Maggie had been my brother’s first wife. I even introduced him to her. I first met Maggie when I was 19. She was a 15-year-old red-hot teenage wet dream. I was renting a room from a local family. They rented out the third floor of their house. There were three rooms and a small bathroom up there. I had the big one over the garage, a quiet guy named Bob rented the middle one, and the third room was rented by a guy named Fred.

Fred and I got to know each other pretty well. After a few days, I met his girlfriend, Karen. They were both only 18. About a week after I moved in, I was going over to Fred’s room to see what he was up to. I knocked on the door, and the gorgeous young girl, about 15 years old, answered his door. She told me that Fred was in the bathroom and asked if I wanted to come in.

To make a long story short, she was Karen’s younger sister. Fred was sleeping with both of them. Not at the same time, of course, but still. And they were both gorgeous.

I lived there for about a year. Then I got an apartment. I was over at my then-girlfriend’s house. When her sister came in with some of her younger friends. Maggie was one of them. We talked for a few minutes. Then I didn’t see her again for about a year.

The apartment down the hall from me had become vacant. Who do you think moved in? Maggie, of course. The world is just too crazy for these kinds of coincidences. Well, we rekindled our old friendship. We even went out once or twice. But we weren’t meant to be a couple, just friends, and that was fine.

Maggie and my brother were another story. They hit it off right away. They dated for about a year, got married for about six months, and got divorced. Boom! I never saw her again until last night.

It’s been about ten years since the divorce. I’m in my late twenties and single again. I got off of work early on this Friday. I still live in the old neighborhood, but now I work about 45 minutes away. There was a strip club not too far from work. I had been there once or twice, but I didn’t like to hang at a bar, get loaded, and then drive 45 minutes to get home. So I only went on special occasions. Friday was one of those days.

It was mid-afternoon, so I thought I’d stop in, have a beer or two, ogle at some of the gorgeous dancers, and go home. I pull into the parking lot, and it’s practically empty. I park my car and go inside. Like so many titty bars, the lighting is very low. I sit down at the bar. It’s a medium-size place, but there might have been four other guys in here right now. The barmaid is a gorgeous young blond wearing a bikini top and some cutoff denim shorts.

I ordered a beer. The stage is about halfway down the bar; I’m sitting directly across from it. The dancers here are known for being particularly hot. After they dance for a song or two on the stage, they walk around on the bar doing individual dances right in front of you, on the bar. Their pussies and asses are just inches from your face. Out here in the sticks, all of the go-go bars are this wild.

Of course, they have a private room for couch dances also. I’d never been in there, but the stories some of the guys tell...

So I’m sitting at the bar sipping my beer, watching the dancer across the bar from me. She was wearing this little white dress that’s skintight. As the song continues, she unzips the dress and is now in only a torn-up T-shirt and a thong bikini panty. She was gorgeous. Maybe in her mid-twenties, with short blond streaked hair. Her nicely sized tits swung around beneath the thin T-shirt, the nipples poking erotically against the stretched material. A tight, flat stomach led to a long, lean set of legs. The tiny bikini bottom was pulled so tightly across her crotch that her pussy lips were plainly visible.