Still Living The Life Of A Stripper

In the paragraphs below y’all will be reading information which I finally had time to transcribe from a recorded talk I had with a very good friend of mine and former employer. She discusses the life of a stripper, how to make money, what to do with that money, personal safety, and so much more. I encourage y’all to set some time aside to read the information she has provided as it is considerably lengthy. It also provides insight to her personal accomplishments and how she has become a successful businesswoman. There are very different professions for all of the people who want to work, hopefully this will show y’all a different view of the world a stripper lives in. This could very easily be done as three separate posts but I’m an all you can eat buffet kind of guy who likes to get my fill all in one sitting. So, with that being said, here we go.

To begin with let me say that I started stripping at the age seventeen with a fake identification and a fast talking mouth. With that resting comfortably in the back of your head I also opened my own full nude strip club at the age of 24 in Houston and have since opened another location in Dallas. There are a great deal of misconceptions out there about strippers and that is something you will have to deal with if you enter the profession. I will say this, I truly enjoy what I do and I have never felt exploited because I’m a stripper. In fact I have always felt it was far more personally empowering than any other profession. But stripping is not for everyone. It requires a certain temperament. Don’t go and become a stripper because you feel you “have” to. If you hate what you do it will show and you will make very little money as a stripper. The minute you start dancing the clock is ticking. There are a limited number of years in which to make as much money as you can. Most dancers retire around 27. If you’re starting when you’re 18 that gives you nine years in which to make as much money as you can and then get out. Chances are you will never again be able to make as much per day as you do while stripping. Make the most of of the time.

There are two kinds of strippers, subsistence and capital strippers. A subsistence stripper just works enough to get by. Maybe a few days a week, saves little and is always in a financial crisis. I see these girls panicking to get enough dances to pay rent the next day but by the next week they are back to partying, doing drugs, buying expensive clothes and generally pissing away every dime they earn. Their plans for the future are vague at best and even though they claim to realize they can’t dance forever they seldom save and invest their money or invest in an education. These girls get out of the business no better then they started and spend the rest of their lives getting their ass pinched in menial, low paying jobs. A capital stripper dances as an investment. In my opinion this is the only reason to strip. Stripping is just too hard a way to earn a living to do it for just enough to “get by”. You can get by on a McDonalds salary. If you are going to have guys staring at your naked ass all evening you should at least be securing a decent future for yourself, not just tomorrow’s groceries and rent. There are many excuses for not saving your money but in my experience few of them are valid. Single mother, health problems whatever, you can still afford to save. If you work hard you can make a great deal of money stripping.

When you see that money in your hand it just doesn’t seem real, and when you keep seeing it night after night it seems like the supply will be endless. It’s really not, you need to put away the largest portion you can. Not just 10% or so but 40% or 60%. It is possible to do that and still live a very comfortable life. Strippers tend to live beyond their means and end up with nothing but memories of that nice sports car or that fancy apartment. If you can just keep it under control for a few years you can have that stuff for the rest of your life, long after you’re done stripping. Live within your means; base your spending around not what you make stripping but what you would make at a good entry-level job. Get a good, reliable car but you don’t need that giant SUV or fast sports car. Make sure your lease or car loan doesn’t rely on a strippers level of income to pay it. Same goes for the rent or mortgage. It’s very easy to fall on heels and break an ankle or tear up your knee, it happens all the time. You could be out of work for weeks or even months. You don’t want to be buried under a mountain of bills. I suggest buying at least basic health insurance but if you don’t you will need at least enough savings to pay for emergencies.

So what to do with the money you save? Well, set enough aside to pay for all of your expenses like food, housing, tuition, utilities, car, whatever for 4 months. This is your emergency fund, put it in your saving account and don’t spend it. The rest you should invest. I have a few well chosen mutual funds that I have been very happy with. As a stripper you’re looking to invest for the long term, at least 5 years and probably 10. Mutual funds are low maintenance and are well suited for this purpose. I strongly advise against investing in individual stocks. Despite all tales of buying low and selling high at the end of the year very few people are able to make money off buying and selling individual stocks. Stick with mutual funds, they are safer and more reliable (at least for the novice investor).

The best possible investment you can make is an education. With a nice big nest egg and a good degree you can do just about anything you want when you retire from stripping. Without an education or any job skills that money will eventually be gone. With an education you can make the most of your savings, use it as capital for your own business or invest it for a steady source of income. Too many strippers talk about how they’re planning on going back to school or they’re just taking a semester off. This is bullshit, if you want an education you need to go to school and work hard. If you’re not going to school then you’re pissing away your own future.

At most clubs you will walk around and ask the customers if they’d like a private dance (or lap dance depending on the club). Some clubs just have stage dancing. Often there is a private area that you can go for a dance. Be careful, though, the dim lights and the privacy tend to make the guys a little frisky. Not in a bad or scary way just in a way that may need to be corrected. The most important thing to do when you’re dancing is to smile and make eye contact. Nothing turns a guy off faster then a stripper strolling bored around the stage while staring vacantly off into space. Try to make each guy you’re dancing for think he’s the only guy you’re dancing for. This is how the pros make the big bucks. At many clubs a significant part of your nightly earnings comes from private dances. Most of the time the customer will pay for you to sit and talk with them as well. Guys vary a lot but it’s always important to be attentive. Nobody likes to feel like they’re being ignored. Most guys are pretty nice and easy to talk to. Provided you’re a good listener and act interested, it’s no problem. Then you get the guys who aren’t trying to be obnoxious, they just don’t have the best social skills. They will sit and alternate between nagging you to go out with them and lying about how much money they have, how many places they’ve traveled, how important they are in their company, etc. Simpering and looks of wide-eyed wonder come in handy at this point. Some guys are an absolute pleasure to sit with, they buy plenty of dances, they visit on a regular basis, and best of all they’re lots of fun to talk too. It’s guys like this who really make it all worth while.

When dancing it’s important to stay motivated, at most clubs you are an independent contractor. You won’t get fired if you don’t work hard and no one will say anything if you decide to hang out at the bar and talk all night talking to the bartender. You need to treat being a stripper like a job and not a social experience. Decide on what time and how long you will have dinner for, the rest of the time work the floor as hard as you can. Make sure you always get at least 8 hours of sleep so you’re not tired. You’ll look and feel better. Set a clear goal, try to get 4 dances and hour, as you get better set higher goals for yourself. Never assume a passive approach and wait for them to call you over, stay moving and keep working. If it’s hard and you just can’t get motivated make a game of it, make bets with other girls on who can get the most dances. Promise yourself ice cream if you reach a certain goal, whatever you have to do to stay motivated and keep earning that money.

Learning how to properly break the ice and get invited to sit with a customer takes time. Most girls tend to just walk around to every guy in the room and ask “Wanna dance?” and then when he says no walk off. This is the exact wrong approach. Every guy in that room has enough money for at least one dance and you just have to find the right words to get them to buy one or more. “Wanna dance?” can work in a very crowded room or if a guy is already interested but it will do absolutely nothing to convince a guy who was uninterested to change his mind. It’s too easy to say no to and that is usually what happens. To start with, choose your targets, who is looking at you the most when you are on stage or dancing for other customers? Talk to the bartender (always be friends and take to the bartender) and the floor hosts about who has an open tab or has been spending a lot of money. If a bartender or floor hosts gives you a good lead and you make money ALWAYS tip them at the end of the night and that way next time they will go to you first when they see a big spender. When you approach your prospective customer try and say anything but “Wanna dance?”: would you like some company?, would you like if I joined you? If the room is slow and he seems reluctant put a very slight push on. If he says he’s not interested ask if he would mind if you just sat down and rested your feet for a minute- you’re “not used to these heels”. Few men are going to say no to that, and the “not used to these heels” implies that you’re a new dancer and invites conversation. If 10 minutes go by and he still doesn’t buy a dance don’t ask- just say “I’m sorry, I’ve got to get back to work- it’s been nice talking to you okay?” This implies that you didn’t consider sitting with him work, a slight bit of flattery that will get you a dance later. Think of this approach as “seeding” in that you may not get the dance then, but chances are you will later. After a half-hour of “wanna dance” from the other girls he’s going to wish for your company again and probably be willing to pay for it. Or even the next time he comes in your’s will be the familiar face. With this approach it’s important you not spend too long with them, always keep them hungry. Unless they’re paying don’t sit with them longer then 10 to 15 minutes and only that long if the room is very slow. If they’re used to getting it for free it’s going to be hard to get them to pay for it. You’re friendly and available and they just have to be willing to pay for it.

Never ever, sit on your own or hang out at the bar talking to other strippers. At any given time you should be either sitting with a customer, moving to another customer or on stage getting naked. If you’re just standing around they will assume you’re not busy and it will be very hard to get a customer to pay for your time because “you’re not doing anything anyway”. Look busy, if they think other men want you then they will want you. It’s important you have respect for the money they give you, so much money changes hands that girls often forget what it represents. Let’s say your customer earns $40,000 a year after taxes- probably about average income for a stripclub patron in Houston. That works out to around $20 an hour. If a customer sits with you and you make $100, that’s 5 hours of his time. If a handyman came to your house and fixed thing for 5 hours you’d say “thank you” right? Always thank the customer and make sure he knows you mean it. Even if $100 doesn’t seem like a lot of money to you to the average customer it is.

One last thing, don’t screw with guys’ heads. It’s not cool, you can make money without doing it. I see lots of girls who string guys along implying they’ll go out with them if they just visit a few more times or laying on sob stories about their sick children or parents. Don’t do it, there is never any reason for you to lie as a stripper. After a few repetitions it gets very fake and you just come off as a greedy gold digging bitch. If you want customers to treat you with respect you should treat them with respect. If they are disrespectful just walk away, there is no reason for you to sink to their level. There are more then enough good men who will to pay you to sit, talk and laugh with them and when you dance they will treat you like a goddess. As customers they deserve your courtesy and if they don’t respect you in return they don’t deserve to have you spend time with them. Safety is a critical issue for strippers. Many menaked not understand that what we sell is a fantasy or feel that our employment makes us fair game for unwanted attentions. The six dumbest words that can leave a woman’s mouth are “I can take care of myself”. No you can’t, and get any notion that you’re some kind of tough girl out of your head. Men are bigger, stronger and meaner. They’ve been beating and raping women for thousands of years now and have pretty much got it down pat. Your little kick boxing lessons at the health club will not help you. If a grown man hits you full force you will be knocked unconscious and very likely break the bones in your face. Do not ever make safety decisions based on your opinion of your ability to defend yourself.

I personally think that carrying weapons or taking martial art, self-defense classes etc. are a bad idea for most women. The most effective way to survive is to be scared; anything that makes you brave makes you more likely to walk into a dangerous situation. If you have a gun in your purse you might be more likely to take that shortcut home, or take a ride with a man you don’t know very well or any number of risky things. If you’re scared you’re careful, if you’re careful you don’t get into trouble. If you are a feature stripper, have a very public presence (website or modeling), or have had problems with a stalker then a gun may be something you want to consider purchasing. You need to be trained in it’s use and practice with it at a firing range at least once every few months. Don’t bother carrying one unless you comfortable with the idea of killing someone. That’s what guns are for, you’re not going to be shooting knives out of anyone’s hands, you’re going to be trying to make a hole in the center of their torso. If you have small hands like me you can have a gunsmith machine a trigger guard that will comfortable fit your finger but too small for the finger of a grown man. But I would like to emphasize, most women are far better off not carrying a gun. Only if you are in a position of constantly being exposed to unavoidable danger is it an option.

One never wishes to blame the victim but every single girl I know without exception who has ever gotten into trouble was doing something most women would consider risky or just plain stupid. Don’t take chances- the stakes are too high. As a stripper, leaving the club after work is the time when you are most vulnerable. I have only gotten scared twice at work. On both occasions it was when an overly enthusiastic customer decided to wait for me outside the club after closing. On both occasions the men were just confused about the nature of what a stripper does and were quickly dealt with by security. This being said, transportation is a critical safety issue that you really have to think about. Going to work is not a problem because customers can’t really see where you are coming from. Leaving is when you have to be most vigilant. Public transportation is out of the question, it’s too easy to be followed and is rarely safe at the hours you’ll be riding. I’d suggest sharing a cab with one of the other girls. If you decide to drive, make very sure that your car is reliable, last thing you need is a break down on an empty road at 3AM. A cell phone is a good thing to have. Make sure when you register you car you do it to another address (friend, parent, etc.). That way if some creep takes down your license plate number he can’t find out your home address. For obvious reasons never give any personal info to anyone who knows you as a stripper, including other strippers. There are strippers and bouncers who will give the information to customers for money or as a favor. There is no reason anyone needs to know anything but your stage name. Don’t tell them where you live or what school you go to no matter how trust worthy they seem. Once that information is out it’s very difficult to put back in the box.

We are not all success stories. I had my eye on the prize the first time someone slipped money in my garter. I learned how to capitalize on a man’s willingness to part with his hard earned money to see me naked. Done properly, a stripper can sock away grand amounts of cash just by dancing naked, and it can end as a very fruitful career choice. Not every girl is a naturally born stripper, you have to be willing to work your ass off, and then the world holds endless possibilities for you.

White Weddings Are For Fairytales

“I don’t know how young girls get it stuck in their heads that the perfect wedding is one of our life’s goals. When I was a little girl I learned that I desired the perfect white wedding to mark the beginning of my life as being married to my prince charming. What I never knew was how it was all going to happen for me. I suppose one could say I grew up in a typical suburban family, the youngest of three girls, all of us achieving the goal of being a high school cheerleaders while remaining as straight A students. We all followed in the footsteps of our mother who we all idolized, we all wanted what she had, we all wanted to be where she was in life. Being the youngest, I was witness to seeing just how easy it is for one’s dreams to fall by the wayside. Somewhere in high school I began losing my faith in God, not because I blamed him for anything, but because he no longer seemed to have the answers. I grew impatient with him because when I turned to him to find my strength I felt as if I was waiting for something that he couldn’t help me find, myself. I lost myself wanting to be like my sisters and wanting what my mother had. Dreams I would soon find that I could not reach the way they reached them.

Halfway into my freshman year of high school my oldest sister found out she was pregnant. My sisters and I were close, we had a pact to remain virgins until our honeymoon, so I was sure how my sister explained it was the truth. She had attended a seniors only party a few months before, she went with her boyfriend of three years, and she was dropped off by that boyfriend after the party. The truly strange part about it, because my parents had DNA tests done, is that he was not the father of the baby. At the party she did like she always did, just drank diet coke, because she didn’t drink. A few hours into the party she remembers feeling sick so she went to the bathroom, which is where her boyfriend found her thirty minutes later, passed out on the floor. Long story short is that it is believed that someone at the party put some kind of drug into her diet coke, this lead to her getting sick, which lead her to the bathroom, and where someone raped her while she was out cold. Nobody is ever going to know the secret to the mystery. At five months pregnant, the fetus aborted in the middle of the night, we were told that due to unseen complications during the pregnancy that it just terminated on its own. Three days later, during my sisters first night back home from the hospital, she committed suicide. We buried my sister and her unborn daughter at the end of the week.

As a family we took all of this real hard, my parents really closed off the world, even worse, the closed us off from them the most, emotionally and physically. It seemed, at the time, that being the youngest, that I was taking it all in the most negative way, but the following event proved the opposite. Within a month of her funeral, my other sister decided to just disappear from the face of the planet. She left a brief letter to explain not to worry about her, she needed to be far away, and she would be okay because she had a plan. Nice plan, abondon everyone, give everyone something new to grieve about. I personally, have not seen or had contact with her since the night before she disappeared. I continued high school, I watched my parents grow distant from each other, and finally my dad decided that everyone would be best if he left as well. After their divorce, shortly after I graduated, I too, left everything I knew, my mom was heart broken, but said she would always be there for me. I ended up in Houston somehow, came in with the wind one night, broke, hungry, and alone. I didn’t like my current situation so, after seeing an ad I applied for a job and was hired a few days later. That job lasted about a month and one day I heard these two pretty girls talking about the money they had been making. I sat down with them, we became friends, and, in a weird way, showed me an uncertain path.

Which, coincidentally, is where we sit today. I will be 23 in a few days, graduating from Rice University later this fall, after 4 very long years of hard work. I really don’t mind doing what I do, strip for money, because it has actually given me a bright future, one that I can touch, feel, and see. Stripping has given me an education about people, an education that I’m not sure I could have received anywhere else. When I graduate this fall I will be leaving this club and beginning the next chapter in my life, always being very thankful that I overhead a conversation I was never meant to hear.” 

…………. The preceding paragraphs were transcribed from a recorded conversation between myself and Molly, well, most of it was her talking while I listened. I have let technology take the place of my own memory and little black note book when it comes to writing for Scorpion Sting’s Bartender Stories. I’m liking the way it worked out, I didn’t have to handwrite any of it and I just pushed play and pause to thumb type this on my phone. I hope y’all enjoyed this entry, it was sad and happy, just like my own life seems to be, sometimes life is what it is and we must roll with the punches just to survive.

The Night The Lights Went Out

Just so happens that the night the lights went out was last night. Before I begin, I want you to notice the picture, it is the view from my bar, minutes after the power went out for good. The lights had been flickering all evening but never went completely off. After the power outage, the only lights on in the whole place were the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling and walls. Strange how, even in complete darkness, the foggy remains from the show that was happening still linger. About 20 minutes later I get the weather alert below, the fifth one for the night but not the last. Being stuck behind a bar in a very loud strip club with no windows almost made me oblivious to the weather conditions outside. I knew it was pretty rough at home since my wife had text me already to inform me of our power outage and the successful immediate transition of the generator coming online moments later. When I asked her if I needed to come home she told me no because she didn’t want me driving in Houston in the crazy rain. Which translates into, “no dear, we have power, we don’t need you”.

Throughout the night one really couldn’t tell there was severe weather going on outside because there was a very steady flow of people in and out of the club, it was just like any other night at the strip club. And, of course, when the lights flicker at the club it looks like it is just part of the show. Nobody cared until they all went out, I think when people enter our world they forget the real world outside the doors. Now, when the power goes out at the strip club a protocol goes into place. One may not see them but there are, on average, 50 private security inside the club at any given moment, they blend in like at large casinos for immediate response needs. Although the commodity is different here, the employee’s safety is top priority. Which makes sense, at any given time there are 100+ strippers visible in the club, 40+ waitresses visible in the club, and 50+ club staff you may or may not see, floating around the club, and then there is an assload of ” unsecured” cash moving around. All it takes is one brave soul to make the worst decision of his life for all hell to break loose.

Luckily there are generators at the club as well, they are older but do come on after about 10 minutes or so. However, these generators only provide minimal lighting since most of the power is directed towards refrigeration, security, and the air handlers. Needless to say, no neon, no spot lights, no strobe lights, no music, so nothing in regards to entertaining. Almost immediately the place is put on lock down, everyone stops exactly where they are while order is regained. One would be surprised how compliant close to 1000 people can be. I’m lucky to report that there were no incidents that occurred due to the temporary black out. I did, however, get to go home early because after 40 minutes with the power going out the club was shut down for the night. All employees were escorted out because it was jet black outside except for the flashes of lightning. It was creepy, to say the least, no lights anywhere for miles around. Good thing for me that there were almost no other cars on the road either.

So, it was a bizarre and very stormy night here in the Houston area, which anyone who lives here would tell you. It was definitely a wicked band of storms that moved through last night. When I get home power had been restored already and from my quick property survey this morning we didn’t take any physical damages. However, looks like pond is up about 8″, still about a foot below where it is normally. I’m sure the creek is swollen, I will have to check that out later, once I find my rubber boots. I hope that everyone who had storms last night is doing fine because they really did come out of nowhere. Btw, both pictures belong to me, I took the top one and the bottom is a screenshot from my phone, just in case anyone was wondering.

Thank You Karma, I’ve Been Patient

So, I was working at the club last night, bored to the point I was actually on the verge of falling asleep standing up. Then, a ringtone begins to play on my phone, one I have not heard in many years, “The Bitch Is Back”, when I look at the screen to make sure it is who I think it is, I see ” The Cunt” is calling. Before I get into this wonderful conversation, let me remind y’all that in just over 15 years, I have spoken with my ex on the phone 4 times, and in person twice. Needless to say, we are on less than talking terms, much less being cordial terms with one another. But she called, which had to be hard for her personally, and now I am wasting my time “writing” about her cuntness while sitting here in my shop with better things to do, like scraping the duck shit off of my 50 year old iron bench so I can refinish it later. Oh Yea, the phone call.

When I first saw who it was I did smile a bit, but only because I was hoping she was calling me to say “I’m sorry” and “you are right”. It makes me smile because in 12 years of marriage and all the years since, I have never heard those words. Oh well, I better see what she wants so I don’t have to listen to a lengthy voicemail. It started off polite enough, almost like she was reading a prewritten script or something. I know I am the last person on Earth she wanted to be calling. Like normal, she talked and I listened, this is just the way it works, she wants something I have, and I just listen. This time it was different, this time there were a couple of ” pleases” there and a bit of gratitude in her voice. I had to pull my phone back twice to make sure who was calling me. Very strange indeed. So, what does she want? Well, that’s complicated. So you understand better, I need to take y’all back to when we were getting divorced because it would appear she made a few boo boos filing her taxes and now she has an appointment to discuss the discrepancies.

Anyway, part of the terms of our divorce were for her to receive proceeds from the sale, rental, or lease from the house we once called home. It always struck a nerve with me because this house was only in my name. But whatever, community property is what it is. The market to sell was very soft, so, with the aid of a realitor, which I paid for 100%, we put it on the market to rent. Now, I remind y’all, by this time I was out if the Air Force, living in Houston, and this house is in Alamogordo New Mexico. Within a month of our divorce a military couple were signing a rental agreement. Since I was still paying for the house, each month there was about $500 remaining, which I was oblidged to split with my now ex-wife. I made sure I wrote a paper check each month for ease of keeping the records straight. After around 3 years of the same couple renting the house, I received an offer to purchase it, cash. Seems the housing market was on the rise there. I purchased the house for $57,000.00, put another $10k into it, and at the point when they made the offer, I still owed the bank roughly $18k. What was their offer for this 2900 sq ft, 4 bedroom, 2 1/2 bath house? $98,699.00 plus closing costs with immediate move in. Without thinking, I agreed to the sale. But the cunt would not see half because I protested the decree and proved she never spent a penny on the house, the judge awarded her $20,021.09 payable over the next 16 months.

OK, so here is the problem, never did she report any of the proceeds from the rent or the final sale as income or a source of revenue when she filed her taxes. Oops. So, as it stands, she is claiming ignorance, and she has been given 30 days to prove she shouldn’t owe over $56k in taxes, penalties, and fines. She has been trying, unsuccessfully obviously, to do this on her own, leaving only a few more days before the 5th of August rolls around. Like I told her, I am not giving up any information without written proof she needs my information. When I asked what I get in return for graciously taking time out of my life to copy all the shit she needs, she offered to take me out for steak. I told her, in that case, when she shows up at my front gate to pick up her package, because I refused to do everything for her, for her to leave enough time for dinner. After a long, very dramatic pause, with a sigh, she agreed to meet with me on Saturday.

So, why am I helping the cunt? Its easy, I don’t want her mess getting on me, because trust me, she would find a way to suck me down that rabbit hole. Meanwhile, in exchange for the documents she has requested, my lawyer has drawn up documents that she must sign which release me from any obligations, financially or otherwise, and it includes a detailed inventory of all the documents so if push comes to shove, I can show I provided up, above, and beyond everything I could. No sign, no copies. Luckily for me, I keep the records of my past life neatly tucked away in a small three drawer filing cabinet. Lucky for her I packratted all of this away or she would be fucked and she probably doesn’t like prison orange anyway.

You want funny? As she reads along with you here today she is realizing that I truly don’t give a fuck about her situation and that this life lesson is one that will soon be forgotten by her because that is just the way she is. Yes, she reads my blog, only because my daughter sees to it on occasion for some reason. In the end, my dearest cunt, I can only thank you because you gave me something to do with my time and gave me something special to write about today. See you Saturday. Remember not to be sad in your time of need because, like always I am prepared, something you never took the time to learn.

I Do Really Hate Getting Caught

I do really hate getting caught, especially when what I was doing wasn’t actually wrong or Illegal. But, as it stands, last night I got caught getting my tips from the club last week ready to go to the bank so I could pay some bills today or tomorrow. I will explain the money part of that in a bit because I know someone is going to ask about it. So, yesterday evening all the kids were gone, dinner was on the grill, and I remembered I needed to go to the bank. Now, I don’t keep secrets about money from my wife, she knows I make a decent amount in tips bartending. She knows I also get a paycheck, she knows I’m a 10-99 employee as well which means we save 20% of my earnings to pay Uncle Sam in January. What she has yet to figure out is why a bartender in a full nude strip club is paid what I get paid. But, the money is the reason I am there. I can’t help it I am able to negotiate what my time and services are worth. A while back, when I started back, I agreed to work Wednesday and Thursday nights, roughly 30 hours between the two days, for $1200.00 since I knew I would be paying my own taxes.

Plus, as bartender I keep ALL of my tips, but I also get 5% of the tips to the waitresses, and 1% of the tips from the dancers. Doesn’t sound like much does it? The stack of money on the table represents my tips plus the additional tip outs from the dancers and waitresses. The bundles are $100.00 if you are counting. Since I report and pay taxes on this as well, it all stays well documented. Which, is what I was doing last night when my wife came strolling into the dining room, home early from work. She had a surprised look on her face, like I just showed her a sasquatch body laying on the table after varmint hunting. Needless to say, she wasn’t ever aware that at anytime during the week there is a similar amount of money tucked away in the safe. Then the conversation got ugly. Supposedly I am hiding it from her because she has been unaware. I tried to explain it all goes to our joint checking account, minus what goes to a separate joint savings account for taxes. Still not believing me I had to get my tablet so we could explore the last few months of Wells Fargo deposits. A new bit of information came to light that I was unaware of, she doesn’t pay attention to the account balances. How the hell not? Well, seems that since I have always been the monthly bill payer that I would let her know if there is a problem so she never worried about it.

Yet, I am the one being told I’m hiding money from her. I still can’t wrap my head around it because it seems like a bizarre way of thinking. Then, this morning it hits me, its because I am the man and she is the woman, therefore I am automatically wrong. But, I have a frugal wife, she is not a spend-o-holic, she believes, as I do, that we will want to take trips, pay for college, and still one day retire. So, I have no complaints in that department. No other department either really, perhaps the jumping to conclusions part, but we argue and communicate very well with each other. In the end, we spent a few hours in the hot tub drinking margaritas and not talking about work, money, or our worries. We just sat there butt-ass naked enjoying each other’s company under the partly cloudy sky listening to the hum of the margarita machine churning out the next batch. All and all, after dinner, the hot tub, and the excellent margaritas, we went to bed with smiles on our faces. She mentioned this morning that I’m still an asshole but she still loves me.

A Not So Routine Trip To The E.R.

Often times it is hard to decide what stories make it into The Magic Weekend files. Typically I will not post the story unless it has pictures provided by the sender which can be used in association with the story. I do, however, make exceptions, as in this case, it will be the second exception I have ever made. Why? Its simple really, she sent in 18 pictures with her e-mail, zero which are usable here do to what might be considered to graphic. You may or may not understand, but in her story she does take pictures and she will go on to explain why to y’all. Hers is truly a “Blood” story since it did result in 4 stitches being given in the local emergency room. She did explain that had this not happened to her then her weekend really wouldn’t have been to special. I give you Liz’s story now, she is 23, married, no children mentioned, and lives in Las Vegas Nevada. Warning: there are graphic descriptions of the female anatomy as well as graphic language in the following post.

“This weekend started out as many do for us, get off work late Friday afternoon ready to get home so we can go out on the town. My husband (Justin) and I had decided we wanted to try out a new dance club here in Las Vegas that a few of our friends had been to and said the partying was great. I got home first so I took a quick shower to was my day. As I sat in my towel afterwards, starting my hair, my husband comes in to let me know he had spoke with everyone earlier and we are still on for going out this evening. Pretty soon it was time to get dressed, so I called the girls to find out what they were wearing, we all tend to dress the same as each other already but its nice to check. Last week I had bought a new pair of blue jeans. The store didn’t have my size so I had to go one smaller, no big deal, the tighter the better, and I don’t ever get any complaints from Justin for them being too damn tight. I’m lucky in that regard, my husband is still I’m love with my ass. A common practice I have is going commando in jeans because it leaves absolutely no noticeable lines plus I don’t have to worry about getting all bunched up in the wrong tight places.

Laying on the bed completely naked I grabbed my jeans to wrestle them on. My husband gets a kick out of the show as he finished up shaving. It takes me a few minutes before I get the jeans convinced to be on me. Last step was just zipping them up to seal the deal. All of of a sudden my eyes flashed over white because of the hellish pain I was now in. It hurt so bad I couldn’t even scream. When I sat up carefully to get a better view of what happened I couldn’t bear the pain. I laid back down and called Justin to get in the bedroom. When he came in I explained what I was doing and he tried to hold back the giggles, but failed miserably. I needed him to explain what he could see to me so it could get fixed pronto. ‘Well……shit ……babe…….all I can see it what looks like bloody skin’. He then went in to explain that I zipped over a good bit of skin. When he tried to pull the zipper back down it wouldn’t budge a bit and it hurt so fucking bad I could only scream. But nothing either if us tried did any good, that zipper was very stuck with my flesh still in it. He took some pictures “just for the record” as we made plans to get me off the bed, into his truck, and down to the emergency room. And let me tell you, it was a flesh tearing effort just getting to the e.r. for sure.

We parked in front of the entrance and Justin went in to explain the situation and get someone to help get me inside. A triage technician (Ron) came out to take a look and gage the severity of my injury. Very lucky for me is the fact that I am the only person here right now so I can get seen immediately. I couldn’t begin to imagine having to wait any length of time in the waiting room. In the room now, laid back on an exam table, I feel a cool liquid beginning to run down to the back of my legs. Ron tells me it is an antiseptic to clean the area so the doctor can get in there and get to work. Enter the doctor, his name is Jack, he looks about 13 but assures me he is in his late 30s and I have nothing more to worry about since he will take care of my complaints. Yes, I do have a complaint, the is a zipper holding the fleshy parts of my vagina hostage! The first thing they do is cut away my jeans leaving only a patch surrounding the zipper. Then doctor Jack makes an announcement, the zipper has entrapped aproxamately 1 1/2″ of my right labia majora. That’s right, I zipped a chunk of my labia right up. After six separate shots into the labia and surrounding areas to deaden everything I was feeling no pain. I watched as it took four people to forcibly unzip the zipper to finally get it separated from my now very swollen, very bruised, and somewhat bloody labia.

After a deep cleaning I was taken to have an xray to confirm that no metal remained unseen under the skin anywhere. After the no metal check cleared the doctor gave me 4 stitches to permanently close the four puncture like wounds. I am guessing this will be a fine place to have stitches for the next three weeks. Now that it is time to leave we realized I didn’t have any pants but the nurse was kind enough to give me a pair of disposable scrub pants. I just wanted to go home at that point, lay on the couch a while, put an icepack on my labia, and hope like hell the swelling would go down so it would stop throbbing so badly. Now I can look back and laugh about this entire ordeal. My stitches ate out now yet I am still really tender, I haven’t wore anything but sweat pants and skirts since that night and I think my husband is getting a little concerned. I’m not sure how a person rehabilitates her labia, but so far it has been time. So, that’s that, this is how a pair of jeans can not only change one’s weekend plans but also for a long time after. Too bad there’s not a warning label on or near zippers. I wonder if this has ever happened to any other women. I can’t be the only one, can I? I’m not worried, I know that all will be well in due time. Thanks for taking the time to read my story and I hope the pictures helped explain the predicament.”

Next Generation Of Story Telling

Having My Very Own Magic Weekend

To begin with, my wife and I don’t really celebrate Valentine’s Day in a traditional (commercial) way. For the most part is it just another day on the calendar that comes and goes with little to no notice. We tend to avoid all the typical things like flowers, candy, and fighting crowds to go out to eat. We both see it as a waste. We will exchange a card (sometimes) but if nothing is said, done, or acknowledged it isn’t dwelled upon by either of us. To be honest, we don’t need a “holiday” for us to get together in any regard. I had plans of making my special version of chicken cordon bleu and I was looking forward to our dinner plans since it was supposed to be just my wife and me. When I got home I was getting prepared to assemble the chicken, the wine was being chilled, and the oven was warming up. Soon after, my wife strolls through the door and tells me we have plans, so stop what I’m doing so we can get dressed. Plans? We don’t do “plans” on Valentine’s day, ever, not even when we were just dating. It’s hard to wear my pissy face when my wife is all excited. Well, let me put everything up so it doesn’t go to waste and turn off the oven for sure.

I follow her to the bedroom which was a pleasant trip because all the way to the bedroom she was shedding clothes. It was like a mobile strip tease. She puts on her robe, if you can call it a robe, sits down to redo her hair and make-up. I decided to jump in the shower to knock the day off and freshen up a bit. My wife isn’t worried because she knows I’m an in and out of the shower kind of guy so she knows I wont take long. Unless, she was to join me, the I’m still the in and out guy but the shower takes a little longer. But, not this time, this was a solo sudsing to say the very least. Five minutes later I emerged, squeaky clean and ready to rock & roll. She took the opportunity to lay my clothes out for me. When I saw what it was I was struck with a little disappointment because I knew what it meant. Laid out on the bed were my black Wrangler jeans, which I hate because they are too tight in the ass and crotch, leaving very little room to breathe normally. Next to the jeans was my red long-sleeved “western” shirt, a very nice shirt which I only wear when we are going out dancing at the redneck clubs. This night is taking a bad turn, I think I might be feeling ill. On the floor were my nice western boots, which I hadn’t worn since my foot surgery a few months ago. I really like these boots, I have had them for 20 plus years and cannot wear them out for nothing, but then it is hard to wear out alligator skin, these are black too, of course. She was wanting me to go all out I see as my black Stetson and nice black leather belt with the headstone belt buckle were also laying on the bed next to everything.

She goes into the closet and emerges with a handful of clothes which I didn’t get to see and she heads off to the bathroom. I proceeded to get dressed, getting all redneck pimped out for who knows what reason. It will be good though, we don’t go out, just her and I, much any more. Fifteen minutes later she slinks out of the bathroom looking like a stunning redneck angel, looking allot like the day we met so many years ago. Then she asked for my help, she needed me to lace up her leather corset for her and well as pull up the zipper on her pants. Strange, I like it the other way, unlacing and unzipping, but not tonight, she is on a mission I can tell. I’m surprised she is wearing these jeans, they are so tight that is she wasn’t shaven then we could count the short and curlys. Lucky for us she took care of business. These are my favorite jeans, they fit her like a latex glove that is 3 sizes too small. I remember buying these jeans a few years ago, she is a tricky one to buy jeans for as not all jeans conform to a woman’s body the same way for each woman. I never mind going jeans shopping because it is always a show that I don’t want to miss. For those of you new here, my wife is 5’1″, 108 lbs, natural blonde, and she is still very proud of her boobs because after 2 children and being forty years old now, she still has yet to start “drooping”. She told me once I will never have to be one of those husbands who spends tens of thousands of dollars on boob jobs for his wife.

So, due to the nature of her clothing she will be going commando all the way around, as the leather corset does not leave room for a bra. So, now the hard part, I get to put on her socks and her boots for her. I tried to teach her years ago to put the pants on half on way and then put her boots on before she pulls them all the way up. But, she likes it this way it would seem. Now that she is all buttoned, laced, and zipped, she moves back to the mirror to finish up with her hair. I’m a lucky man in many senses of the word, but I feel lucky personally because my wife wears very little make up, mostly eye make up and a little something to throw off the blend of color in her face. She decided to wear her hair down with is nice for me because I always see it up in a ponytail or up in some fashion. I tend to forget her hair is almost down to her ass because I rarely see it down. She’s up to something, she is trying to distract me from something, so I better watch closely so I don’t miss what it is. After a little bit more primping I brushed my teeth and wetted my hair down to stand it back up, a high and tight flat top is such a hard hair style to maintain said no man ever. Final look at both of us, grab my Stetson, and away we go. There she goes down the hall, what a sway she has after all these years, she has never lost it, I do enjoy watching her walk away from me.

As we are walking out the door she mentions she wants to go big and asks if we can take the H1. Sure why not, nothing like trying to squeeze this bitch into a compact car parking spot. I joked with her and told her to grab the butter because it might be a tight fit here in a bit. As we are leaving the neighborhood she is quiet about where we are headed which I hate when I’m driving because I like to know in advance where we are going. We head into town, she tells me where to turn and where to go and soon enough I knew what she was up to. We were fixing to head into a place I know real well as I used to bartend here many years ago, many years ago. Lucky for me they were providing valet parking so I wasn’t going to drive around the giant lot looking for a spot. I got out, went around to the passenger side to help my wife out, and turned to give my keys to this 12 y/o kid, well, he looked 12 at least. I’m thinking that I hope he is tall enough to reach the pedals as I chuckled out loud as we walked. We were greeted at the door by friends my wife works with, I knew this was a damn trap, and we all went in together. Bonus, ladies have no cover charge, bummer, men have a $25.00 cover, ouch. Bonus again, the attendant remembers me and she gives me a break for the promise that my wife will let me give her a dance later. My wife actually agrees to it. What she doesn’t know is she don’t want to dance with me, she wants to grind up and down my leg and if she hasn’t changed she wont be wearing a stitch under that super short mini skirt.

We get in and the freaking place is packed, like 1,000 people over the building capacity packed. I decided to go to the bar and see what I could scare up, we order our drinks and the bartender asks my wife for her I.D., so I had it in my shirt pocket show she showed it and put it back. The group of us made our way to the outside edge of the club and actually found a booth which held the six of us. It’s the perfect place to sit, close to the bar, close to the restroom, and close to the mechanical bull bar. I told my wife already that I would support her if she wanted to give it a spin but I refuse, those days are over for me, way over, years ago, way over. She gave me the “uh huh wink” so I knew we would be arguing later. The ladies all left to go take a powder or whatever the fuck they all do as a gang going to the restroom. Still, to this day, at 45, I don’t understand why it takes one woman at least two other women to pee. Maybe I’m missing something, maybe I need to start spying. Will I ever know the answer? Nope. I decided to go get in line to throw some darts, nothing mixes well better than alcohol and pointy object you get to throw. Man, don’t people move on with their lives, it was like seeing the same people from years ago, except they got a little fatter and gained a few more wrinkles. I lit a cigarette and laid my money on the table. How boring, playing 501 in and out. My wife located me and said she will be out dancing when I’m done, and don’t make her wait or she will grab some young buck and make him wet himself. Awww, she’s such a damn tease.

My turn at the dart board, luckily I went to the H1 and grabbed my darts. Time flies when you can’t lose. It wasn’t because I’m that good, it is because they sucked that much ass. Made me look good and put a little money in my pocket. The last game a cocky sucker wanted a rematch because he felt he had been cheated because he “runs” these dart boards and he “owns” every bitch who steps up. Well, shit, nobody told me I had to ask permission to beat someone’s ass here. Fine, it’s my last match because I had a wanting women giving me the evil eye every dart I threw. Step up, put down some money. After some really big talk, by both of us, the bet was settled, $1000.00 winner takes all, best of three games. I showed my wad, coincidently that wad belonged to the others I beat here since I walked in with only a hundred to throw down for darts. Bam, Bam, I owned and dominated the first two games, no questions and no problems. I picked up my money and walked off to get another shot of tequila on my way to the dance floor. Lets hope I can remember how to dance now, maybe another shot of liquid courage, or three, yeah, four was the magic number. Dance we will, look out ladies, fresh meat coming through. A crowded dance floor full of horny drunk women is a place I would rarely walk alone, but I had to muster though the groping, grinding, and package checks to get to my wife, who always likes the center of the dance floor.

By the time I got to her I was already sweating, what is it in her 666 degrees! Then the world went into slow motion the moment I was in front of my wife, she had sweat rolling down the sides of her face, she was glistening, he hair was all tossed about, and she was just going to town, she had that just fucked put away wet look, this is going to be a good night to be me I can feel it already. We danced, we danced allot, finally after an hour or so, all those shots were talking to my bladder, it was time to make a break for the head before they had to clean a mess up on the dance floor and wet saw dust is so hard to sweep. I seemed like an hour to get off the dance floor, I could see the giant sign that said “<—- Cowboys Cowgirls —>” in bright neon lights, I was really close. Finally, I made it in just enough time to stand in line. The line moved fast enough, if molasses in the winter in North Dakota is fast, and finally I get in to go. Saying what a relief it actually was would be the understatement of the century, I haven’t had to hold it in like that since I was about 6 and never what to have to do it again. Okay, let me the hell out of this zoo before I get anymore wayward drunk piss on my boots, I hate it when a man can’t even have the common courtesy to piss on his own boots, he has to piss on mine. Now that I’m out I am trying to see which direction I need to head, got it, time to start pushing through. About 15 feet from the rest room I feel a hellacious crash to the back of my head, I fall forward to catch myself, turn around, and see the jackass that lost all of his money because he sucked playing darts.

I was told it was one great fight. I was told I held my own quite well against this 20 something punk. Luckily for me, as I was told, I won’t need any medical attention, and I won’t be going to jail if the police can locate my wife in the club. The dumbass, however, gets a trip in the ambulance and then will be headed to jail. Apparently, all of his boys ratted him out when they were talking to witnesses where he had said he was going to kill me if I didn’t give his money back. I love redneck clubs! Within 30 minutes my wife was walking up to the police cruiser where I was sitting. How nice, she has my Stetson. No words were spoken. No looks were given. Just a soft hand held out to help me out of the back seat of the car. The valet asked if we were ready to go and I said of course. He returned with my H1 and I put my wife in and I got in. Hungry, we went across the street to IHOP to get a snack or something. We sat there, staring at each other for a few minutes when she finally asked if it was worth it. Worth it? Was what worth it? I dug the two grand out of my pocket and put it in her hand and told her the guy was a sore loser and wanted his wad back. Her head sunk for a moment and when she looked back up she told me that this would have been a piss poor reason to get killed in the redneck club, she said this with a slick little smirk on her face because she thought the little fight was over something else stupid, like me running my mouth. Me, never.

We wrapped it up, paid the tab, and headed home. It was about 3 in the morning, I was tired, really sore, and I just wanted to be free of the meat locker jeans. After undressing, I jumped in the shower to soak a bit. A little while passed and I open my eyes to my wife standing in front of me as the shower rained down. She reached out, put her arms around me, pulled me tight, told me she is glad I’m not dead, and we stood there and soaked for a good while. Afterwords we both toweled off and headed for the bedroom. I told her I would be back in a few minutes since I was headed outside to smoke. She agreed, declined my invitation to join me, and off I went. I smoked two, locked up, got a drink of water, killed the lights, and ended up in front of our bed. It was a vision of an angel, the lights were on, the television was on, and my naked wife was sprawled out across the bed sideways. As tempting as this might all look, it was probably best, she looked tired, amazing, but tired, I was sore from my ass whoopin’, so I just fixed her in the bed and was out within a matter of minutes. When I woke up the next morning I realized I just had my very own Magic Weekend and figured I would have a go at telling my story. I remember now, that moments like these don’t happen on purpose, nor does everyone get to be as lucky as I am having the wife I have. She might not always agree with me but she will always be at my side, even if she is passed out cold bare assed naked.

From Stripper To AMMO Troop

I don’t know how many times I get found by accident by people not knowing they are actually looking for me. What do I mean? Well, take the young lady that has sent my next story to be featured on The Magic Weekend. She, and I will put her exact words in a bit from her e-mail, said she had heard about my blog from friends of hers. Come to find out, as you will read, she recognized me as someone she actually knew in real life. I know, bizarre. She explains we have two things in common that I might not be aware of, first of all being that she began as a stripper at the club I worked at in Houston around 2 weeks before I quit. Second, she has since joined the United States Air Force and she is now proud to call herself an Ammo Troop. We do have a bit in common it would appear. She mentions in her e-mail that she is about to leave the United States to be stationed at Osan AB (South Korea) as her first base. Without anymore from me, let’s get into her e-mail and story.

“Hey Mr. Bartender”

I realize you may not recognize or remember me but I remember you. and that is what is important. I think before I tell my story I will give you a little background about myself. When I was in community college I accepted a bet from friends of mine. When we would go out and party I would get told that I dance like a stripper and I have the body of a stripper. When you are drunk, anything sounds like a compliment right? Anyway, one thing started another and before I knew it I had accepted a bet that I couldn’t get hired as a stripper. After a little research on the internet I thought I had found where I wanted to “apply” and I went for it. Call it strange if you will but I had come across your blog and I remembered some it when I got hired to strip. The first couple of nights the club had a female bartender working at the dance floor bar. Then I saw a sign about how to get free drinks. It dawned on me at that time that the person who wrote that blog was actually real. When I asked where you were they told me you would be in to work in a few days. When I saw a few of the strippers wearing a “Jesus Loves Strippers” t-shirts I knew I had to have one but only you had them in some kind of private stash. Come to find out, you kept them locked in your locker. The night you showed up to work I heard the rumors that you had quit and would only be here about another two weeks. I did get my t-shirt and I was one of the “select” strippers who was involved in your farewell party. After around 6 weeks I ended up quitting. I proved a point, I could get hired as a stripper. Second point I proved was I was good at it. In fact, in that 6 week period I grossed nearly six grand. Not bad in my opinion, not bad at all. I also was done with my two years at community college (HCC) and I already had plans to join the Air Force. When I joined I was undecided as to what career I wanted to get into. One thing has led to another and as it worked out I have graduated from Munitions Tech School (AMMO school) and now I’m on the way to Osan AB, South Korea. Which is where my actual “weekend story” begins.

I knew what I had to do, I wanted to have one last party to end all parties. I hope it is okay, but this story ends up getting pretty graphic. After graduation I headed back to Houston to visit my family, visit friends, and have this last party. I picked that I wanted to go to Galveston and party all weekend on the beach. I bought a new bikini in hopes that I would get some unsolicited attention. When we got to the beach, me and two of my girl friends, were ready to get the party started. I was on a mission, I wanted to be shit faced slobbering drunk by noon and wanted to stay that way until midnight the following night, Sunday. We started drinking out on the beach about 9 in the morning and we were out of beer and wine coolers by 1 in the afternoon. It was pretty hot so we decided to go up to one of the bars and drink it up in the shade. We carried on like this for hours. I don’t know which of us was the drunkest because we were all pretty toasted. Late in the afternoon I convinced the bartender that I was too tired to drink and from that point forward I would just lean my head back and he would pour whatever I was drinking straight down my throat. This worked out for quite some time and before it was over all three of us were getting our drinks this way. My girls and I were talking about how I wouldn’t be seeing them for about a year or more and they were worried I wouldn’t know what to do without them. Then, out of the fucking blue, one of them asked if I planned on losing my virginity to some lucky Korean man. They said this laughing and it really sank in making me think. Here I am almost 22 years old and I have never hooked up with anyone. It’s been close but no cigar. If you can count heavy petting, stroking, and a hand-job with a happy ending close. I was a better flirt. I liked to tease. I liked to fuck with the boys until I got visual proof that I had their complete attention and then I would just walk away. I have spent many years drinking for free just for a flash of tit or a quick peek of clit. It is who I am, I don’t just fuck whoever and I think that bugs my friends. My two best friends who would bring guys to my apartment and fuck them while I was watching television or doing homework and they would do this right in front of me. Needless to say I have seen almost every inch of my friends, maybe that is why we remain so close. If they ever knew I had a lot of pictures of them they might just up and leave my ass.

I made a decision right then and right there, I was not leaving the United States a virgin and that magic was going to happen this weekend even if I had to knock some guy out and do it myself. Surely he wouldn’t mind waking up realizing he just had his brains fucked out by a total wacked out stranger. I will leave that as a last resort. I let my friends in on my little secret and they, of course, decided to go absolutely nuts with it. I wasn’t looking for commitment and I wasn’t looking for a phone call the following day, I just didn’t want to get shipped off to the other side of the world a virgin. We kept drinking well into the night, stopping only to eat and pee every once in a while. My friends noticed that the bartender had been “checking” me out so I decided to play with his heads a bit and see what I could start. This time I knew I was going to start it and I was going to finish it, period. Lookout blue eyes because here I come. First I decided I would switch spots with one of my friends so I could be facing the bartender and he could get a good view of the show that was about to start. Before long I found myself doing a little flash here and there. When I would do it I could see him looking like he wasn’t looking but he always made sure he was in a spot where he had the full unobstructed view of what I was doing and what I was playing with. At 2 in the morning everyone had cleared out, to include my girl friends. It was just me and the bartender. He kept hinting that the bar was closed and he would like to clean up so he could go home. But I wasn’t done dammit. He gave me permission to hang out while he tidied up and then he caught me staring at him and I was busted. I think he knew I was already fucking him in my daydream. He asked if there was anything else he could do for me before he escorted me out so he could lock up. It was now or never, he wasn’t going anywhere. I stood up as I stared him down behind the bar while I untied my bikini top first, followed by my bottoms. I stood there in the buff for a few moments before heading to the bar. I wanted to get there before he had a chance to tell me he was married or had a girlfriend which would make all I did just be make a fool of myself. I climbed up onto the bar, laid back, and placed my legs up around his neck and demand he not say a word until I was done with him. I gave only one instruction to that bartender, I told him he had better fuck me so hard I even forget my own name because I am leaving the country in a few days and want this to be what I remembered.

I really wish I could remember how it all went. I know that when I woke up the following afternoon I was sore everywhere a person could be sore. I know that he did what I asked because I noticed a little bit of him was dripping down my legs still, as well as his juices were all over me, including on my forehead and in my hair. My friends were curious to how many guys or how many times I had a go at it. All I told them is that it was my dirty little secret. Funny, he left me a note with his phone number saying to look him up when I get back and maybe we can go out for dinner. How sweet. So, I did it, I will not be leaving the country a virgin after all.”

Now, since receiving this email I have actually spoken to her on the phone and gave her some “insight” about the ins and outs of being at Osan AB. Also, I have some long time friends that live there still after they retired so I passed that information on to her as well. Meanwhile I called one of them to let him know what to expect and to take care of my new friend. This actually happened about 2 weeks ago but I have been busy here re-working my new blog and have just now been able to get to writing it. She is gone now, arrived safely in Osan and from what I have heard she is fitting in nicely. She promises to send me more stories if she has any weekends that become memorable. I know I will hear from her and then so will y’all. For sure Jill has fulfilled one of the five categories and that qualifies her to be here because it has been one of the better Sex stories I have heard in quite some time.

Sometimes…….