Big Girls on Top by Mercy Walker

Big Girls on Top
    By Mercy Walker
     
    This is an erotic short story, or episode. (Approximately 12600 words) Each episode stands alone, like a TV episode, but is part of a larger story.
    WARNING: This story contains explicit sex and erotic scenes, M/ F. For adults, 18 + only.
     
    Big Girls on Top
     
    I groaned as the music cued up —and poured myself a shot of Jack Daniels.  Nadia (aka Cr y stal ) had decided to ravage the song stylings of Adele again.  Not that I wasn’t a fan of my fellow plus sized sister from across the pond, but this was the fourth routine this week featuring the contra alto.
    Frisky Kittens , the strip-club the surreptitiously named Nadia and I work at, is pretty roomy by Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania standards.  But in any other city it would be dinky .  A nd Adele’s wall - of - sound songs kind of reverberate off the walls like shrapnel in a Spielberg war epic.
    And all that earsplitting noise for a little waif of a girl with teased bottle- blond hair, skinny legs, man hips and absolutely no ass.  But she did have extravagantly surgically enhanced breasts that could stop traffic—and probably made her lose her balance every time she moved.  They’d cost her five thousand dollars. 
    I think she should have spent her money on a better car.
    A gorgeous woman in h er late thirties came up to the bar, swinging her hips like a Las Vegas show girl (which she used to be) and set down her drink tray.
    “Hey Bev,” That’s me, Bev (short for Beverly).  “I need a crown and soda, and two Buds.”
    “Coming right up, Shirley. ” I mov ed around behind the bar with quick, practiced movements.
    I’m the bartender—what, you thought I strapped myself into a G-string and writhed around on some flimsy pole?—and I’ve worked here for five years.  Five long … deranged … and sometimes funny years.  What can I say?  I make more in tips every night than I could make anywhere else, including using my nursing degree.
    Nurses are underpaid and overworked.  Fuck that shit!
    I plopped the drinks on Shirley’s drink tray and she was off, swinging her ass like it was an Olympic event.  I had to give her credit , she was almost forty and still had it going on…more than the silicon enhanced little girl parading around on stage. 
    When Nadia spun around in her five inch heels before she made a grab for the pole, she got a little too much centrifugal force behind it—obviously from her size double - D boobs—and missed said pole .  She fell off the stage with a terrified squeal…and into an old man’s lap that was eating garlic hot wings and was hooked up to a portable oxygen tank.
    I rushed out from behind the bar to pull the skinny ditz out of the old man’s lap, but before I could help her out I saw that the old man was actually choking on a chicken wing.  He must have been eating it when Nadia took the nose dive.
    I pulled Nadia off him and she fell onto the floor with a yelp.  Then I pulled the old man out of his chair and performed a hasty Heimlich maneuver on him, popping that chicken bone up and out of his mouth, sending it flying through the air where it magically landed deep in Nadia’s cleavage.
    Eww…and yuck…
    But once I got the old man back in his seat—he thanked me by pinching my ass—and pulled Nadia up off the floor (she couldn’t seem to get herself up on her own steam —guess her tits were too cumbersome), I headed back to the bar and the three cocktail waitresses lined up haughtily with drink orders.
    See?  Save a life and you still don’t get any respect.  Mix a drink and get tipped.  What a fucked up world we live in!
    By the time I got Shirley and her two cohorts’ orders filled I was starting to get hungry…and god help me the garlic hot wings were sounding pretty good.
    So I placed my order, watched a buxom brunet named Candy Cain shake her rather bodacious money maker to Don Henley’s Dirty Laundry , and then poured myself a beer to go with my order