Lyrics to Shake That by Eminem fet Nate Dogg (2006)
Carter Stockwell arrived in Venice at 3:15pm after a long and boring flight from New York City. A tall, fair man with sandy blonde hair, sky blue eyes, and pouty lips, Carter was the son of a successful lawyer and traveled back and forth between American and Europe often, and each time he did so, the universe conspired to make his trips as dull as humanly possible. At the beginning of his last trip, he misplaced his cellphone and spent the entire flight staring at the back of some old guy's head and listening to a baby crying from coach. He finally found his phone in his luggage (how did it get in here?). Before that, he dropped his phone in the flushing toilet; it was sucked out of the bowl and probably landed in the Azores or something. This time, he forgot to charge it before boarding. To be fair, he and his friends got wasted last night, so he wasn't in the most responsible frame of mind.
Lincoln's phone chirruped and he jumped.
It was early Saturday evening and he was sitting up in bed in his socks and underwear and reading a paperback novel he picked up from the drugstore that afternoon. He had been engrossed in the story of a serial killer and the police inspector tracking him for hours and had forgotten that the outside world even existed.
He sighed, reached over, and grabbed the phone. He swiped his thumb across the screen and read the text.
Clyde.
Wanna hang?
Pfft, no.
Look, Lincoln loved Clyde like a brother, but he was in the middle of a thrilling mystery novel, and pulling himself away would leave him in withdrawals like a junkie outta juice.
Busy. Can't. Sry.
He dropped the phone on the bed beside him and started reading again.
But was he ever? His girlfriend, Kayleigh Anderson (of the Stamford Andersons, of course) told him once that he was "a real fuck up." You're always late, she said, you're always disorganized. You always expect the world to bend for you. You need to grow up and get your head out of your ass.
Coming from her, that was rich. She had never worked a day in her life; all she did was ride horses on her father's estate in the country and upload pictures to Instagram. She had three maids, a butler, and didn't know you weren't supposed to put metal in the microwave. This girl seriously dumped popcorn kernels into a metal bowl and tried to nuke it. She almost burned down his apartment building.
The phone chimed again.
Ugh!
Lincoln checked it.
This time it was Rusty.
Dude...we're going to a strip club, you in?
Lincoln read and reread that sentence three times before its meaning sank into his brain. Strip club? Like...where girls took their clothes off?
No way!
He called Rusty, who answered on the second. "Yo."
"What do you mean we're going to a strip club?" Lincoln asked without preamble.
On the other side of the phone, Rusty grinned; Lincoln just knew it. "I got a foolproof plan, my man. We're gonna go in and get lap dances. It's gonna rule. You should definitely come."
Lincoln wasn't exactly sure what a lap dance was (where a girl gets naked, puts her butt in your face, and does the Cha-Cha-Slide?), but he wanted one. Bad.
As a normal almost-twelve year old boy, Lincoln's hormones raged like Gordon Ramsey tearing through a dirty kitchen and girls - soft, pretty, sweet-smelling girls - were never far from his mind. Some of the older boys he hung out with would recount their escapades with the opposite sex, and Lincoln often imagined himself doing the things they'd done, which made him want to do sex stuff all the more.
From what he'd heard and seen on TV, strippers won't actually have sex with you or anything, but Lincoln didn't care; seeing real life butts and boobies was good enough for him. "When?" he asked.
"As soon as you get ready," Rusty said.
Now? Shit.
"I have to ask my parents."
"Just tell him you're sleeping at my place. No one's gonna know."
Rusty lived in the Happy Hills Motorcourt across town with his younger brother Rocky, his alcoholic dad Ricky, and their busted up mom Rochelle. They were poor, delinquent, and had all the structure of jello, meaning they could do pretty much whatever they wanted. All he had to do was say "Lincoln's staying the night" then leave, and that was that.
Lincoln loved his parents, but he really wished they were as chill as Rusty's.
"Alright," Lincoln said.
He hit the END button, tossed his phone aside, and got up. He pulled on a pair of jeans, slipped into an orange polo shirt, and stepped into his shoes. His stomach rolled with nerves and his heart throbbed against his ribcage Mom and Dad had no reason to turn down his request to spend the night at Rusty's, but he reallly didn't want to miss out on this.
As soon as he opened his door, the typical sounds of Saturday night chaos broke over him: Luna shredding her guitar, Luan cracking jokes to herself and laughing, Lana and Lola engaged in an epic battle of tug-o-war over a toy, Lisa cackling madly that something was alive (was she still trying to reanimate human corpses or had she moved onto something else?), and last but certainly not least, Leni Skyping with her boyfriend Chaz. See, Leni had a bad habit of walking away from the computer while she was talking to Chaz so she spoke loudly...even when she didn't have to because of habit. With twelve occupants, 1216 was never quiet, even in the dead of night, but there was something about Saturdays, a certain freewheeling party atmosphere, that made it noisier than usual.
In the living room, Lori, who was home from college, sat on the couch and Dad was parked in his armchair, dressed only in trousers and a wifebeater. The warm aroma of cookies seasoned the air and Lincoln's stomach rumbled. By the smell of it, they were thirty - sniff, no twenty - minutes from being done. The promise of Mom's decadent homemade chocolate cookies weren't enough to keep him from his mission, however.
Not this mission.
He found Mom in the kitchen wearing an apron and oven mitts. She bent over the stove and spoke into the phone. "They'll be ready soon. I can FedEx you one if you like."
"That'd be lovely," Pop-Pop's tinny voice replied, "thank you, Rita."
Lincoln waited until she hung up and cleared his throat. She started and spun around, her hand flying to her chest. "Oh," she said and uttered a nervous laugh, "you scared me."
"Sorry," Lincoln said. "Can I stay the night with Rusty?"
A shadow of dread flickered across her face. When he said his parents had no reason to not let him sleep over at Rusty's, he was wrong. Mom and Dad both thought Rusty's parents were white trash and didn't really like how "scummy" they were.
"Please," Lincoln said, "I really wanna stay the night. He has a new video game I've been dying to play. Please, Mom, I'm begging you." He clasped his hands and sank to his knees like a prayerful pagen stopping at a mountain of cow dung to pay his respects.
Mom pursed her lips and put her hand on her hip. Lincoln knew her body language; that meant she disapproved but would probably give in. If she put both hands on her hips, it was a wrap. He might as well go die a virgin in his bedroom because he'd never get to see some tatas. "I'm really not comfortable with you going over there, Lincoln. His parents are irresponsible and something might happen."
Thinking fast, Lincoln said, "But we're not staying at his place. We're camping in the field next to the trailer park. We're gonna tell ghost stories, eat marshmallows, and sing Bible songs." He donned a big, toothy smile.
Her stony expression softened a little and her hand fell away from her hip.
*Cue Sweet Victory*
"Oh...that's okay, I guess. But behave. No cigarettes, illegal drugs, or exploring each others' bodies."
Lincoln's nose crinkled in disgust. "Why would we do any of that stuff?"
"Oh, boys do it all the time."
Maybe the boys of your generation, but okay.
Back in his room, he quickly packed a bag for show and slung it over his shoulder. Outside, cool air blew through his hair and the distant sound of childrens' laughter found his ears. Someone somewhere was barbecuing chicken and the smell made Lincoln's stomach rumble again. The sun had set behind the roofs of the houses across the street but its light colored the sky a fiery orange that looked almost like blood. He went down the walkway to the sidewalk and texted Rusty. Where are we meeting?
The park, Rusty texted back.
Shoving the phone into his hip pocket, Lincoln hung a left and followed Franklin Avenue to McKinney Street. At the corner, he stashed his bag in a bush and covered it with leaves, then continued on his way.
Bittaker Municipal Park occupied a narrow strip of land between Main Street and the Norris River, its crown jewel a lopsided gazebo where teenagers gathered to snort condoms, take the cut-your-dick-off challenge for Tik Tok, and munch on yummy Tide Pods. Lincoln spotted Clyde and Rusty sitting on one of the picnic tables beneath its shadow and went over. Rusty was carving a dick into the table to be edgy and Clyde was drinking a Monster, something his dads would freak over if they saw. They saw a news story about some dumbass who drank fifteen in a single day, leading to his heart literally exploding, and they were terrified that a single drop would send their baby boy to that great big XBox Live lobby in the sky. Rusty saw Lincoln, nodded, and folded his pocket knife, shoving it into his pocket. "What up, Chain Linc?" he asked and they dapped each other up.
"So what's the deal with this strip club?" Lincoln asked and sat down. "How do you plan for us to get in? They have bouncers at the door."
Rusty grinned proudly. "Leave it to me."
He sounded like he knew what he was talking about, so Lincoln figured he must have a good plan. "Where's there a strip club anyway?" he asked.
"On Route 10," Rusty said, "you've never seen that little building by the truck stop?"
Lincoln wracked his brain. The truck stop was a sprawling complex of buildings, signs, and parking lots with nothing much else around. He didn't pass it very often, but when he did, he didn't make it a point to whip out his magnifying glass and study every nook and cranny (jinkies, that looks like a titty bar). "Not really, no," he admitted.
"It's called The Coom Longue," Clyde piped up.
He and Rusty laughed until they were crying.
"No it's not," Lincoln said.
"It's called Boobileville," Rusty said.
They laughed harder.
Lincoln rolled his eyes.
Sobering, Rusty said, "It's called The Rumpus Room."
"The.. Rumpus Room?" Lincoln asked incredulously.
Rusty nodded. "Yeah. A rumpus room is like a game room. They probably chose it because rump means butt, and the place filled with butt. My old man goes there all the time. He says the strippers will let you touch them for extra cash."
A violent pang rippled through Lincoln's stomach. You could touch them? He pictured himself with a topless honey sitting on his lap and his wiener jerked when she brushed her nipples across his face. He latched on like a little baby and she let him suck her until he ran out of spit. Lincoln was onboard 100 percent with just looking, but now that touching was on the table, he was gung-ho and ready to go. "What are we waiting around here for?" he asked. "Let's go."
"C'mon, Clyde," Rusty said, "let's go get some butt." He grabbed a backpack from the ground and slipped it on.
They stopped at Flip's and grabbed some Pepsi for the long walk out to the Rumpus Room. They left town over the green trestle bridge spanning the river. The sky had cooled to an ashy mixture or purple and red and lightning bugs danced in the fields surrounding them like falls of isotopes. They talked about nothing as they made the journey west, just three boys sharing the camaraderie that comes with doing something you're not supposed to do. Clyde complained about his dads coddling him, Rusty bitched about Rocky stealing snacks out of his room, and Lincoln brought up his older sisters' bad habit of leaving bloody tampons lying around the bathroom. Clyde and Rocky both cringed so hard their spines snapped in half. "Ew, that's fucking gross," Rusty said.
"That's one thing I don't have to deal with."
"Sometimes my mom will leave blood in the toilet," Rusty said, "but never tampons. Your sisters are hot, though."
Lincoln grimaced. He hated when Rusty and Clyde started talking about his sisters and what they wanted to do with them, not because it offended him, but because it was kind of insulting. There are some things you just don't say to a man and telling him you want to eat his sporty sister's ass while jacking off into her panties is one of them.
"I'm seriously thinking about asking Leni out," Clyde said.
Rusty laughed and Clyde shot him a dirty look. "You seriously think you have a chance with her? You're dumb. None of them would date you."
"Oh, and they'd date you?"
"They sure would," Rusty said.
Clyde blew a raspberry. "You couldn't get a girlfriend if your life depended on it."
"I got your mom," Rusty said.
"I don't have a mom," Clyde pointed out.
Rusty blinked in confusion. "Oh. Right."
"He got your dad," Lincoln said.
He and Clyde both laughed. "Sorry, fellas, I'm strictly for the ladies," Rusty said.
"Roise Palm and her five sisters," Clyde snickered.
"Lincoln's sisters."
Lincoln's eyes narrowed. "Screw you, Rusty."
In the gloom, Rusty grinned maliciously. "Too late, Luna and Luan already did."
"I heard if a girl with braces goes down on you, your pubes will get stuck in her metal and she might even rip your skin," Clyde said.
…
That was the most horrifying thing Lincoln had ever heard and he'd hear some pretty messed up things in his day.
"It's like getting your dick caught in a zipper," Rusty said with a shiver. "My dad did that once. He went from eight inches to five and a half."
Clyde gagged, Lincoln cried out in sympathy pain, and Rusty cackled like a madman. "You're sick," Clyde said.
"Your dads don't seem to mind," he said.
In the distance, the truck stop appeared in the night, an island of light in the darkness. A flashing neon sign rose loftily into the air like a beacon and big tractor trailers idled in a side lot, their running lights glowing and putting Lincoln uncomfortably in mind of the demons from one of those sickeningly gory Italian horror movies Lucy loved so much. "My dad said this place is crawling with lot lizards," Rusty said.
"What's a lot lizard?" Clyde asked.
"I don't know," Rusty said, "but he said to stay away from them because they're swimming with disease."
An image of tiny green lizards swarming the parking lot flashed across Lincoln's mind. He was going to wind up getting bitten and contracting butt rot, wasn't he?
When they were a quarter mile away, they left the soft gravel shoulder of the road and slipped through a boy-sized hole in a cyclone fence. They were in the parking lot now, trucks scattered around them like big above-ground mausoleums. The Rumpus Room was ahead. Housed in a tiny building with a neon sign above the door, it looked the part of a typical small town tavern. Country music so loud it vibrated the walls drifted forth and a group of men stood around the door smoking cigarettes. A big guy in a black T-shirt and sunglasses stood with his arms crossed and watched people come and go.
The bouncer.
Rusty ducked behind an outbuilding and Clyde and Lincoln followed. They crouched down and Rusty unshouldered the bag, sitting it on the ground between them. "So, what's your plan?" Clyde asked.
Unzipping the bag, Rusty pulled something out.
A long trench coat.
"We get on each other's shoulders and put this on," he said. "I got a fake ID too."
Clyde and Lincoln both gaped. "Are you kidding me right now?" Lincoln asked. "This is your big plan?"
"That doesn't even work in cartoons," Clyde noted.
Rusty held up his finger. "But this is real life. No one will ever expect someone to actually try this in real life."
Hmmm. He did have a point. It was one of those plans that was just crazy enough to work...or to get them all in deep shit.
"Who's gonna be on top?" Lincoln asked.
"Clyde," Rusty said instantly, "he looks the oldest out of all of us."
Because his legs were abnormally thick and strong (and covered in coarse hair so long you could braid it), Rusty took the bottom. Lincoln crouched on his shoulders, and Clyde scurried onto Lincoln's like a lot lizard streaking up a hapless trucker's leg. They pulled the trench coat on, then Clyde donned a hat and fake mustache. They teetered back and forth like a Jenga tower, and Lincoln's back and shoulders screamed in protest. "Hold steady," Rusty grunted through his teeth, Lincoln held his arms out on either side of him like an airplane for balance, and his back popped. He cried out and leaned forward, almost throwing Clyde off of his shoulders. Rusty ran to keep them stable and they rushed headlong into the line, bumping into a seven foot tall, 300 pound trucker. He turned around and glared. "Who threw that piece of paper at me."
"Terribly sorry, sir," Clyde squeaked.
The stack of boys, one on another, stood a good foot above him, and when he realized he was outclassed, the trucker started to sweat. "Uh...no problem. I don't want any trouble."
When they came to the bouncer, he craned his neck up and sneered. "Hello, my good man," Clyde said, deepening his voice, "I would like to gain entry to your fine establishment. I believe you'll find my ID in order."
Rusty passed the ID card to Lincoln. A white hand poked out from the cuff of the coat and the bouncer looked between it and Clyde's face, his face sour. Clyde offered a nervous laugh. The bouncer took the ID and looked at it.
His expression changed instantly, going from one of annoyance to one of open deference. "Yes, go right in, Senator."
Lincoln took the card and they went through the door, swaying and stumbling all the way. "Senator?" Clyde asked.
"Go big or go home," Rusty said.
As soon as they were through the door, Lincoln opened the coat and poked his head out. Loud music assaulted his ears and the smell of stale beer jammed itself into his nostrils like a date rapist with sweaty pits. The dim lighting and throbbing neon stung his eyes and made him feel dizzy. He blinked, shook his head, and gave his eyes a few seconds to adjust.
Ahead, past a brief entryway, tables and booths faced a catwalk where an Asian woman in a G-string spun around a pole, her bare breasts on full display. Lincoln's jaw dropped and Mr. Happy stood at full attention, prodding the back of Rusty's head.
Rusty cried out in revulsion and they teetered, almost falling. "Sorry," Lincoln said.
They made their way to an out of the way booth in the shadows and broke, Clyde and Lincoln sitting on one side and Rusty on the other. The current song ended and the Asian girl strutted away and Lincoln noted the many dollar bills jutting from her butt. He took out his wallet and counted his cash.
Six dollars.
How much boob would six bucks get him?
The lights went down and a new song began to play, this one an ancient old school rap track from the 00s or something.
There she go
Shakin' that ass on the flo'
Bumpin' and grindin' that pole
The way she's grindin' that pole
I think I'm losin' control
A thicc white girl with black hair came out and the place erupted in raucous cheers and catcalls; she was clearly a fan favorite. She grabbed the pole and started to dance, hanging from it and humping it suggestively (is there any other way to hump something?)
Get buzzed, get drunk, get crunk, get fucked up
Hit the strip club, don't forget the ones, get your dick rubbed
Get fucked, get sucked, get wasted, shit faceted
Pasted, plastered, puke drink, throw up
Get a new drink, hit the bathroom sink, throw up
Wipe your shoe clean, got a routine goin'
She wrapped her tone legs around the pole and bent backwards, her hair swishing. Guys crowded the stage and waved dollar bills at her. One took off his ten gallon hat and whipped it back and forth with a cry of "Yee-haw!"
Two to the one, from the one to the three
I like good pussy and I like good tree
Smoke so much weed you wouldn't believe
And I get mo' ass than a toilet seat
The gyrations of her body were turning Lincoln on, and Lil Lincy stood at full attention. Clyde leaned over the table and leered, and Rusty nodded his head slightly. A flicker of movement drew Lincoln's attention to the door, where the bouncer and another guy stood. They looked around the room; the bouncer saw them, slapped his buddy's chest, and nodded,
Oh shit.
They started toward them and Lincoln tensed. "We got company."
Rusty and Clyde saw and jumped up. "Fuck," Rusty spat.
The bouncer started to run. Lincoln ducked under the table, scurried to the side, and popped out just as the bouncer snatched Clyde by the back of his shirt. Lincoln danced around the second guy and threw himself at the crowd surrounding the stage. Elbows rammed into him, drinks spilled on his hair, and someone yelped in fear, not knowing what was happening and probably thinking a small animal had somehow gotten in. The second bouncer pushed people out of his way but the crowd was so dense that he couldn't get through. Lincoln reached the stage just in time to catch a face full of booty. The thicc girl shook her buttt and tossed her hair, and Lincoln reached out to touch her but someone grabbed him from behind and yanked him back. Panicking, he spun around and lashed out with a kick, catching the bouncer in the crotch. The man's eyes bugged from his head and his grip on Lincoln released. His sank to his knees and turned red like he was going to catch on fire. Lincoln shoved his way through the crowd and found himself along the fringes, between them and the wall. Many didn't seem to notice something was going on and if they did, they were too focused on the dancing girl to care.
Suddenly, someone had hold of his hand and was dragging him through a doorway. His heart bounced into his throat and he pulled back against his attacker, but they were too strong. They shoved him into a darkened room, came in after, and pulled the door shut behind them. Like a caged animal, Lincoln looked frantically around for some means of escape, but he was trapped. What were they going to do to him? Beat him up? Break his arm? Call the police? God, what if they called his parents?
He couldn't let that happen.
As soon as he could, he decided, he was going to break out of here - crawl between his attacker's legs, claw their eyes out, something, anything to keep from suffering whichever terrible fate awaited him.
The overhead light snapped on and stung Lincoln's eyes. He could only make out the vague form of his attacker, but that was enough; screaming, he sprang at him, intent on getting away or dying trying. The bouncer grabbed his shoulders and held him back. "Lincoln," she said.
Wait.
She?
He looked up at her and his mind blew like Nagasaki.
"It's me," Carol Pingrey said.
Were his eyes deceiving him?
If they were, they were doing a darn good job. The girl in front of him looked exactly like Carol only instead of the modest skirt and blouse he was used to seeing her in, she wore a black thong and bra that barely covered her sizable breasts. Her skin was soft and smooth, her hips and thighs curvy, inviting, and her legs long, silky, mouthwatering.
He never knew her body was smoking frickin' hot.
Carol Pingrey had long been one of his oldest sister Lori's best friends. They were always going places together, sleeping over at one another's houses, and hanging out. Lincoln didn't know the backstory of their friendship because he never cared to ask, but they had been close for as long as Lincoln could remember, and she was such a constant fixture at the Loud house that you wouldn't be entirely off base if you said she was practically another one of his sisters. He didn't quite see it that way, but he could understand if someone else did.
To say he had a crush on Carol would be an exaggeration, but he had always thought she was cute. He was not nervous or awkward around her and he didn't stammer or leak blood from his nose the way Clyde did when he saw Lori, but he totally spanked off while thinking of her.
Now, though...Jesus, look at her. His dick was hard again and he couldn't help staring at her taut stomach. His hands ached to touch her and his heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears like summer thunder. She was tall and statuesque in her stripper boots, her warm skin hardly covered. When she stayed over with Lori, she usually wore socks and a long T-shirt to bed. In the morning, he would stare at the way it clung to her body and wonder if she wore anything underneath. He thought of her as half naked then, but right now, she was at least three quarters naked.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
Lincoln tried to meet her eyes, but only made it half way before getting lost in her cleavage. Her breasts were plump and full, and her nipples made little tents in the fabric of her bra. His eyes darted to her middle and he realized that she had a major camel toe, her teeny little G-string pinched between her pussy lips. Lincoln's face turned bright red and his throat swelled shut. She put her hands on her hips and her lips curved up in amusement. "My eyes are up here, Lincoln."
Embarrassed, he broke away from her ta-tas and focused on her face instead. She cocked one eyebrow and crossed her arms. "You're lucky I found you, those guys would have beaten the stuffing out of you." She giggled as though the image of Lincoln being stomped into a quivering puddle tickled her. She told him that she was walking around looking for someone to "buy a dance" when she heard the commotion. "What are you even doing here?"
Lincoln opened his mouth to speak but no words would form. His skin flushed from head to toe and his knees shook. He had never felt this way around Carol before and it frustrated him that he did now. His boner poked against the inseam of his jeans and he bent slightly at the waist to hide it. "Uh...well…" his mind drew a blank. What was the question again? It was hard to think and say on topic when there was a hot girl in front of you wearing practically nothing at all.
Noticing his condition, Carol's grin widened and Lincoln swallowed. He had to say something, to play it off and act like she wasn't having a major effect on him, but he could barely breathe and thinking was waaay out of the question. He stammered out a reply that even he couldn't understand and nervously rubbed the back of his neck. His face burned so hot that his eyebrows were in danger of being singed and his knees turned to jelly. Carol looked him up and down, and he had never felt so awkward in her presence, so totally exposed, as though he were naked. "You're really tense," she said. She slipped behind him, laid her hands on his shoulders, and started to rub. Lincoln's entire body prickled and he went completely rigid. Carol pulled him against her and the tip of his cowlick brushed her breast. She bent slightly and her boobs all but sucked his head in-between them. His heart came to a crashing halt and his hips bucked like he was being pumped with fifty thousand volts of electricity. Carol laughed, a naughty, predatory sound, and her fingers firmly kneaded his muscles. "Relax, Linc. I'm not going to turn you over to the bouncer. In fact, when the coast is clear, I'll sneak you out.. If you buy a dance from me."
A what?
Did he hear her right?
The thought of Carol dancing for him made him blush even harder. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills; his hand trembled. "I-I have six dollars."
"That's a little less than I usually take," Carol said, "but I'll give you a discount." She tapped the end of his nose and laughed at the way he cringed. Taking him by the hand, she led him over to a leather padded chair with a canted back and no sides, turned him around, and sat him down. For the first time, he noticed the pole in the center of the room. Carol turned around and went over to it, her hips rolling and her butt bouncing. Lincoln reflexively swallowed and tried to look away, but his eyes stuck to her firm ass like flies to a strip of flypaper. She shot him a sinful look over her shoulder, and Lincoln's stomach clenched.
It was a stripper's job to be hot and alluring, but he couldn't help the sense that she was just as attracted to him as he was to her. She grabbed the pole and walked around it in a loose circle, her eyes narrowed and her face flushing pink. She stopped, faced him, and wrapped her legs around the pole. Holding on with one hand, she mimed riding it like a bucking bronco before somehow working her way upside down, hair dangling. She spread her legs apart then let go and landed on her feet.
Lincoln's dick throbbed so hard it hurt and his breathing came in rasping gasps. He watched Carol hump, grind, and work the pole with slack-jawed lust, his body burning from head to toe, and when she blew him a kiss, he almost toppled over. Deep inside of him, a tiny spark of shame flickered like a feeble flame. When he agreed to come, he was thinking only of seeing boobs and gave no thought to the women attached to them. He didn't feel bad about that - you can respect women as human beings and still want to see their sexy bodies - but with Carol, he almost sort of did. He didn't know the other girls he'd seen. They were just people. Carol wasn't, Carol was (kind of) a friend. He knew her family, had celebrated Christmas and birthday parties with her, had sat on his living room couch and talked to her. - not about anything deep or important, but still. She wasn't some piece of meat. No woman was, but it's easy to oogle and drool over them when you haven't known them your whole life.
Still, though, she was hot as hell and the itty bitty pinprick of guilt in his heart was drowned out by his raging hormones. You could say things like stripping degraded women all you wanted and you might have a point, but from the look on Carol's face as she twirled around the pole, she was enjoying herself. A light pink blush colored the bridge of her nose like a scarlet sign and her eyes were half lidded, sultry in the throbbing strobe light. Her movements were fluid and graceful, putting Lincoln in mind of a ballerina on a stage. Even in his aroused state, he admired the artistry of her form. He never thought of pole dancing as art but creating art was exactly what Carol was doing.
Letting go of the pole, she strutted over, the light shimmering in her hair. A leaden balloon swelled in Lincoln's stomach and tremors raced through his body, making his back arch. She laid her hands on his knees, leaned in, and brushed her lips over his. Lincoln tried to kiss her but wound up grazing her neck instead. She took his hand, pulled him to his feet, and led him to the pole. Her touch was warm and soft, and the smell of her perfume enchanted his senses.
She had him lay at the base of the pole, stood over him, and hooked her legs around the metal. She spun around, getting lower and lower until she was sitting in his lap. His boner prodded her butt and she rubbed herself against it, forcing it left and right and making his eyes roll. She threw her head back and her silky hair swallowed his face, its warmth and fruity scent ripping the breath from Lincoln's lungs. She twisted around, her knees on either side of him, and ran her fingers through his hair, leering at him like a hungry lioness. She laid him back against the floor, turned, and squatted. Her butt escaped the strobe light, and Lincoln barely had time to realize what was happening before she was sitting on his face. Her hot, musky smell filled his nose and the wet heat soaking through her G-string baked his flesh. His eyes rolled back into his head and his brain short-circuited.
Carol spread her legs out in a perfect 7-10 split. She leaned forward, rubbing her scantily-clad pussy along the bridge of Lincoln's nose, and splayed her hands on the floor. She pressed her lips to the tip of Lincoln's boner and kissed him through his jeans. He could feel only the faintest flutter of being touched, but it was nearly enough to make him climax. Carol stroked her hands up and down his inner thighs, and Lincoln moaned into her pussy, the vibrations against her most sensitive parts making her breath catch.
Getting up, she took Lincoln back to the chair and sat him down. She faced away and sat on his lap, mashing his erection between her thighs. She grinded her hips back and forth, and Lincoln squirmed in his seat, the sensation of her body against his so powerful he could barely stand it. "You can touch me if you want," Carol said over her shoulder.
That was all the invitation he needed. He ran his hands over her flexing shoulder blades and along the ridge of her shoulders. She tossed her head to one side, rubbing faster, and he traced the gentle curve of her neck, making her shiver. He slipped his hand under the strap of her bra and snapped it against her back. She reached back, took his hands, and led them to the clasp holding it on. Understanding, Lincoln pulled and yanked at it to no avail. "It has little hooks," she said.
It took him a minute, but the clasps finally came undone and the bra slipped down Carol's arms. She whipped it off and tossed it away. Lincoln swallowed hard and kneaded her shoulders, trying to work up the courage to touch her breasts but failing. A soft moan escaped her throat and she swiveled her hips, making his dick twitch. For a terrible second, he thought he was going to cum, but he squeezed his eyes closed and counted to ten, and it went away. Carol swung around, laid her hands on his shoulders, and ground his dick. His eyes went to her full breasts and his mouth fell open in a perfect O. Her nipples were pink and puffy and her mounds jiggled with the thrusting of her hips. Feeling brave, he closed his hands around them and Carol brushed her teeth across her lower lip. She slipped her fingers into his hair, scratched her nails along his scalp, and moved from side to side to give him better access to her chest. He tweaked and rolled her nipples and began moving his hips in time with hers, his bulge insistently prodding her middle. If it weren't for their clothes, he'd be at her opening already. Would she sink herself onto him? Would she take him deep into her most secret place? The way she blushed, bit her lip, and batted her eyelashes told him that she probably would.
Things never quite went that far, though. They slammed their hips together and touched each other's bodies, Carol's hands creeping up under his shirt and Lincoln groping and playing with her breasts. He couldn't tell if she was still giving him a lap dance or if they were just dry humping now, and frankly, he didn't care. Ripples of electric sensation cut through him in tingling waves and his slick erection pulsed every time it pounded into Carol's center. Carol grunted, gasped, and moaned, and she threw her head back, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. Lincoln admired her beauty and that combined with the gyrations of their bodies brought him to the edge. His hands fell away from the fleshy globes of Carol's chest and went to her hips, his eyes narrowing and his teeth gritting.
Carol saw that he was close and went faster. She bent, skimmed her nose over Lincoln's, and gazed into his eyes. Her sweet breath puffed into Lincoln's mouth and he breathed deeply, drawing her in. She tilted her head to the side and touched her lips to his. A jolt streaked down Lincoln's spine and his hips bucked. Carol darted her tongue out and swiped it across his bottom lip.
Lincoln's dick exploded so hard that his eyes narrowed his he moaned into Carol's mouth. Hot cum filled his briefs and he entire body jerked once, twice, three times, then fell still. Carol stayed glued to his lips for a long time, then sat back and brushed her hair out of her face. "Was that worth six dollars, Lincy?" she asked.
All Lincoln could do was nod.
She laughed merrily and got off. Cum was beginning to soak through his pants, making a dark spot in the denim, and Lincoln blushed with embarrassment. Did she mean for that to happen or did it take her by surprise?
"Here," she said and handed him a roll of paper towels, "you better clean up."
While Lincoln wiped as much of his load away as he could, Carol rubbed the pole down with a disinfectant wipe so that it would be clean and ready for the next girl to use. She went to the door, opened it, and poked her head out. She looked around and then at Lincoln. "C'mon," she said, "the coast is clear."
Lincoln stayed next to her, hiding from the bouncers, as they made their way through the club. She sneaked him out a side door into an alley lined with trash cans, garbage bags, and other things. "I'll be more than happy to dance for you again, Lincy," she said with a grin, "but next time, you need to bring more than six dollars."
Oh, he was way ahead of her, already doing mental math and figuring out how long it would take to save up. "Absolutely," Lincoln said.
"Now we have to kiss," she said, "to seal the deal."
Lincoln pushed up on his tippy toes to reach her mouth, but she giggled and turned away, presenting her ass. "Here," she said.
Even better.
Lincoln kissed her butt cheek and she ruffled his hair. "Bye," she said.
When she was gone, Lincoln took a deep breath and let it out in a rush.
This was the greatest night of his life.
Now to find his friends.
He went looking for them. Unbeknownst to him, they were bruised, bloodied, and half dead in a dumpster nearby. "Where they belong," the bouncer had said.
It took a long time before their moans signaled Lincoln to their presence…
...and even longer before they could eat without feeding tubes.