Patty, nude dancer

Patty dances at Teaser’s Friday and Saturday nights.  She prefers Pat Benatar for her first song, Dolly Parton for the second, Rihanna for the third.  The other girls use the first song to take off their tops and the second to take off their bottoms, the third to do splits and go man to man.  For Patty, who walks in with just her bare body, the routine is different.  Her first dance is with a large doglike puppet she sewed together which is kept under the bar.  She calls him “Lucky” and spends the dance trying to escape his constant attempts to suck her clit, hump her front or rear, grab her breasts, or force her legs open.  This is more amusing than arousing and impresses all the guys with her ingenuity and manual dexterity.  Fives and tens hit the stage. Lucky tries to grab them with his mouth but Patty slaps him away.  She’s so good with the puppet, she seems like she has four hands.

The second dance is a tribute to the singer’s endowments.  Patty does that special trick of jerking one breast, then another.  She has learned to isolate her pectoral muscles.  She is only a C cup (that is, if she ever were to wear a bra, a bizarre thought!) but moves around as if she is carrying watermelons on her chest.  She also does amazing splits, swinging around on that pole.  Being barefoot, she can shimmy up it in a way the other girls can’t, and grab it with her amazingly strong toes as she hangs upside down.  Tens are thrown, an occasional twenty.

Some of the guys regularly go around “the circuit” and as far as they can tell, the third dance is unique in the strip club world.  A guy comes forward with a twenty-dollar bill and sits in a chair six feet away.  The teenage girl invaginates a ping pong ball, then on the count of three she spreads her legs, braces her toes on the edge of the stage, and shoots it at the guy. Jerry at the bar has synchronized a popping champagne cork effect on the sound system which makes everyone laugh.  If the guy catches the ball, he gets his Andrew Jackson back.  Most can’t.  Lately Patty has developed a curveball.

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It’s very dark in these booths, intentionally so.  The nude dancer is on all fours on the little table.  Mr. Barker, her biology teacher, gently tugs on the down-pointing nipples. Technically contact isn’t allowed but Marty, walking back and forth, pretends not to see.  Now the perpetually depressed Yale graduate watches as Patty reaches around and stuffs another of the big beads past her sphincter.  She nods and lets him push in another one.  That makes ten. They are the size of walnuts and are on a string.  The whiff of Patty’s ambrosia enema is detectable.

As usual, he’s talking about his low salary and problems with his wife.  Patty is more therapist than dancer here.  As he stuffs in number eleven she says, “They -- unhh -- must pay more in Crompton.  It’s a ritzier place.”

“Yes, but they want that Master’s degree.”

“How long does that take?  Is it semesters or years?”  Patty is not that knowledgeable about higher education.

“Another two years.  Can you take another one?”

“I -- unhh -- think so.”  Another walnut gets stuffed in.  Patty’s toes wiggle.  She has to open her knees to accommodate the increase in cargo.  She gulps.  He  pulls gently on her nipples and squeezes them, which Patty enjoys.  “Th - thanks. . . Tomorrow night they’re -- locking the doors at -- t - two.”

“Susan will get suspicious if I’m out that late. . . How are things with you?”

“We’ll -- unhh -- make the mortgage this month.  With -- eight days to s - spare . . . I c - can finally buy those shingles for the roof.  Unhh.  I can take -- one -- more.”  She gulps. “Maybe -- your wife -- can -- get that -- extra -- class -- in -- UHHH!!”  As the thirteenth walnut pops into her already overloaded gut she sweats and takes deep breaths, putting her head down on her hands.  Now she turns to him and nods.  Carefully he pulls on the string and pulls the beads out, one by one.  As each pops out of the girl’s anus her whole body trembles.  The thrills are genuine.

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Gamal, sitting at his desk in the back room, is used to Patty’s complaints but this one has him flabbergasted.

“You’re saying the club is too cold?  You?  When you came here to apply, the day after your eighteenth birthday, there was a foot of snow on the ground and you walked in like it was nothing.”

“It’s not me, it’s the other girls.”

“I already told them, the guys like it a little chilly in here.  And seeing the girls all goose pimpled makes them feel sorry for them and gets bigger tips.”

“Don’t give me that shit.  You’re just too cheap to turn up the heat.  It’s not healthy, dancing with tight muscles.  Latosha got cramps in her butt last night, trying to do a spin.”

“It doesn’t seem to bother you.”

“That’s hardly the point.”

“If the girls don’t like it they can always go somewhere else.  I hear Seven Dolls is hiring.” This is his standard response to anything, which is why none of the girls ever complains to him.  Except the youngest one, the one without clothes or shoes.  They used to resent her popularity, but she’s grown on them, especially after she got Gamal to agree to taking only forty percent of their cash instead of fifty.

“Well I can go somewhere else too.”

“I don’t think you can.”

“I think I can!”  She puts her hands on her hips.  Her nipples are staring at him.  She comes a step closer.  Her pubic hair is just above the level of his desk.  She’s doing this to bug him: she has consistently refused his requests that she shave it off or trim it to a “landing strip”.  Actually the guys like her florid “bush”, so out of style these days.  They also like her lack of tattoos.  “Another thing -- why are you letting Simon in again?  After what he did to Sally in the back?”  Meaning, in the booths.

“He’s been behaving himself.  You know what a spender he is.”

“It’s not worth it.  He’ll just do it again.  That really f**ked her up, you know.”

“Look, this is my club.”

“Maybe not for long.  We can go to the police.  I looked it up.  The statute of limitations is two years.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh yes I would.”  She turns around and bends over and spreads her butt, winking her anus at him, as if to say, “I shit on you!!”  It’s Patty Kowalski’s version of “giving the finger”.

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2 a.m. and the music stops and the lights go out.  Marty locks the door and collects everyone’s cell phones, and the $100 per, expensive but worth it.

This time Patty’s partner is Gloria, over twice her age with a purportedly magic tongue. The stage is lit with a small bore spotlight which cannot be detected from outside.  The two dancers embrace and tongue kiss.  Patty pulls down Gloria’s panties, then undoes the older woman’s blouse, bra.  Gloria steps out of her panties.  She keeps her glass heels on.  There’s no prohibition against the girls dancing barefoot but Patty is the only one who does it.

A moment later they are on the soft little rug, in “sixty-nine”.  Tongues circle around vaginas and then jab inside causing the naked bodies to jolt.  There is no music.  In the surrounding darkness some of the guys actually take their penises out, surreptitiously, though if they ejaculate on the floor Gamal will never let them back.  The two naked females switch, with Patty on top.  They spread each other’s butt cheeks and now the serious business begins, the tonguing of each other‘s anus.  Gloria Estella Fuentes, age 37, and Patricia Mary Faustina Kowalski, age 18, bring each other to orgasm three times.  They take turns.  Patty’s last is when Gloria spears her tongue into the teenager’s rectum, the spotlight showing every nuance of Patty’s anus as it opens and closes around Gloria’s tongue with each spasm.  Patty arches her back and sightlessly stares at the ceiling, gritting her teeth.  She is naturally a “screamer” but suppresses herself; people passing outside at this quiet hour might hear something.

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“Damn!” Maurice says, jumping to his left, hindered by his heavy boots, once again unable to catch the moist ping pong ball.  He picks it up off the cold ground and flips it to Sandy.  “That was some curve!”

“She’s left-handed, so it’s a screwball,” Tom points out.  As Sandy rinses the gritty ball in the bucket she flips another one to Patty.  With her left hand Patty pops it into her vagina.  In her other hand is a slice of pizza and she takes another bite.  The diet soda is to her right.

It’s lunch recess and they’re in the courtyard.  The tree well hasn’t had a tree in it for some time but it’s perfectly suited for Patty’s purposes.  Her butt sits on the concrete lip, her legs in a wide split, and her toes grasp the two little metal knobs (shaped like flowers) five feet apart.  She practices almost every day now.  The courtyard, not well tended, is a dreary place this time of year when it’s cold out, but it’s become a hangout as everyone watches Patty perfect her craft.  Today she’s working on making the ball curve both ways.  Last week she made three hundred dollars doing this at Teaser’s.

Her friends all know about her work there, not that any of them have actually seen it.  One has to be 21 to enter (the patrons, of course, not the dancers).  Now it’s Tom’s turn and as he stands back, ten feet away, ready for the “pitch”, Maurice says, “I don’t know how any of the guys can catch these.”

“Gamal wants me to -- UNHH! -- shoot three balls, and make it one out of three.”  This time she grunted out a straight fastball.  Tom was expecting a curveball and jumped to the side when he should have stayed where he was.  Once again a gritty ball is flipped to Sandy, who is sitting on the other well, over a bucket of water with about twenty balls floating on the surface.  She does the counting; Patty wants to do fifty pitches, which takes about twenty minutes.

Georgina is there, and Sam and Delores and the gang from the front row at Advanced Placement Biology, taught by Mr. Barker, who last week had the strange experience of hearing Patty volunteer an answer about the enervation of the anal sphincter.  Besides admiring the achievements of Patty’s vagina, they also are admiring her body.  No one else’s is on display, of course, but it’s an unspoken certainty that hers is the best in the school.  As she shoots a curveball at Kenny they see the workings of her abdominals and her hard, concave tummy; the flexing of her leg muscles; the curling of her rough toes around the knobs.   Tom thinks she might be “telegraphing” her pitches; her big toes point inward when she’s throwing a curve, but her pinky toes point in for a screwball.  Above, her breasts are tight and red in the cold air, her nipples stiff and poking out at them.  How does she stand it, being naked outside on a day like this?  No one really asks the question any more.  Patty is a tough girl.  Also practical.  Yesterday everyone tromped around the school miserably in wet clothes and shoes, after coming in through that morning downpour.  The sleek, wet bare body of their friend, who doesn’t even use an umbrella, waltzed in lightly on unburdened bare feet.  She plopped her wet butt onto the chair behind her desk in first-period History and by the end of the period was totally dry.  Bare skin dries swiftly.

“UNNH!”  Her grunts echo off the surrounding school walls, and can be heard from inside the school, if you’re in an abutting classroom with no one talking.  She can be seen through the windows but they’ve gotten used to the sight.

“One out of three?” Sandy says.

“Yes -- he’s a real asshole.  ‘You’re not’ -- UNHH! -- ‘being fair’, he says.  ‘No one catches them any more.’”

“They should give you more than twenty for each ball,” Kenny says, having wiped his jacket off after tripping over some kind of dead plant.

“I told him just make the guys sit back more.  If they -- UNHH! -- move that pool table they can go back twenty feet.  Jerry and I measured it last week.”  Jerry is Kenny’s uncle.  “I’ll still win, of course.”  Of that, there is no doubt.

Rajiv, a new kid at the school, shy, ventures a request.  “Patty, can you untie and tie my shoes?”

“Not now, my toes are too cold.”  Sensing she might have hurt his feelings, she adds, “Later -- UNHH! -- okay?  After -- English.”  Which is their second-to-last class.  When she’s asked to tie shoes with her toes it tends to draw a crowd.  Usually it’s before the bell rings, sitting back on top of a desk, knees apart.  She can also do buttons and zippers.  With her toes the naked girl can clothe the world.

“I saw Kathy’s new dress at church,” Sioban says.  “Bright pink!  She looked like a little princess.”

“Thanks -- it cost -- UNHH! -- sixty dollars.”  And now, having fooled Lawanda with a screwball, Patty pops another one in, turns her pelvis, lifts her butt off the concrete, and aims at the window of Mr. Barker’s freshman biology class, forty feet away.  She carefully shoots at a 45-degree angle, which they learned in calculus yesterday maximizes distance.  The ball softly taps against the window, causing Mr. Barker to turn.  It’s not an insult but an affectionate way of saying “hi” and a show of support.  He had a story to tell in the booth on Saturday; it doesn’t look like his marriage will last much longer.  The man and the naked girl, separated by gender and age and the possession of clothes and shoes and marital status and a great difference in the things they worry about, and also separated by a window and about fifty feet, exchange a little smile.