Oliver Krupchick (a name chosen for him, not by him) watched from the back of a darkened room as they slowly twirled and gyrated on the stage. Two women danced with and dry-humped chrome stripper poles, while a third was on her knees as she gave one customer a grand view of her monstrous hanging melons as they swayed and bounced in rhythm to the background music. The man held a pudgy hand toward her with a greasy dollar bill clutched tightly within it. The dancer turned her hips toward him and so he might slip the bank note under a strap of her g-string. He let out a yelp of pleasure as he touched her flesh, but she quickly moved out of his reach as soon as the bill was safely tucked away.

Oliver snorted in derision as he viewed this pathetic display of sex for money exchange—he sought a much more physical encounter, and he had already picked out the woman he wished to share this experience with. His choice for the evening moved slowly from table to table as she talked up the customers to see if anyone wanted a private ‘dance.’ He watched her sensuous hips sway within a black satin thong with fringe decorating the front—an item of clothing which did nothing to hide the glorious globes of fantastically firm fat that made up her derriere. She also wore a matching satin demi-bra, which barely contained her superbly rounded tits. Long dark hair, spike platform heels and full red lips completed her costume for the evening. Oliver licked his own lips in eager anticipation.

He was a small, unremarkable and rather nondescript sort of man whom people rarely seemed to notice—which was just fine with Oliver. Tonight he wore a faded Hawaiian shirt, well worn but nice-looking jeans and black sneaks. His brownish hair was cut short—but not too short—he had no facial hair and wore no jewelry. He was a completely ordinary run-of-the-mill short of guy. Just ask anyone.

As his chosen “date” for the night approached the table where he was seated, Oliver held up a hand to attract her attention. She sauntered over to him.

“What about you, honey, you wanna party?” she asked.

Oliver nodded his head and smiled. “In a private room, my dear, yes,” he said.

“That’ll be two hundred,” she told him.

“Of course,” he agreed without question—the money aspect of it had no bearing on the situation.

She stared at him for moment. He certainly looks harmless she thought, but those are the ones you always need to watch out for. What the hell, the rent’s due tomorrow , she decided, then turned and moved toward a curtained doorway in a far wall. Oliver rose and hurried after her.

She pushed aside the heavy cloth barrier and moved into a narrow hallway which was illuminated by dim red lights hidden behind sconces set high up along one wall. Oliver followed her to a room near the rear of the hall where a door was open. The near-naked vixen stepped aside and allowed him to enter the small room first.

Oliver went inside and the girl followed him and closed the door, but she kept one hand on the tarnished doorknob. He looked around the dingy room which was hardly larger than an ordinary closet. One wooden, straight-back chair was located near the back wall. On another wall were two shelves with several rolled white towels stacked on them, and beneath that a small metal container with a foot controlled lid—no doubt for placement of soiled towels. One naked light bulb of low wattage hung from the center of the ceiling.

Our little love nest , Oliver thought and turned to gaze at his companion.

“Cash up front,” she told him and held out a hand.

He nodded and pulled a sheaf of bills from one pocket, peeled off a couple of one hundred dollar bills from the stack and handed them to the woman. She folded the bills several times and slid them into the front of her thong.

“Okay, rules is these,” she said, still holding onto the doorknob with one hand. “You keep your clothes on at all times and No touching me. Got it?”

“Of course, my dear,” Oliver said as he smiled at her. “However,” he added, “if I am not to be allowed to touch your luscious body—and the temptation is very great, I must admit—perhaps it would be better if you were to tie my hands behind my back.”