A Twix too far.

I have two stripper stories.
One is funny; the other is slightly tragic.
This is the funny one.

Several people who were there, including the villain of the piece who ruined the fun for everyone else, passed this story on to me. As a lover of spoken word I fear the art of story telling is dying out. No longer do people sit around and recount tales of generations past. I hope to rectify this situation. Please pass this tail on, pass it on as your own if you wish. Just keep this wonderful human trait alive.

*Ahem*

In my parent's hometown, there is a rugby club. As is usual for these places, it has a function room that can be hired out to the public. Word got out that a promoter had hired it out to put on a show of exotic young ladies who would dance for the entertainment of the assembled crowd. Good times, as you might imagine.

Everyone who had an ounce of common sense realised that the young ladies in question would be strippers, and most likely good candidates for an appearance of the Jeremy Kyle Show. As such, tickets sold fast.

The big night came and men from far and wide flocked to the Rugby Club, ready to see some good old, best of British, filth. By all accounts, they were not disappointed. Two women, of acceptable appearance, took to the stage and began their act. Those who had attended to perhaps enjoy some cheeky burlesque or a bit of sexy Latin samba were in for a shock. These girls were filth. They got straight into the art of lesbionics. It was basically live porn, probably illegal and definitely contravening several health and safety byelaws. There were toys flopping about all over the place, strap-ons, whatever you can think of.

A large portion of the audiences were quite into it so, when the time came for audience participation, there were plenty of volunteers. I have it on good authority that none of the men who were up on stage actually had sex, though to be fair, they may as well have. There was a lot of face squatting and fluids and it was all very grubby and grotty.

I go into such detail, to provide accurate contrast to the upcoming event.

A Twix bar was brought out. One finger was predictably inserted into one of the young ladies front bum; the other lady consumed it "hands-free" (That's the sort of level we're working on here). Now for some more audience participation.

The second finger of Twix was gripped between the buttocks of the artiste who had just enjoyed the other finger. She turned her back to the front row and offered each man in turn to take a bite. Two seats in she got to ***** (friend of the family, shouldn't say his name).
He's a no nonsense gentleman and can be a bit mischievous at times. Seeing his opportunity for a quick lark, he placed his finger on the end of the remaining portion of chocolate coated, confectionary delight, and pushed.
Lubricated by the melting of the chocolate and various biological fluids produce by the first half of the act and the resultant slackening of certain barriers, the Twix slid perfectly up into the ladies back bottom.
It happened so fast that she didn't have time to react. Bless ***** for his commitment to his prank as he ended up with his finger tip inside too, just to make sure it was all in.

The young performer seemed to take exception to this biscuit based tomfoolery.

Throughout the act, the promoter had been standing at the back, keeping an eye on the goings on.

"Right it's all over, get dressed girls, everyone fuck off!"

Bemused looks on the faces of those present as they didn't understand how such a person could have such a sudden moral barrier.

You can let yourself have fanny batter dripped onto your face and suck on her used dildo in front of a room full of people, but if you so much as sully her reputation by putting something up her bottom, when there has already been a few things up there already.well I shall not stand for such unseemly behaviour and by Christ I will not let this evening of cultural exchange continue.

Everyone had to leave, though those who were last to leave were treated to the sight of the girl, half hidden behind a make shift curtain, squatting down, trying to poop out the offensive snack time delicacy.

The night was cut short, but this story lives on, and that is what makes it worthwhile.
For those of you who stuck through to the end of this blog, you have my gratitude, disgust and respect in equal measures.

The second stripper story will be up later this week, when I can be bothered. It is in no way as jovial as this one.

Peace out people.

Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device