Paul the Pleaser

You may remember a delightful old man from one of my stories a while back who said:

Him: I’m an ass man. Do a little twirl for me.

I did the twirl.

Him: You’re a solid 9, but that ass is a 10.

He’d put me off the last time, after giving me a number of backhanded compliments while groping my bottom. This time I was the first girl he saw and he zeroed in on me, except that he didn’t recognize me from the last time. He’s a short, squinty eyed elderly man with gray hair, bushy eyebrows, whose body shook with what was likely Parkinson’s. This time, I learned from my mistakes and kept my distance. I reintroduced myself.

Me: Hi, what’s your name?

Him: Pat the—

I could hardly hear his near mumble of a voice over the booming sound system.

Me: Come again?

Him: The call me “Pat the Pleaser.”

Of course they do.

Him: Selena, can you turn around for me, sweetie?

I did the obligatory turn for the crypt keeper.

Him: You’re a 10, sweetheart. You know, I’m an ass man, and that ass is a solid 10.

So I guess I’d somehow upgraded, or perhaps his mood had improved since our last interaction. I wasn’t about to remind him of it. They say you can’t make a second first impression, but I would argue that so many men are utterly unaware you can entirely make that second first impression.

Him: You look like what’s her face’s sister. I can’t remember her name right now. She works during the day— Kiara!

Kiara is another mixed girl who looks nothing like me, but that was beside the point.

Me: Kiara is super cute.

Him: She is, isn’t she. So, you have any kids? Are you married?

I snorted.

Me: Nope and nope. What about you?

Him: Me? Oh, I never married. Couldn’t find anyone who loved me enough, I guess.

Me: Guess it was for the best. Anyway, you wanna go dance?

Him: Where do you wanna go?

The real answer was complicated. I wanted to have him spend a lot of money on me, but I really did not want to get roped into a very long dance with this old man with the nickname “Pat the Pleaser.” I decide upon a longer short dance.

Me: Let’s go for a Skybox.

Him: Are you gonna let me eat your pussy?

I laughed.

Me: Maybe...

Him: That means “no,” I already can tell.

Me: C’mon, we’ll have plenty of fun together.

I was letting him nowhere near my pussy, but his response did show me that he understood at least a very baseline level of consent. Of course, I didn’t think he would abide by it. I’m sure, if he were younger he would easily use his strength to push my boundaries, but he’s a frail old man whose blinks last seconds. He reached for a zipper pocket in his cargo shorts and pulled out his cards to pay for the dance.

Him: I started using the zipper pocket after I got robbed in Thailand.

It took what felt like an hour, but I allowed him to handle it on his own to preserve his meager pride. He shut his eyes to make a decision and it almost looked like he’d fallen asleep. He payed, and tipped me $200 off the bat.

Him: See, I’m good to you, and I hope you’ll be good to me.

I led him upstairs to the first booth, but he wanted neither the first nor the second booths. We had to walk back downstairs to go to one of the further booths, because he wanted privacy. I sat him down and took my time removing my shoes.

Him: I’ll tip you a couple hundred bucks if you let me eat your pussy.

Me: Oh Pat, you really live to please.

Him: I was gonna say they call me “Pat the Pussy Eater,” but that scares some girls away. Anyway, can I?

Me: Oh Pat, you know that isn’t safe. You don’t know what I have and I don’t know what you have.

Him: I’m not trying to penetrate you or anything.

Me: But you can spread herpes orally.

Him: Aw shucks, well you know that probably two-thirds of all people have herpes. If I got it, I probably got it in the 60s. I haven’t got any symptoms so I doubt I would spread it to you.

Me: Do many girls say “yes” to you?

Him: Many do. You’d be surprised. They let me as long as I tell them they’re the first one that day. They don’t want me eating their pussies after I’ve eaten other girls. I always have to convince them that they were the first, even though I’ve danced with a lot of girls before them. The next girl probably won’t even believe I didn’t do anything with you.

Me: Wow.

Him: You know, you girls have the best job in the world because you get to just sit back and enjoy yourselves!

Me: Do you wish you had my job?

But he didn’t hear me. He was reaching down to touch my pussy with a hand shaking so hard it could be a vibrator. I batted him away. Of all the things to choose, this is what Pat the Pleaser chooses time and time again. He offered one last time to eat my pussy for an hour in the Heaven Box with a nice tip. While making $500 or $700 at once would be nice, the fear of shouldering the cost of battling herpes outweighed my willingness to get eaten out by this old guy. I politely declined, and he went back to prowling for another pussy to please.