Date: Tue, 7 Oct 1997 04:37:28 -0600 (MDT)
Message-ID: <61d3cl$550@nyx.nyx.net>
NNTP-Posting-Host: nyx.nyx.net
From: anon5192@nyx.net (Bob Smyth)
Summary: c'est la vie!
Newsgroups: alt.sex.strip-clubs
Subject: ASSC: Bob almost drives a Porsche!
Organization: Smyth for President Re-Erection Committee
Keywords: me Tarzan, you Jane


Dear Racing Fans,

My car is slowly being transformed into a mechanic's special.

It's leaking motor oil all over my garage floor.

It's got more miles on it than Ca**ie (116,956 to be exact).

The head gasket has been breached which allows exhaust into
the cooling system which forces the temperature gauge into the
red zone once or twice a week.

About the only electrical life in the car are two headlights,
one window and the left turn signal.

Any normal Silicon Valley Engineerd would take the car into
a mechanic and catch a shuttle ride to work.

Since I'm not all that normal I decided to fuel up the beater,
ditch work, and drive to Mitchell Brothers.

My goal: To drive a Porsche!

I'd never drive a Mercedes.  

Those cars are for octagenarians, real estate agents, and orientals
who possess some kind of Star Trek device which can materialize a
parking spot.

I arrived at 14:04 on a Monday.  

While scanning the roster for Porsche, I noticed the movies.

One was: "Deep Inside Some Porn Starlet" (I forget her name)
Another was: "Amsterdamn something or other"

If I were Bubba I'd walk around with a clip board so I could
take notes during my strip club experiences.

But I doubt I'd ever be able to match his attention to detail
or his ruggedly handsome good looks.

Back to the action ...

The place was the busiest I'd seen it on a Monday day shift.

I'm not sure why.  Most of the guys in there looked like they
have mortgage payments to make.  

Maybe they read ass-c and now know that MBT day shift is the
best deal in town.

I would have asked why they were not at work but I try to pretend that
the guys in there are invisible and I'm the only boy in there with a
whole day shift of bikini clad (and un clad) women around me.

Hell of a nice fantasy.

I hung around the movie room hoping that Porsche would notice me.

On previous visits she has noticed me and now during my trips
to Mitchell Brothers I actually seek her out.

Both Little Bob and I have unanimously crowned her Lapdance Queen of
the Mitchell Brothers' Movie room.

Maybe I should go to Toys-R-Us and buy her a tiara.

I would have posted about her earlier but the people at work want me
to simulate interest in whatever it is they do over there, so I've
been kind of busy.

How would I describe her?

Well the first word that comes to mind is chocolate.

She has beautiful chocolate colored skin which makes my mouth water.

It has this incredible shine to it in the movie room.

Why does her skin shine so fine?

I think because it is so smooth.  In a lifetime of tactile experiences
her skin has been the smoothest female skin I have ever had a chance
to brush my lips against.

Underneath that skin are some perfectly toned muscles.  She is one of
the best combinations of soft skin and hard muscle that I've
ever encountered.

Little Bob says, "Ya!".

Then to complete this woman, her creator gave her a disposition which
plasters a smile on my face faster than you can say "$10??".

She is so sweet she reminds me of candy flavored lube.

Well, how did my visit go?

Damn good!

Amanda tore herself from the big spenders in NY live and took pity
on both Bobs in the Movie room.  She is the only MBT dancer I've
known a long time (about a year) who consistently pleases me.

She got me worked up into a state of sexual fever which can only
be described as "hot and hard".  I was so primal I wanted to growl.

Usually, however, when it comes to lapdance growls, I try and let
the girl growl first.

I'd hate for her to think I'm a guy who growls to quick.

I'd only been there a few minutes so I declined further dances from
her; besides the woman was turning me into Tarzan.

I went on a quest for Porsche.  I couldn't find her.

Then my 5lb alpha-numeric pager started beeping at me.

I walked to my car (which was bleeding bright green anti-freeze)
and grabbed my lap-top.

I fired up my ricochet over at Bread & Butter, 
smoothed a few feathers at work with 3 shell scripts 
an e-mail, a call to a manager who can only mutter;
then, dropped 2 quarters in the meter next to the beater 
and walked back into the theater.

Next, I caught the eye of MBT French Teacher, Tori.  I am totally
infatuated with this woman.  In addition, she does know French.

At least I think she does.  I gave her an oral exam last week where
I had her give me the french name of various body parts.

She convinced me that big breasts are named "Robert" (pronounced
row-bear).

She definitely has the accent down.

After a quiet meating of the minds in the back row of the movie
room between my lust filled brain and her French body parts,
I ...
uh ...
words can't describe the sensations.

Maybe French words could; I need to find out.

Well...
I did eventually did find Porsche that Monday.

She was horsing around with China in the hallway.

I gave her a hug and gave her the sad news that I lacked enough
fuel for a Porsche, but I'd be back.

In the mean time, you will find more car stories here:

http://www.nyx.net/~anon5192

-Bob "autobahn" Smyth