nola stripper

I, like all women I have known, or know about, have a WD40'd knobby on the Kinsey sliding scale. I have no wish to fondle or suckle on the boobies of "normal" women. However, present me with a objectified pair and add a metric fuckton of something called a hurricane (the later orders of which served in a plastic glass with a butt, I'll have to find a picture) and the knobby goes wheeee towards the isle of Lesbos side. I am a fan of working girls and whenever the opportunity presents itself (in a country/state where such things are obtainable*) it is my first activity suggestion when on a responsibility free outing. So after the main purpose of the NOLA visit was concluded (Anne Rice, Garden District, etc) drinking on Bourbon street was the logical next step. The French Quarter is pretty much true to whatever you may have read about it. It is indeed an isolated pocket of whoring and drinking and general abandon in the middle of the Baptist South.

On our way to warm up drinks a barman/promoter/hooker straight up said 'Come see dem tiddies...big ones...small ones. Come on in and see nekkid tiddies". So when we were sufficiently lubricated, that's where we went. I'll try to explain to you how deeply uncomfortable it is to be the female of a straight couple in a strip club. Unless you are a butch presenting lesbian or part of some group of women, you will be well treated as the former and mostly ignored on the latter. If you are significantly more beautiful/elegant/cool than the professionally hot women using only a minuscule amount of thigh real estate to propel themselves upside down from poles, why, then you have a slightly better chance at enjoying yourself. If you are a dumpy, middle aged chick with no diamonds or fancy handbag or strewing dollar bills as you enter, you are going to have an interesting time. The bathrooms however, pristine and empty.

It is remarkably difficult to say no to nice, naked ladies who are somewhat annoyed that sitting on your lap isn't producing the moniez like it usually does. A significant amount of the ladies working the floor informed us that they were gay or was willing to "do couples". I just drank more and tried to find the humor in being a puffer in a shark tank. Eventually a woman with Edna "No Capes" Mode's face and the body of a fertility goddess swung by and we found our girl. We had never seen such a spectacular rack in real life and only occasionally on porn. So I urged the husband to get a lap dance while I drank more. He comes back, slightly dazed and then it is my turn, with husband looking on.

We go to a small, delightfully dark cove and unfortunately I don't remember much other than that ridiculously tiny waist and near suffocating in a small continent of boob. I had had enough alcohol to free me to make out with the landmass of satin soft skin but should maybe have done so about a half an hour earlier as X's starting glinting in my eyes.

During this make out session she kept urging us to go upstairs with her where we could do "anything" we wanted to her and I slurrily demurred and tried my very best not to puke on her.

Oh wait, I do remember her saying that I had a breast fetish, while not wrong, just seemed a bit of social commentary my profoundly drunk ass did not at the time appreciate. The next day was the single most hungover I have ever been. It was nothing short of epic and the screams of children could be heard.

I wonder if it is only the dick problem that keeps men quiet wrt preference fluidity. Maybe we should put hot dudes in corsets and see how that works :D

*See the $400 fondling of a barely legal, sickeningly beautiful Ukrainian blonde in the Red Light district - it was pathetic, the husband at least got to touch her boobs while I tried to non-pervily paw at her hip and waist. Again, liberal amounts of alcohol and I think a green muffin. Heh, the night before we tried a "live" sex show. It was horrific and about as sexy as the tongue scraping I needed the next morning.