Scuttle Buttin'
Demons at bay
- Joined
- Apr 27, 2003
- Posts
- 15,881
Well you got to think with a girl like that
Any love at all, is better than nothing
It's better than nothing
Any love at all, is better than nothing
It's better than nothing
Ian Feynman was a man living two lives. For virtually everyone that knew him, he was a family man that worked his ass off in what could only be called a high-pressure, demanding job. It paid well, no doubt, and the house he shared with his wife and two children - large, spacious, with multiple floors, and situated on a nice piece of land - along with the Bentley Mulsanne he drove was a testament to that. He seemed happy in his job, content in his marriage, and living the perfect suburban life.
The other Ian Feynman, the one that didn't show on the outside, was overwhelmed by the pressure of his job, frustrated at the lack of sex in his marriage, and badly lacking excitement in his life. Golf bored the living fuck out of him - a handicap was a bad thing, wasn't it? why the fuck was everyone so proud of theirs? - and while he enjoyed college baseball, especially when his alma mater Stanford was involved, it wasn't enough.
It all seemed to start when the kids came along. He loved them, immensely and unconditionally, but his wife had basically crossed her legs after giving birth to their last one two years ago, and since then he was lucky to get any every other month or so. He couldn't remember the last time her lips had been around his cock. The frustration mounted from there, spilling over into work, spilling over into everything.
He'd considered an affair, but the idea that she'd take the kids and half of everything didn't exactly thrill him. Perhaps a prostitute, but he knew that with the way things were going, he'd end up getting caught up in a police sting and lose more than half of everything. And so that was when he turned to a strip club off the highway he drove to work everyday. Traffic was a bitch, and more than once he'd sat in the parking lot they called a highway, staring at the unlit neon sign, looking so tawdry and desperate in the daylight, and wondered what might be hidden inside.
He couldn't remember the last time he set foot in a strip club, but it had to be early in his college career. It all seemed to be smoke and mirrors to him, girls flashing their tits and pasting an erotic expression on their face, but their eyes were dead as they did. They may as well be pushing buttons behind the counter of a McDonald's when you looked into their eyes. It turned him off, and he hadn't stepped into one since.
Of course, there was also the fact that he'd become wrapped up in school and baseball shortly after that, to the point that his free time was almost non-existent. He'd met his wife in that period too, and the remaining free time he had was lost in her. Everything came early to him at that point: They married twelve days after graduation, and he was hired on at his current employer three weeks after they got back from their honeymoon. He rose up the ladder quickly, they called him The Rainmaker because of his natural ability to lull clients into their comfort zone and then expertly extract a couple extra million from their pockets and then get them to thank him for doing so, and he was a Vice President by the time he was 26.
Now 29, it seemed like forever ago. He still looked young, all the men in his family aged well, and his daily workouts at the company gym kept him in good shape. He had dark eyes, a deep brown that seemed to give him a comforting look about him, which he used to his advantage with clients. His black hair was cut short and styled simply, and the tailored suits he wore hung from his body perfectly. His tailor was excellent, and he was paid like it.
Eventually, the frustration got the best of him and he went into the club. He was nervous about leaving his car outside, nervous that someone would recognize him inside, and after ten minutes of nursing a glass of Johnny Walker Black Label he was considering leaving, again finding himself turned off by the dead eyes staring at him from the stage.
Until, that was, he saw her.
He tossed back the last of his drink and set the glass down, reaching for the dark suit jacket he'd taken off when he sat down when she walked out on the stage, and he froze. She was... exquisite. Perfection. She was made-up, no doubt about it, but he could tell that there was something under there that was different from the rest. He watched her dance, enthralled, ordering another drink without even looking at the waitress that approached him, and it sat untouched on his table until she was off the stage.
Since then, he'd spent at least a few thousand dollars on her, on lap dances, tips after lap dances, time in the Champagne Room... if there was a way to get closer to her, he was going to do it. They eventually talked, to the point that she even told him her real name, and he would make special trips after work, telling his wife he had to work late, so he could buy up every minute of time she had, and spend it with her body against him. She teased him mercilessly, discovered ways to make him harder with a shift of her hips or a sway of her breasts, and he would whisper in her ear all the things he wanted to do to her. He knew he turned her on, and she obviously knew she could whip him into a frenzy in no time. But, they'd never done anything beyond what was permitted by the club. The frustration was beginning to mount again.
And then, his chance came. His wife was going out of town, taking the kids with her, the lot of them going to Nebraska to visit her mom and dad for a couple weeks. Or maybe to California to visit her sister? He didn't truly give a fuck, the important thing was that she was going to be gone. It was his chance, if he could only talk her into taking it with him.
He left work early, arrived at the club in what had to be record time, and wasted no time stepping out of the car and making his way inside. At 6'2", he was easily four inches taller than the bouncer he'd become familiar with by now, but the guy still had a hundred pounds or more on him. Scanning the room quickly, he didn't see her and assumed she was still in the back, prepping her body to be desired by a room full of men. But tonight, one of them was taking her home.
He walked to the bar, ordering his usual Johnny Walker Black to fulfill the club's one drink minimum, and then moved to a table in his usual section. Pushing his sunglasses up on his head, he sipped his drink slowly and stared somewhat absently at a fairly short and large-breasted woman on stage, uninterested in the well-maintained naked body she flaunted. He was, as usual, here for only one woman.