When a man goes to a “dance partner” club

I walked into the topless bar and almost immediately turned around and walked out. Too crowded, too noisy, too smoky… it wasn’t going to be worth it just for $10 table dances. On the way back to my hotel a small building caught my eye with the sign “Gentlemen’s Dance Partners”. I figured I could spare five minutes to check out the place. When I went in there was a latina hostess in an enclosed foyer and a sign – $10 entry, $20 per hour to the house for the ladies’ time and a tip of at least that much for the lady. The music from behind the closed door sounded okay, so I handed her a ten and she opened the door.

Inside on one side was a pool table and some card tables, and a bar with football on the TV. A glitter ball spun slowly over a small parquet dance floor and several couches lined the walls. An open doorway led into a back room. There were two couples slow-grinding under the glitter ball, a couple of guys with a curvy brunette playing pool, and three women on one of the couches chatting.

I went over to the couch and my eyes lit on a redhead in a well-filled tube top and short skirt. I introduced myself as a first-timer there, and she agreed to help me feel like one of the family. I held out my hand and she pulled herself up out of the couch, tube top jiggling pleasantly, her head coming just up to my height.

We went to the foyer window and she stamped a time card, then took my hand and led me through the open doorway to the back area where there were small leather couches – almost loveseats – with coffee tables and a bit of dance floor near each. The light was dimmer here, and we settled into one of the couches. We did the usual who-are-you and what-do-you-do chatter until the music changed to a danceable Billy Joel number.

On the dance floor she got a lot more friendly, melting into my arms and resting her head against my shoulder. When I casually slid my hand down her back past the waistline, she pressed herself against me and traced circles on my lower spine with her fingernails. By the time the music changed, my hand was familiar with the contours of her bottom, my head was filled with the scent of her hair and my body was buzzing with warm fuzzy feelings.

We settled into the couch and she leaned into me, my arm wrapping naturally around her and settling alongside what felt like a nicely full and resilient breast. Her lips tickled the side of my neck and one of her hands found its way along the inside of my leg. I was enjoying the hell out of this but wondering just how far we could go in what was basically a public space. The way the couches were arranged, I couldn’t actually see the people in them, just the tops of their heads. Head, singular in one case, and I wondered where that guy’s dance partner was until the head leaned back and I saw it to be a woman’s face, eyes tightly closed and mouth open in what had to be an expression of passion fulfilled.

About that time my companion’s hand made its way up to my zipper, and I leaned back in the loveseat as she moved her palm back and forth over my bulge. She moved her lips to my ear, and with an agonizing slowness licked her way around it and into the center. In a husky voice she mentioned that I seemed a little tense, and she might be persuaded to help out with that.

“Persuaded?” My mind wasn’t working terribly quickly through the erotic feelings she was raising in me. I squeezed her breast and let my hand make its way slowly down her side to cup her bottom, my fingers exploring those curves just as her fingernails outlined the swollen contours of my shaft. “Not that kind of persuasion, sweetie,” she said, “I’m a working girl, after all.” A light finally dawned in my head, but not so urgently that I didn’t take my sweet time sliding my hand over her entire bottom on its way to my hip pocket where my wallet was ensconced. Two minutes later, a pair of Andrew Jacksons had changed allegiance and my hand was nicely tucked under her skirt, discovering that she had dispensed with underwear.

She deftly unfastened my belt and slid my zipper down, then slipped her cool fingers into my briefs. It was almost a shock to feel the contrast between them and the heat of my cock. Without observable effort she threaded my cock out into open air, and wrapped her hand around it. Her thumb was rolling repeatedly over the top, and my brain was being split into a rainbow between that and the way my fingers felt embedded in her own moist channel. I leaned back in the couch, rocking my head from side to side as my lips moved soundlessly.

She produced a handkerchief from somewhere, and the next thing I was conscious of was spurting into her cloth-covered hand, her other hand stroking my balls as she urged me to “Be a good boy, give it all to Mamma”. I managed to hold my vocal response down to a soft moan, and her hands moved until I had nothing left to give.

I was impressed, to say the least. But I thought my head would explode when the handkerchief disappeared and she ducked her head down to my lap to give my cock a thorough tongue-washing. The next thing I knew my pants were zipped up and my dance partner was helping me stand up on shaky legs. We walked back to the foyer window, and she repunched her time card. Then she turned to me and gave me a sizzling kiss while her hand played lightly between my legs. When the kiss ended, she smiled at me and said “I hope you come back soon – you’re a wonderful ‘dancer’!” With that she turned and sashayed toward the TV area.

The same latina was on duty when I got to the exit window, and she checked the time and quoted me a number. I paid it, only slightly disturbed by how much this brief afternoon dalliance had cost me. I was remembering that other area in back, the one where only the woman’s head was visible. In my mind I was already planning for my next visit.