Enter the Mad Stripper!
Well, as it is on topic and is a somewhat bizarre story, I'll tell you about how I met the Mad Stripper.

Yes, it was through match.com about two years ago. I had put up my profile again after the Travel Agent moved out, and was trawling the waters to see what sort of nibbles I might get. What the hell, said I to myself- I had had good luck in the past with it, after all.

One of the women who contacted me was a dental hygienist who ran her own school to train dental hygienists, the divorced wife of a local (and quite successful) dentist. Her emails were nice, and when we exchanged phone numbers she sounded quite pleasant- very cheerful and bouncy, talking almost nonstop as though she had just had four shots of espresso, and rather funny. So I did what one does in those circumstances and suggested getting together for coffee.

"Coffee? Well, I guess... but I'd really rather have a drink."

Hmmmm, we got a live one here, I thought. "Sure, I'm good with that. Where would you like to meet?"

"Well, could you come and pick me up at my house?"

A bit unusual, but what the hell... "Sure. When would you like me there?"

"Just come on over." And she gives me directions to her house.

So I drove over there and found her to be in a rather large house in a new subdivision. I ring the doorbell and am greeted by a six foot woman with very long frizzy black hair, deep brown eyes and a lighthouse smile. She gave me a hug- actually, quite nice as she was wearing a tank shirt and snug shorts- and followed me to my car. She suggested a Mexican restaurant not far away and I agreed.

We had gone maybe five minutes down the road before she started telling me about how she had had a bikini wax that afternoon, and went into detail. Lots of detail.

We got to the restaurant and she ordered food and tequila. Okay, I thought, she's not driving, she's hungry, and at least she's eating while she's drinking. I got food and a beer and sat back to listen. The conversation went from dental hygienist training to her former career as a stripper, and as the tequila vanished the details came out faster. She told me all about what it was like, and how one of the most erotic experiences she ever had was when she went to another club and a young blonde gave her a lap dance and kissed her.

By now I was really trying very hard not to either laugh or scream, but I could tell it was only a matter of time. After several more rounds and a lot of animated talk, we paid the bill and I drove her home. She asked me in and I went along, mainly out of a sort of horrid fascination to see what was coming next. She poured us another couple of drinks, and the conversation again turned to stripping and how she had gotten implants to make her boobs match the rest of her proportions.

"Implants?" I repeated, a bit taken aback.

"Yeah, take a look!" And the shirt was pulled up. They popped out, unhindered by a bra. "See, they don't feel quite right, though." And she took my hands and put them on her boobs and pressed them firmly into her.

"Umm... yeah, I guess you're right..." I gasped somewhat weakly. By now my mind was thoroughly blown and my head was spinning. I finally made my excuses- I was far too flipped out by her to shag, and besides she was pretty well drunk- and stood to go. But as we stood by the door I gave in to an impulse and gave her a long, powerful kiss as I leaned back with my arms around her, lifting her slightly off the floor. (A great trick- it takes their breath away and makes them feel light, and makes it very intense.) As expected, she got extremely aroused and responded rather urgently- but I broke away and headed home before anything further could happen.

As I drove home I tried to sort out the evening, got the giggles, then gave in and screamed a few times and went belming down the road. Okay, I thought, that was the most surreal first date I've ever had. Must have been a one-off, though- she must have had a couple before I got there. I can't imagine that this is something that would happen again...

I was wrong.

I won't go into details, but suffice it to say that when she had a couple of drinks in her she became quite the handful. We went out a few times more, and on one date she had enough vodka and cranberry to be weaving a bit, and was not playing pool very well by then. She was wearing a lace shirt with a red bra- the only time I've seen her wearing one- and said something joking to a couple of guys at the bar. They laughed and joked back with her, and she leaned in and said something else- and suddenly they scattered from her as though she had turned into Beelzebub. I still don't know what she said, but it was about as close as that black dude will ever come to being white...

That was when I swore off dating.

EDIT: the end of the story, or close to it, can be found here. There have actually been a few more encounters with her since, but nothing as... noteworthy.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Mon 17 Sep 2007, 21:43, Reply)