The Lap Dancer

 

I think she was drunk. Call it a hunch, but the way she staggered around the room gave it away. I tried not to make eye contact as I sidled around the dancers and found a shadowy corner to lurk in.

The disco lights flashed. The silver ball twinkled, and the funky beat rumbled through the floorboards.

Too late. She’d spotted me, and staggered over.

“Hey! Where’s my kiss?” she demanded; over-waxed lips puckering for the kill. Leaning over, she lost her balance and spilled into my lap.

There is nothing more terrifying than being lap danced by your aunt.

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