Frank. You can't get much more cliché than that. No offense intended my dear."
"None taken," said Tara brightly and blew him a kiss. On here knees again, she leaned back until her hair was hanging back in Ron's lap. She reach down and pulled the tiny sheer green g-string up tighter then moved her hands slowly up her body to again cup her breast, all the while staring into Ron's eyes and licking her lips. Frank looked at the small tight triangle of green material between Tara's luscious spread thighs. Through the ultra thin fabric he could see the distinct puffy outlines of her pussy lips. They were thick and luscious, her pussy looked ready to explode out of the g-string.
"Ok fine," said Ron knocking back the rest of his drink. "So I come home early from work one day, and in the driveway I see this delivery car from the local pizza place. I walk in and..."
"Wait a minute," said Tara, sitting up and spinning around to face Ron. "Are you trying to tell me that you caught you wife fucking the pizza delivery guy?"
"Yeah," said Ron haughtily, "that's what I'm saying!"
"OK," said Tara, "you win. You're situation is definitely more cliché than mine."
"Well just when I thought nothing could make me feel any better," said Frank laughing.
Tara spun around, a pout on her red-orange lips. "You mean I'm not enough to make you feel better?" she asked sadly.
"Ah but you see, my dear," said Frank, melodramatically, "my pain is great and my scars run deep. Tis naught but so much that one fair maiden can do to ease my suffering and heal my lonely soul."
"Says you," said Tara with a smoldering look in her eyes. "What do you think Ronnie? I think Frankie needs some special attention."
"I couldn't agree more!" said Ron with gusto. 'Begone you wretched shell of a man. To the Champagne Room with you!" Frank tried to protest, but Ron shoved two hundred dollar bills into Taras hand and pushed Frank to follow her.
"Ron!" exclaimed Frank. "I met you twenty minutes a go and you're buying me a two hundred dollar lap dance? Come on man I can't accept this."
"Nice try," said Ron laughing, "but this ones not on me. It's on Vicki! Remember, I have no real need for Vicki's alimony checks, I'm loaded. The alimony was purely a spite move. So, every month I come here and spend until the monthly check is gone. Have you ever seen a teller try to cash a $3000 check in 1's?"
"But," said Frank.
"No buts," said Ron firmly, "except hers of course. Take care of him Tara. And do send someone back round my way."
Tara took Frank firmly by the hand. "Don't worry tiger," she said with a purr in her voice, "I won't bite..."
" I know, I know," said Frank resignedly, "not unless I ask right?"
Tara's smiled coyly and lead him back to the private suite reserved for high priced dances. The infamous Champaign Room. He briefly remembered a joke from somewhere, "regardless of what they tell you, there's no sex in the Champagne Room!"
Standing at the double etched glass doors was a very large black bouncer. He gave Frank a stern look. Suzie promptly slapped him on the shoulder. "Stop scaring my customer, Tino."
"Yes ma'am," said the bouncer and flashed a toothy grin as he opened the door for the pair. "Have fun with GB."
"GB?" asked Frank as the door closed.
"Oh he loves his little jokes," Tara said. "calls me GB because he says I have a 'Ghetto Booty'. I guess it's a nice way to say I have a big ass."
"Oh I don't know," said Frank shyly, "personally I like it."
"I don't know," Tara said, suddenly serious, "I never was self conscious about my weight until I started working here. I'm certainly the heaviest girl here."
"You know what the first thing I noticed about you was?" said Frank, giving her a lopsided grin. " When you stretched up and arched your back, I couldn't see your ribs. Most dancers are so skinny that they look like they are either on crack or they need a sandwich." Tara chuckled at that remark.
"Seriously," said Frank, "they lose their natural beauty and it makes them look fake. Especially when they have those big fake boobs to go along with it. You just look real. I guess I like that." Frank smiled shyly.
"Frank, that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me in here. If I didn't think Tino would bust in and beat the crap out of you, I'd kiss you right now."
Frank shot reflexive glance over to the doors, and the shadow of the bouncer outside. "Damn, Frank I was kidding. At least about Tino."
She lead Frank over to the large couch and gently pushed him down. He sat as she poured two glasses of champagne and came strolling back across the room. She moved with a dancer's grace, the liquid in the flutes barely moving, but that was all that didn't move. Frank was entranced by the sway of her hips, the way her long legs, accentuated by the high heels she wore, ate up the ground between them. Her natural breasts swayed gently as she moved.
"Now let's relax and take it slow. We've got plenty of time." She handed him a glass and sat on the couch beside him. "So the first thing you notice about me isn't my tits or my ass, but that I'm not fighting an eating disorder? What are you a doctor or something?"
"Nope," said Frank taking a sip of champagne, "I've just spent my share of time and money in the strip clubs lately. You start to see trends."
"Oh come on Frank," said Tara. "you mean to tell me that you've spent the last year and a half going to strip clubs trying to forget your ex?"
"Yeah," sighed Frank, "pretty much. Pathetic eh?"
"Well, kinda yeah," said Tara honestly. "I mean, what about other women? Haven't you been dating?"
Frank snorted. "Not once. I tried to ask out a lady at work once about six months ago, but I just couldn't bring my self to take the risk."
"Ah," she said, sounding like a seasoned clinician, "so the fear of rejection brought on by your divorce kept you from taking that risk. So you've probably been spending all your time at strip clubs because you knew you wouldn't be rejected. So why not just go get a hooker and work off some of that tension?"
Frank stared at her. "First off I've never paid for it and I never will!"
"Ah righteous anger followed by indignent defensiveness. The thought had to have crossed your mind, but you never pursued it because of your pride?" Tara was in full psychiatrist mode now. "I don't buy that, mainly because if you were in as deep a depression as you say, and I believe, that you were, then you wouldn't have had any pride left. I dare say you were more worried about getting caught back up in the same trap that your ex caught you in.
"I'll bet that deep inside you think that any woman will just take you to the cleaners and burn you again. But, at the same time you need that female companionship, being as you are a strong virile man. You probably frequent the strip clubs because you know that you aren't going to get lucky here, so it is safe for you. It's like porn, but living and breathing. I'll bet in the last year that you've been coming to places like this you've never even had a lap dance right? Too much contact, too uncomfortable, too risky? That's why you are so nervous right now."
"No wait a damn minute," said Frank, "I didn't sign on here for a psychiatrist appointment. I thought this was a lap dance?"
"Frank, you've been sitting here listening to me for the last 90 seconds and you totally for got that you have two huge naked tits staring you right in the face. Not once did you glace down at anything but my face. That tells me I hit a little close to home." She reached out and topped his champagne glass. "I see it all the time Frank you aren't the first."
Frank sighed. "Ok doctor, what do you suggest I do now?"
Tara looked down a bit at his harsh reply. "Look Frank," she said putting a hand on his thigh, "I'm sorry I came at you so strong. I don't normally do that. I've sat and listened to you and Ronnie all night, and I've seen you in here a number of times before. You're a polite, sweet man who got hurt by a real conniving whore and you didn't deserve it. I guess I just think you need to get on with your life. To do that you need two things. First someone to step up and let you know it's not your fault and to snap out of it.
"And second," she said swinging quickly over him to straddle his lap, her face inches from his, "you need someone to prompt you to take that risk and get back I the game."
"Put me in coach!" said Frank with a laugh. With that, Tara began her dance.
Straddling his waist, she arched her back up, her large tits inches from is face. He breathed in, inhaling the sweet scent of strawberries from her alabaster skin. Tara reach up and cupped her breasts, squeezing them, her fingers leaving red impressions on her pale flesh. She slowly caressed the globes, ending by pinching her hardening nipples. Flipping her hair forward, she began to slide down Frank's body. Her breasts gently caressing his cheeks and her hair cascaded over his face like a veil of scarlet silk.
Frank could feel the rock hard nipples rake over his body through the thin fabric of his shirt as she continued her way down his body. Tara smiled up at him as her hand caressed over his own hardening nipples. As her breasts lay heavily on his lap she reversed her course and started moving back up his body. As the entire length of her body ground against his crotch, his cock began to harden. Her breasts slid past his face again, filling his nostrils with the scent of fresh strawberries, as she stood.