Part One
by Rachel Jean Diaz
I called the boy at work.
"Would you pick me up a copy of Gear magazine?" I inquire. "Sure. Did you get the message about my meeting being cancelled tonight?" he asks.
"Yep. So where are we going then?"
"I don't know. You decide."
"Let's go to the Lusty Lady!" I excitedly suggest.
"Ugh. I'm not going there. I hate booths. Go with Cat. Doesn't she like to go there with you?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because she's not gay."
"Ppfft," he dismisses me.
"Fine. I'll go by myself."
"Fine."
Kearny Street between Broadway and Pacific. On one side of the street, North Beach Video's marquee proudly boasts: "The Nastiest Videos In Town." (It's true. I've been in there on more than one occasion). On the other side of the street are Larry Flynt's Hustler Club, a florist, the Black Cat & Blue Bar, and my destination, The Lusty Lady.
I went in, high, smiling at the desk attendant. But then, I smile at everybody. He said hello to me as if he were happy that I'd finally showed up; I know that very few women patronize the place, even though it's a women-operated joint. Could I be one of the perhaps five women who go there alone? Once inside, my eyes adjusted to reddish darkness slowly; in my momentary blindness, I almost collided with a man waiting for a booth to become available. There were several men waiting but it didn't seem as though anyone had cared to look at the 'vacancy' signs posted above each door, which indicated that at least five booths were free. Instead, the mutants haphazardly turned doorknobs in search of a portal to the naked women, embarrassing those men that hadn't bothered to lock their doors. Others just waited to see a man actually exit a booth before they went in, possibly wanting a warm closet the same way you want to use a warm dryer at the laundromat.
Booth #1, around the left corner, was free so I took it, secured the lock, hung my army bag on the doorknob and took a five dollar bill from it. After filling the slot with my money, I heard some gears shift and the slide rose. In front of me was the perfect girl.
There were some heavy, apathetic women dancing in the distance, doing a mediocre job. Quite honestly, any pussy would've done since I hadn't masturbated in about a week, but I got what I always hope for when I go there: a diminutive, wide-hipped, thin-waisted, large-nippled sprite that really wanted me to come hard. If the Lusty gods are smiling on you (as they were me), you'll get a girl with a pretty face. If I'd had the presence of mind to do so, I would've checked her Polaroid on the way out to see what her stage name was, but I imagine in real life she's a 'Lupe' or a 'Grace.' There was some ethnicity to her, Latina, maybe Filipino. Her hair was dark, short, and spiked up, her eyes were brown. She had a large scar from an appendix removal (I'm guessing) but her skin was otherwise flawless. She wore nothing but pink fairy wings and little pink high-heeled shoes; not that predictable Roaring 20's nonsense that so many of the strippers on Broadway wear.
Lupe honed in on me, smiled at me, gave me a sultry, "Hi, how are you?" and didn't take her eyes off me for a second. Naturally, I smiled back, but I couldn't speak; I was transfixed by her tits. They were a perfect B cup, and her areolas were small but her nipples were big. She squeezed them, rubbed them, exciting the hell out of me with them. She turned around, bent over and showed me her pretty pussy, then rubbed her clit, but not for long; it was almost as if she knew I had a breast fixation. Lupe faced me again, held onto her nipples with her thumbs and forefingers, and shook her tits as close to the window as possible.
I'd begun masturbating the minute the slide went up, and I came just as the slide went down. She waved goodbye.
I went to the Lusty Lady again today. It was a long day at work, and nothing makes me more productive than the notion that, once work is complete, I can go look at some great tits and ass for $5. That the LL is no more than five blocks away from my work makes it even doubly irresistible, so after struggling to get high amongst bag-toting Chinese women heading back home from Chinatown, I made my way inside the shady place. The doorman had a buddy with him, both of whom made eye contact with me as I entered. It was booth #9 this time. The winged sprite was there today, but she was down on the other side of the stage. Today my girl was a skinny, flat chested, heart-shape-assed blonde who looked like a mix between Cat's roommate, Heather, and Martha Plimpton.
The slide went up.
"Hello," she greeted me.
"Hi." I smiled bashfully.
"That's a cute dress. Is that a dress?"
I shook my head.
"Oh, just a shirt," she said, looking me over. Hmmm… a talkative one.
My pants hung down low, exposing a tattoo. She asked, "Can I see your tattoo?"
I showed her.
"What is that?"
"A dragon. It's Chinese."
Her pussy was a sweet round mound, her hole was wet, and her nipples were huge on her flat chest. I jerked off for two, three minutes and when I came, her face was in the window and her tongue wagged.
I took my hand out of my pants and closed my mouth, glanced quickly at the time gauge and saw that I had less than a minute left.
"It's been almost five years since I've seen a woman in here alone to jerk off."
"That's too bad." She's been dancing for five years? Or more?
"You should get a grant, or something!"
"Yeah. Right." I agreed.
"Are you from here? Have you been here before?"
"Yeah, I try to come on the weekends after work."
"Sorry," she said, "I couldn't hear you very well." She pointed at the speaker, "The music."
The slide was falling quickly. I waved and although she couldn't hear me, I said, "I'll see you again."
"Bye!"
There was a time in my life when I didn't feel the 'need' to go to The Lusty Lady (though I've visited the place on and off since I was 19 years old). But lately, I haven't been able to help myself. As I write this, my purse contains $15 that must last until my next payday (six days from today); it would've been $20 if my pussy weren't so needy.
Somehow I knew she'd be there-the blond from my last visit. When my slide opened today in booth #2, there was a cute tattooed ass in front of me that I didn't recognize, and in the distance, I saw her. The tattooed ass moved, and that's when She saw me, shimmied over and said Hello.
"You're back," she said.
"I missed you," I said, thinking about how little (and how much) I really meant it.
"You remember me?"
"Yes!" I told her, as if I could forget that body, that face.
"I'm glad you're here."
She turned her back to me, bent down, put her cunt to the glass, and flexed her perineal muscles. I loved it.
A man to my right in booth #4 was attracting the attention of the other girls by dancing. I heard one of them say, "You want a job here?" She turned again and put her tits in my line of sight. I came, I sighed, I smiled.
"What's your name?" she asked.
I almost gave her the name that I use when I order food from Shalimar---Mary---but I thought it wouldn't hurt to let a cutie in on some privileged information. I told her my name and asked, "What's yours?"
"Delinqua," she responded.
"I'll see you again soon."
I turned to leave, and Delinqua said, "Have a good day. And a good weekend!"
Jesus, has it really been that long since I've been there? Well, I've been busy.
I knew that I would go to the LL after work even before I woke up this morning. Last night before going to bed, I rolled a thin, tight joint and stashed it securely in my bag for the walk down Pacific Street at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. It's not always like that. Most of the time, it's a slow urge that builds up throughout the day, starting with my first sexy thought, which usually occurs in the shower at 5:30am.
When I walked into the place today, I was greeted by a corpulent thirty-something with a bad cowboy hat and matching facial hair. He was accompanied by another man, but I didn't get a good look at him. The cowboy saw me walk in and said, "Hello," his eyes boggling.
"Hi," I said, almost curtly, impatient with his incredulity.
Once inside, I encountered a group of Mexican men standing in the middle of the floor, ostensibly undecided about what the next step should be. They saw me enter and one of them said, "Mira. Ella trabajan aquí?"
Booth #2 was available. I stepped in and practically stuck to the floor. If the booth had been better lit, I may have exited and chosen a different one, but I figured the dank, near-biohazard aspect was part of the price one had to pay.
I paid, the slide rose, and before me today was a girl with leopard ears and black pumps. She actually seemed to be startled by me; she danced for a minute and then walked away. Outside, I heard a voice over the loudspeaker say, "Gentleman, you can't just stand around outside the booths. Choose one or leave."
The Leopard was replaced by a girl with 5-inch heel black patent leather boots, black lip-liner, nipple rings, labia rings, and a clit ring.
"Hi!" she greeted me.
"Hello," I replied. Though she wasn't quite 'my type,' I still liked her since she would be my girlfriend for the next five minutes.
"I like to see girls in here," she told me, pulling on her nipple rings. I nodded. "Did you go to the 'Party Like a Hooker' night at the Lexington?" she asked.
I shook my head, by this time knowing that I was not willing to talk loud enough for any of the girls to hear what I was saying.
She went on. "It's an all-girl stripping party. I think you'd really like it. We're probably going to do it again in the near future. You should look for it. I'll be there."
I pointed at myself. "I'll be there."
She laid down supine on the floor in front of me, brought one of her legs up into the air, and lightly slapped her cunt.
"I'll be in a private booth in a half an hour. If you're around, you should come see me. We can actually talk to one another."
I smiled and the slide fell just after that.
Though I could no longer see anything, I heard her tell the other dancers, "I like it when girls come in here."
Upon exiting, the cowboy said, "Did you enjoy yourself?"
I laughed and didn't answer. What a silly question.