Girl on Girl Action

I was home on a weekday evening, and my buddy... let's call him... Blake. Blake calls me at 7pm on a Wednesday. I'm bored and just working on some short story so I don't have to do some other work. He asks me what I'm doing tonight. I say "not much" and yet I'm curious because he has a happy lilt in his voice. I don't know exactly what a happy lilt is but the lilt people said they'd sponsor me if I used their word around town more. Lilt Lilt. So Blake tells me that there are going to be some strippers over at his place as if this were a normal event on a weeknight. I don't remember what he said after that because all I could do was picture these two hot, lean and sexy strippers doing what hot strippers do best... to each other... with toys. Now I should point out that here in Los Angeles we have a truly huge selection of hot strippers to choose from. I would go so far as to say a plethora. We rank right up there with Vegas, Amsterdam and New York. Why? Because we have lots of attractive aspiring young "models" and "actresses" who all get off the bus from South Dakota or Nebraska or some other boring state that doesn't really matter. Everyday they flood off the Bus with wide-eyed dreams of being the next Heather Graham or Liv Tyler and they quickly find they have to settle for being the next girl coming up to the stage, grinding up against a pole to some Hip Hop one hit wonder song. Why because they are exhibitionists, they like attention and they are all here trying to live their dream. The cream of the crop of hotties. In LA you can go into a Starbucks and see the most beautiful woman you've ever seen cleaning out the gunk from the frappucino machine. So when Jake said "pair of strippers" all I remember hearing after that was something about his roommate's friend Larry and a bachelor party. I tried to continue working on my short story but it quickly became impossible. I was thoroughly distracted. "Penny, Im going to go over to Jake's to watch a pair of strippers for some guy named Larry's bachelor party. Yeah, I know it's a school night, (literally) and I have to teach a Geography Lesson to 27 nine year olds first thing in the morning. Plus you have a head cold and I'm all hyperactive and the only bachelor party I was at was mine and the only thing striper related was when we docked the houseboat at a cove called stripper bay. No strippers at stripper bay. Okay? So what did Penny say to that? "Really? Cool, have a good time, sweetie."

All systems were go for operation eye candy. I even had the thumbs up from the wife. So I get there early and hang out with Blake, wait I think I refer to him as Justin, no Blake is better, Jake probably won't care which pseudonym I use. So Blake and I are hanging out and the bachelor partiers trickle in. We drink some beer and I make some jokes to kill the awkward feeling that fills a room whenever fourteen guys are waiting around to watch girls get naked. There is a ring on the bell and we're all excited. It's the handler guy. He is a messy-haired white guy wearing a fanny pack. Yes, a fanny pack. He's a professional. He asks where the girls can set up. Set up, awesome. Then another guy walks in. Fanny pack quickly gets some liquor and this slick Cubano dude in a leather jacket and t shirt gives us all a don't fuck with me, cause I could be packing look. No, no, they're not two male strippers like you guys thought. Then two, squat, dumpy, pear-shaped hispanic women, obviously the make-up people or set up people or something walk into one of the bedrooms. Damn there are a lot of people for just two strippers, well, maybe it's Wednesday so it's a slow night and-- My heart skips a beat as I realize that the dumpy girls who were in no way remotely attractive are the strippers. Fuck, they're 4ft 11 inch tall Hispanic troll dolls. I walk into the kitchen and simultaneously drink two beers at once. I lock eyes with Blake who looks as if he's just seen his grandparents French kissing. In a daze I walk out onto the porch for some air. The strippers take a long fucking time to get ready, but the other guys seem pretty okay. Fanny pack introduces Leather jacket dude who proceeds to explain "the rules." No touching-- well, no hard grabbing, touching is fine. No picture taking, "sorry guys" and no putting fingers or tongues in places where they should not go. I quickly go into the other bedroom and ask Blake to please put something on TV that I can look at. I'm trying to remember if the girls were just short and cute and I didn't pay enough attention. They must have been just hot spicy Latinas or something. Not so much with the spicy or the hot. More like what Cupid would look like if he was a Puerto Rican girl. Short, buldging, unattractive in the face, with a bubble but and weird baby fat.

As the car wreck is taking place I catch the eyes of several other guys who are not too impressed. The strippers. No, scratch that. The skanky troll doll whores take the bachelor lay him on the floor take off his shirt and pull up his shorts to "check the equipment and douse him with some oily lotion." They insist that we gotta give them two twenties if we wanna see some "pussy pussy." The host reluctantly gives up the money. And they drop bottoms to expose their soft baby fat covered bubble butts. One of the girls turns to us and loudly remarks "Did you guys see his little peanut?" What bachelor doesn't like to have butt ugly strippers tell him that he has a tiny penis in front of a room full of his guy friends and me, who he just met. And what room full of guys doesn't long to see Larry's little flacid penis? They start to rub lotion on him to the cheesy music that they brought, we're all deer in headlights stunned. Before we realize what's going on one of the girls asks for and gets a belt from one of the guys, she rolls the bachelor over and she threatens to spank him. This is actually a bit funny and elicits some chuckles from the group. The chuckles abruptly end when this little imp beast hits him square on his bare ass with not a little te hee he love tap, but rather a massive ass lashing which easily registered as an eleven on the smack-meter. He was beaten twice more like a naughty pirate before he could recover and rip the heavy leather belt out from her hand. The mission was in grave danger. Operation Eye Candy quickly turned into Operation Please No, for the last time I do not want a lap dance from you. I was the first to flee the scene. I even picked up some stray singles that were on the floor and gave them to Blake. I think the best man got stuck paying like six hundred dollars for the horrid event. I would rather get a lap dance from a Saint Bernard and cut off two fingers to forever erase the event from my mind's eye. As I left I could hear them trying to talk the guys into paying three hundred bucks for an anal show. I remarked that I'd rather watch a How To Plumbing Video. Do you know if brain scars ever truly heal?