Aussie in a Strange Land

[Hopperdoggy]

(I'm new to this, but I'll give it a go and if anyone has any advice please feel free to hit me. Cheers, D)

(My name is Brad Finch. I'm an Australian backpacker, formerly a sheep shearer but looking for some excitement travelling through the U.S of A. Feel free to make your own character and join in all. I'm rough as guts with little etiquette and less education, but a heart of gold and naivette to match it. Lets see how I fare in NYC)

I'd never seen anything quite like this bloody place. The biggest town I ever saw before this was Sydney on my way to my flight here, and that place is only 3 million people. Nothing like my home town of Cunamulla in Western Queensland. Sure I'd seen bits of New York in the movies on my bosses' old beat up VCR but nothing would have prepared me for this.

The locals were jumpier than a starled mob of 'roos and there didn't seem to be a pub within cooey that served a bottle of XXXX or VB, just Budweiser, Millers and Coors. I stopped on a corner in down-town Manhatten and caught a glimpse of myself in a shop window. I had a firm well-built body, 2 inches over 6 feet and not an ounce of fat on it. My short light-brown hair had been somewhat bleached by hours of work in the sun.

"Yep" I thought to myself, "If I can't find me a decent Sheila in this monster town, I oughta be sent back to shearing sheep forever!"

I turned around at the sound of a car horn and noticed a yellow cab swerving to avoid a couple of drunks staggering out of a pub across the street. One of the old dodderers gave the finger to the back of the disappearing cab and said something that sounded pretty bloody close to "get fucked buddy".

I looked up at the sign above the pub. It read "McCafferties Irish Bar" and I caught the sound of singing and Irish music above the noises of the passing traffic before its front door swung closed.

I smiled to myself and nodded. That's where any good Aussie should start his journey. The pub. I found a small space in the traffic and jogged across the road with a wee jingle in my throat.

"This place might not be so bad after all." I thought to myself as I pulled open the door to "McCafferties".

and then...............

 

[patford31769]

Clitoria
age 28
5'8" without my 6" stillettoes
38C=24-35
exotic dancer at a small Irish pub in Manhattan

I had only recently started working as the entertainer at this little New York pub called McCafferties. The owner, a short, red-haired, freckle-faced man, had hired me to do a little strip-tease three nights a week, four shows each night. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but a lot more guys were coming in, and buying a lot more Buds too, since word got around that I was working there to, ahem, "entertian the troops".

Mister McCaffertie himself announced me onto the stage. "Gentlemen, back by very popular demand: Miss Clitoria!"

I bounced out onto the stage and started to shake my booty. I pointed to my top, silently asking the guys if they wanted me to take my skimpy little black halter off.

Just then, this rugged guy straight out of Crocodile Dundee barged his way through the front door, bellowing at McCaffertie, "How 'bout a beer, mate?" Then he spotted me up on stage, just about to remove my top, and he spit-out his beer. "Holy criky!" he yelled, "Where did you find THIS sweet little Sheila?"

His bellowing was spoiling my act, and I didn't like that one bit! I consider myself not only an enteratiner, but a true artist. So I stepped down off the stage, and I walked right over to him. "What the hell is your problem, buddy?" I huffed.

"Oh, you are a feisty littke Sheila!" he grinned, chugging down his mug of beer.

"Do you mind keeping it down, bub! I'm working here!"

"No worries, Sheila."

"That's another thing. My name's not Sheila."

"Oh, yeah. I heard your boss announce you, Clymidea."

"Clitoria!" I glared, throwing daggers at him with my eyes, as I looked him up and down. He was tall, rugged and muscular, and he would actually have been attractive, if his personality weren't so damned loud, crude, and abrasive!

"I'm Finch. Brad Finch." The way he said that, like he thought he was goddamned 007 or something. "Bond. James Bond." And as if I should give two damns what the hell his name is, since he obviously didn't care to rememeber my name! I am Clitoria, like the most beautiful part of a woman, the clitoris. Not a god-damned venereal disease. Imagine calling ME Clymidea! ME!

He finally shut up, and I went back on stage to finish removing my top. I tossed it to the guy with the loud mouth, Finch. He actually stuffed it down the front of his pants. Yuck! I won't be wearing THAT top ever again! Oh, well, I have lots of other tops backstage.

As I unsnapped my tiny shorts and started to unzip them, Finch pulled my top back out of his pants again, and he enthusiastically waved my own top at me. God, I was mortified! But as he pulled my top out of the waistband of his pants, he also pulled the top of his cock past his waistband, along with my halter. About 4 inches of very thick, very hard cock protruded straight up above his waistband, well above his navel, so I knew there must have been six or seven inches still in his pants. My God, I've never SEEN such a long cock. Maybe I could look past his rudeness and crudeness, I thought, for a chance to ride THAT cock-monster!

The thought made me feel both horny, and very shallow for caring more about his cock than about his annoying personality.

I started sliding my shorts down my legs, my eyes locked lustfully on Finch's eyes, like he was the only customer in our packed pub. I was thinking that no matter what happens next, thanks to Finch, this evening is already starting to get much more interesting than any evening I've had in a very long time.

 

[Hopperdoggy]

"Jaysus, Mary and Joseph" I whistled to myself as I staggered in through the swinging door of the pub. As soon as I had wandered in the Irish music stopped and this little red-headed guy started prattling on. Something about "Miss Clymidea". I think a doctor had warned me about something like that once.

I yelled over to the little red-headed guy for a beer and he huffed and puffed his way behind the bar just as this cute girl started dancing around up on this little stage. "Christ! The girls are friendly in here" I thought to myself as she started to get her gear off. I turned around to ask the little redhead about her when she suddenly appeared in my face giving me all sorts of strife!

I thought I was just being nice, but she gave me all sorts of lip and then stormed back to the stage. I turned around to the barman again and he was shooting daggers at me. "What a little prick he is!" I thought to myself. "Maybe he'll give me a job behind the bar."

Then, just as I turned back to the dancing girl she threw her bra at me. "Bloody hell! What do I do with these?" there was no-where else to hide it in a hurry so I shoved it down my shorts. Then the little red-headed barman started yelling at me so I pulled it back out again and waved it in the air trying to get the dancing girls attention to see if she wanted it back.

I couldn't believe it. She just stared at my crotch and started gettin the rest of her clobber off. In desparation, I turned back to the barman and noticed he was staring at my crotch too! I was just about to thump the dirty little bastard when I looked down and noticed half my tockley stickin up outa my shorts!

It was that damn frog from Paris on the plane over here from Oz. He swore that wearing these boxer things was sure to get me the girls. Now look at the situation I was in!

I looked back at the Clymidea dancing girl and she was still dancing, stark bloody naked now and still staring at my half woody. I quickly re-arranged myself back into my shorts and thought about getting the hell out of there. But, hell! I still had a full beer to drink and this Clymidea girly didn't look half as dangerous as that doc had warned me about!

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Neely Brancuzzi

Still single at 26 and not looking, Neely enjoyed life and all it had to offer. She dabbled at writing short stories and even some poetry. One of these days she was going to be published. One of these days. In the meantime, she was doing some freelance work that paid the bills and she liked it that way.

Her eyes wandered over the tousle-haired man who had just walked into McCafferties and stood next to her while he ordered a drink. He was lean looking and handsome in a rugged sort of way. Neely couldn't help wondering what he did for a living. He wasn't a 'suit' so that left a lot of things.

His hands looked strong, with long slender fingers that almost caressed the glass he held. She wished he would look up so that she might see his eyes. Hands and eyes. Neely didn't know why, but they were the first things that drew her whenever she looked at someone. Enough Neely. The day is growing late...

Suddenly it seemed as if all hell broke loose. The stripper she'd seen billed as Clitoria was giving the guy she'd been watching a bunch of guff. Neely shook her head as a bra went flying past her and landed on him.

He mumbled something that she didn't quite hear and watched in amazement as he stuffed it into his pants as if he were trying to hide it. That movement presented another tirade from the stage and Neely knew it was time to go.

Glancing at her watch, she stood fumbling in her purse for her keys. Ahh... there they are she thought, almost relieved. Just as suddenly they fell between her fingers to the floor.

Neely bent to pick them up at the same time as the stranger reached for them. Their hands touched and she looked into his eyes, knowing that she could easily live there for an eternity.

"Thanks," she murmured as their fingers wrestled to pick the keys up first. She slapped his hand playfully. "Mine," and chuckled, a deep throaty laugh that made him laugh in return.

She noticed the bra was still dangling from his hand as they stood. "Going braless this season?" she asked with a wink.

 

[Hopperdoggy]

After finishing my stubbie of beer (somehow it didn't quite feel like a stubbie here) I looked back over toward the dancing girl to catch a final death-stare as she stomped off into some back-room.

"Wonder what's got her knickers in a twist?" I asked the little barman. In a somewhat quieter tone he answered me.

"I don't know, but don't ask her for pete's sake" The red-head answered me.

I shrugged, ordered another beer and looked along the bar where a well-dressed but somewhat down lookin girlie was finishing off her drink. "She'd be a real looker if she knew where she hid her smile for safe-keeping" I thought to myself.

Just as I thought to go over to have a bit of a chin-wag with her, she fumbled in her pursed and pulled out a set of keys, only to drop them sliding along the floor in my direction. I bent down to pick them up for her, but her hand managed to get a better grip of them first.

"Mine" She said somewhat gruffly and then smoothed it over with a grin wider than the Nullabor Plain and a hearty chuckle. Then suddenly I remember the bra still dangling from my hand. Unfortunately, she had also noticed and started to make some lopsided remark. In a sudden panic I moved to whip the whispy flimsies out of sight, not realising that one end had already looped around the top of my beer bottle. My sudden movement had the undesired result of launching the full bottle of lager straight at the young woman's head, like some kind of demented alcoholic slingshot.

The bottle careered off the side of her jaw and perversely also managed to empty most of its contents over her expensive looking frock in the process. As she doubled over in obvious distress and embarrassment I moved in to help, only to find myself padding down the wet patches of her dress with the said guilty bra cups.

It was only when I knelt down in front of her that I realised that the whole bar had gone silent and the only sound was a strange trembling breathing coming from the victim of the drunken, out-of-control beer bottle.......

 

[patford31769]

Clitoria

As upset as I had been at this Finch character for interrupting my dance, and then getting my name wrong, I was even more upset now--no, no, not upset really, but definitely disappointed--when he tucked his hard-on back into his pants, just as I was finishing-up my strip-tease dance. The guys here all get to get their rocks off watching me strip a dozen times a week, and now here at last I was getting some VERY nice eye-candy for myself, and the guy had to go and tuck it back away out of sight. Sigh! Life is just unfair like that some days, I guess.

I figured maybe if I made nice to this Finch character, he would stop being so rude and crude to me, and I might actually persuade him to let me have a second look at all of that long, hard love muscle he was packing in his shorts. And maybe if I ushered him and his mighty schlong into the back room and gave it a nice suck, he might actually be able to remember my goddamned name after that! Clitoria, not Clymidea! Well, anyway, I figured it couldn't hurt to give it a try.

After exiting the stage to the dressing room, I put on my sheerest red bra-and-panty set, and I bouncily reentered the bar to chat-up Finch.

When I returned to the bar, I was surprised to find Finch, McCaffertie, and half the bar patrons gathered around a very pretty girl who was out cold on the bar-room floor. McCaffertie explained that Finch's beer bottle had slipped out of Finch's hand and clonked this lady upside her head. Leave it to Finch to further disrupt everything in our bar!

The girl reeked of beer, not just from all the suds that had spilled on her dress, but from several mugs that she had obviously consumed herself. And Finch was mopping the beer off of her with my own bra that I had earlier tossed to him!

The girl on the floor was semi-conscious now, moaning and holding her jaw. "I need something to suck on, to relieve the pain in my jaw," she was whining. So McCaffertie poured her a mug of beer, and he tried to pour some down into her mouth. She pushed his hand away, screaming, "A mug of beer is what got me knocked on my ass and sprawled on the floor in the first place!"

I offered her a glass of water. She took one sip, and spit it out. "This isn't helping the pain. I need to suck on something in my mouth, to relieve the pain."

Another bar patron offered her a lemon-drop candy to suck on, but she didn't seem to want that, either. Woozy and delirious, she reached up to Finch's crotch and gave it a squeeze. "What about you, big guy? You got anything for me to suck on?" she moaned in pain.

I figured I'd do my good deed for the day, and in the process I would get to see and touch the other half of that big, beautiful cock that this loud-mouthed Aussie had already partly exposed. So I slowly unzipped Finch, and I helpfully, generously offered his huge love hose to the passed-out woman's lips.

"Maybe you need to suck on this?" I offered her, loving the feel of the best part of Finch in my hand, as I guided him toward the woman's mouth. "To relieve the pain in your jaw."

 

[Maid of Marvels]

It all happened in slow motion...

like looking through a gauze-covered lens at a bad mock-up of Norma Desmond's close-up -- as if that needed mocking up. Nevertheless, Neely found herself sitting on the floor clutching her jaw while the seemingly innocuous beer bottle spun in lazy circles, caught up in a grotesque parody of that old kissing game she'd always hated as a teenager. And all she could do was stare.

Please don't let it land on...

Neely began to laugh and cry at the same time. Never in a million years could she have written (let alone imagined) a scenario like this.

The sound of the alarm going off intruded into her semi-conscious state as Neely sat up and looked around. "Thank heavens, we're still in Kansas, Toto," she said to her little dog with a foolish grin on her face as she popped out of bed and headed for the shower.

She had to be at work in a little over an hour. A sort of fixture at McCafferties, Neely had been tending bar there for a while now -- since her split with Vinnie. She knew everyone and everything and if you were looking for something, she knew just where to get it.

The radio was blasting "Hotel California" in the background as she stepped into the shower. Yup. She was going to open her own place in San Francisco one of these days. It was one of the things that kept her going on a bad day.

***********************

I watch in horror as every nono in roleplay is used in the course of two posts. Old fashioned kind of guys sprouting body parts that they might not even own -- and in a public place no less!, words put into other character's mouths, characters being manipulated despite polite attempts to bring the roleplay back to where it was meant to go, the list grows on and on and on.

It's not funny. It's not sexy. It's crass and rude and just plain old *shudder* I hate to think that the best part of a man is the toy store under the awning -- same as bra size and body measurements making the woman. (Or maybe it isn't bra size but IQ?)

 

[patford31769]

Clitoria

I had to laugh when Neely, the barmaid at the Irish pub where I'm the hired stripper, told me of her strange dream about the crude Australian named Brad Finch in the bar, loudly interrupting my dance and then knocking her unconcious with a beer bottle. We laughed and wondered what the dream meant.

That's when Neely and I noticed this rugged-looking guy seated at the bar. He was good-looking, in a rough sort of way.

"Aren't you a pretty pair of Sheilas," he smiled, extending his hand to us both. "The name's Brad..."

"Finch," she interrupted. "You're Brad Finch."

Neely knew this guy?

Neely told me it was the man from her strange dream. Hopefully, the reality wouldn't be as weird now as her dream had been, and our story, and our lives, could become more normal and sane now.

 

[Hopperdoggy]

OOC: I'm going to terminate this roleplay, coz its gotten out of hand. I think Erotica is good Patford, but plain old PORN is boring. It doesn't make any of the characters interesting at all. Thanks for your postings maidofmarvels, you seemed to understand where a story like this should go. Keep up the good work.

Hopperdoggy