Girl on Girl
Parts Two and Three
by Rachel Jean Diaz
Sunday. August 4. 2002.
It surprises me that I make it home from the LL walking through Chinatown without falling over or getting mugged since I'm 100% loaded on dope and sex, weak at the knees, and delirious.
The day was warm, and I'd gone jogging on my lunch break so I was sweaty and sticky. I wore as little as possible: a spaghetti-string tank with a built-in tube bra (I suppose it should be worn with a shirt over it) and a short skirt with no underwear. Some chicks dress like that all the time, I'm sure, but they're much taller and they live in Brazil. While comfortable in the heat, I also felt rather vulnerable.
The cowboy was there again today, prompting me to think, I must start coming here on some other day of the week-I can handle a girl being privy to my masturbation schedule, but this Triton among the minnows? Ew, groddy. He tipped his hat to me on the way in. I said "Hey" without looking him in the eye.
There were quite a few men coming and going. Booth #7's 'Vacant' sign was lit, so I tried the knob, but it was locked. Hmmm. Peculiar. I walked all the way to the end on the left to Booth #1 and
saw that it was free. Now ritual, I took off my Walkman, put it in my bag, hung my bag on the doorknob, took money from my wallet and filled the bill slot. The gears churned, the slide rose, and I found my view somewhat obstructed by a short but large fan directly in front of the booth. Though I had a clear view of the other people in the booths and all the girls dancing in the distance, none of them could get up close and put their pussy in my face.
One of the dancers saw me, came over and immediately excited me with her thick, dark thatch of pubic hair. I've had a thing about women au naturel lately-maybe it's all the 70's porn that I watch with the boy.
"I could get closer if I moved the fan," she said, but she didn't move it. Instead, she lay down on the floor and gyrated about in front of the mirrored wall. After that, she took to the pole.
She was sexy, and my juices were flowing, but I was most interested in the man in the bench booth on the opposite end (there's a booth on the right side of the bank with a wooden seat for couples or men who prefer to sit and jerk off). His face was shadowed, but I could see his body; particularly, his hard cock as he stroked it. A dancer spread her ass apart for him, then turned and shook her tits. When she turned again and jiggled her ass cheeks in the window, he jerked faster.
Watching that for thirty seconds was enough to make me come, but I had plenty of time left, so I took my hand off my clit and continued to watch. Just then, my fairy emerged from the dressing room onto the floor armed with a spray bottle and paper towels, but she wasn't a fairy today; instead, she had a skirt that was just a band of material around her waist with long fringe around it. It swished about as she cleaned each individual window.
I know what you're thinking: Fans? Spray bottles? Lecherous wankers? How utterly detestable!
Well, it really wasn't detestable. In fact, my pussy was still throbbing and it was only due to the pressure of my thighs touching together, if that. When my little housecleaner got to my booth, the last booth, she didn't clean my window. She moved the fan aside and put her chest in the window.
"Hi! It's good to see you," she said, pinching her nipples.
At this point, I was speechless. I put my middle finger on my clit and rubbed it for only a moment. My heart raced, I felt wet all over, and I came hard. She smiled brightly at me.
The slide began to fall and she was still there. Whether she could hear me or not, I decided to tell her, "You are gorgeous!" And she is.
Sunday. September 22. 2002.|
My last trip to the LL was so insignificant that I chose not to document it. The girls were visibly disgruntled, lethargic, and evasive. One thing I learned: breast implants do not excite me. That was some time at the end of August, and I avoided the place for a while, hoping that the girls I'd come to adore would return from vacation or wherever. Actually, I would've returned two weeks earlier, but Cat has met me at work for the past two Sundays, causing just a tad of frustration. (Why not go on some other day, you ask? Well, I have gone on Saturday before, but I think it must be some kind of delayed gratification thing, since Sunday is the end of my work week).
When I left work, I knew I needed to get supplies for a small gathering that the boy and I were hosting later that evening, so I stopped at the Safeway near my work. He had specifically requested Lay's Potato chips, and wouldn't you know it, they were on sale-buy one, get one free. I also got a small bottle of Kahlua, since I thought I might have a hankering for it later that night.
Now I had a satchel over my shoulder, and carried another plastic bag full of groceries, so I probably should've waited to go to the LL, but I just couldn't resist. It was warm and lovely outside, I had a joint that I'd rolled the night before, and I had a few dollars left from my shopping trip. Most importantly, I wouldn't be in SF much longer, so I wanted to get as much LL exposure as possible before I left.
Vallejo Street felt especially steep beneath my feet. I walked toward Kearny and smoked a huge amount of dope--so much, I had trouble walking the rest of the way, but it was extraordinarily satisfying. Trying not to wobble too much, I walked quickly past the front desk when I got there, and went straight to my new favorite booth, #1. It was a tight squeeze, me and all my potato chips, but I managed to somehow cram everything inside and lock the door. I noted the accumulation of Kleenex on the floor and remembered something a guy said to me once: "I can't go to the Lusty Lady because of the filth." I never liked that cocksucker.
I put $4 in the slot, and when the slide rose, I saw a girl with short brown hair, wearing glasses. Oooh, a sexy librarian. I loved that. She strutted up to my window and slapped her ass, then shook her hips quickly so her cheeks jiggled. She turned and said, "Hi there," smiling. Librarian split her attention between me, and the person in booth #2, but I got a decent view of her, and she was exciting. Eventually, she focused entirely on the other person, but that suited me fine, as another girl saw me and approached me.
This girl was much happier to see me. Her smile was genuine. She said, "Hello! How are ya?"
Her outfit consisted of a shoulder-length brown wig, purple lace bodice, and platform stiletto heels. The cups of the bodice were covering her tits, but, as if reading my mind, she freed them and tugged on her nipples. My mouth was slightly open as I watched her hands, her perfect plum-colored areolas, her stretch marks.
There are vertical bars mounted on the left and right sides of each window in the dancing area; my girl used these bars to pull herself up and put her bald pussy at my line of sight. She stayed there, gyrated for a few moments, then dropped back to the floor, turned, and spanked herself a few times.
"You like that?" she asked.
I nodded. "Yes."
She spread her ass cheeks apart and bent over. "You wanna eat my ass, huh?" she asked. Oh, baby, you're clairvoyant, aren't you?
"Fuck yeah," I mumbled too low for her to hear me. I was so loaded it was like a really good sex dream.
She turned back around, got close, and put her torso in view-she was now headless and legless; all I saw was tits and pussy. I came quickly. And wetly.
The slide went down as I closed my eyes and caught my breath. I was shaking, my mouth was dry, my pussy throbbed. When I turned to gather my satchel and my bag of groceries, I accidentally knocked the grocery bag off the doorknob in my delirium, causing it to fall to the floor. Eeeeeeeeewwwwwww. I certainly don't condone littering, but I had to leave the bag there (I gingerly took the groceries out of it and shoved them in my satchel. My apologies to those party guests who had to eat broken chips).
A diminutive man said something--possibly totally offensive--to me as I left, but I had my Walkman on, so my sex/pot high wasn't spoiled by whatever comment he felt compelled to make. I don't even remember the walk home.
Sunday. October 6. 2002.
Today, I was forward thinking and stopped at the Safeway on my way to the LL so I could purchase a liter of water and get one-dollar bills. This time, however, I did not load myself down with crap. I must've known the place would be chaotic, and that I would need as little ballast as possible to slide in and out without causing a ruckus.
I got the dollar bills, since the one time I used a fiver, I came quickly and left before the slide fell (it wasn't really a waste, since I'm a proud patron of the place, and don't mind that they'd get a little extra money). Indeed, I'm almost boyish in my orgasmic tendencies. On this occasion, the interior of the place was filled with loud, irritating Mexicans, as it has been once before. Today, they were drunk, numerous and wholly unavoidable. Just as I was about to go into my booth #1, one of them stumbled into it, causing me to enter the first booth that I found available: #7. Truly, I should've been deterred, but I went in, knowing that even amidst all this belligerent nonsense, I'd still be able to jerk off and enjoy it.
It turned out that booth #7 was a good choice, as Delinqua was right there and ready to dance just for me. She's like my own personal lusty lady.
"Hey!" she exclaimed cheerfully. I was about to respond when she shook her head and said, "You know I can't hear you."
She took the rubber band out of her hair and put it around her wrist so her blond, chin-length locks were free to excite me. She danced around and smiled brightly.
"I haven't seen you for awhile," she said. "Did you fall on hard times?"
This inquiry caused the other dancers to break out into laughter. Delinqua was distracted as she listened to the other dancers chide her.
Afterward, she looked at me and said, "They thought that was a really stupid thing to say." She scrunched up her face and shrugged her shoulders.
If she could have heard me, I would've said, "I thought it was cute as hell," but in order for the dancers to hear you, one must shout loud enough for the other wankers to hear, and that just won't do.
Although the booths were almost all occupied, and there were only three girls on the floor, Delinqua danced for me alone. She toyed with her nipples, seeming to now know that I have a weakness for them, especially hers. Jesus, they are gorgeously unusual.
When I was about to come, she pulled herself up with the vertical bars and pressed her pussy up against the glass. I leaned forward, close to it, to her, before I even realized what I was doing, and came. My eyes watered, and through the saline, I saw her grinning at me.
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