"Big Spendin' Buckaroos," Rated NC-17, Supernatural/Miracles, Dean/Paul, Paul/Stripper/Dean
Part II
Rebel
So there's this guy in Boston, and I haven't known him long, but he's changing things in me. Things, man. Serious things. Like my bi side has reared its ugly head again. I thought I had tamed it after Billy, that it was barely there anymore, but now this dude is taming me. Not something that I ever bargained for when Sam disappeared and the Mothman led me here. The fucking Mothman.
Oh wait, I sound like a loon. You have no idea what's going on. No time to explain, get in the car! You'll just have to go along for the ride.
I don't want my brother to know about the dudes... the dudes I've been with. He has no idea, and what would he think? Forget it, I don't even want to think about it. The less he knows, the better. It's not like he's some macho homophobe or anything; in fact, Sam's ten times as touchy-feely and free-thinking as I am. He recycles and shit. But I'm his big brother, you know? It's different when it's someone you look up to, isn’t it?
Guess I'm scared to find out. So, we keep it a secret. Honestly, that makes it kind of exciting. I know Paul won't like it like that forever, though. He's all honest and crap. That's his name, Paul.
I think I'm in love with him.
Wow, that was easier to say than I thought it would be.
I've been laid up with a shoulder injury, so when it finally healed enough to lose the sling, I told Sammy I was going to get Paul and bring him home.
Home. It should feel weird to call some guy's apartment 'home,' but that's getting easier too.
Paul and his boss, Keel, were working on our case, the one involving the Mothman and about a billion other problems. Seeing as it was nearly ten, Keel finally took the ball and chain off and let Paul go, but not before trying to weasel his way into coming with us. I couldn't have that.
Oh, no. We couldn't have that. Not with the little surprise I had planned.
I was taking Paul out to a strip club and buying him a lap dance. Crazy, huh? If you knew how straight-laced Paul can be, you'd know how funny this idea was. And how goddamn sexy. I had no idea how he would react. I mean, I didn’t want him to do all the things I asked him to just because I wanted him to do them. I wanted him to enjoy having his limits stretched. It's fun to challenge him, like an adult game of Truth or Dare. I can tell when I've pushed him too far and when he's enjoying the edge I've pushed him to. At least, I hope I'm interpreting his signals correctly. I doubt he'd keep holding on if what he really wanted to do was let go.
I do admit, though, that sometimes I mess with Paul because he's so damn corruptible. That's not saying that I want to change him; he's too cute with a little bit of a stick up his ass. I just wanted that challenge of seeing how dirty he’d get when no one else was looking.
So, no. No Keel. Just like I don't want Sam to know, Paul doesn't want the people he works with to know about us either.
Someday, this may all come crashing down around us and everyone will find out. But that's not today.
To keep Keel at home, I brought up the recording we'd made a little while ago, where he interviewed me about my "paranormal experiences." I wound up talking most about Billy, but we also discussed the dreams I've been having, especially the one where Paul's dead mother shows up... alive. That's not something I want Paul to know yet. I mean, can you imagine? His father has the ability to raise the fucking dead. At least, that's one theory. If there's some way we can avoid this meeting altogether...
Anyway, it was a recording Keel needed to transcribe when Paul was not around. The sooner, the better - that's not exactly a subject you wanted to put on the shelf and forget about, right? It worked two-fold. Not only did Keel get to work on the transcription, but he also didn't come with us to... wherever we were going.
This would be the part where I'd wink at you if you could see me.
When we reached my car, I couldn't help but move in real close and have a good kiss-n-grope. Paul wears these sweaters all the time over a dress shirt. Sometimes it's a vest, sometimes it's a full sweater. At first, I didn't like how they looked on him, but as of late, I've started to like them for how they feel. All fuzzy and soft, with firm warmth underneath. It has started to drive me crazy, running my hands over those textures, feeling him quiver under the various layers of clothing.
Then Paul put his arms around me and cupped the back of my head, kissing me with just as much enthusiasm as I was giving him... YOW! So hot! We didn't even have any clothes off yet and I already felt like I could get off from just that. How could somebody so uptight and innocent be so goddamn sexy?
Paul cocked his legs open a little, allowing me to snuggle in real close. Part of me wanted to stay there and get us both off from rubbing against each other. There are so many pleasurable ways to get off, aren't there? They never seem to get old with Paul, not a one. Especially when he's always so full of surprises. Like what he said next.
"You wanna park somewhere? Have a quickie?"
I couldn't help but laugh. That word, coming out of that mouth... very unexpected. "Actually, I don't. Not yet," I replied, and added that I had a surprise for him. When he asked me what, I told him he'd have to wait. I imagine Paul could tell it was a naughty surprise from how I snickered in my special way, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.
Then I smacked him in his gorgeous little bubble butt with the car door.
When he spotted the neon sign of Pistol Pete's, you should have seen his eyes. If looks could kill... I just wanted to laugh and laugh. Only Sammy does better bitch faces. Oh yes, Paul, I am taking you to a strip club. But wait, you have no idea what all we're going to do besides watch the girlies take off their clothes. Ohhhh, so many fun things to do at Pistol Pete's, blam blam, yarhoo!
As I parked the car, Paul kept bitching about not wanting to go inside, so I gave him a little persuasion. I leaned over, groping his thigh and whispering in his ear about how I wanted him to do something for me. That heat came back into his eyes. I love that look, that lustful, half-lidded look that says Paul is loosening up, Paul is turned on and needs me to get him off, especially since he is wandering into unfamiliar territory. Lead me through it, that look says. Take me to new heights. Only you can do it.
Shit, how I love to seduce him. He makes it so exciting. He even moaned helplessly when I placed a little kiss on his mouth, a reward for playing along.
There were things about this club that made it like every other strip club in America - the neon signs and flashing lights - and other things that made it special, like the western theme. Pistol Pete’s was decorated with cow-print suede seat covers and distressed wood, along with cow skulls and these lassos made with neon lights. You could get your picture taken with a stripper which was then printed on a Wanted poster. The bathrooms were labeled Cowboys and Cowgirls. Yeah, I’ve been here before. You’d think with a theme like this that they would mostly play country music, but the strippers pick their own stuff, so it usually winds up being rock and metal tunes. "Cherry Pie" by Warrant was the current hair band song booming through the speakers. We sat at the bar so I could look for a girl, just the right girl, for Paul's lap dance. He made some kind of funny joke about it being a good thing that the club had only live nude girls since if there were any dead nude girls, they'd probably bother him (he's a medium), and I laughed. We got a couple of beers and started to loosen up.
A suicide blonde with big fake titties stripped on the main stage. Naw, not her. Paul would never go for a girl like that. Mostly, he just watched me at first, so I probably had to pick the girl for him.
That's when she came toward us. A cute little blonde, natural this time, dressed in a skimpy cowgirl outfit and carrying a tray of Jell-O shots. Her tits looked real too. Sure, they were squished together and spilling out of a nice push-up bra, but they were real. She kinda looked like Bridget. Bridget was a friend and fuck buddy of mine from my misspent teenage years. Yeah, she would do quite nicely.
"You want a shot? For a dollar you can take it this way." The waitress mimed putting the shot glass between her tits. Ah, strip club etiquette. Gotta love it. Where else could you suck a shot from between two gorgeous boobs like these and it be encouraged? Only thing better would have been fucking 'em, but I doubt local laws allowed that.
Of course, I did it. I wondered if she was just a waitress or if she did private dances too and just couldn’t ask us outright if we wanted one for some reason. Hey, I got news for ya baby, we're a sure thing. Her cleavage had been painted with glitter and smelled of something strawberry-scented. Nice touch. I demonstrated for Paul just how hard I can suck by siphoning the glob of lime Jell-O out of the glass without touching it (he probably already knows just how hard, though). The girl turned to Paul and asked if he wanted to try one too.
Looking at him suggestively, I waited to see if he'd dare to take the shot the same way I had. Then Paul did just what I expected and kind of hoped he would do - he refused. Instead, Paul picked the glass up off the tray and threw his head back to suck the shot out. Mmm, damn, so fucking alluring. I could have watched him do that on repeat. Those soft, succulent lips wrapped around the rim, opening up to suck in the Jell-O, and the way he looked at me when he put the shot glass back upside down, a challenge in his soft brown eyes. The fact that he wouldn't let me push him further than he wanted to go turned me on much more than if he had done it.
The waitress, who eventually gave us the name 'Dixie,' asked Paul if he was sure he didn't want to take another shot from between her tits. This was when he blew my mind.
He actually said, "I'm sorry, but I don't know you, so it would be disrespectful."
Disrespectful! Did he know where he was? Did he have any idea what sort of things this girl did to men on a nightly basis? I had to laugh. Dixie made the comment I wanted to make, about Paul knowing where he was, and he blamed it all on me.
I decided that he would probably deal with my surprise a little better if he was at least a little drunk, and besides, it would be fun to see Paul drunk under circumstances such as these. When our waitress started to walk away, I snatched up another shot and reminded Paul that there was a two drink minimum. Two drink minimum meant two shots!
Looking at me with amused suspicion in his eyes, he asked, “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“You know that’s not necessary, right?”
I couldn’t help but grin at that; we were going to get it on whether he was drunk or sober, but that wasn’t why I was trying to get him to drink. “I just think it’d be fun,” I said. Yeah, fun to watch him get that lap dance.
Paul actually did it. He gulped down the second shot. Afterwards, he reminded me to take it easy on the alcohol because I was driving, and I took the chance to make a really naughty joke right in front of the waitress. “Oh please,” I said, “it takes more than a couple beers to affect me. Besides...” I gave his body a good once-over with my eyes, tracing every curve. “...you don’t think we’ll work it off?”
That embarrassed Paul so much. He grinned and looked down while our waitress just stared at us. It was adorable.
She left with a light groping for both of us. It was fun.
If I could have jumped Paul's metrosexual fucking bones right there, I would have. Man, was it sick that his uptight principles turned me on? He's just so unreal. In this day and age, to find a guy that would behave like a gentleman after a slutty cowgirl makes a pass at him? That's a special deal right there.
I put an arm around Paul's neck and tried to talk him into my dirty little surprise. His breath smelled of liquor. The idea of Paul being even a little drunk... hot DAMN. Was there anything about this guy that didn't drive me crazy? He doesn't seem like a blackout drunk type, not like me from time to time. But I think he'd let me get him more than a little tipsy, maybe to the point that he'd be stumbling into my arms and giggling and I can “take advantage” of him. I could even picture him with his eyes unfocused, looking up at me... I'd be looming over him on the bed... and he’d want it, he would obviously want it so bad... mmmmm, such an exciting mental picture. Just thinking about it got me hot under the collar. We're going to do that next time!
Anyway, we went back and forth a bit as I tried to get a sense of how Paul felt about Dixie. Turned out she didn't totally gross him out, he just didn't like the cowgirl getup. He really wanted to know why I was asking all those questions about her; it even got to the point that he grabbed my chin and made me look him in the eye while he again said, "Why?"
Of course, I didn't tell him. Ooh, I could feel his eyes burning holes in my back when I slid off the stool and approached the girl. What he must've thought! Dixie saw me coming and said, "Hi handsome. What can I do for you?"
"You want to have a little fun?"
I actually thought that her response was genuine. "I'm always up for a little fun, especially with guys as cute as you and your friend."
"Yeah, I bet you meet some real losers in here."
A guy in ratty sweat pants standing nearby heard me and walked away with a scowl.
"Sometimes. Most of 'em are okay, but few of them look as good as you."
I grinned at her. "Are you available for a lap dance?"
"Sure! You got any special requests, baby?"
Ah, so she wasn’t just a waitress. I gestured to Paul. "I want you to give it to him while I watch. Treat him real nice." For a second, I wondered if she'd realize Paul and I were together together, but if she did, it didn't seem to faze her.
Dixie giggled, some disbelief in her tone. "Are you sure that wouldn't violate his principles?"
We both had a brief but good laugh. "He'll loosen up, I promise."
"Okay. It'll be no hardship with him either. You're both really hot."
Again I imagined how much fun it would be to fuck her tits and considered asking for her phone number. Maybe later. We negotiated a decent price and I paid her before heading back over to Paul.
Oh, was he livid! Paul even grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me closer like he was going to deck me or something. "Did you just pay that girl to have sex with us?" he asked.
I told him no, but he was getting warmer! After a little more arguing, I got him to release his death grip on his stool and come with me to the Big Spendin' Buckaroos room (the room for lap dances). Just as we got there, Paul stopped. I thought he was stalling, but he asked me something about the trolley; that was too damn bizarre to be a stalling technique. Apparently some broad in a flapper dress had asked him for a trolley token. We found out what all that meant later.
Dixie was waiting for us in the lap dance room. She got Paul to sit down on a booth seat that was wide enough to accommodate him and her when she mounted him. Oh man, I couldn't wait! Bewildered in the cutest way possible, he just looked at me when I didn't take a seat next to him.
I had a tough time holding back a good chuckle when Dixie asked Paul if this was his first "rodeo." Metrosexual wised up and finally realized he was about to get a happy lap. Ooh, the look that got me! Another hilarious bitch face! I thought the top of his head might fly off. "Dean, did you really - "
Shushing him, I told Dixie this was probably his first lap dance. I was pretty sure I was right in this case. Paul had shocked me before with the lost bondage weekend in college; maybe he had been gang-lap-danced by a bunch of biker strippers or something. But no, the look on his face told me everything.
Dixie gave him the rules, the standard don't-touch-me-or-a-bouncer-will-rip-your-arms-off speech (How many of us had to learn that the hard way?), and made a pretty good joke about being able to trust him because he was a man with principles.
This was when I realized that Paul was a little drunk; by the time we got to the lap dance room, he had downed two beers and two shots. He slurred his speech a tiny bit when he let her know that that had been only one rule. How cute. We glanced at each other and exchanged smirks. Paul was going through with this! SCORE! I couldn't wait to watch him writhe underneath her.
Paul started to tease back, making a few comments about possibly leaving, but begrudgingly agreed to stay with the remark, "I didn't realize you were such a voyeur."
Oh, really? Two could play this game. I stood up and stretched, giving Paul a good show (Who's the voyeur now?), and sauntered over until I stood before him. I told Dixie, "Now, if he gets at all handsy with you, here's a good way to put him in his place," then grabbed Paul by the wrists, lifted them up over his head, and slammed them back against the seat. It obviously surprised him; he gasped and his eyes went wide. He made this really arousing moany noise that made me want to climb on top of him. Judging by the way Paul looked at me, he wanted the same thing. He even dared to squirm in the seat like his pants were suddenly too tight. Maybe they were. We shared a little moment there for a second, then I let him go.
When I turned to Dixie, I saw the surprised look on her face. She looked from me to Paul and back again. Oh crap. Pinning your friend down by the wrists and practically slobbering as that friend writhed and moaned for you wasn't something straight dudes did - it was something lovers did.
Dixie looked at Paul strangely, examining him for some reason. Then I felt it too. Paul psychically brushed by me in my head. He was using his empathy on her. Good job, Einstein! If bisexuality is going to freak her out, how's she going to react to psychic mind intrusions? Luckily, she had no idea what was happening and eventually grinned to herself. A-ha! Dixie felt she had us. The bisexuality didn't gross her out; on the contrary, it gave her a way to play on what we liked to get a better tip. My favorite, a resourceful stripper!
Dixie put on some music and began to dance. I'd never heard the song before, but wow, it was perfect. Total boom-chicka-wow-wow porn music. Some songs have that beat, the kind that you could keep time with while having a good, slow fuck. It only made the girl's movements all the more tantalizing. She told us the song title was "Sparks" by some European band with a name I couldn't pronounce even if Paul decided to withhold sex until I said it right. I'd have to get her to write it down for me.
While Dixie was striking sexy poses and swaying her hips, Paul thought that'd be a great time to get to know her. God, I love that about him. He didn’t want to let her rub all over him without getting to know her first. Of course, Paul made the mistake of asking if Dixie was her real name. Most strippers, if not all, go by a stage name. It's just safer. Her retort was to ask him if those were his real eyelashes. I wished I could have had a good laugh over that one, but I was one to talk; my own eyelashes are pretty lush as well. Paul smacked my knee, reminding me that I had no reason to laugh. Yeah, I know, Paul. I know. We're both pretty boys. Whatever.
Anyway, I like a girl with sass. She danced over to me and put her cowboy hat on my head, using it to include me in the act she was about to perform on Paul. To punctuate it, Dixie placed her hands behind her head and stuck her tits out, rolling her hips like she was fucking somebody. The rhythm she kept was hypnotic; not even innocent little Metro could keep his eyes off her.
And what did my uptight little boyfriend do next? (If I can call him that... my boyfriend. Help me God, I actually want to.) He tried to arrange for counseling for her at the church if she felt she needed it. I couldn't help but laugh.
"Paul, you are too much," I told him, and meant it. He was just so damn cute with that shit, always trying to save everyone, even those who don't need saving. It didn’t seem to me that Dixie was in this line of work because Daddy couldn't keep his hands to himself. She stripped because she enjoyed the power it gave her. She performed lap dances because they were an expression of, well, her creativity, if you can understand what I mean. The girl liked to dance provocatively, to put sex in it, to take off her clothes. That's not really something you can do dancing on Broadway, I don't think. Some people are just really sexual. I know what that's like.
Dixie seemed to confirm what I had been thinking, telling Paul that she was okay, no counseling needed, and gave him a wink. She ran her fingers through Paul's hair. "It's sweet that you're concerned about me, really it is. But you don't have to be worried," Dixie said. "I'm not a broken little girl." It seemed like she was telling the truth. I usually read people pretty well. I watched as she knelt before Paul and began to stroke his knees and thighs, getting him really heated up. The way his chest heaved, it was obvious. I wished somehow we could arrange for her to go down on him - would that ever be a hot thing to watch! Maybe I could even join in. Surely Paul wouldn't object if we were both licking and sucking his dick down; two heads are better for giving head, right?
Dixie only fueled my little fantasy by speaking low to Paul, saying, "You're both really hot," and assuring us that the lap dance would be her pleasure. It was the third or fourth time she’d said that we were both attractive. I couldn't help but let out a, “Woo!” in response. This girl may be getting a couple of return customers.
We spoke for a minute about the song she'd picked; it was that song that proved to me that artistry is one of the reasons Dixie strips. Most strippers work in fast, loud songs. The ones who dance to slow, sultry numbers are the ones who actually care about more than just getting on and getting off. Laps, that is.
As if to prove my point, Dixie got lost in the music and swayed her hips to the beat, eyes closed for a short time. My dick got a little harder just watching those hips sketch figure-eights in the air. There were a few other guys in the room, but they were all, um, busy, so I had no qualms with getting in on the action. That's what this was all about, right? Me and Paul. So I reached in and started stroking his thigh. He breathed out, twitching under my hand briefly; my dick got even more ready for what I was pretty sure was going to happen in the back of my car later.
That's when the clothes started to come off and everything ramped up for the main event. Untying the knot in her shirt, Dixie stopped to rub at her nipples before taking her top off, showing us the pink lacy bra underneath. She stroked her hands over her tits again, moaning and biting her bottom lip, and I couldn't help but moan too, it was just so hot.
She unbuttoned the short-shorts and slipped two fingers in there, simulating that she was touching herself. Eyes closed, she moaned, "Mmmmm," and moved her fingers up and down. I have no idea if she was really stroking her clit, but it sure looked like it. Dixie took her hand out and licked off her first two fingers slowly. "Mmm, oh yeah," she purred.
"Damn," I breathed.
The shorts and bra came off. The girl stood there in only a pink sequined G-string and cowboy boots. Nice! I entertained myself with a few more fantasies of what I'd really like to do with her and Paul. Man, I just couldn't contain myself anymore. I reached over, grabbing Paul's dick through his jeans, and stroked every inch of him through the stiff fabric.
"Dean," he moaned. The helpless look on his face told me he was mine, all mine, so turned on and flushed across the cheeks. I didn't care who saw, I leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.
When I looked up, some guy standing over by the curtained doorway caught my eye. Very strange, the way he was just standing there, back totally linear, arms straight down at his sides, brow furrowed and staring at Paul and I like he had no idea what we had just done. Guy even tilted his head like a curious dog. Smirking, I stroked Paul's crotch faster. If he wanted something to look at...
Ever the businesswoman, Dixie took care of it. The process was as quick and efficient as any of the strip clubs I've been in. She caught the eye of the bouncer near the door, pointed at the peeper, and ran her fingers across her neck in a cutting motion. The bouncer looked at Mr. Peeper and actually jerked as if someone had startled him. "Where the hell did you come from?!" that motion said. Was the dude that slippery? He took the peeping tom by the arm and simply walked him out.
Nah-nah nah, nah, nah-nah nah, nah, hey hey hey, goodbye! Only big spendin' buckaroos allowed in here. I turned my attention back to the show.
Dixie had some great tits. They were just spectacular. She laid down on the floor and struck several arousing poses while moving to the music. Then she slipped her fingers into the G-string and simulated masturbation again, although I'm not sure she was faking this time. A little G-string like that leaves little to the imagination. I could see her fingers working under that sliver of fabric, but I can't say what she was actually doing with them. Those girls have special slight-of-hand skills. Of course, Dixie moaned like she had been going to town the whole time.
As hot as that was, it had to end for the main show to start. She got up and crawled on all fours toward Paul's chair. It was like a sleek, muscled tiger stalking an innocent gazelle. Dixie even surprised me when she ran her hands up Paul's thighs, interlocked her fingers with mine, and efficiently extracted my hand from his crotch to make room for herself. What she did next blew my mind a little. She put her mouth on Paul's dick through his pants and worked her lips over it, even moaning like performing a good blowjob was just what this girl needed to get herself off. Paul let out this shocked, aroused cry that almost made me laugh. My boy hadn't expected that! Hot damn! I wondered if Dixie treated all her clients this nice.
Next, she mounted him and pinned him down by the wrists because she knew we both liked it. Dixie let him go, trusting him to keep his hands out of groping range, and began to ride his lap. Back and forth, slow and steady. Paul went crazy. He really lost his cool. I never thought I'd be able to get him to moan and pant like that in public, but we'd found just the right combination of anonymous and dimly lit to get him to loosen up. I'm sure the alcohol didn't hurt either.
The boom-chicka music just kept going. How long was this song anyway?
Part of Paul losing his cool was him losing control of his empathy. I felt him in my head, riding wave after wave of pleasure. In return, I allowed him to drink in my own excitement, how much I wanted him, what I might like to do to him when given the chance. I think even Dixie got some of the rebounding feelings. Whoops.
Watching Paul writhe helplessly kept me hot and horny. What was I supposed to do with myself? We couldn't have a threesome with her. Oh no, that would be frowned upon. I wound up resting my head on my arms and just watching him with rapt interest. Paul reached out and stroked my cheek. It wasn't fazing Dixie at all, so why not? She even did the same thing right after, trying to keep me part of the experience. I appreciated it. I also appreciated watching her run her hands up and down Paul's chest and knowing how nice that sweater felt, so fuzzy and warm and soft... I covered this already, didn't I? Who cares. It bears repeating. Oh does it ever bear repeating.
I could tell when Paul was about to cum. You get to know how he sounds, how deep he pants, how quick his moans come, how much he shakes. I wanted to be part of it, so I reached over and took hold of his closest hand. It was the most I could do under the circumstances, and it seemed inadequate, but the way Paul looked at me... I knew we'd made the connection I was going for. He came almost right after, so handsome and sexy and spent right out. God. He even made this needy sound that I swear was a whine.
Dixie got up to get her clothes. I took the moment to give Paul a good kiss and cuddle and let him know how hot it was to watch him get off.
I gave Dixie a tip and she told us to come back soon, calling us "cuties." Yeah, I think she might've been telling the truth when she said she thought we were hot.
Paul started going on about a stripper dressed as a flapper. When Dixie and I looked, there was no one there, but she knew what he was talking about anyway. Seems the club has its own ghost stripper. Some chick from the 1920s. Dixie laughed and told us they had come up with some sort of legend about the ghost that if you saw her, you were going to get laid that night.
Oh yeah, Miss 1920s Stripper picked the perfect guy to which to make an appearance, because Paul was about to get one-hundred percent fucked. My dick was still hard as a rock.
I hardly remember the drive from the club to some dark, out-of-the-way place where we could have more privacy. Some park or something. I could not wait to get inside him. Could. Not. Wait! The little minx even had the gall to stroke my thigh just like I'd done to him on the drive over. Wuff!
Clothes went flying everywhere as we climbed into the back seat. Paul played with me some more by pinning my arms down and kissing me; I let him have a little bit of control, but we all know he's a submissive bottom and likes it that way. He pretended to give me a lap dance and we shared a little pillow talk before I wrestled him down onto the seat and started to strip off the rest of his clothes.
I'm not sure Paul knew just how provocative and desirable he looked just lying there, all flushed and overheated, half naked and half hard. Couldn't help myself. I couldn't even get him nude before I had to fuck him. The power he has over me is scary sometimes. Paul still had some cum on his cock from the lap dance; I immediately licked it off, giving the head of his cock a nice suck before I went for the lube I'd brought. Yeah, I thought ahead! We love this shit. It warms up when it comes in contact with skin. I gave his cock a good lube-down (oh the way he looked at me when I did that, eyes rolling back in his head a little) and then did the same to myself. I couldn't even take the time to strip my pants off, just pushed them down off my hips and got myself ready. Shit, I wanted him!
When I laid on top of him and parted his legs with a couple of nudges, Paul instantly raised his sweet little ass for me, searching for the head of my cock. Does he do that shit on purpose or does he really not know how much that readiness turns me on?! I slid up inside him and it felt like coming home, such a perfect fit. Mmmm. Sometimes I wish it could go on forever.
Paul wrapped one leg around my waist and I started to fuck, slow and steady, like Dixie's boom-chicka song. I even held his hand during it, and we kissed. As bad as I wanted to take him hard and fast, it was still gentle and slow almost the whole way through.
Dude, this was not good. I mean, in ways, it was, but... I really think I've got it bad for this guy. I really could love him. How was that going to work?
I came whispering and moaning in his ear.
The amazing thing was that he came too, without me even touching his cock. It was the lube and the friction of me moving on top of him. Me, moving inside him. That was always nice, when we could cum together.
We cuddled and kissed for a couple minutes. That was also nice. Even in the back of my car, it can be romantic... slow... loving. Especially with Paul.
While we cleaned up and started to get dressed, Paul asked me if I had seen the shadow that had passed between the streetlight and my car. I had only seen a quick flash of something move across Paul's face while we were having sex; I guess that had been the shadow. There wasn't anyone outside the car now, so we figured it must've been an animal.
Paul said he wanted to cuddle in bed that night. With Sam back at the apartment, how could we make that happen? I knew just how to do it. My brother loves tacos, especially Jack in the Box tacos, but they make him fart. We'd get him some of those, and when the butt serenade started, I could use it as an excuse to sleep in Paul's room. Genius!
It worked great. I felt completely content with the world. My brother slept safe in the next room, my boyfriend slept safe in my arms. Really, I had no reason to feel such peace; we still couldn't find Dad, and the Mothman was a complete clusterfuck so far.
I was calling this guy my boyfriend. And Sammy knew nothing about it.
Still, I'd managed to keep it from him this long and still get a little snuggle time with Paul. Okay, a lot of snuggle time with Paul. And that wasn't so bad.
Was it?
Sammy
My brother thought I was an idiot.
It was nearly ten and Paul hadn't come home from the office yet. Dean and I had returned to his apartment hours ago. There wasn't anything to do but watch TV and brainstorm ways to draw out the Mothman. We were coming up with a big fat nothing. The creature only came out when it wanted to, which wasn't at all often.
An old, crappy monster movie came on and I started to give it the MSTie treatment, which sometimes bugged Dean when he wanted to actually watch it. This was one of those times. He kept telling me to shut up. Ha! Served him right. That would show him for lying to me. For ten years. At least ten years! Why wouldn't he tell me the truth?
I wasn't going to let him off the hook. If Dean wanted to go get Paul and fuck his brains out, he was going to have to be the one to make a move. Eventually, he did, cutting out to go "pick Paul up." Yeah, sure. That was all he was going to do.
Of course, they didn't come back for over an hour. Duh, why'd it take so long to make a five minute drive, Dean? Five minutes to get there, five minutes back, that makes ten minutes! I can count! Both of them came in with hair that looked like it had been combed down after a good sweat, smelling like smoke, beer, and some fruity scent. The dress shirt Paul was wearing under his sweater was untucked, which is like a crime to the guy, and they both had these stupid, tired grins on their faces. No, I don't know what people look like when they're fucked out. I had a steady girlfriend for 18 months and never, ever did I see that look. In fact, I'm a virgin!
God, who do they think they're fooling? How much longer was this going to go on? It actually kind of hurts now.
"Where have you guys been? You left like an hour ago," I exclaimed. I wasn't going to make it easy for them.
Dean tossed me a bag from Jack in the Box. "We stopped at a bar, Mother. That okay with you? I needed to unwind."
"Wish you'd told me that. I could have used a beer."
Paul winced at my tone. He was kind of caught in the middle, but that was too bad, wasn't it?
"Sorry, little bro."
"There may be one in the back of the fridge," Paul offered.
"Whatever." I looked in the bag. "At least you had the good sense to get me some food too. Was that a big hardship for you, remembering me?"
Dean really was this thick, wasn't he? He had no idea that I knew. "Sammy, what's gotten into you? You're like a bear tonight."
I started to retort, something about knowing what had gotten into him lately, but I held it back. Instead, I sighed. "Nothing. I'm sorry. I was just worried when you took so long getting home." At least he remembered how much I like Jack in the Box tacos.
"Sorry, Sammy."
"We'll call next time."
"Sure, sure," I mumbled.
Shortly after, Dean made up some excuse about me getting gassy when I eat tacos and how he'd rather sleep in Paul's room because of it. I said sure and waved him off; the movie we were watching was getting interesting. A few seconds later, I looked up and saw Paul with his hand out, a cold beer in it. He smiled at me. I felt guilty.
I fell asleep on the air mattress before the movie ended. In the middle of the night, I woke up to this awful, chilling feeling I was being watched. Somebody's in the apartment! my instincts screamed. I got one of my handguns and walked through the place, checking the kitchen, the bathroom, but no one was there.
The latch on Paul's bedroom door was broken, so I didn't have to turn the knob; all I had to do was push lightly on the door and it came open a few inches. Peering in, I could see them asleep in the bed, Paul cuddled up to Dean's chest. Wow, this had gone far beyond casual for my brother. He would have to tell me sometime.
I stepped into the room, being as quiet as I could, and checked out every corner and the closet, sweeping it all with the gun out in front of me. Nothing. There was no one there who wasn't supposed to be.
When I came out into the living room, the front door stood open. Holy shit. It definitely hadn't been open before. I swept the room with the gun again, my breath coming out faster, and as before, found no one. What was going on?
As I went to close the door, this wind coming from the hallway struck me in the face. I heard a distinct whoosh! and then, nothing but the usual night sounds of passing cars and chirping crickets. It scared me. I took the time to sweep the hall. Nothing. No one. Although it hadn't helped before, I closed and locked the door.
Telling myself someone had just forgotten to lock the door, I put the gun away and laid back down. Sure, maybe someone had forgotten, but then who had opened it?
Was the Mothman back?
Late night movies were my companion for the next few hours, as I couldn't sleep anymore that night.
I hope Dean tells me the truth soon.
Keel
Dean came to pick up Paul from work.
Reminded me that I needed to finish transcribing Tape #3047.
Transcribed the rest.
Will have to speak with Evie about possibility of romantic involvement between Dean and Billy Loomis.
Fell asleep eating hummus and pita bread and watching a documentary about penguin mating habits.
On to Part III
Rebel
So there's this guy in Boston, and I haven't known him long, but he's changing things in me. Things, man. Serious things. Like my bi side has reared its ugly head again. I thought I had tamed it after Billy, that it was barely there anymore, but now this dude is taming me. Not something that I ever bargained for when Sam disappeared and the Mothman led me here. The fucking Mothman.
Oh wait, I sound like a loon. You have no idea what's going on. No time to explain, get in the car! You'll just have to go along for the ride.
I don't want my brother to know about the dudes... the dudes I've been with. He has no idea, and what would he think? Forget it, I don't even want to think about it. The less he knows, the better. It's not like he's some macho homophobe or anything; in fact, Sam's ten times as touchy-feely and free-thinking as I am. He recycles and shit. But I'm his big brother, you know? It's different when it's someone you look up to, isn’t it?
Guess I'm scared to find out. So, we keep it a secret. Honestly, that makes it kind of exciting. I know Paul won't like it like that forever, though. He's all honest and crap. That's his name, Paul.
I think I'm in love with him.
Wow, that was easier to say than I thought it would be.
I've been laid up with a shoulder injury, so when it finally healed enough to lose the sling, I told Sammy I was going to get Paul and bring him home.
Home. It should feel weird to call some guy's apartment 'home,' but that's getting easier too.
Paul and his boss, Keel, were working on our case, the one involving the Mothman and about a billion other problems. Seeing as it was nearly ten, Keel finally took the ball and chain off and let Paul go, but not before trying to weasel his way into coming with us. I couldn't have that.
Oh, no. We couldn't have that. Not with the little surprise I had planned.
I was taking Paul out to a strip club and buying him a lap dance. Crazy, huh? If you knew how straight-laced Paul can be, you'd know how funny this idea was. And how goddamn sexy. I had no idea how he would react. I mean, I didn’t want him to do all the things I asked him to just because I wanted him to do them. I wanted him to enjoy having his limits stretched. It's fun to challenge him, like an adult game of Truth or Dare. I can tell when I've pushed him too far and when he's enjoying the edge I've pushed him to. At least, I hope I'm interpreting his signals correctly. I doubt he'd keep holding on if what he really wanted to do was let go.
I do admit, though, that sometimes I mess with Paul because he's so damn corruptible. That's not saying that I want to change him; he's too cute with a little bit of a stick up his ass. I just wanted that challenge of seeing how dirty he’d get when no one else was looking.
So, no. No Keel. Just like I don't want Sam to know, Paul doesn't want the people he works with to know about us either.
Someday, this may all come crashing down around us and everyone will find out. But that's not today.
To keep Keel at home, I brought up the recording we'd made a little while ago, where he interviewed me about my "paranormal experiences." I wound up talking most about Billy, but we also discussed the dreams I've been having, especially the one where Paul's dead mother shows up... alive. That's not something I want Paul to know yet. I mean, can you imagine? His father has the ability to raise the fucking dead. At least, that's one theory. If there's some way we can avoid this meeting altogether...
Anyway, it was a recording Keel needed to transcribe when Paul was not around. The sooner, the better - that's not exactly a subject you wanted to put on the shelf and forget about, right? It worked two-fold. Not only did Keel get to work on the transcription, but he also didn't come with us to... wherever we were going.
This would be the part where I'd wink at you if you could see me.
When we reached my car, I couldn't help but move in real close and have a good kiss-n-grope. Paul wears these sweaters all the time over a dress shirt. Sometimes it's a vest, sometimes it's a full sweater. At first, I didn't like how they looked on him, but as of late, I've started to like them for how they feel. All fuzzy and soft, with firm warmth underneath. It has started to drive me crazy, running my hands over those textures, feeling him quiver under the various layers of clothing.
Then Paul put his arms around me and cupped the back of my head, kissing me with just as much enthusiasm as I was giving him... YOW! So hot! We didn't even have any clothes off yet and I already felt like I could get off from just that. How could somebody so uptight and innocent be so goddamn sexy?
Paul cocked his legs open a little, allowing me to snuggle in real close. Part of me wanted to stay there and get us both off from rubbing against each other. There are so many pleasurable ways to get off, aren't there? They never seem to get old with Paul, not a one. Especially when he's always so full of surprises. Like what he said next.
"You wanna park somewhere? Have a quickie?"
I couldn't help but laugh. That word, coming out of that mouth... very unexpected. "Actually, I don't. Not yet," I replied, and added that I had a surprise for him. When he asked me what, I told him he'd have to wait. I imagine Paul could tell it was a naughty surprise from how I snickered in my special way, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.
Then I smacked him in his gorgeous little bubble butt with the car door.
When he spotted the neon sign of Pistol Pete's, you should have seen his eyes. If looks could kill... I just wanted to laugh and laugh. Only Sammy does better bitch faces. Oh yes, Paul, I am taking you to a strip club. But wait, you have no idea what all we're going to do besides watch the girlies take off their clothes. Ohhhh, so many fun things to do at Pistol Pete's, blam blam, yarhoo!
As I parked the car, Paul kept bitching about not wanting to go inside, so I gave him a little persuasion. I leaned over, groping his thigh and whispering in his ear about how I wanted him to do something for me. That heat came back into his eyes. I love that look, that lustful, half-lidded look that says Paul is loosening up, Paul is turned on and needs me to get him off, especially since he is wandering into unfamiliar territory. Lead me through it, that look says. Take me to new heights. Only you can do it.
Shit, how I love to seduce him. He makes it so exciting. He even moaned helplessly when I placed a little kiss on his mouth, a reward for playing along.
There were things about this club that made it like every other strip club in America - the neon signs and flashing lights - and other things that made it special, like the western theme. Pistol Pete’s was decorated with cow-print suede seat covers and distressed wood, along with cow skulls and these lassos made with neon lights. You could get your picture taken with a stripper which was then printed on a Wanted poster. The bathrooms were labeled Cowboys and Cowgirls. Yeah, I’ve been here before. You’d think with a theme like this that they would mostly play country music, but the strippers pick their own stuff, so it usually winds up being rock and metal tunes. "Cherry Pie" by Warrant was the current hair band song booming through the speakers. We sat at the bar so I could look for a girl, just the right girl, for Paul's lap dance. He made some kind of funny joke about it being a good thing that the club had only live nude girls since if there were any dead nude girls, they'd probably bother him (he's a medium), and I laughed. We got a couple of beers and started to loosen up.
A suicide blonde with big fake titties stripped on the main stage. Naw, not her. Paul would never go for a girl like that. Mostly, he just watched me at first, so I probably had to pick the girl for him.
That's when she came toward us. A cute little blonde, natural this time, dressed in a skimpy cowgirl outfit and carrying a tray of Jell-O shots. Her tits looked real too. Sure, they were squished together and spilling out of a nice push-up bra, but they were real. She kinda looked like Bridget. Bridget was a friend and fuck buddy of mine from my misspent teenage years. Yeah, she would do quite nicely.
"You want a shot? For a dollar you can take it this way." The waitress mimed putting the shot glass between her tits. Ah, strip club etiquette. Gotta love it. Where else could you suck a shot from between two gorgeous boobs like these and it be encouraged? Only thing better would have been fucking 'em, but I doubt local laws allowed that.
Of course, I did it. I wondered if she was just a waitress or if she did private dances too and just couldn’t ask us outright if we wanted one for some reason. Hey, I got news for ya baby, we're a sure thing. Her cleavage had been painted with glitter and smelled of something strawberry-scented. Nice touch. I demonstrated for Paul just how hard I can suck by siphoning the glob of lime Jell-O out of the glass without touching it (he probably already knows just how hard, though). The girl turned to Paul and asked if he wanted to try one too.
Looking at him suggestively, I waited to see if he'd dare to take the shot the same way I had. Then Paul did just what I expected and kind of hoped he would do - he refused. Instead, Paul picked the glass up off the tray and threw his head back to suck the shot out. Mmm, damn, so fucking alluring. I could have watched him do that on repeat. Those soft, succulent lips wrapped around the rim, opening up to suck in the Jell-O, and the way he looked at me when he put the shot glass back upside down, a challenge in his soft brown eyes. The fact that he wouldn't let me push him further than he wanted to go turned me on much more than if he had done it.
The waitress, who eventually gave us the name 'Dixie,' asked Paul if he was sure he didn't want to take another shot from between her tits. This was when he blew my mind.
He actually said, "I'm sorry, but I don't know you, so it would be disrespectful."
Disrespectful! Did he know where he was? Did he have any idea what sort of things this girl did to men on a nightly basis? I had to laugh. Dixie made the comment I wanted to make, about Paul knowing where he was, and he blamed it all on me.
I decided that he would probably deal with my surprise a little better if he was at least a little drunk, and besides, it would be fun to see Paul drunk under circumstances such as these. When our waitress started to walk away, I snatched up another shot and reminded Paul that there was a two drink minimum. Two drink minimum meant two shots!
Looking at me with amused suspicion in his eyes, he asked, “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“You know that’s not necessary, right?”
I couldn’t help but grin at that; we were going to get it on whether he was drunk or sober, but that wasn’t why I was trying to get him to drink. “I just think it’d be fun,” I said. Yeah, fun to watch him get that lap dance.
Paul actually did it. He gulped down the second shot. Afterwards, he reminded me to take it easy on the alcohol because I was driving, and I took the chance to make a really naughty joke right in front of the waitress. “Oh please,” I said, “it takes more than a couple beers to affect me. Besides...” I gave his body a good once-over with my eyes, tracing every curve. “...you don’t think we’ll work it off?”
That embarrassed Paul so much. He grinned and looked down while our waitress just stared at us. It was adorable.
She left with a light groping for both of us. It was fun.
If I could have jumped Paul's metrosexual fucking bones right there, I would have. Man, was it sick that his uptight principles turned me on? He's just so unreal. In this day and age, to find a guy that would behave like a gentleman after a slutty cowgirl makes a pass at him? That's a special deal right there.
I put an arm around Paul's neck and tried to talk him into my dirty little surprise. His breath smelled of liquor. The idea of Paul being even a little drunk... hot DAMN. Was there anything about this guy that didn't drive me crazy? He doesn't seem like a blackout drunk type, not like me from time to time. But I think he'd let me get him more than a little tipsy, maybe to the point that he'd be stumbling into my arms and giggling and I can “take advantage” of him. I could even picture him with his eyes unfocused, looking up at me... I'd be looming over him on the bed... and he’d want it, he would obviously want it so bad... mmmmm, such an exciting mental picture. Just thinking about it got me hot under the collar. We're going to do that next time!
Anyway, we went back and forth a bit as I tried to get a sense of how Paul felt about Dixie. Turned out she didn't totally gross him out, he just didn't like the cowgirl getup. He really wanted to know why I was asking all those questions about her; it even got to the point that he grabbed my chin and made me look him in the eye while he again said, "Why?"
Of course, I didn't tell him. Ooh, I could feel his eyes burning holes in my back when I slid off the stool and approached the girl. What he must've thought! Dixie saw me coming and said, "Hi handsome. What can I do for you?"
"You want to have a little fun?"
I actually thought that her response was genuine. "I'm always up for a little fun, especially with guys as cute as you and your friend."
"Yeah, I bet you meet some real losers in here."
A guy in ratty sweat pants standing nearby heard me and walked away with a scowl.
"Sometimes. Most of 'em are okay, but few of them look as good as you."
I grinned at her. "Are you available for a lap dance?"
"Sure! You got any special requests, baby?"
Ah, so she wasn’t just a waitress. I gestured to Paul. "I want you to give it to him while I watch. Treat him real nice." For a second, I wondered if she'd realize Paul and I were together together, but if she did, it didn't seem to faze her.
Dixie giggled, some disbelief in her tone. "Are you sure that wouldn't violate his principles?"
We both had a brief but good laugh. "He'll loosen up, I promise."
"Okay. It'll be no hardship with him either. You're both really hot."
Again I imagined how much fun it would be to fuck her tits and considered asking for her phone number. Maybe later. We negotiated a decent price and I paid her before heading back over to Paul.
Oh, was he livid! Paul even grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me closer like he was going to deck me or something. "Did you just pay that girl to have sex with us?" he asked.
I told him no, but he was getting warmer! After a little more arguing, I got him to release his death grip on his stool and come with me to the Big Spendin' Buckaroos room (the room for lap dances). Just as we got there, Paul stopped. I thought he was stalling, but he asked me something about the trolley; that was too damn bizarre to be a stalling technique. Apparently some broad in a flapper dress had asked him for a trolley token. We found out what all that meant later.
Dixie was waiting for us in the lap dance room. She got Paul to sit down on a booth seat that was wide enough to accommodate him and her when she mounted him. Oh man, I couldn't wait! Bewildered in the cutest way possible, he just looked at me when I didn't take a seat next to him.
I had a tough time holding back a good chuckle when Dixie asked Paul if this was his first "rodeo." Metrosexual wised up and finally realized he was about to get a happy lap. Ooh, the look that got me! Another hilarious bitch face! I thought the top of his head might fly off. "Dean, did you really - "
Shushing him, I told Dixie this was probably his first lap dance. I was pretty sure I was right in this case. Paul had shocked me before with the lost bondage weekend in college; maybe he had been gang-lap-danced by a bunch of biker strippers or something. But no, the look on his face told me everything.
Dixie gave him the rules, the standard don't-touch-me-or-a-bouncer-will-rip-your-arms-off speech (How many of us had to learn that the hard way?), and made a pretty good joke about being able to trust him because he was a man with principles.
This was when I realized that Paul was a little drunk; by the time we got to the lap dance room, he had downed two beers and two shots. He slurred his speech a tiny bit when he let her know that that had been only one rule. How cute. We glanced at each other and exchanged smirks. Paul was going through with this! SCORE! I couldn't wait to watch him writhe underneath her.
Paul started to tease back, making a few comments about possibly leaving, but begrudgingly agreed to stay with the remark, "I didn't realize you were such a voyeur."
Oh, really? Two could play this game. I stood up and stretched, giving Paul a good show (Who's the voyeur now?), and sauntered over until I stood before him. I told Dixie, "Now, if he gets at all handsy with you, here's a good way to put him in his place," then grabbed Paul by the wrists, lifted them up over his head, and slammed them back against the seat. It obviously surprised him; he gasped and his eyes went wide. He made this really arousing moany noise that made me want to climb on top of him. Judging by the way Paul looked at me, he wanted the same thing. He even dared to squirm in the seat like his pants were suddenly too tight. Maybe they were. We shared a little moment there for a second, then I let him go.
When I turned to Dixie, I saw the surprised look on her face. She looked from me to Paul and back again. Oh crap. Pinning your friend down by the wrists and practically slobbering as that friend writhed and moaned for you wasn't something straight dudes did - it was something lovers did.
Dixie looked at Paul strangely, examining him for some reason. Then I felt it too. Paul psychically brushed by me in my head. He was using his empathy on her. Good job, Einstein! If bisexuality is going to freak her out, how's she going to react to psychic mind intrusions? Luckily, she had no idea what was happening and eventually grinned to herself. A-ha! Dixie felt she had us. The bisexuality didn't gross her out; on the contrary, it gave her a way to play on what we liked to get a better tip. My favorite, a resourceful stripper!
Dixie put on some music and began to dance. I'd never heard the song before, but wow, it was perfect. Total boom-chicka-wow-wow porn music. Some songs have that beat, the kind that you could keep time with while having a good, slow fuck. It only made the girl's movements all the more tantalizing. She told us the song title was "Sparks" by some European band with a name I couldn't pronounce even if Paul decided to withhold sex until I said it right. I'd have to get her to write it down for me.
While Dixie was striking sexy poses and swaying her hips, Paul thought that'd be a great time to get to know her. God, I love that about him. He didn’t want to let her rub all over him without getting to know her first. Of course, Paul made the mistake of asking if Dixie was her real name. Most strippers, if not all, go by a stage name. It's just safer. Her retort was to ask him if those were his real eyelashes. I wished I could have had a good laugh over that one, but I was one to talk; my own eyelashes are pretty lush as well. Paul smacked my knee, reminding me that I had no reason to laugh. Yeah, I know, Paul. I know. We're both pretty boys. Whatever.
Anyway, I like a girl with sass. She danced over to me and put her cowboy hat on my head, using it to include me in the act she was about to perform on Paul. To punctuate it, Dixie placed her hands behind her head and stuck her tits out, rolling her hips like she was fucking somebody. The rhythm she kept was hypnotic; not even innocent little Metro could keep his eyes off her.
And what did my uptight little boyfriend do next? (If I can call him that... my boyfriend. Help me God, I actually want to.) He tried to arrange for counseling for her at the church if she felt she needed it. I couldn't help but laugh.
"Paul, you are too much," I told him, and meant it. He was just so damn cute with that shit, always trying to save everyone, even those who don't need saving. It didn’t seem to me that Dixie was in this line of work because Daddy couldn't keep his hands to himself. She stripped because she enjoyed the power it gave her. She performed lap dances because they were an expression of, well, her creativity, if you can understand what I mean. The girl liked to dance provocatively, to put sex in it, to take off her clothes. That's not really something you can do dancing on Broadway, I don't think. Some people are just really sexual. I know what that's like.
Dixie seemed to confirm what I had been thinking, telling Paul that she was okay, no counseling needed, and gave him a wink. She ran her fingers through Paul's hair. "It's sweet that you're concerned about me, really it is. But you don't have to be worried," Dixie said. "I'm not a broken little girl." It seemed like she was telling the truth. I usually read people pretty well. I watched as she knelt before Paul and began to stroke his knees and thighs, getting him really heated up. The way his chest heaved, it was obvious. I wished somehow we could arrange for her to go down on him - would that ever be a hot thing to watch! Maybe I could even join in. Surely Paul wouldn't object if we were both licking and sucking his dick down; two heads are better for giving head, right?
Dixie only fueled my little fantasy by speaking low to Paul, saying, "You're both really hot," and assuring us that the lap dance would be her pleasure. It was the third or fourth time she’d said that we were both attractive. I couldn't help but let out a, “Woo!” in response. This girl may be getting a couple of return customers.
We spoke for a minute about the song she'd picked; it was that song that proved to me that artistry is one of the reasons Dixie strips. Most strippers work in fast, loud songs. The ones who dance to slow, sultry numbers are the ones who actually care about more than just getting on and getting off. Laps, that is.
As if to prove my point, Dixie got lost in the music and swayed her hips to the beat, eyes closed for a short time. My dick got a little harder just watching those hips sketch figure-eights in the air. There were a few other guys in the room, but they were all, um, busy, so I had no qualms with getting in on the action. That's what this was all about, right? Me and Paul. So I reached in and started stroking his thigh. He breathed out, twitching under my hand briefly; my dick got even more ready for what I was pretty sure was going to happen in the back of my car later.
That's when the clothes started to come off and everything ramped up for the main event. Untying the knot in her shirt, Dixie stopped to rub at her nipples before taking her top off, showing us the pink lacy bra underneath. She stroked her hands over her tits again, moaning and biting her bottom lip, and I couldn't help but moan too, it was just so hot.
She unbuttoned the short-shorts and slipped two fingers in there, simulating that she was touching herself. Eyes closed, she moaned, "Mmmmm," and moved her fingers up and down. I have no idea if she was really stroking her clit, but it sure looked like it. Dixie took her hand out and licked off her first two fingers slowly. "Mmm, oh yeah," she purred.
"Damn," I breathed.
The shorts and bra came off. The girl stood there in only a pink sequined G-string and cowboy boots. Nice! I entertained myself with a few more fantasies of what I'd really like to do with her and Paul. Man, I just couldn't contain myself anymore. I reached over, grabbing Paul's dick through his jeans, and stroked every inch of him through the stiff fabric.
"Dean," he moaned. The helpless look on his face told me he was mine, all mine, so turned on and flushed across the cheeks. I didn't care who saw, I leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.
When I looked up, some guy standing over by the curtained doorway caught my eye. Very strange, the way he was just standing there, back totally linear, arms straight down at his sides, brow furrowed and staring at Paul and I like he had no idea what we had just done. Guy even tilted his head like a curious dog. Smirking, I stroked Paul's crotch faster. If he wanted something to look at...
Ever the businesswoman, Dixie took care of it. The process was as quick and efficient as any of the strip clubs I've been in. She caught the eye of the bouncer near the door, pointed at the peeper, and ran her fingers across her neck in a cutting motion. The bouncer looked at Mr. Peeper and actually jerked as if someone had startled him. "Where the hell did you come from?!" that motion said. Was the dude that slippery? He took the peeping tom by the arm and simply walked him out.
Nah-nah nah, nah, nah-nah nah, nah, hey hey hey, goodbye! Only big spendin' buckaroos allowed in here. I turned my attention back to the show.
Dixie had some great tits. They were just spectacular. She laid down on the floor and struck several arousing poses while moving to the music. Then she slipped her fingers into the G-string and simulated masturbation again, although I'm not sure she was faking this time. A little G-string like that leaves little to the imagination. I could see her fingers working under that sliver of fabric, but I can't say what she was actually doing with them. Those girls have special slight-of-hand skills. Of course, Dixie moaned like she had been going to town the whole time.
As hot as that was, it had to end for the main show to start. She got up and crawled on all fours toward Paul's chair. It was like a sleek, muscled tiger stalking an innocent gazelle. Dixie even surprised me when she ran her hands up Paul's thighs, interlocked her fingers with mine, and efficiently extracted my hand from his crotch to make room for herself. What she did next blew my mind a little. She put her mouth on Paul's dick through his pants and worked her lips over it, even moaning like performing a good blowjob was just what this girl needed to get herself off. Paul let out this shocked, aroused cry that almost made me laugh. My boy hadn't expected that! Hot damn! I wondered if Dixie treated all her clients this nice.
Next, she mounted him and pinned him down by the wrists because she knew we both liked it. Dixie let him go, trusting him to keep his hands out of groping range, and began to ride his lap. Back and forth, slow and steady. Paul went crazy. He really lost his cool. I never thought I'd be able to get him to moan and pant like that in public, but we'd found just the right combination of anonymous and dimly lit to get him to loosen up. I'm sure the alcohol didn't hurt either.
The boom-chicka music just kept going. How long was this song anyway?
Part of Paul losing his cool was him losing control of his empathy. I felt him in my head, riding wave after wave of pleasure. In return, I allowed him to drink in my own excitement, how much I wanted him, what I might like to do to him when given the chance. I think even Dixie got some of the rebounding feelings. Whoops.
Watching Paul writhe helplessly kept me hot and horny. What was I supposed to do with myself? We couldn't have a threesome with her. Oh no, that would be frowned upon. I wound up resting my head on my arms and just watching him with rapt interest. Paul reached out and stroked my cheek. It wasn't fazing Dixie at all, so why not? She even did the same thing right after, trying to keep me part of the experience. I appreciated it. I also appreciated watching her run her hands up and down Paul's chest and knowing how nice that sweater felt, so fuzzy and warm and soft... I covered this already, didn't I? Who cares. It bears repeating. Oh does it ever bear repeating.
I could tell when Paul was about to cum. You get to know how he sounds, how deep he pants, how quick his moans come, how much he shakes. I wanted to be part of it, so I reached over and took hold of his closest hand. It was the most I could do under the circumstances, and it seemed inadequate, but the way Paul looked at me... I knew we'd made the connection I was going for. He came almost right after, so handsome and sexy and spent right out. God. He even made this needy sound that I swear was a whine.
Dixie got up to get her clothes. I took the moment to give Paul a good kiss and cuddle and let him know how hot it was to watch him get off.
I gave Dixie a tip and she told us to come back soon, calling us "cuties." Yeah, I think she might've been telling the truth when she said she thought we were hot.
Paul started going on about a stripper dressed as a flapper. When Dixie and I looked, there was no one there, but she knew what he was talking about anyway. Seems the club has its own ghost stripper. Some chick from the 1920s. Dixie laughed and told us they had come up with some sort of legend about the ghost that if you saw her, you were going to get laid that night.
Oh yeah, Miss 1920s Stripper picked the perfect guy to which to make an appearance, because Paul was about to get one-hundred percent fucked. My dick was still hard as a rock.
I hardly remember the drive from the club to some dark, out-of-the-way place where we could have more privacy. Some park or something. I could not wait to get inside him. Could. Not. Wait! The little minx even had the gall to stroke my thigh just like I'd done to him on the drive over. Wuff!
Clothes went flying everywhere as we climbed into the back seat. Paul played with me some more by pinning my arms down and kissing me; I let him have a little bit of control, but we all know he's a submissive bottom and likes it that way. He pretended to give me a lap dance and we shared a little pillow talk before I wrestled him down onto the seat and started to strip off the rest of his clothes.
I'm not sure Paul knew just how provocative and desirable he looked just lying there, all flushed and overheated, half naked and half hard. Couldn't help myself. I couldn't even get him nude before I had to fuck him. The power he has over me is scary sometimes. Paul still had some cum on his cock from the lap dance; I immediately licked it off, giving the head of his cock a nice suck before I went for the lube I'd brought. Yeah, I thought ahead! We love this shit. It warms up when it comes in contact with skin. I gave his cock a good lube-down (oh the way he looked at me when I did that, eyes rolling back in his head a little) and then did the same to myself. I couldn't even take the time to strip my pants off, just pushed them down off my hips and got myself ready. Shit, I wanted him!
When I laid on top of him and parted his legs with a couple of nudges, Paul instantly raised his sweet little ass for me, searching for the head of my cock. Does he do that shit on purpose or does he really not know how much that readiness turns me on?! I slid up inside him and it felt like coming home, such a perfect fit. Mmmm. Sometimes I wish it could go on forever.
Paul wrapped one leg around my waist and I started to fuck, slow and steady, like Dixie's boom-chicka song. I even held his hand during it, and we kissed. As bad as I wanted to take him hard and fast, it was still gentle and slow almost the whole way through.
Dude, this was not good. I mean, in ways, it was, but... I really think I've got it bad for this guy. I really could love him. How was that going to work?
I came whispering and moaning in his ear.
The amazing thing was that he came too, without me even touching his cock. It was the lube and the friction of me moving on top of him. Me, moving inside him. That was always nice, when we could cum together.
We cuddled and kissed for a couple minutes. That was also nice. Even in the back of my car, it can be romantic... slow... loving. Especially with Paul.
While we cleaned up and started to get dressed, Paul asked me if I had seen the shadow that had passed between the streetlight and my car. I had only seen a quick flash of something move across Paul's face while we were having sex; I guess that had been the shadow. There wasn't anyone outside the car now, so we figured it must've been an animal.
Paul said he wanted to cuddle in bed that night. With Sam back at the apartment, how could we make that happen? I knew just how to do it. My brother loves tacos, especially Jack in the Box tacos, but they make him fart. We'd get him some of those, and when the butt serenade started, I could use it as an excuse to sleep in Paul's room. Genius!
It worked great. I felt completely content with the world. My brother slept safe in the next room, my boyfriend slept safe in my arms. Really, I had no reason to feel such peace; we still couldn't find Dad, and the Mothman was a complete clusterfuck so far.
I was calling this guy my boyfriend. And Sammy knew nothing about it.
Still, I'd managed to keep it from him this long and still get a little snuggle time with Paul. Okay, a lot of snuggle time with Paul. And that wasn't so bad.
Was it?
Sammy
My brother thought I was an idiot.
It was nearly ten and Paul hadn't come home from the office yet. Dean and I had returned to his apartment hours ago. There wasn't anything to do but watch TV and brainstorm ways to draw out the Mothman. We were coming up with a big fat nothing. The creature only came out when it wanted to, which wasn't at all often.
An old, crappy monster movie came on and I started to give it the MSTie treatment, which sometimes bugged Dean when he wanted to actually watch it. This was one of those times. He kept telling me to shut up. Ha! Served him right. That would show him for lying to me. For ten years. At least ten years! Why wouldn't he tell me the truth?
I wasn't going to let him off the hook. If Dean wanted to go get Paul and fuck his brains out, he was going to have to be the one to make a move. Eventually, he did, cutting out to go "pick Paul up." Yeah, sure. That was all he was going to do.
Of course, they didn't come back for over an hour. Duh, why'd it take so long to make a five minute drive, Dean? Five minutes to get there, five minutes back, that makes ten minutes! I can count! Both of them came in with hair that looked like it had been combed down after a good sweat, smelling like smoke, beer, and some fruity scent. The dress shirt Paul was wearing under his sweater was untucked, which is like a crime to the guy, and they both had these stupid, tired grins on their faces. No, I don't know what people look like when they're fucked out. I had a steady girlfriend for 18 months and never, ever did I see that look. In fact, I'm a virgin!
God, who do they think they're fooling? How much longer was this going to go on? It actually kind of hurts now.
"Where have you guys been? You left like an hour ago," I exclaimed. I wasn't going to make it easy for them.
Dean tossed me a bag from Jack in the Box. "We stopped at a bar, Mother. That okay with you? I needed to unwind."
"Wish you'd told me that. I could have used a beer."
Paul winced at my tone. He was kind of caught in the middle, but that was too bad, wasn't it?
"Sorry, little bro."
"There may be one in the back of the fridge," Paul offered.
"Whatever." I looked in the bag. "At least you had the good sense to get me some food too. Was that a big hardship for you, remembering me?"
Dean really was this thick, wasn't he? He had no idea that I knew. "Sammy, what's gotten into you? You're like a bear tonight."
I started to retort, something about knowing what had gotten into him lately, but I held it back. Instead, I sighed. "Nothing. I'm sorry. I was just worried when you took so long getting home." At least he remembered how much I like Jack in the Box tacos.
"Sorry, Sammy."
"We'll call next time."
"Sure, sure," I mumbled.
Shortly after, Dean made up some excuse about me getting gassy when I eat tacos and how he'd rather sleep in Paul's room because of it. I said sure and waved him off; the movie we were watching was getting interesting. A few seconds later, I looked up and saw Paul with his hand out, a cold beer in it. He smiled at me. I felt guilty.
I fell asleep on the air mattress before the movie ended. In the middle of the night, I woke up to this awful, chilling feeling I was being watched. Somebody's in the apartment! my instincts screamed. I got one of my handguns and walked through the place, checking the kitchen, the bathroom, but no one was there.
The latch on Paul's bedroom door was broken, so I didn't have to turn the knob; all I had to do was push lightly on the door and it came open a few inches. Peering in, I could see them asleep in the bed, Paul cuddled up to Dean's chest. Wow, this had gone far beyond casual for my brother. He would have to tell me sometime.
I stepped into the room, being as quiet as I could, and checked out every corner and the closet, sweeping it all with the gun out in front of me. Nothing. There was no one there who wasn't supposed to be.
When I came out into the living room, the front door stood open. Holy shit. It definitely hadn't been open before. I swept the room with the gun again, my breath coming out faster, and as before, found no one. What was going on?
As I went to close the door, this wind coming from the hallway struck me in the face. I heard a distinct whoosh! and then, nothing but the usual night sounds of passing cars and chirping crickets. It scared me. I took the time to sweep the hall. Nothing. No one. Although it hadn't helped before, I closed and locked the door.
Telling myself someone had just forgotten to lock the door, I put the gun away and laid back down. Sure, maybe someone had forgotten, but then who had opened it?
Was the Mothman back?
Late night movies were my companion for the next few hours, as I couldn't sleep anymore that night.
I hope Dean tells me the truth soon.
Keel
Dean came to pick up Paul from work.
Reminded me that I needed to finish transcribing Tape #3047.
Transcribed the rest.
Will have to speak with Evie about possibility of romantic involvement between Dean and Billy Loomis.
Fell asleep eating hummus and pita bread and watching a documentary about penguin mating habits.
On to Part III