Good And Clean

This was a normal Sunday, not much different from any other I had worked. The clock struck about four, and I'm ready to go home. I announce my departure, and I turned to make my way to the dressing room. About half way there, I am stopped by the oldest man I have ever seen in a strip club. His liver spots had liver spots. Picking up on this depth of detail however, was difficult because he was shaking so much. He reminded me of a dog shitting razor blades. (sit with that image for a second)

"Hi little lady! You wanna do a champagne room?"

In his hand, three crisp one hundred dollar bills.

"Fuck yeah I do! You wait right here."

Of course I'm not going to make this guy wobble around with me while I go find the manager, Frank. He might have a heart attack before I could get any serious money out of him. With Frank in tow, we head to the champagne room. Nothing out of the ordinary. Frank announces the $175 fee for the room. Old Man Silver hands over his credit card, then hands me the $300. Frank exits. Now, it's just me, him, and the shaking.

I smile, and begin to stand up, but I'm stopped as he plants his shaking hand quite firmly on my thigh. In my mind's eye, all of the horrors of attempting to deflect this crusty crusader for the next half hour, while still keeping him engaged, begin to play. Just then, his deep, rugged voice, tinged with a slight rasp, broke the loud music filled silence.

"Now here's the deal.", he said. "I'm ninety-five years old and I'm going to die soon. Before I go, I got some things I want to do." He starts to rub my thigh. It's not in a sexual manner though. It was.. comforting, like when Spider-Man's uncle gave Spider-Man the "Great power comes with great responsibility" speech while they were alone in the car.

He takes a deep breath while looking off into the middle distance. On the exhale... "I just really want to taste a man's dick."

"I'm sorry. Come again?", I managed to choke out.

He begins to explain how men likely come to a strip club to get their dick's sucked, and probably clean them first, "Who wants to have to pay for a blow job, just to have the girl say no just because of some overwhelming dick fumes?", he reasoned. He goes on to inform me that these were the things he contemplated while forming this depraved little plan in his head earlier that morning.

I have to admit, his logic is sound.

He finishes his explanation and tops it with a plump, little cherry. "Ginger? I'll give you three thousand dollars if you can find me a good, clean dick to suck." Just then, Frank walks back in with his credit card receipt in hand.

I'm completely flabbergasted at this point.

He signs, they nod, and Frank exits. "What about him? He looks like he has a good, clean dick." Without a moment's hesitation, I hop right on the mission.

Don't judge me.

"FRANK! Frank, wait!", I yell as I all but run to him in my stiletto heels. "What's up babe?", he asks. "Alright, now Frank... You're a guy. I'm a girl. We've all got bills to pay, right? We love money, and you love blow jobs. I'll give you half the bounty- $1500, if you let this old geezer suck your dick. You can just put a paper bag over his head. He just needs a good, clean dick in his mouth before he dies, Think of it as a Grant-A-Dying-Wish-With-Your-Dick Foundation donation."

Frank does not blink.

He did not move.

I'm quite sure he stopped breathing for a second- for about a solid ten seconds to be exact.

"Ginger?", he asked.

"Yes Frank.", I responded.

"You know I love you right?"

"Yes, Frank."

"Fuck you Ginger.", he said, as he slowly walked away, shaking his head. In hindsight I realize, that the "Fuck you" must have come from the deep temptation that plagued him over those ten seconds. Which part of the whole arrangement was most tempting, the money, or the blow job, I'll leave to you guys.

I walked back into the champagne room, and announced my failure. He thanked me for the effort, and informed the deal remained on the table as long as the dick was good and clean. He then proceeded to ask me if I knew where to get any crack.

That was a crazy, old man.

The moral of the story is not that everyone should taste a dick before they die. It's live life to the fullest. Nothing beats a failure but a try, and remember to always clean your dick before going into a strip club.

You just never know who might want to suck it.