I hate bachelor parties. It's not that I don't like hanging out with the guys, 'cause I do, and it's not that I'm averse to seeing naked women dance around, 'cause I'm not, but it's rather that marriage seems like such an unappreciated theme of a bachelor party. They don't seem to revolve around the joy of finding your one true love as much as celebrating that you managed to last this long without having it happen. They're about being single, free, a roaming male stalking the plains of his existence in search of fertile ground upon which to sire his lineage. In reality, they look like a bunch of unappealing, raucous men who think they're the shit simply because women will grind against them for a couple hundred.

A guy's mind never goes near the fact that this women does this every night, for every sort of guy, and odds are, she's thinking about a movie she wants to go see or some poetry she read, maybe even the dreaded shopping list, all the while grinding against you and cooing seductively about how good you make her feel. I hated sitting at bachelor parties because I didn't want the girls to dance with me for money, and, unfortunately, for the girls it was always business not pleasure. So I sat in the crowd, minding my business, pretending to oh and ah with all the other homo superiors, in reality probably thinking about the same movie or same poetry that the girls were thinking about. In the end, I think the girls got the better deal, because at least they were getting paid to daydream.

Then, of course, like any idiot sitting upon his throne of pompous self-righteousness, I quickly found out how unfounded and easily collapsed that chair could really be.

My best friend, the groom to be, was getting his midnight "last lap dance of freedom" by some buxom blonde. It was in fact his fourth of the night; by his own insistence, it was midnight somewhere every hour. The other guys were chatting amongst themselves, talking about the girls, sharing stories about how they all seemed to look like some girl they had dated back at some point which they seemed a little fuzzy on, but they could definitely remember how good the sex had been, pretty much typical guy strip club banter when everyone's realized that the inside walls of their wallet were touching. I sat, of course, in the middle, trying to appropriately nod in appreciation of some chick a guy had met in a Hooters that had given him a new meaning in life, although apparently not her name, when the song came on. It was a slow, grinding beat, almost all bass, and I recognized it as an old country song my dad used to play. It had been remixed of course, all the point removed by some DJ who thought he was clever to spell his name with a backwards r, but it fit right in with the beat of the club. I was thinking of my dad playing this old song in his beat up Ford when we used to drive out to see my grandparents decades ago when she came on the stage, and all thoughts of my family slowly leaked out of my head.

She had jet black hair shaped around her head in a sort of pixie tomboy kind of way, hands jutting out from her hips as she walked onto stage, the backlight perfectly hitting her as if the club had invented a special kind of spotlight acclimated just to her body. On her head was a small, pink cowgirl hat, tipped back to highlight her face, and she matched the outfit with a pair of daisy dukes and a plaid halter top. I'm not sure if it was the fact that she was probably the most covered stripper in the place, or just the song she had chosen, or even the fact that she was the only who looked like she might actually be a cowgirl in real life, but I couldn't take my eyes away, not for a second.

She walked across the stage and began her dance, moving her hips to the beat, rubbing her hands down her white legs to the black boots she brandished, and the entire world seemed to drop out behind me like it had been a cardboard cutout, a facsimile of the real world just there to somehow justify this dream I suddenly found myself front row center for. She did all the normal dances I had seen throughout the night, but for some reason they looked like some kind of ancient, beautiful ritual that robbed me of breath while supplying other, more noticeable physical changes elsewhere.

Her song was over before I realized it, the last twangs of the country guitar playing loud as she calmly walked off stage, and I quickly grasped for every last sight of her before she disappeared behind the red curtain. She had been amazing, sensual, intimate, erotic, perfect. I found that I couldn't tear my eyes away, somehow hoping that she might pass by the curtain to parts backstage, or even that the music would start up again and this all would just keep replaying itself, over and over, the perfect dream.

Her hand on my shoulder might have caused me to jump if I had not been in a drunken stupor from her presence, but as such, I kept my calm and simply turned around to look at her. She looked different up close, more real somehow, but somewhat even more attractive. I tried to quickly think up something witty to say, something clever that would win her heart, but all I managed was a polite smile. I suppose I might have fainted right then and there, so I would take any victory I could get, no matter how small.

"Would you like a dance?"

Her voice was deep, not like the fake syrupy sweet Barbies strutting around the club, it was jazz deep, smoke in a bottle, sex distilled.

I nodded, another small victory, and she took my hand. It was at this point that I realized she'd never disrobed on stage, that one of the things that had struck me about her was that she hadn't actually stripped, it had been more sensual than erotic, yet somehow the fact that she hadn't strove to turn me on seemed to make it even hotter. It didn't really make a lot of sense, and I decided to just go with it and hope that no one woke me up, that I had forgotten to set my alarm and wouldn't find this wonderful world shattered by an insistent beeping telling me I was late for class.

The back of the club was situated around small booths, curtained all around, for the people who liked their dances up close, personal, private. She led me by the hand and I noted that she didn't even ask me if I wanted one of the expensive rooms with a bed, or the simple booths with a high backed chair. Instead she walked me straight to the most expensive room in the club, a room with it's own door instead of a curtain, a bed and a chair, and my mind didn't even conjure up anything above the ability to note how much money I currently had in my wallet. She sat me in the chair, smiled at me, and as she dropped my hand back down to my side she let her fingers trail lightly up my neck and through my hair, sending electric shocks through my system that could have powered Chicago for a month.

Her hips began to move, slowly at first, as if they couldn't find the beat they wanted, and then a little faster as the rest of her body got into it. Up close, I could see the hint of a tattoo all along the small of her back, and for a strange second I became slightly jealous of whoever had gotten to put it there, touch her so intimately. All thoughts were gone again as she stretched her leg up in front of me, sitting it on the back of the chair, and ran one of her legs up her smooth thighs, milk white in the black light of the club, finally letting her fingers come to rest just outside the seam of her tiny shorts.

"Do you have money?"

It broke the silence, in my mind and in the room, but only for a second before I was reaching for my wallet and fumbling it out of my pocket. I had barely anything, thirty dollars in lose bills, but she smiled and took it all out for me, tossing my wallet behind her on the bed. Placing each bill on top of the next, she spread them out, laying the fan of green on my lap, her leg still sitting so close to my head that I couldn't smell anything but the leather of her boot.

I only had thirty dollars, she was going to laugh, going to turn around, at least make me go to the ATM, but she did none of those things; she took her leg down, turned, and slowly peeled her shorts down. I could see her white cotton thong, could see a small mark on her leg where she cut herself shaving, but only peripherally. I couldn't take my eyes off the tattoo that crept down her back, right down to her perfectly shaped ass. A woman, holding an axe and a kitten, circled by smoke, seeming to exude both vulnerability and strength at the same time. It must have been painful, but it had been worth it.

Her shorts paused a moment over her boots, and she was fully bent over, giving me a view of her butt that was almost breath stopping in nature. I couldn't move, time stopped, as my eyes wandered over every detail of her: the perfect angle that it stuck out against her lower back, the fold right below that seemed to cup her ass gently, seemed to push it up and push it out at the same time. She had the most amazing body I had ever seen, and I had the realization that no matter how confident she seemed right now, she probably sat at home, looking at herself in the mirror, wishing she could lose 10 pounds, just like everyone else. The thought that she wouldn't understand how soft she looked, how perfect, how much better than the cold, hard women she tried to emulate, seemed like a crime against nature.

Time sped up again, and she stepped out of her shorts, turning around and unbuttoning her top in the same motion. I could see the indent of her naval below the shirt as she let it fall open, barely still covering her breasts, seeming to catch in the perfect position as to just barely give a hint of what wonders lay beneath the cloth. She had another tattoo, a bat, on her chest, small and delicate, and it made me want to kiss it, kiss her, hold her close and see what other kinds of treasures she might be hiding on her body.

She must have seen it in my eyes, for she stepped back a bit and smiled at me.

"No touching sweetie."

She must not understand that I could barely keep myself breathing I felt so frozen, let alone raise a hand to touch this goddess, but I nodded solemnly anyway, not wanting her to think I wasn't listening.

She began to sway again, running her hands up her belly under her shirt, then back down, sliding a hand underneath her thong, making the softest of sighs as she explored her own body, in turn letting me explore everywhere she touched. I practically willed myself to feel her soft skin as she must be feeling it, barely grazing over her body with her fingertips, feeling every smooth inch of her. As her hand slowly slipped out from underneath her panties, she shrugged her shirt off, letting it fall to the floor, keeping one hand over her breasts. I yearned to see all of her, to see her small pink nipples, to see the swell of her breasts falling naturally over her, wondered what those breasts would look like while she was lying underneath me. Turning away from me again, she moved her hands away, back down to her hips, achingly censoring the soft parts of her body I craved to see most. She turned back slightly, coyly letting me imagine the slight outline of the side of her breasts exposed, and grabbed some of the money off my lap. Her finger tips brushed the tip of my growing erection, and if she had lingered I might have finished on the spot. Instead she drew her hand up, running the bills over her own ass, finally clipping them down underneath her thong and smiling at me. I got the hint and followed suit, gripping a ten between my fingers and running it up her legs, lightly, trying not to let her see how much my hand trembled as the money traced a path over the soft curve of her butt. I tucked the money inside her thong and she smiled at me, I grinned back like an idiot, and she turned.

Leaving her hands on her hips, her perfect breasts glimmered in the light, softly reflecting off the bare sheen of sweat that graced her body. She was pierced through her nipples, which seemed to draw focus inwards, away from the curves of her body, her small soft breasts, and into the very inner her, as if her sexual energy could be glimpsed at these center points on her body. As I watched, she let her hands trace themselves upwards over her belly, across her belly button, finally resting underneath to cup her breasts, bring them closer to my face. She let herself slide over my knees, pushing her soft silky skin closer to me, every once in a while letting her thumbs wander up to lightly caress the steel bars, the flesh surrounding them.

I'm not sure what overcame me, let me shake off the paralysis and replace it with unthinking action, but suddenly my tongue came out of my mouth, slowly licking under her breast, caressing, tasting her skin and her sweat. She started a bit, then relaxed, and my mind kept telling me to stop, but I didn't, couldn't, I was moving upwards, circling, coming towards the metal and those perfect nipples. I heard her sigh as I sucked one into my mouth, tasting the tang of the metal against my tongue, the rough skin of her areola and the hard, tight button of the nipple itself. She sighed again as I shifted to the other one hungrily, and I could feel her hands in my hair.

Finally she did stop me, I felt her pull away, and I realized I had blown it, I had upset her, and I would never see this goddess again. But then I realized she wasn't leaving, she wasn't telling me to go, she was hiking her leg back up onto the back of the chair, pushing the pink cowgirl hat down farther on her head, and pulling her underwear aside. I saw a brief hint of another tattoo I hadn't noticed on her leg, cheetah print, and then she was grinding herself into me. I instinctively started licking, bringing my hands around to cup her butt as she moved her hips against me, shoving my tongue even deeper inside. I couldn't believe this was happening, couldn't believe how wet she was, how good she smelled and tasted. I realized I was moaning as I ate her, gripping her ass as if I couldn't get enough of her, but then I realized that was ok, that she was moaning louder than I was, her hands grabbing handfuls of my hair and riding me like I was the horse in her cowgirl stage show.

I gave her the best I had, letting her buck against my face and fuck my mouth with all she had, until finally her body started shuddering and shaking and I could taste her cum. She fell back then, onto the floor, holding onto her hat as if it would blow away in a strong wind, and it was a long time before her eyes opened. I was surprised to see myself in them, the same lust that I felt, the same heat, the same passion. The thought that this woman, this goddess, could see me like this made me feel like anything I did from this night out would be downhill.

Springing up onto her knees so fast I couldn't react, she had her hand on my crotch and her tongue in my mouth, kissing me so hard I would have thought that she had just discovered the cure for some disease resided in my saliva. I let her taste herself on me, let her tongue dance around mine, before finally she dropped back and quickly unzipped my pants. I was rock hard, and the look she gave me made me feel like I belonged on Mt. Olympus. Her mouth fell open a bit and she looked up at me, wide eyed, licking her lips as she seemed to decide whether or not she could take it all in. Her head plunged down, lips wrapping around my cock, and I decided right then and there that this would be one of those moments that you base the rest of your life around.

She sucked me off like she thought we might have to stop any minute, making that pink cowgirl hat bob up and down so fast I thought I might pass out just from the sight. I could feel her tongue stop to lick the tip of my penis, could feel her hands massaging the shaft as she tried to take it as deep as she could. I could feel her gag as she tried to take it all the way down her throat, but she never stopped, letting her own spit coat my dick so she could go even faster. I wanted to come, needed to, but I pushed her back instead, stopping her the crucial instant before my orgasm became inevitable. She sat back, a tiny bit of spit still clinging from her lips to my cock, and looked hurt that I made her stop. I quickly aimed to rectify that, picking her up off the floor, spinning her around, and sitting her straight down on my dick.

I went in with no effort at all, letting her slide all the way down, and let out a stifled cry that was only a quarter of what I felt. She was warm, tight, loving, everything she should be, and I thought for a moment that I wouldn't be able to move. Then she was moving for me, hands on her knees, bouncing her ass up and down on my thick cock. I could see her ass as she pounded back into me, fucking me harder than I'd ever been fucked before. It was amazing, she was insatiable, and I put my hands around her waist to make her go faster, hold her so she could concentrate on pounding that ass as fast as she could back down onto my dick. She was moaning, deep down in her throat, that sexy voice of hers, and I could feel my orgasm building with her. I felt her fingers prying at mine, lifting them, putting them on her nipples, making me pinch and twist as my orgasm finally climaxed. I felt myself shooting inside her, felt her spasm around me, contracting as her own orgasm threatened to bring down our house.

We sat like that for a moment, a thin layer of sweat dripping down her back, more than a thin layer coating me, and I wondered what would happen now. I couldn't believe this woman, this creature of beauty, and I know that I didn't care if she asked me for money in a moment, or asked for my number, or just left without saying a word. I was hooked on this girl, my goddess, and I couldn't see my life without her anytime soon.

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