SHIMMY thung PUMP IT thung and otherwise swung around the pole.
She finally swung off the pole and headed across the stage BEAT thung BEAT thung SHIMMY thung THRUST IT thung down Nestor’s and John Smith’s way. Nestor couldn’t have cared less. He was looking into the faces of a bunch of men turned into goats by lust… Oh, Christ… some dancer, our girl… ziiiiip!—but the zips on the sides of the soldier boy pants that were supposed to make them fall off—“Natasha” couldn’t get them to work BEAT thung BEAT thung BEAT thung she had to stop and struggle out of them one leg at a time BEAT thung BEAT thung the audio took no note of the problem. It got a bit awkward. But worth waiting for! This crowd didn’t ask for much… Now, where the pants had been… nothing, nothing at all… a totally naked crotch denuded even of pubic hair… Brazilian-waxed away… clearing the way for the star of the show, her pudenda. That made everything quite okay with this crowd. Down to nothing but her wide-open soldier boy jacket, she thrust her pudenda and pumped her pudenda and threw her arms back and the little yellow jacket flew off and BEAT thung CROTCH thung TAIL thung CRACK thung PERI thung NEUM thung she sinks to the stage right in front of John Smith and crawls about naked and on all fours… in this case, her knees and elbows… Her tail is thrust up like a bonobo’s or a chimpanzee’s toward John Smith, offering a full view of the perineum and its forbidden folds, crevices, cracks, clefts, cloven melons, alluring labia, gonopores—the entire fleshy arc. BEAT thung BEAT thung BEAM thung STAGE lights HIT spot PORN spot LUST spot PERI spot NEUM spot BEAT thung BEATing POUNDing MEN rush FORward STUCK dollar bills INto the CRACK in her bottom… John Smith is transfixed, once more… eyes wide, mouth agape… Nestor searches the faces of the men packed in front of the stage… a waxed mustache… a waxed mustache… that’s all he’s looking for… A big Miami Beach municipal bus driver in uniform going “Hoot hoot hoot hoot!” in an ironic way but obviously roused to grinning pleasure by what he sees… reaches over John Smith’s shoulder to get his not one but two one-dollar bills into the crack… Okay, time for more protective coloration… Nestor extends his arm across John Smith and puts three dollars in the crack… and finally John Smith—gingerly—reverently?—before the Devil’s altar?—places a dollar bill in the CRACK in “Natasha’s” ASS, and BEAT thung thung BEAT thung thung BEAT thung thung TODO el MUNDO has DOLlar DEStined for the CRACK in the ASS. The WAITress MAKES all CHANGE in DOLlars ADDRESSED TO the CRACK of a PRETTY girl’s ASS or MY tray. Every man so BEAT privileged as to have a seat thung on the rim feels HONOR-bound to STICK a dollar bill thung into the CRACK thung of her ASS. In NO time the ENtire CRACK is STUFFED with DOLlar BILLS, and many more are stuck BEAT in between the thung ones that BEAT it into the thung crack itself… until the BEAT pretty girl looked as thung if she had some sort of great green peacock tail coming out of the CRACK in her bottom. BEAT thung BEAT—
The moment the music stopped, she looked John Smith in the eye, directly… right in the eye… still on her hands and knees right in front of him… with her bare breasts hanging down practically in his face… and winked. Then she got to her feet and began walking backstage, twice turning to wink at him again. Her posture was excellent. Her gait was queenly, not too fast and not too slow… She would have been the very picture of a ladylike young woman, had she not been stark naked with a promiscuous heap of dollar bills STUCK IN THE CRACK OF HER ASS. Not once did she reach back to dislodge it or otherwise note its existence. Why should she compromise her dignity? Halfway across the stage the bills began falling out of their own accord. But why should she look back at the green wake she had created? Two little men, Mexicans, if Nestor was any judge, came out immediately with brooms and dustpans to gather the dollar bills, many of which had been thrown onstage by those who, despairing of reaching the crack, settled for aiming them in her direction.
John Smith’s pale