A familiar ass.

Full disclosure: I'm not even comfy yet. Hell, the leather still feels cold even through my jeans, and I haven't reached for a single bill yet. But it just fell into place. I have to do it. I'd be an idiot not to.

As I was eying the girls not chatting up one of the guys looking for someone I'd like, one of the busy girls bends over and obstructs my view with her ass. And what an ass it is! I challenge any of you to find a more perfectly round and perfectly symmetrical ass. Now in all honesty, I'm not an ass girl. I like 'em, don't get me wrong, but it's never been a factor in how I choose my dates. The reason this one sticks out to me is the three birthmarks on her right cheek. Should I draw straight lines connecting them, I'm almost certain I'd have drawn a golden triangle. I know that probably means nothing if you're not a math nerd, and honestly it doesn't matter. What does matter is the probability of finding two people with the exact same marks on the exact same part of their body is astronomical. So this has to be Amy's ass.

Still no last names, creeps!

Anyway, this may come as a surprise to you, but back in high school I used to love peeking at the other girls in the locker room. Undressing and open showers? Even the ice-cold water couldn't kill my heat! But like I said, the butt doesn't do it for me, and that butt was Amy's only extraordinary feature. Don't get me wrong, though: I peeked at Amy. I'm just saying my crush on her had nothing to do with her body. Well, almost nothing. I did like her deep green eyes, and I thought her face was beautiful. But all that means is something nice to look at. Honestly, I'd sooner count her brown hair that flowed down to the small of her back as more of a physical attraction than those, just because it means something to pull on during sex, and that's not even a real consideration for me. But like I said, not physical.

I liked Amy for her. Smart, well-read, and plenty of shared interests. I could bore you with the details of my non-sexual pursuits, but honestly, would you keep reading? I'll just sum it up like that, and point out Amy and I were great friends. Just friends. That's the best I could ever hope for. Amy was straight as an arrow. The worst part is she didn't even spend the night at my place or attend some of the other girls' sleepovers, so I never got the chance to justify some actions as "experimenting" or see her in her nightwear. It was probably the biggest letdown of my life before I learned what steroids did to a jock's dick. Those steroids did make for some bitchin boobs, though. I could have motor boated them for days.

Okay, getting off-topic. Amy. In my house. As a hooker. Yep. Still doesn't make sense. While not a prude, promiscuity and compensated dating weren't exactly her idea of fun. So why was she even here?

Wait. I'm getting ahead of myself. All I've seen is her ass. Sure, it seems illogical that someone else would share her butt down to the birthmarks and be a brunette, but it's no more illogical than Amy being a whore or me not having felony convictions (which I don't!). And since she just got shot down, no one has staked a claim on that ass yet.

With a nice, large bill in hand, I snake a hand into the band of her red lace G-string, being sure to let my finger graze her cheek as I pull back. The good tip, bad touch combo is the best way to get a girl's attention. And in this case, the best way to put a grin on my face. Those same eyes, now filled with shame. That same button nose that flares when she's nervous. It's Amy all right. But not my Amy. My Amy could have been run over with a steamroller and her chest wouldn't have been any flatter. This Amy was rocking a pair of knockers that could make a cow jealous. What I'd give to see them without the matching bra. Good thing she'll only want money. Just as soon as she unfreezes.

"I'd like a lap dance," I say to her. "And what's your name?"

"K-Kandi," she stammers out.

This worked out a lot better in my head. Guess Amy's not comfortable with friends and family seeing her as Kandi. Ooh! That means I'm the first! This'll be fu-un!

Or at least it will be after I get her to drop the pretense. Poor Amy...Kandi has no idea what to do since I'm not popping a boner for her to grind against. She can't figure out this could be a regular striptease either. And I can't even enjoy her legs wrapped around me because my pants are still on. Guess the good news is that means I won't miss it now that she's sliding down to the floor between my legs. But I still don't have a dick, Kandi! There's nothing to be enticed by your breasts unless you squish them into me. Fuck! This is why people say strippers aren't dancers!

Normally, I'd let this go longer. Y'know, let 'em do something to prove they're worth it and make it easy to argue entrapment. However, for Amy, being a hooker in my house was proof enough. And I can't take this shit any longer.

I tap Kandi on the head. "How about we finish this upstairs?"

"S-Sure," she said.

God! She still blushes in her ears! I forgot how adorable that was! I hope no one heard me squeal.

I grab her hand and yank her out of the room. She probably still knows the way to my room, but I'm more interested in making sure she doesn't run. I'm getting these answers, damn it! I have to know why Amy is a hooker named Kandi with stripper tits! And if I can get laid with my old crush!

Ooh! Would one interfere with the other? Shit!