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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “Path of Least Resistance” Down in the Dirt (v131) (the September 2015 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book the Intersection the Down in the Dirt July - Dec. 2015 collection book		get the 318 page July - Dec. 2015 Down in the Dirt issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Philosophical Stripper

W. Scott R. Brownlee

    Gabriel Aldama was a handsome man with black hair shaven short. His suit was light in color, accenting his olive Cuban skin. A thin beard line, closely trimmed, ran along his jawbone up to his chin where it became a mini goatee. He was of average height and weight. His shoes were shining in the dim light of the strip club.
    “What do you for a living honey?” the stripper, Bell, asked of him, gazing deeply into his brown eyes. “I love your eyes.”
    “I work for the government,” Gabriel said with a slight Cuban accent, writhing uncomfortably in his suit as the stripper sat on his lap. “Oh no, I don’t need one of those.” He looked at his thick gold wedding band. He pushed her back onto her feet, and then he grabbed his cold bottle of Saranac Black and Tan beer. Gabriel guzzled it down. “No offense.”
    “Your friends over there aren’t so timid,” Bell pointed at three other professionally dressed men, laughing up a storm at the stage. A stripper was pouring beer down her leg into the mouth of one of his friends, soaking his shirt. “Maybe you should let me help you relax, like them, why let them have all the fun?”
    “Because they’re not married.”
    “That doesn’t stop most men, I’m up next, watch me, baby, then tell me you don’t want me.”
    “You did your job well. Someone else deserves your talents.”
    “You know you’re so fucking hot I’ll do you up, down, backwards and in handcuffs, on the house.”
    “Don’t take offense. You must be smart and good at something else. Use your skill sets and keep sex sacred.”
    “Are you religious?”
    “Catholic.”
    “One of the worst kind,” Bell said. “Your priests come here all the time.”

    She almost slithered away when she strutted away, as if she was a serpent, and then she climbed onto the stage to perform her dance. A new song began playing loudly called “Crazy Bitch” by Black Cherry. Bell was cute and short. She wore a brown mini skirt, a tight fitting pink shirt and brown leather boots with high heels. Her tight, sexy belly was milky in color, lighter in tone than the make-up stuck on her face. She grabbed the pole with both hands as the spotlight shone on her, she bent down her head, her shoulder length reddish hair with black streaks falling in a straight, still line and she danced quite seductively, shaking wildly as if she was humping an invisible man, making herself sweat, shake, shake, shaking. This went on for the entire song. Her hair went sweeping to the left, then to the right and then up and down eagerly. She leaned against the pole, sliding down slowly, gyrating the whole time and then she crawled in staggered, wildly thrusting body movements toward the edge of the stage, staring at Gabriel passionately, hungrily, the make up on her face becoming drenched in sweat, smearing her mascara. She jumped up and flung off her shirt toward Gabriel’s table; her small, round, white breasts were firm and nipples erect. She shook her body sexually. Then her red and black hair went flying about wildly as she jump-danced around in the spotlight, leaping onto the pole and spinning around, landing splendidly onto her high heels. Gabriel wasn’t certain when she had become completely naked but she was when the song ended. Bell jumped off the stage like a sprite cougar as the small audience cheered, especially his partners as she neared him, picked her skirt up off the stage along with her purse and she swiped her shirt up off the floor to lay the articles on Gabriel’s table beside his drink and her impassioned lips were on the prowl as she kissed him fully on the mouth. Gabriel almost fell backward out of his chair. Bell could see the erection poking up at his groin through his suit as he pushed her back. Gabriel was so exasperated that he was unable to utter a word momentarily. Bell sat in a wooden chair beside him.
    “What did you think, baby?” Bell panted as she put her hands on her hips, staring keenly, amorously at Gabriel. He handed her a fifty dollar bill. She wrapped the money into her pink shirt. “I told you I’d do you for free. Thanks. It will go toward my boob job”
    “God made you fine just the way you are. You should get married and save those lovely breasts for his hallowed pleasures.”
    “My pleasures ain’t hollow, baby.”
    “Never mind. Why do you do this? If it’s for college, many people go to college and work an honest living while attending classes.”
    “I have a kid and his daddy’s done run off, somewhere up north in Oregon.”
    “You know who Santorum is?”
    “I’ll Google it,” the girl said as she shuffled through her purse to grab her Galaxy phone and was instantly texting. Gabriel took another long swing of his drink as a song played loudly. Another young attractive girl with long black hair and large bouncing breasts danced wildly on stage. His drunken friends hooted insanely for her. He noticed a fat, bearded man sitting in a dim corner staring directly at him with his hands on his lap. “It’s about lube and poop coming out after anal sex.”
    “Is that the bouncer, or owner?” Gabriel said, pointing at the man in the corner.
    “Never seen him before. So, handsome, you want to fuck me in the ass? Got any blow, pills? It hurts. I’ll need some money for that, sweetie.”
    “What?” Gabriel glanced away from the stranger to look at the nude stripper. She began rubbing his thigh as she got on her knees between his legs. His cock began to throb with an almost insurmountable swell of lust. He could smell all the various sweating vaginas in the room and it made him feel sick to his stomach. “What did you say?”
    “I know you’re shy, honey, but I need money for taking it in the ass.”
    “I don’t want to have anal sex with you or anyone.”
    “But you told me to Google it, thought you were hinting at fucking me in the ass. You business guys always like the kinky shit, especially the religious ones and you Catholics are the craziest, better to fuck girls like me for money than to molest children.”
    “So you’re a philosophical stripper now? Listen, moron, I didn’t tell you to Google anal sex. So shut the fuck up, you piece of shit whore. Answer me, who is that man in the corner?”
    “Take it easy, baby, you said to look up Santorum. Here, look.”
    Gabriel looked at the Goggle definition of Santorum and smiled. Then he looked at the man in the corner who was now watching his raucous friends throwing money at the stage and stuffing bills into the topless girl’s silky mini skirt. Then he looked back at the angry stripper.
    “I didn’t realize that’s what you were talking about, my apologies. What I meant was Rick Santorum, the man running for President. He said in a debate that a child raised by a man and wife is ten times likelier to stay out of poverty, crime and teenage pregnancy. So what kind of life does your child have to look forward to?”
    “You got kids, mister?”
    “Five.”
    “All by the same woman?”
    “Yes,” Gabriel laughed. “That’s the old fashioned way of doing things. Tradition.”
    “I never thought about it. Trailer parks got their own way of doing things. I come to California to act.”
    “As a porn star?” Gabriel laughed, finishing his second bottle of black and tan beer as he looked at his wrist watch. “You got the moves for it.”
    “That’s not nice,” Bell said forlornly, gazing down at her hot pink toenails. “I was in my high school drama class. I was really good.”
    “You should’ve been in dance class. You’ve got natural dance moves. Get out of this shit hole. Study medicine. That’s a growing field because of the aging American population. Whatever junk you’re addicted to, get cleaned up. If you don’t possess academic intelligence, then enter retail, that’s the other large opportunity for employment.”
    One of the professional looking men in suits and ties stumbled over to Gabriel’s table.
    “My, my, my” the drunk agent said, slurring his words. “Agent Aldama is leaving his lofty place of sainthood to finally enjoy the taste of flesh, to roam amongst the sinners.”
    “I need to go to confession just to breathe the same air as you.”
    “Agent?” Bell asked.
    “Ole Saint Gabriel hasn’t informed you?” the drunken agent said. The nude, pretty stripper waved her head no. “Man, you’ve got some nice tits! Aldema, let’s fuck her together like me and Roger did that prostitute in Colombia last week! How’s a thousand dollars sound, lady?”
    “Really?” Bell asked in astonishment. She strode toward the drunken agent as he fumbled a wallet out of his wallet. He fingered through it to thumb out ten hundred dollar bills. The drunken agent shook the money in her face and then ran the bills down between her breasts.
    Gabriel felt his pocket vibrating. He pulled out his phone and read a text from Brad.
    Got a job today
    Gabriel texted his friend back.
    Great
    Adapting well?
    Took me awhile to adjust from Afghanistan back in 2009
    Now I’m in LA on a layover, just got back from Colombia, these Secret Service boys got it made
    You back in NC?
    “You texting your wife, priest?” the drunken agent asked. “C’mon and fuck this bitch with me tonight.”
    “I’m a dancer,” Bell said.
    “For a thousand dollars you’re whatever the fuck I wanna call ya,” the drunken agent said.
    “She’s a philosopher,” Gabriel chuckled. “No, my wife is asleep. That’s an old war buddy of mine. Can’t be a priest, either, you moron, I love my wife’s vagina too much and I wasn’t holy when I called in an artillery strike on the Taliban. Those mujahedeen boys could run pretty fast. They should be Olympic track runners. But they couldn’t out run my artillery strikes. Blew them all to hell. I’ll have to go to confession for that too. Hey, where did the fat man go?”
    “What fat man?”
    “A fat bearded guy was staring at me earlier, looked suspicious, now he’s gone. Paul, I’m serious.”
    “Check the bathroom,” Paul said as he wrapped his arm around Bell, cupping her breast in his hand. “God, I love your tits!”
    Gabriel walked to the bathroom with his beer. He knelt down on his knee to look at the locked door. He saw panties dangling around high heels that were sliding along a suit. In the next stall, the door was open and with one hand Gabriel gently pushed it open to discover that it was empty. He could hear the bass of the music rattling inside the smelly bathroom. The scent of shit, piss, pussy, beer and cigarette smoke lingered heavily in the room. A feeling of nausea began to rise in his throat. Rubbing the pistol beneath his suit, Gabriel left the bathroom to walk to the front door. He asked the door man if he had seen the missing person. The large, muscular bald man with a thick black beard and dark sunglasses pointed outside the door.
    “Hey, you’ll have to pay to get back in,” the door man said.
    Gabriel showed him the badge beneath his lapel.
    “Or, maybe not,” the doorman said.
    Gabriel stood in the street light of the warm southern California night. The street was quiet. A few cars were parked on the street. In the slight wind that blew a trace of ocean salt could be smelt. The bass of the music playing inside the strip club rattled the windows on the building. The neon sign above his head was flashing NUDE and it was buzzing. Gabriel stood there awhile glancing in both directions. No traffic. An abandoned warehouse took up the opposite side of the block. On his side of the street was the club, a liquor store that was closed, several abandoned buildings and a closed convenience store. As his eyes scanned his surroundings, Gabriel’s head never moved, only his eyes. There was movement in the shadows across the street. Gabriel did not move except to slide his hand furtively up to his chest to clasp his pistol. A car turned down the street on his side. Gabriel skipped across the street to blend into the shadows. He shielded his eyes from the head light of the car. Once the truck passed by he lifted his hand away from his eyes. He saw the fat man from the club slipping into a black sedan further up the street. The car raced off almost silently with a quiet engine. Gabriel was in pursuit on foot. His heels clapping against the asphalt was the loudest sound in the night. As the car turned the corner Gabriel saw that the car license plate was Government Issue and that all the windows were tinted black and the escape driver never bothered to turn the headlights on.
    “This can’t be good.”

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