Fuck it. Crash the party.

Of course, Dad could be paranoid for no reason. Maybe his friends and I are a good match. And maybe I could save them the cash they were going to blow on a hooker. Or take it myself...probably a bad idea. He'll need to see them again. Well...I can definitely have fun with them. But first I should put my pants back on. And make sure I got hooker money. I think everyone not on CHYOA would be happier if I did those first. Or at least Dad and the hookers will.

Rather than talk about me getting dressed and making a run to my super secret stash (since you won't enjoy hearing I got dressed and there's no fucking way I'm verbalizing the single most perfect hiding spot in existence), I'll address the fact that I said "hooker" three times in that last paragraph and "stripper" zero. C'mon, let's keep it real. They walked in the front door already in skimpy clothes without overcoats and didn't bring a bouncer. That's not stripper behavior, that's hooker behavior. Knowing my Dad, I'm inclined to say he knows nothing. I can't get too vivid, but the first time I brought a hooker in the house was also the only time he ever spanked me. Anyway, in all probability these girls billed themselves as legitimate strippers, but I guarantee you any dancing is going to suck and the stripping won't look like part of the number. Eh, maybe the lap dances will be okay. Grinding's part of sex sometimes. I'm really not sure about the show though. The few times I've hired such women, I never let the pretense go long enough to get a lap dance.

With that out of the way, I join the party now fully dressed in my concert gear again. Hey, I'm not donning fresh clothes to appease a bunch of drunk men and cheap whores! Besides, they were expecting men, so I should at least dress like a man: pants, T-shirt, and no bra. Okay, a couple of these guys may need a bra. But they're not fat. Just old. And they're not even the majority. Most of the guys look to be about mid-30s to early-40s, and one or two aren't much older than me - those guys might just be gofers.

My attention, however, is primarily on the girls dancing where the coffee table used to be. If I had a dick in me for every bouncing pair of tits, I'd probably bite down to protest the high-five over my head. Don't get me wrong, I love fake tits...usually, but jugs that size are supposed to jiggle, and there comes a size where standing still makes them a turn-off. Thankfully, only one set is that size, and they are definitely real. Sadly, they're probably not mine today. Someone I can only assume is the man of the hour has already chosen her for his lap dance, so she's going to milk him for a while. Shame too. I just loving sucking on dark nipples. Eh, maybe he'll run out of money before sex is put on the table.

Doesn't matter though. There's plenty more to do. Thankfully, Dad didn't see me return, so I casually plop on the couch and try to blend in. If you're wondering why I haven't described my couch-mates, did I mention there's boobies out? Of course, I'm not just going to sit here criticizing their performances (a **** I'll spare you). I'll make a move eventually. Just as soon as I find my target. Or a target finds me.