Meet Josette

I try to be good boy. I really do.

Here's an example: Years ago, I was working with a singer named Takira. You've never heard of her because she never really made it. She mostly sang sex oriented dance tunes. Not the best singer I've ever worked with, but very sexy.

She was tall, thin, and black with small breasts and a perfect ass. And long, black hair (a weave, but still fantastic hair) and a face that was both innocent and seductive at the same time. She could look like the girl next door one minute, and a temptress the next. Her look went with her overall concept, which was sort of a naughty angel thing. (After I started writing this and remembering her, I pulled out some old tapes and it's actually pretty cool stuff!)

Anyway, sometimes we would be alone during night sessions. One such night, after we finished working, I walk her out to her car and she keeps bumping into me. Just kind of brushing against me as we walk. We get to her car, she unlocks it, but makes no movement towards opening the door or getting in. So we keep talking. It's dark, but with enough light from both the moon and street lights that her face has a certain glow. She's dark skinned and the lighting gives her face an incredibly warm look, especially against the sleeveless white top she was wearing. Her eyes are so white in this light. Her lips so red. Her skin so smooth looking. And warm.

As we talk, she keeps touching me with her hands. If I say something thoughtful, she puts her hand softly on my arm as she says, "Awww." If I say something funny, she grabs my arms tightly with both hands as she laughs and says, "No way!" I don't think Takira has a lot of trouble getting guys.

Now, I'm married, as you know. And I make a general policy of never mixing business with pleasure. Like I said, I do try to be a good boy. And contrary to what my blog may suggest, I usually am a good boy (pause for laughter, but I'm serious!)

But this is too much for me. She's so damn sexy. The mood and lighting are right out of a movie. And she keeps touching me! Damn, the way she touches me! And she's even wearing one of those cheap perfumes that my wife hates, but I absolutely love.

From the signs she's been giving me, I don't really need to say what I'm about to say, but I do anyway. I have a serious look on my face. "Takira, I've been wondering something."

She has a look of concern and puts her hand on my arm as she asks, "What?"

Keeping my thoughtful look, I say, "I've been wondering if I should kiss you." I smile, giving away the little setup.

She responds with a sarcastic, "Well d-uhhhh!" And she stands right there, looking up at me. That look of her knowing I'm going to kiss her and not having to hide the fact that that's exactly what she wants. There's something about that look that I wish I could bottle. That "yes, let's kiss for the very first time" look.

I put my hands on her arms as I kiss her. There's nothing soft and slow about this one. We're immediately hard against each others lips. My arms quickly go all the way around her, pulling her tight against me. Her arms are around me and her hands start kneading my back. Her lips are so soft. We're already trading tongues.

I move one hand to her waist, sliding it up. I slip my hand under her top and around to her back. So I can feel her smooth skin. My hand makes its way up so I can feel her bra strap. I love feeling bra straps under a woman's top. It feels like I'm in forbidden territory. Except it's not forbidden. Not for me. Takira is giving me a pass to have my hand under her top. And a pass to kiss her beautiful lips. And a pass to put my tongue into her mouth. And a pass to take her tongue in mine. A pass no one else has. Except me.

We keep kissing as my hand slides to her side. Down to her waist. And then up. But to the front this time. All the way up to the front of her bra. This is a bra with some sort of padding to it (Wonder Bra?) I love feeling a woman's breasts through her bra, but this won't do, so I immediately slide her bra up and off her breasts. She makes no effort to stop me. I have a pass.

Takira is small breasted and I love it. When it comes to breasts, the only preference I have is that they be real. I love how her breast feels in my hand. I squeeze. I position my hand so that as I squeeze, her nipple is between the bases of my middle and ring fingers. So as I squeeze, there's a slight pinch to her nipple. I slide my hand down a bit and pull her nipple between my fingers. And back up, so I can squeeze her again.

We kiss for about 20 minutes. My hands sometimes on her breasts. Sometimes on her butt. I'd love to be able to say that we ended up fucking on the hood of her car. But the truth is, that was about it. Second base is how we'd score this one back in the day.

Maybe I could have taken it further, but that's not what this was all about. The real rush was just the fact that we both kissed and let each other know we were into each other. For me, that's even better than sex. I like the mental more than the physical.

Or maybe I'm just justifying why I didn't get any further.

Either way, it was really nice. We had another recording session scheduled for the next night. This time, after we called it a night (the work part of the night,) and I walked her to her car, we got in and immediately started making out. And . . . other stuff happened. Back in the old neighborhood, this particular evening's encounter would have been scored as third base. It felt great.

Now, I can hear you already, "What the fuck, Riff Dog? This is an example of you trying to be a good boy?!?!?"

Yeah, yeah, I know. Patience, dear reader, patience. Just let me finish, all right?

Anyway, the next time I knew we were going to be alone together during a late night session, I figured I needed to have more self control. I was feeling a little guilty. I wanted to be faithful. Yes, really!

But I also knew that fundamentally, like all men, I'm a dog. And Takira is hot as hell. And we would be alone again. Mix that triple combination of dog, hot singer, and opportunity all together and you've got a no win situation! So it's going to be really difficult for me to control myself. But I decide somehow I must! So what can I do?

Well, you fellas know what I did. Yep. I jerked off before seeing her. Twice. That should do the trick!

Well, I won't go into detail about what happened that night. But let's just say that the "Jerk-Off for Self-Restraint Assistance" method proved to be completely ineffective. I guess too much time may have passed between the last stroke and when I actually needed the restraint assistance. Maybe they should print a warning label letting us know how long each "dose" is good for.

But you get the point, right, dear reader? See? I tried! I really did! The jerking off (twice, no less) proves it! I do want to be a good boy, but it's just not in my programming.

Okay. Now, I realize some of you are getting a little impatient and are wondering when we're gonna get to the damn strip club! Yeah, I admit it seems like I got a little sidetracked. But, here's why I like my Takira story: Before she got her record deal, she used to be a stripper! How's that for an interesting coincidence!

She's not the stripper I've been promising, of course, but she does illustrate my point that I try to be good. Yes, I fail, but I try! You do believe I try, don't you, dear reader?

So since I now understand that despite my very best efforts, I'm still just an incurable dog, I decide to find a way to contain my dogly ways so they do the least damage to both my career and to those around me.

You see, as much as I liked Takira, it wasn't something that could last. I'm married, after all. But Takira didn't see it that way, so when it came time for things to end, she was pretty upset and I felt really bad. Strange as it may sound, even though a woman (or man, for that matter) knows perfectly well that you're married, it doesn't mean she won't take the relationship more seriously than she should.

So eventually I figured I needed a different outlet for my dogly tendencies besides singers or sales girls at stores. Or my wife's friends. (Nah, that's just a joke! I've never messed around with my wife's friends! At least not her really close ones.)

I need a different outlet. A safer outlet where we're all on the same page. The answer? Strip clubs! Talk about girls who know the deal! The perfect solution! See? Riff Dog tries to do the right thing! Can sainthood be far off?

Okay, this is already too long of a post and I realize that once again, I've gotten off on a bunch of tangents that have kept us from getting to the strip club today. My apologies, but I really have no self discipline as a writer. I guess that's why I never became one.

But Wednesday! For sure bring your ID's on Wednesday, because Riff Dog's buying lap dances for everybody!

And we'll finally meet Josette . . .