Gastown Girls

MILES

I leaned back in my deck chair, my long legs stretched out with my ankles crossed while I blew smoke rings in the dark.

The stars twinkled in the inky night sky, the lights of the city fading in the distance as my yacht cut through the choppy Pacific.

The party was Osk’s brainchild. My drummer was a sixteen-year-old boy in a thirty-five-year-old man’s body. His real name is Oskar Blackwell.

He’d insisted we have a party to celebrate the end of the pandemic restrictions that had plagued us for over a year. I never agreed to hire strippers. But he insisted. And paid for them.

I don’t make a habit of hanging out in strip clubs. It’s not really my thing. Most of those women aren’t much better than prostitutes. Dirty whores, selling their bodies for money.

A lot of them are drug addicts who carry more diseases than the average gutter rat.

“Hey, there, sexy,” a high-pitched female voice called from somewhere behind me.

“I came out here to be alone, Lana,” I barked.

My manager’s daughter was the last chick in the world I’d have ever taken to bed. Aside from the obvious no-no, she actually made my cock shrivel up.

Between her annoying voice, fake tits, stinky perfume, and desperation, I think I’d rather fuck one of the skanky strippers over her. But she never took the hint.

“You’re being antisocial, Miles,” she chastised, wagging her bony finger in front of my face.

“I’m not in the mood to socialize.”

“I can appreciate that,” she drawled, wrapping her arms around my neck from behind.

I coughed briskly, her perfume triggering a tickle in my throat.

“Miles Maines, you need to quit smoking.”

“Look, Lana, I don’t mean to be rude but I came out here to be alone.”

“We can be alone together, sexy,” she suggested, running her hands down my chest.

“Lana, how many fucking times have I told you to leave him alone?”

“Mind your own business, Daddy.”

“Go find your mother.”

“I don’t wanna hang out with Mom. I’m thirty-two, Dad. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“As long as I’m paying your credit card bill, I can tell you what to do.”

“You’re such a drag, Dad,” she whined before slithering away.

“Kids,” he muttered. “They’re a pain in the ass.”

“She’s not exactly a kid, Dean,” I chuckled.

“She acts like one.” He leaned on the railing, pulling his smokes from his shirt pocket. “What’s your deal tonight, Miles?”

“I’m not really in the mood for a party.”

“How come?”

“I just got a lot of shit going on in my head.”

“I bet you do.”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you come down to the lounge?”

“I’m not really into strippers, Dean. You know that.”

“I know. But you need to take a load off.”

“Fine,” I grumbled, smashing what was left of my smoke into an ashtray. “I’ll go look at some tits if it’ll get you off my back.”

Osk had a small stage with a stripper pole set up in the middle of the aft lounge. But there was no stripper.

I joined my guitarist, Lance, and a couple of roadies from our last tour.

“Where’s the strippers?” I hollered over the loud music.

“The one that was just on went to give Osk some special services.”

“Great. He’s gonna get herpes, or worse.”

I glanced up at the stage when another dancer appeared, her pink high heels catching my attention before my eyes wandered up the sexiest pair of legs I’d ever seen.

She had a perfect ass, round and firm, and wide hips with a narrow waist.

“Here,” Lance said, holding out a napkin.

“What’s that for?”

“To wipe the drool off your chin.”

“Fuck off!” I balled up the napkin and fired it at him.

“Her name is Thumper,” he chuckled.

“Great.”

“Apparently, she only dances and strips. Doesn’t come off the stage or provide backroom services.”

“Great.”

Lance tilted his head, his tongue hanging out like a dog, while Thumper shook her ass right in front of our table.

“That chick has one hell of a fuckable rack!” he yelled, tossing a handful of bills at her.

“Now who’s drooling?” I laughed.

Lance was right though. Thumper had the kind of body I would definitely like to take for a ride. Too bad she was a stripper.

She looked right at me, our eyes locking in a heated stare as she removed her bra, tossing it my way. I snagged it from midair while she massaged the enormous melons bouncing on her chest.

“Those babies are real,” Lance groaned. “Oh, man. I would love to bury my face in there.”

“I’d love to titty fuck that chick,” one of the roadies said. “Let me see that bra, Reef.”

I was so mesmerized by her gorgeous tits, I forgot I still had her pink, lacy bra clutched tightly in my fist.

“Take it,” I muttered, passing it down the table. I shook my head when he buried his face in one of the enormous cups.

Thumper rubbed her pussy up and down the pole. My cock twitched when she wrapped her tits around it, simulating the titty fuck every guy in the room was fantasizing about.

The bills were piling up on the stage, and the chick hadn’t even borne the goods between her legs yet.

She had the sweet and innocent act down pat. That was her gimmick. I had her figured out the second she laid those enormous blue eyes on me.

But it worked. And she didn’t have to leave the stage or give lap dances and blow jobs. She was making the dough with her stage performance.

I took a sip of water, unable to tear my eyes away as she removed her panties. She kicked them behind her, much to the disappointment of the crowd.

Her pussy was bare. She spun around, bending over to give us a nice view from behind.

“Oh, yeah,” Lance groaned. “Look at that juicy cunt, just begging for a cock.”

The roadie sitting next to me reached between his legs and grabbed his dick. “That snatch was made for fucking.”

“You guys are pigs,” I said, pushing my chair back.

“Where are you going?!” Lance yelled when I stood up.

“I need some air.” I tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the stage and walked away without looking back.

***

I leaned on the railing, drawing in a deep gulp of sea air while I tried to settle my cock down. He may have been interested in fucking the stripper, but his owner definitely wasn’t.

If I wanted to bang that chick, I could. She wouldn’t say no to me. Women rarely did.

I had a reputation. Not everything the tabloids published was true, but the stories about my long cock and bedroom skills were pretty accurate.

My cock wasn’t extremely thick. Nothing about my body was. I was long and lean; my dick was no exception. What I was lacking in girth, I more than made up for in length.

My phone vibrated from my back pocket. I fished it out, cursing when I read the text from the captain.

Dean was with my engineer in the cockpit when I arrived.

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

“We lost a propeller, Miles,” the captain said. “I told you that in the text I sent you.”

“Okay.” I glanced at the engineer. “Isn’t that why we have more than one?”

“We won’t make it back to Vancouver,” he said.

“Fuck. I knew this fucking party was a bad idea.”

“I’ve already got clearance to dock in Seattle,” the captain explained. “Your guests can disembark and find a place to stay for the night.”

“How long will it take to fix it?”

“Depends on whether it needs a repair or replacement.”

“How do we find that out?”

“I need to call a dive team. They’ll go down and assess the damage. If it’s repairable, they’ll do it. If not, we’ll have to order a new propeller.”

“Will it have to go into dry dock?”

“Hopefully, not,” he replied. “We want to try and avoid that. I’m sure you don’t want your yacht out of commission all summer.”

“Not really.”

“I’ll get a dive team out here first thing in the morning.”

“What about the extra crew we hired for tonight? And the entertainers?”

“We’ll put them up in a hotel,” Dean said. “Otherwise, we’ll have a PR nightmare on our hands.”

“Osk is footing the bill,” I grumbled.

“Do you want them spending the night on your yacht?”

“Absolutely not! I want everyone off. The minute we dock.”

“It’s not that simple, Miles,” Dean sighed, shaking his head. “Everybody has to clear customs and go through the Covid screening shit.”

“I thought everyone had to show proof of vaccination before they got on tonight.”

“They did.”

“Then there shouldn’t be any problems.”

***

I watched from the upper deck while my security team led the guests down the gangplank.

A customs team came onboard and set up their shit before anyone could leave. They didn’t want anybody stepping foot in their country without giving them a fucking rectal exam.

This was gonna take all night. There were one hundred and twenty people onboard.

“What now?” I muttered, glancing at a text message from Dean. “For fuck’s sake.”

I stormed down to the lower deck, where the circus was taking place. A customs officer was talking to Dean while a woman stood nearby, bawling her fucking eyes out.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the agent said. “I don’t make the rules.”

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

“Are you the owner of this vessel?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m Miles Maines.”

“Mr. Maines, one of your staff doesn’t have the proper vaccinations to enter the United States.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The current requirements include matching vaccines. Miss Taylor received two different vaccines.”

“I had two different vaccines, and I was just in your precious country last month.”

“The new rules just went into effect last week. You won’t be able to disembark either.”

“I’ll just stay on my yacht until the propeller is repaired,” I said. “But she has to go.”

“She can’t leave the vessel, Mr. Maines.”

I closed my eyes, pushing down the anger bubbling in my gut. Screaming at a customs agent wouldn’t end well. “Fine. I’ll put her up for the night.”

“Thank you for your cooperation,” the agent said.

“Can you deal with her, Dean?”

“No can do, Miles. I have to be back in Vancouver for an early meeting.” He slapped me on the back with a chuckle before walking away.

I turned to face my unwanted guest. She was staring at her feet, sniffling and snorting like a child.

“I’m told you’ll be spending the night,” I said sternly.

She raised her head; a pair of terrified baby blues met my angry glare.