Our Only Hope Ch. 05

I was sitting in the second row of one of those circles. A tall, thin, blonde came into the light and began undulating in time to the music as she stripped. She was one of those extremely pale Nordic types with almost truly white skin. Her eyes were a very pale shade of blue that looked almost gray. She had a long, pink feather boa held in her hands that she slid around her neck or across her body or through the air in front of herself in time with the music. I could tell that two of the men watching her were very carefully following that fuzzy snake, especially when she would pull it between her legs.

She wasn't that great of a dancer, but she was a great showman... or should I say show woman. She kept the audience enthralled as she very, very slowly shed her clothing. It took her two songs to lose her skirt and blouse. The bra lasted through another song. The interesting thing was that with all her hand movements, you couldn't really tell when she was undoing the buttons or flaps or whatever it was that was holding the stage clothing together. One minute she was waving the boa in the air, and the next she was holding her skirt... or blouse... or bra... or whatever.

Finally she was down to just a pair of white, very high-cut panties. They weren't exactly a thong, but there was almost nothing covering her ass when she rotated around to face the other tables. The song had a beat that enabled her to dance-walk along the front row, shaking her ass in the customers' faces, trolling for tips. She left the stage and made a dancing, walking loop through the second row of tables. I pushed a five into her waistband and gave her a smile. Strippers normally weren't my thing, but I needed to look like a regular, gullible John. I was the last stop on her stroll through the tables so she returned to the stage.

I had to hand it to her, she had her timing exact. She had just returned to the center of the stage when the music ended with a flourish. As with the other articles of clothing, the panties suddenly disappeared at the end of the song. Bills fluttered to the floor, but she still wasn't naked. There was a tight, flesh-colored G-string under the panties.

A good old-fashioned bump and grind song started blaring and the dancer's graceful undulations changed to almost violent ass kicks and crotch grinds in time with the music. The dancer on the other stage, stopped and stood watching as the thin Viking leapt around the stage waving her ass at every customer in her circle of tables. She also made sure to give a good strong pelvic thrust toward each of those tables.

A couple of the men threw additional money onto the stage, and I could see several heads bobbing in time with the music waiting for that last piece of clothing to suddenly disappear. As the song neared its end, she kept bringing her hands down to her crotch and the flinging them wide apart above her head. The result was that the center portion of the boa was flapping and swinging almost in a circle in front of her. She seemed to be centering in on one truck driver who was sitting at a front row table. She was bouncing closer and closer to him with each snap of her boa. Then on the last beat of the song, she let go of the boa with one hand so it flipped around almost like a whip that had been cracked. As she flung her hands wide above her head, it was obvious her G-string was gone. It was also obvious that there was a completely shaved prick and balls between her legs.

The lights on stage went out immediately. You could hear drinks dropping to the tables throughout the club. The truck driver let out a loud, "What... the... hellllll!" and everyone began laughing.

The lights faded back up and the dancer was standing coyly on stage with the feather boa around her neck, but hanging down so that it covered the surprise in her crotch. She smacked her ass and said loudly, "Admit it, boys, every one of you has wondered what it would be like." She stuck out her ass and said, "From that side we're all the same." After laughing and then swaying across the stage, she leaned down and made exaggerated smacking movements with her lips at the truck driver. "We're all the same from this end, too, honey." She dance-skipped around the stage picking up her clothes. Once she had everything picked up, she gave an exaggerated wink and said, "Ask for a special VIP room and say you want Rexie. I guarantee you an experience you will tell NO ONE about." Still laughing and skip-dancing, she left the stage and melded into the darkness.

I walked back over to the soft drink bar. There were no signs and there wasn't a separate station for private dance tickets, so I asked the man behind the counter, "You sell the private dance tickets?"

"Just pay the girls," he answered curtly. Apparently, customer relations was not a prime goal here.

"What if I want the special show?" I replied. "I was told the owner does a special show after hours on Friday nights, but you need an invite."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he answered calmly. His demeanor had become very quiet.

"Miss," I called out to one of the half-naked women who were acting as waitresses and bringing food and drinks in from the truck outside, "could you come here for just a moment?"

She walked up and stood in front of me. "What can I get you?" she asked brightly.

"Hopefully, an invitation to the special show," I replied and held up a twenty. Then I said calmly, "I need to grab your breast to prove to this nice man that I'm not a cop."

"That won't do it," she said with slight laugh as she grabbed the bill. "You've got to kiss the nipple."

I bent over and put my mouth over her nipple. I closed my lips, but I didn't suckle. Then I stood up and said to the man, "Is that enough? Or do I have to pull my prick and balls out of my pants?"

"OK, OK," he said making a stop motion with his hands. "You ain't a cop. Who sent you?"

"A half-drunk idiot over at Daisy Dooks who said I could see a real show here after hours," I answered.

"What's his name?" he asked gruffly.

I waved my hand out at the customers in the club. "Do any of the men in here have names?"

"Good point," he said as he leaned in closer to me. "But it will cost you. Cover is two hundred, payable now."

"Is it worth it?" I asked, pretending to be anxiously interested.

"Worth every dime," he answered, holding out his hand.

I put four fifties on his palm and he reached under the bar and then slammed something into my open hand. The something was a familiar, large, black poker chip with a strange-looking devil face on one side of it. I turned it over. The other side was blank, but it looked like something had been painted over. I knew what was under the paint. It was the address of Master Rodriguez's club in Rio.

"Come back at two am," the barman said firmly. "Give this to the doorman. And don't bring anyone else or you don't get in." He paused and then said gruffly, "Got it?!"

"Got it," I replied and walked out of the club. I had to stop and take a deep breath once I was outside. Step one of our plan was now in place.

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END OF CHAPTER

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