Heavy Lifting

July 16, 2017

 

 

Sample Sunday-Excerpt from Stone Bodies Productions Series-The Grind (Book One)

(Title and content subject to change)

 

Stripping? Taking my clothes off in front of a bunch of horny chicks who were more than likely throwing their husband's paycheck at me, or shoving it down my pants. I couldn’t grasp the concept of Magic Mike let alone sit down and watch it. Shit seemed so demeaning and, I don’t know, soft. I mean what kinda dude is okay with being felt up by a woman if that’s where it ends? Sure, the money's probably nice, but

Wait.

Maybe that’s the part that hooks em. Mama always said the best route to a good man's heart is through his belly and his finances. If you could benefit either of those, there was a pretty good chance you'd hold a place in his life, and my wife wasn’t rich, but she could sure as hell throw down in the kitchen. Luckily, I could take care of the money. Well rounded, well educated, and most importantly, well connected, it was no coincidence that I landed my dream job and had the where with all to store nuts for the winter, as my pops would call it. But as is usually the case when your career is only a subcategory to somebody else’s, things fell apart, quickly and without warning, landing me in a predicament that would soon have me studying Magic Mike 101.

The fucking irony.

“It’s money to be made, my boy.” Were the first words out of Slim’s mouth the minute I even pretended I wouldn’t do it. Slim knew money, or the mention of it, was sure to change my mind under most circumstances; especially the one I’d recently found myself in. I wouldn’t dare tell my wife about it though; not with her being pregnant, hormonal, and flat out jealous of every woman in the world since she’d picked up a few pounds. I made it a point to tell her every morning how beautiful she is, even threw in the fact that I can handle a thicker Shannon just as well as I could handle a thick one. What the hell did I say that for? Took me thirty minutes and a pickle dipped in peanut butter to calm her down. But I’d do it every day, ten times a day if I had to. Cause that’s the typa moves you make when you find the perfect woman.

“Meat, you up in ten!” The club manager yelled down the long, dark hallway. The only thing lit back here was the floor. Guess it was a pretty nice touch. Made the shorter guys feel taller. Wasn’t an issue for me standing six feet, five inches.

“Aight, Lou.” I yelled over my shoulder, fastening the belt on the tight ass black leather pants the club owner had tailored for me. From the first time the woman laid eyes on me there was a connection. And not on some “I’d cheat on my girl for you” type shit. But on some, “Sis” type shit. Don’t get me wrong, the boss lady’s bad. But she didn’t strike me as the type to mix business with pleasure, and I respect that.

I tightened the laces on my boots, careful not to let them hang too low, since the last time I made that I mistake, I fell off the stage dick first into a crowd of horny bachelorette party goers. Of course, the ladies dismissed the mistake, using it as an opportunity to grope me in places they couldn’t reach while I was on stage. But I had a lot of explaining to do when I got home covered in random scratches and a slight limp. Didn’t take another fall to learn that lesson, and I’ve been lacing up and tying twice from that night on.

This part of the act for me was always the hardest, way harder than the actual performance once I finally made it to the stage. Looking in the mirror at this oiled up dude wearing a white T, two times tighter than the ones I wore in public, under a leather jacket that I’d be ripping off as soon as the beat dropped. Dude didn’t look nothin like me. Fuck that, he wasn’t me. He was Meat, somebody I only knew three nights a week and my wife didn’t know at all. The best thing about Meat was that after a few months of transforming into him and being able to keep a roof over me and Shannon’s head, he was finally getting to be a little easier to look at. Slim said that shit would happen. I hated when that fool was right.

Before I put on my trademark black, leather jacket, I stretched my arms up over my head and out to the side, shaking ‘em a little bit to warm up the guns. Being one of the biggest men on the roster, I was always expected to grab a thick one from the audience and do a few lifts to get ‘em all screaming, and I did so with no hesitation. While the music bounced off the outside walls that surrounded me, I crossed my arms across my chest one at a time, stretching ‘em out, working out all the kinks, making sure I was as limber as possible. While jogging in place, I caught a glimpse of Lou in the dressing room mirror that I shared with about five others. Her hands were on her round hips, lips pursed with annoyance cause I was always stretching til the last damn minute. Lou didn’t understand the thrill of making them wait. The build-up and suspense of seeing Meat hit the stage was part of the reason I racked up so much bread out there, second only to my boy Slim who was notorious for collecting chicks’ rent money.

“Boy, if you don’t bring yo red ass outta there.” Lou fussed, eyes jotting from me to the backstage entry. The DJ was playing the same song she always played just before she put on my entry music, and the regulars in the crowd were well aware of it.

“Come help me with my jacket right quick.” I winked. I knew Lou had a lil crush on me, though she wouldn’t admit it. And it wouldn’t go further than flirtation even if she did.

She strolled in, hips swinging like a mother fucker under them tight ass jeans she was always rocking, cleavage on display like two medium melons in a super market. Lou was thick as fuck in all the right places, and had I met her five years ago, I definitely would’ve had them legs in the air by now.

“Yo wife know you still need help gettin dressed at work?” She rolled her eyes, walking into the dressing room like she didn’t wanna help when we both knew damn well she did. “Big as you are, I gotta help you pull your arms through this jacket every night.” She smacked her lips, grabbing my jacket off the back of my chair.

I slipped one arm in, standing still as she stepped sideways to meet my other arm before I stretched it out. Pretty little brown thing, but she never discussed her private life. I hoped somebody was treating her right. She was too sweet and too pretty to accept anything less.

“You know my wife don’t know about this.” I said, sliding my arm into the sleeve, standing from the slight stooping position necessary for Lou to get the jacket up on my shoulders. “You’re my wife while I’m here, minus the lap dances, and sex, and sandwiches and shit.”

She laughed, smiling as she stood behind me, watching me straighten myself in the mirror. “You fix sandwiches after sex, Meat?”

“Hell yeah.” I grinned. “When it’s good, you should be hungry and thirsty as hell afterward. You ain’t never had it that good, Lou?”

She smirked and rolled her eyes. I could smell the pheromones rising from her body. Lou’s panties were definitely getting damp.

“That ain’t none of your business.” She propped her hand on her hip, so damn pretty with all that attitude. I needed to get my ass from out of there with Lou.

“You right.” I tipped my head up. “But just so you know, if you ain’t starvin or thirsty afterward, he ain’t the one.”

I winked and she must’ve been using all her powers to stop herself from blushing. “Whatever.” She backed away and headed toward the door. “You got two minutes to get your ass out here. Hurry up.”

~

Twenty-five steps from the dressing room to the stage—twenty-eight, counting the short set of stairs that led up to the raised platform. I could feel the vibration of the music under my boots and inside my chest, drowning out the nervous energy that found me in the silence.

“Y’all know what time it is ladies!” DJ Deja shouted over the fast-paced pop record she was spinning. “Draped in leather, he’s a thick, fine fella. Sittin on red, way betta than a yella. The only thing on ya plate Daddy don’t want you to eat. Bring them dollas to the stage, and come get this MEEEEEEEAAAAT!”

I could hear my name being screamed out over the music. Deja, dragged out the e in meat for exactly five seconds every time, and it used to make me uncomfortable but now it was just another part of the show. She turned her head to the side and nodded with a smile on her face as I approached the first step, prepared to fade from the intro into my music as soon as my matte, black Timbs hit the third step. I bounced my shoulders, hyping myself to go up there and do my thing, tingling like a virgin goin in for the first time. I embraced the adrenaline, walking into it like the open door to a familiar room. Wrapped up in the thrill of hearing that many women screaming my name at once, made it easy to step onto that platform and gyrate like my life depended on it.

“Oooh yeah, baby.” A middle aged, brown skinned sister purred at me from the left of the stage. She wore wavy black curls and a set of eyelashes that could probably clear rain from a windshield if necessary. And I only noticed this because I attempted to make eye contact for a minimum of three seconds with as many women as possible. It made em feel connected and maximized the potential of tips. Shit worked like magic. Before I even started thrusting, I had money falling at my feet.

I tugged at the sides of my jacket, slowly pulling it open as Deja brought in the slow tempo, highly sexualized Trading Places by Usher. Swiping my tongue across my lips, I let one sleeve fall off, bringing about a series of screams and a few questionable whistles, as I neared the front of the stage. My heartbeat quickened, in sync with the music, awakening things inside me necessary to go from modest Nicholas to freak nasty Meat. I stomped out to the right, then even harder out to the left, dropping the jacket off my other arm and watching it fall to the floor. I slid my fingers down my chest, teasing the shit out of an eager crowd regular by thrusting my groin toward her face. I ripped at my shirt, careful not to destroy it too fast or too slow. A peep at my pecks drove the ten or so ladies closest to the stage insane. Dollars came flying at me like rain in April. They screamed with excitement as I began to rip the shirt open wider, moving my hips and leaning back, giving em a full view of what was tucked in my pants. The hardest thing about this shit was trying not to give into a full-on erection. The first time I performed, I had to rush home and fuck Shannon’s brains out to release. She was too busy screaming to question it. Just assumed I’d been out drinking with Slim and his pops and had whisky dick.

The rip that started at the top of my t-shirt had spread all the way down just below my navel. My abs were exposed, defined and damp with sweat, leaving just enough of the V below my waist exposed to peak the ladies’ curiosity.

“Take it off!” A party of five yelled from the right corner of the stage, waving handfuls of money, enticing me in their direction. I smiled, displaying that top notch oral hygiene my parents always told me would pay off in the long room. I’m sure my Pops didn’t have this scenario in mind, me standing up here grabbing my dick and walking toward a crowd of horny women who probably fantasied about me bending them over and fucking them to sleep every night. But he was right. I’d say my pearly whites accounted for just as much cash flow as my abs did.

I knelt down in front of the five money flashers, leaning in so close I could smell the Amaretto sours on their breath. “Can I touch it?” A petite little cutie wearing a sparkling gold halter dress whispered against my ear. She must’ve figured out or heard about the reason behind my name. I’d be lying if I said the shit wasn’t awkward, having random women grab your dick on any given night. But that’s kind of how male strip clubs worked. There was a lot more groping than one might assume. Just kinda came with the territory.

I grabbed a hand, not speaking a word. They only got to hear my voice during the one on one performance when I pulled the thickest woman I could spot on stage and handled her like she was weightless. Lil Miss Golden Halter trembled at my touch, waiting with her teeth scraping her bottom lip, looking straight up into my eyes, lowering them only to witness what her hand was feeling as I trailed it down my stomach, over my navel, and down to the semi-hard length throbbing between my legs.

Her mouth and eyes widened when I encouraged her to grip it. “This shit is real?” She mouthed. To which I nodded yes. If I’d seen one reaction I’d seen them all. It was a shame the things women did when they were granted permission.

After being voluntarily fondled by a few more hands, Deja scratched the record, cueing the end of the first half of my stage time. When Usher told em we were gonna do things a little different tonight, that shit never failed to get the floor covered in money. And it was a damn hard act to follow with all the action involved—unless I was being followed by Slim’s nasty ass.

I panned the audience in search of a sister who probably came in assuming she would surpass the weight limit being pulled up on stage, lifted up off the ground, and pounded against like a sex kitten while her friends watched with their mouths wide open. It was my responsibility as a gentleman and lover of everything God created, be it large or small, to make that girl feel just as beautiful and perfectly proportioned as any other “standard” sized chick in the building—whatever the hell that was. But being a certain size wasn’t enough. I couldn’t assume that just because a woman was larger that her self-esteem wasn’t intact, or that she even wanted to be pulled up on stage and treated like a subject or a toy. There had to be a certain look in her eyes, a slight hesitance if you will. That look could be displayed by any woman, big, small, or medium, and it was a dead giveaway to underlying issues, and most guys used that shit to take advantage. Hell, I’ve been guilty of it myself. But that’s another story, one I’m not at all proud to tell.

It didn’t take long to spot my Trading Places Partner for the night. She was standing in a typical spot, not too close to the stage but not too far away, straight down the center where she stood out without even knowing. She wore a flowy blue blouse with minimal cleavage, and a pair of dark denim jeans to try and blend whatever imperfections she thought she was carrying. Her face was beautiful, smooth brown skin and chestnut eyes, hair braided and twisted to the side, with more on the right than the left. Had I passed her on the street, I probably wouldn’t have noticed her, and not because she wasn’t attractive, but because she would’ve spotted me first and looked down at her feet to avoid eye contact. Most women have no idea how sexy it is to look a man straight in the eye and simply smile. That confidence and acknowledgement could be the one thing that turns a brother’s day from sour to sweet. Almost doesn’t matter who it’s coming from.

I drag-stomped out to the center front of the stage, locking my eyes on this voluptuous beauty the whole time. The closer I got, the more nervous she appeared, and when I finally extended my pointer finger to summon her, she turned and looked over her shoulder to see if I was talking to somebody behind her.

“You.” I mouthed when she turned back to face me, and her smile widened a little more, plumping up a set of beautiful, high cheekbones.

Every lady in front of her turned around, jealous and excited at the same time as they parted to let her through. Her friends cheered her on, ignoring her hesitance and pushing her forward, ready as hell to live this experience vicariously through her. I made my way to the right side of the stage and knelt down on one knee with my hand extended to help her up the steps. And it didn’t take long for her to put some pep in her step when I ran my tongue across my teeth and flashed that bedroom smile.

Deja had been spinning the smooth ass cadence of the instrumental, since it sometimes took a little over half a minute to convince certain ladies to participate. Most of em were eager as hell to get up there and be hoisted, humped, or to simply have my head between their legs pretending to taste em.  But who wants a quick pursuit? Even an exotic dancer enjoys the thrill of the chase.

In perfect sync with Usher humming out how she was gonna come through and pick him up in her ride, my hand connected with the beauty's, and I lead her up the three steps. She was trembling, probably more nervous than she’d ever been. And that was understandable. I was a stranger getting ready to do nasty shit to her body. And speaking of her body, the woman was so well-proportioned it was a damn shame she was so stingy with it.

“What’s your name?” I whispered against her ear under the loud music, just close enough to get a whiff of her soft perfume, but not so close that it felt intrusive.

“Leandria.” She giggled. The woman even sounded sexy. Like if I called T-Mobile to pay my bill and she answered, I’d probably make up some other shit just to hear her speak a little longer.

“Well, Leandria.” I damn near sang her name. She shuttered in response to the vibration of my words so close to her skin. “I’m bout to do some things to you. Some nasty shit that you probably shouldn’t tell your man about. I’m assuming by the look in your eyes you’re okay with it, but a gentleman always asks for permission. So, Leandria,” I whispered her name again like it was my favorite entre on the menu. Her eyes went from side to side, trying to focus on anything but my face, chest, or shoulders since they were all pulling her out of her element and encouraging her to release whatever inhibitions she was holding onto. “Look at me.” I demanded, speaking softly, using the tip of my finger against the dimple in her chin to bring those pretty, brown eyes back to mine. “Are you ready?” I asked, to which she nodded her head yes.

“Oh, you can answer me better than that.” I teased her, smiling, running my pointer finger across her bottom lip. “Tell me you’re ready. I need to hear you say it.”

“I’m ready.” She whispered, so sweet and angelic.

That shit wasn’t gonna fly up here on this stage.

“I still can’t hear you.” I said, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her body in against mine. “I need you to scream that shit, Leandria. So everybody in this mother fucker knows you’re ready for me.”

She bit down on her lip, following my lead as I swayed my hips side to side to the beat, gripping hers and swinging them too, to the looping instrumental with her wrapped up against me. “I’ma press my fingers against the small of your back like this.” I whispered in her ear, pushing my fingers firmly against her skin one by one. “On the third press, I need you to scream out you’re ready. Can you do that?”

“I can.” She smiled, not giggling like she did the first time.

I pressed my digits against the small of her back.

One, two, three.

And before I could brace myself or turn my head in the right direction, she screamed, “I’m readaaaay!” and all the ladies went wild screaming along with her.

Deja ended the loop, fading into the verse, and according to Usher, Leandria was gonna knock, then she was gonna wait, then she was gonna take me on a date. Her eyes fell closed and her arms went limp; that Is before I released my arm from around her waist and pulled both her hands to my chest, allowing her to touch me, and feel me, and become comfortable with this close proximity. Before long, her eyes were open again, staring into mine the way they were supposed to. Her breathing had evened out, still racing enough to show that the she was extremely excited, but just slow enough to tell me she was comfortable with whatever was about to take place.

With her hands planted against my chest, soft and smooth, freshly manicured and painted blue nails, navigating the front of me all the way down to my abs then back up, finally draping over my shoulders and resting there, I pulled her in again, so close that her breasts were pressing against my chest. Her breathing intensified. She was completely turned on. This was probably turning out to be more than she anticipated. I slightly bent at the knee, gauging how much power I’d need to pull off my next move. Leandria was thick, that was for certain, but she wasn’t even a close second to the largest woman I’d ever pulled up on stage. She looked down at me with suspense in her eyes, probably wondering what the hell I was doing in that position. Then before she could get nervous enough to try and back away, I straightened my back a little, leaned forward over her shoulder, then reached both arms down and roped them around her thighs.

“Aahh!” She squealed as I picked her up off her feet and directed her legs around my waist, holding her up off the ground like it was all in a days’ work. Most men think that all a woman wants is flowers, candy, and purses and shit. But it is my experience that all a woman really wants is to feel weightless.

I didn’t have to instruct Leandria to look into my eyes, or smile, or scream, or pull her thighs tighter around me while I had her up there. She was doing all this shit on her own and loving every minute of it. The longer I kept her on me, slamming myself against her to the slow tempo, the more it drove the crowd wild, leaving them no choice but to send bills flying on the stage and nearly covering the floor.

Quite naturally, a song can only last so long, and though I could’ve kept Leandria hoisted for much longer than the duration of a four-minute song, cause I’m just a beast like that, I had to make way for the next gent to get his ends. So, slowly and gently, I lowered her back on her feet, running my fingers through her hair while Usher prepared to go into a series of orgasmic screams. The perfect ending lied in the black leather chair that conveniently appeared out of nowhere from back stage through he works of a quick footed assistant, in the perfect spot for me to sit in. I grabbed ahold of Leandria’s hand and walked over to the chair, taking a seat and yanking her ass down onto my lap. She showed no resistance as I grabbed her by the waist, spreading my legs and forcing her to grind her behind against me. It was harder than I expected to stave off a full erection. The harder she grinded, the more my groin tightened until I was sitting there squirming with damn near a full hard on. And it was evident that she could feel it, pushing harder against me, not really needing me to guide her ass at all. I lifted up against her, allowing her to literally ride out the last few chords of the song. Then I tugged at her braids, pulling her back against my chest, singing those final words in her ear about me being her and her being me, and last but not least, me putting it on her ass when we switched things back, sending her right back into those giggles as the back of her head collapsed against my shoulder and the lights dimmed until we were surrounded by darkness.

 

To be continued

 

 

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