Date: Wed, 14 Dec 2005 20:36:02 EST
From: LarzDominion@aol.com
Subject: Six Hundred Seconds

If you're an underaged kid don't read this as it's real life. You're not
allowed! Where's your Net Nanny?

Let me begin this narrative mid episode. Sunday afternoon. I'd just excused
myself at Barbara's side from the bar stools in front of the stripper's stage.
We'd gone to the strip club to see her daughter, and my best gal pal Monique,
take it off in public for the first time.

Barbara and I had been there for several rounds of beer and shots. All bought
for us by the horny gents who couldn't believe she was excited at the
prospect of seeing her daughter's "ecdysiast debut."

The many generous men pattin' me on the back and buying my drinks assumed I
was Monique's beau, I guess. Barbara, a blonde haired blue eyed Irish beauty
herself, waved me away. She was too busy soaking up the sex charged male energy
surrounding her to notice I'd vanished.

Of course, I well knew where the men's room was here. This place had once
been the Barbary Coast. A gay dance bar in the late seventies that I used to
sneak past the bouncer to enter when I was but a lad. I admit my motivation to go
piss occurred about ninety seconds after that blonde sailor with the lump in
his pants I'd been eyeing headed out in that direction.

Bam. I slammed past the swinging door a bit loudly in my eagerness. And there
he has holding a twenty-one year old's impossibly stiff prick over the trough
urinal. His body jolted at the sound of the door as he looked over at me with
a goofy grin. Honest to God, he shrugged his shoulders, waved his erection at
me, and extended his left arm out palm up in a 'what's a Swabby to do'
gesture. Sometimes I love sign language.

Best not to break stride, I decided, as I sauntered (in my mind, anyway)
over. I sided up to the freaking real live sailor erectus endorphin rush from
hell's flames of temptation (what a sex biscuit). Double-time!

He said something about his condition and being unable to piss. I'll never
really remember what he said, as my eyes were occupied. Commanding all of my
attention, really. Did I mention he was in uniform? Yeah, and he'd let his white
pants drop past his asscheeks. Gentlemen, the Pearly Gates!

I love a trough urinal. Don't you? It's the great leveler in the adult male
bonding ritual.

So I agreed with him that the hot scene's got me worked up too. At this point
I pull out by boner (didn't take long to go to full mast at seeing him),
conspiratorial like. He giggles (sorry guys, yes, he giggled) and began wanking
himself. "Man, you're hard" I commented as I extracted my balls as well. He
opened his arms with his hands palm up and thrusts his hips forward in a 'check it
out' gesture.

Licitly split I had his cock shaft firmly in hand. I had barely managed to
confirm the he was uncircumcised, with a couple of strokes, when the fireworks
began. "I'm gonna fuckin' shoot it," he spit as he thrust his hips forward.
Seeing my opening, I reached back and grabbed his butt cheek mid cleft. My middle
finger struck gold too. I set my finger on twirl cycle as he repeatedly death
clenched his hairless gluts on my invading hand.

Three hundred and fifteen seconds after I'd left my bar stool, sailor boy
spunked a respectable load of jizz all over my jackin' hand. The trough urinal.
The wall behind it. My leather coat and jeans. God I love the Navy.

About fifteen seconds into his gasping afterglow I smacked him once on his
naked arse, hard. That got his attention as I glanced back meaningfully at the
bathroom door. I spun around, without stuffing my cock back into my jeans, and
retired to the only stall with a door.

Yes, I tasted his come on my fingers. Rubbed some of it into my hairy chest
too. I quickly rearranged myself for polite strip club society. Had to move my
hard on down my right thigh. It showed, but so did every other guy's in this
joint. I could hear sailor boy's beery flow. Sounded like a horse goin'.

We both made it to the one sink at about the same time. Not sayin' much as we
washed up, splashed our faces, ran our fingers through our hair. I smacked my
hands dry on my levied thighs and got my mustached lips near to his smooth
face. Great God Pan himself was looking out of my eyes and into his as I got
dangerously close.

There he went with that sign language again as both palms came up in a
guarded gesture. "Dude, I'm married." No shit. I'd seen the gold ring while he was
busy squeezin' his balls. What the fuck? The voice of Pan growled back at
him--a feral grin on my face. And, like a hunted stag, he retreated back into his
heterosexual forest. Good. I still needed to piss. Lucky we weren't
interrupted, I supposed. Oh, pissin' with a hardon! A different guy walked in on me with
a grin of his own as he whipped his pecker out while checkin' mine out.
"Fuckin' A, dude." He summed it up nicely.

Six hundred seconds later and I was back, perched on my bar stool next to
Barbara. She had told the surrounding gents that she herself had been a bikini
dancer in a cage at the Whiskey a' Go Go in Hollywood's Nineteen Sixties. And
that her mother before her had been a saloon girl on the Barbara Coast in San
Francisco. Syncronicity. I hadn't known that.

Monique came out on stage in a top hat and tails with cane and tapped danced
her way into the crowd's lusty hearts. She looked like a sixteen year old
Marie Osmond once she was down to her G-string under those disco lights. Her
father was Latin, ya see. Mmmm ... what a gal!

When her routine was done she came down and gave me and her mother a nasty
lap dance. You got it. Mother daughter lesbo action. What a glorious slut. The
crowd went wild.

Yeah, Navy boy was still there. I slipped a $fifty$ into Monique's  black
silk modesty thong and told her to show the Navy what they're fightin' for. She
gave me a quick kiss and wrinkled her nose. "You smell like dick," she informed
me and looked over at the Swab with growing comprehension. Barbara turned
around and said, "Monique, honey. I love Lars' cologne." Monique and I looked at
each other and laughed, much to the consternation of her mother.

Needless to say Monique gave that married Navy bloke the lap dance of his
life. Glad to have lent a hand as well.

Lars