When the Stripper is Crying

When the Stripper is Crying

By Richard Bacula

"Just my luck," I thought. "Why do I always get the strippers who want to cry on me?" It was the third time it'd happened, and I was starting to feel like I was jinxed. The first time it happened, the music in the club was so loud that I don't even know what the girl was crying about. She sat at my table, trying to talk me into paying for a private dance. We chit-chatted, but mostly it was me just listening to her, and asking the occasional question that I couldn't even make out the answer to. Apparently that made her think that I was a good listener, so she confided some stuff to me, and I nodded and made comforting sounds where it seemed appropriate. Eventually, she burst into a brief fit of tears, literally cried on my shoulder, then thanked me, hugged me, and left. The second time, things were going pretty well. I managed to get one of the hotter dancers, a lean brunette with flower tattoos and natural-looking breasts, and she was giving me a private dance in that sectioned-off area in the corner of the club. The bouncer was standing guard, peeking in through the curtain a bit to make sure that I didn't do anything too creepy, and that she didn't do anything too illegal. The girl was grinding on my lap, rubbing her ass against my cock through my pants, pressing her tits...