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Element
04-21-2005, 08:15 PM
After four freaking songs? I hope those dances were cheap, baby.
I can't get with the nipple biters. If it was something that guys requested a lot, I might understand it. But I have given thousands of lap dances and not once ever have I ever had a guy request that I bite his nipple (one guy recently asked me to pull on his ear--that's right, pull with my fingers, not kiss, nibble, or blow into--and went into an elated state when I did so).
Hey Susan is this open to negotiation what about just kissing my nipple or maybe just rubbing it? j/k
;D
Jenny
04-21-2005, 08:24 PM
Oh, I'm a total biter. Its just my way of exacting revenge on the patriarchy ;)
You just get down with your bad self, my strong, biting sister!
Moneywise
04-21-2005, 10:35 PM
Oh, I'm a total biter. Its just my way of exacting revenge on the patriarchy ;)
You had me at Oh.
IACali
04-22-2005, 01:18 AM
I was very impressed about how clear both girls were about when
a dance ended! (hint hint)
Just for research, exactly how did they make it clear? I'm always struggling with that......
I’ll just put my SC funds towards a trip to either Iowa or Austin to see my favorite SW members.
Yay!!! *jumping up and down and clapping*
SportsWriter2
04-22-2005, 03:40 AM
Oh, I'm a total biter. Its just my way of exacting revenge on the patriarchy ;)
When I get a biter that I otherwise like a lot, I normally teach her to bite her own arm. But face biters never get another chance. :O
Its funny (not really) how a club trip can go south on you.
I had a play date set up at the club with Miss D this afternoon. I arrived a few minutes after five which was perfect as she had just gotten dressed and was ready to drink and party a bit. No soon had we ordered our first drinks when the DJ called a dancer meeting in the dressing room. I'm like...whatever..most dancer meeting are just bullshit...so I kicked back to enjoy my first frosty adult beverage. When the lades finally came back out Miss D told me that the owner had received a tip that the club was going to be raided tonight. Turns out today is the one year anniversary of a sherrifs raid at the club that was a pretty big hoopla on the news etc The bible belters loved it >:( Miss D was pretty freaked out...she has a very nice position at a prominent local university and cannot afford any bad publicity which I totally understand. The local news media is ruthless.
We sat there for a little while and finally she said she was going to get dressed her thought being that if she dressed like a customer she was in fact a customer. I told her we could hang or leave...her choice. When she came back in her civilian clothes (she looks totally sexy either way :P ) we ordered up another drink. I could tell she was still very uncomfortable. Every time the club door opened her eyes kept darting that way. Finally I suggested...why dont we get outta here and have a bite to eat and a couple of drinks elsewhere? She seemed relieved with that so I paid that tab and we rolled (separately) up to an area north of town that has a ton of restaurants.
I swear to god we hit a least a half dozen places..I felt like Mary and Joseph discovering there was no room at the inn :-\ Lines outside the entrance doors...zero seats at the bar...it was terrible. Finally after much driving and frustration we gave up. Guess an enjoyable evening wasnt meant to be. So now here I sit at work about ready to head home. She wound up calling her parents and having dinner with them somewhere. Its particulary frustrating since I had a great hall pass tonight ::) Oh well. My only consolation is that we have an OTC set up for next Friday.
Guess Im more venting than anything. I'm used to all the stars aligning ;D I'll be watching the news to see if the raid does in fact take place.
FBR
Chili Palmer
04-22-2005, 10:58 PM
A rare Friday afternoon off...where do I go play?
(warning: the following TR contains vivid descriptions of fluid exchange between consenting adults...if this offends you, then simply choose to believe that I make this stuff up)
I head out to one of the newer clubs in my rotation...it's actually on the inexpensive side and its $100 half hour bed dances can't be beat. (You read that last sentence correctly.)
As I expected, the club was sparsely populated...maybe three other PLs in da house. One dancer was just going offstage...next up: two construction workers?!?...turns out one of the poles came off its axis, damn near injuring one of the dancers...no stageshow, no dancers circulating, means no more CP wasting time...I ask the DJ for a free pass and bounce out to the main haunt...
...Now I am more than dance ready...the DJ announces one girl, a well-known ROB/upseller who doesn't even bother to ask me for dances anymore (for about 4 years now)...a shame, because she would have a lot of my money (850cc implants will do that to me) if she weren't such a greedy bi-atch...in the corner of my eye, a dancer is staring me down...it's Ms. Latina spinner, a long-time fave whom I haven't seen in months (bad schedule karma)...she comes over, plants a soft, wet kiss on me, and talk about how much we've missed each other...off we go to topless (I like to warm up there with her) for 5 laps...very soft, slow, sensual grind...she offers her C-cups to me and I imbibe heartily...soft moans of pleasure in my ear...some light french kissing, then she moves down south for some major NASCAR activity...we finish up in topless and head to the semi-private VIP rooms...once inside, she removes her panties..my hands roam over ass and lightly graze her honeypot...she's soaking wet and her breathing is becoming ragged...I tell her to stand on the couch, she places herself in my mouth...ahh, ambrosia...how did my pants get unzipped?...she lowers herself onto me, riding me between her thighs (what we call a bareback slip&slide), until we finish together...cool down time, light kisses all over my face..."we have to do this again...let me give you my number...you're the best"...excelsior!...a three year long term project finally comes to fruition...
...Uh, Chili's not done yet folks...
So, now I have a brief refractory period, sit at a barstool and munch on pretzels...DJ finally calls for some 2-for-1s, and I grab "Merlot," a super-petite Latina, with oversized perfectly round implants thrusting out of an outfit that would make Milla Jovavich in "The Fifth Element" seem overdressed. We head straight for nudes (more privacy)...Merlot is guaranteed to KYSO, but she can be quite mechanical at times, still, I am absolutely powerless before a tiny, busty Latina, it is my kryptonite...her kitty is flawless, shaved, totally smooth, no discoloration or any other imperfection...she strokes me while we wait for the first song to start...feeding on the menu, she strokes more, then moves to reverse cowgirl...she gets up on the table and presents herself to me from behind, pushes her pussy in my face...I can take a hint...good thing I haven't had lunch yet, as the menu here is non-pareil...I keep this up through the first two songs, and Merlot is now grinding my face much deeper into her...being the giver that I am, I oblige her willingly...she finally pulls off, reaches in and reciprocates with little CP...unzips me, more BBS&S, then dismounts and wants more from me...I take care of her, and now it's a ride for my life, as she reverse cowgirls me to completion (again)..."Wow, never did that before...you think next time we could do it some more?"
Always happy to oblige, my dear, happy to oblige.
CP
Ginorod55
04-23-2005, 03:24 PM
CP, u da man! Great stuff.
Now for a combination (long) TR.
PART I
Went to Club P again, which is my current club of choice. It's on the opposite end of the triangle from house and job, but it's been a lot of fun since I happened by on a scouting mission and met Ms F, who ended up inviting me to "finish things in her apartment" a couple of days later. (See and .)
I waited two weeks after our OTC activities and then went to see Ms F at the club, called her first to make sure she would be working. Had a nice conversational catch-up and proceeded to the VIP area. After a couple of hot nude numbers she says,
Ms F - Are you busy next Tuesday, can you play with me? It's my birthday that week.
GR - Uh, let me see, I need to ck my calendar. :thinking: A sexy woman wants me to go play, hmm. Should I, or should I not? Well, Ms F, I think I have something scheduled but I can work around it for you. (CS alert) ;D
[Heh heh, thanks guys for all the learning that's to be had by reading your TRs.]
Ms F - Good, 'cuz I've been a bad girl and I'm gonna need a good spanking. :bullwhip:
GR - All right, I'm up with that if you think you deserve it. We can't allow that kind of behavior going on.
Ms F - Well, come by my apt around 9 and we can take care of things.
We have a few more hot dances -- and finish just in time as LE shows up to ck on things. I tip my hat to the men and women in blue and head out. Ms F is cool.
The following week I call before heading over to her apt and there's no answer. No sweat, my SCJ teachers have taught me what to expect. I'm cool; there are many explanations possible -- had to work, cell phone isn't paid up, I got blown off -- whatever. I go by her apt and there's no answer, so I head out to the club.
I ask the doorman to see the list of who's in. Ahh, she came in at 4 and is still here at 10, probably getting off at 11. Let's see what she has to say about it.
Ms F - Baby, I'm so sorry, I left my phone in my daughter's car and I had to come in to work tonight.
(She couldn't call me because I still haven't given her my digits. Gotta maintain a little control on the situation, especially since I'm a horny bastard and I don't want to be a kept man.) ;)
GR - Don't worry about it, sweetie. I figured as much. I'm here for ya.
I'm kind of hungry, since I skipped supper to be on time at her apt, so I ask what time she wants me at her apt and head off for a bite. I rush to an all night burger stand, brush my teeth, put on some cologne and hit her apt in 20 minutes. No dice again. Damn!
I decide to wait, and wait, and wait. Well, okay, maybe just five more minutes. After reading most of my email on my laptop (gotta stay busy or I would go crazy with doubts or second guesses) she shows up. Turns out Ms C was so drunk she threw up in the DR and Ms F's mother instincts (She has 2 daughters, 19 and 22, who also work there) took over and she had to take Ms C home. Again, no way to contact me. It's a bit stressful but I figure that's okay -- part of the price for not giving out my number.
We go on in to her apt and... FTB (upcoming HG, maybe?)
TR to be cont'd....
Ginorod55
04-23-2005, 05:42 PM
Ms O
BTW, I met Ms F's oldest daughther. Ms O has a small top like mom, but shapely and very pretty. Left Ms F at our table and went up to stage to tip Ms O and got a great eyeful, nice rear and kitty. }:D
Alas, I don't want to ruin OTC activities with Ms F -- no sense being greedy.
GR - You've probably warned Ms O about me.
Ms F - No, I haven't. You can get dances from her if you want. They're big girls.
I don't think I'll be sampling the goodies any time soon, though.
Have fun,
Play safe,
Gino
Malak
04-23-2005, 07:26 PM
Just for research, exactly how did they make it clear? I'm always struggling with that......
The first one tried begging me for another dance. And I turned her down. The second one stood-up and said "you just wanted one, right?"
FYI - I have to "embezzle" money to even do this so that is why I have limited funds and I'm also making the rounds of different clubs & dancers to find what
I like first. After the divorce, I'm sure I'll get multiples if I still have no girlfriend. Friday night was not as thrilling as I would have liked with my "real" date. LOL
Ginorod55
04-23-2005, 11:19 PM
PART II
After my second OTC party with Ms F I wanted to keep my distance a little bit, so as not to appear a PL with a hard-on. So I kept in touch with Ms F every 4 or 5 days but didn't go in to see her for 2 weeks.
First week I went to one of my old clubs, Club C, in the low-rent district. Admission 10, topless dances 10, nude 20. I've met some players there before, and have had OTC parties with 3 different dancers. Unfortunately all have moved on.
I've also had some of my difficult times there before I started taking lessons from the SCJ Grand Masters. Ms J, particularly, is very hot, almost raunchy in a porn-star sort of way. The problem is that she is a major flake when it comes to keeping appointments.
I walked in and saw Ms J for the first time in several months -- since the second time she stood me up. That burns me up >:( particularly because I only get a hall pass (thanks for the term, fbr) once a week, and I hate wasting it. Ms J turns on the SS so loud that it hurts my ears. I remain cordial enough, but I ain't buying.
Ms J - Save me a dance. I'll be over as soon as I finish this (she was eating Chinese take-out at the bar).
GR - Sure thing, babe. [No way I'm giving you any of my hard-earned money, silly.]
I walk around and no one catches my eye, so I sit down and watch the stage. Ms W (for Who is she? -- no names were exchanged) is worthy of a tip. She's about 30, has long wavy brown hair, and nice curves in all the right places. After her set they announce a "roll call" and all the dancers go on stage and then come down one by one as the DJ says their name. Then for the next 2 songs the ladies hit on customers for 15-30 seconds worth of $1 dances. Ms W comes over and says she'll be right over after roll call.
Ms W - Are you ready for a dance?
GR - Could be. What did you have in mind?
}:D
Red alert: The following will be a fictional account of what can happen in high-mileage clubs in the low-rent districts of border cities. Scroll down to the Green All Clear if you have delicate sensibilities.
Ms W - You can have everything for 100. How much did you want to spend?
GR - I only came for a quickie and only brought 60.
Ms W - Okay, one song, and you can have everything.
We go off to a dark booth. I don't really care for these quickies in uncomfortable booths, but they serve several purposes, including scouting for talent. Although I have actually had some very nice encounters when Lady Luck has smiled on me.
Ms W starts dancing and very quickly moves to extras. We have to keep moving and watching for bouncers and customers, and sometimes LE comes in to ck things out because of the club reputation. It's hard to finish with so many interruptions, and I beg off after two songs of start-stop action.
GR - We'll have to do this somewhere else where we don't have to watch our backs.
Ms W - Yes. I can't call you if you're married, but I'm getting a cell phone soon so you can call me and we can set up a date. When can you come back so I can give you my new number?
ALL CLEAR -- You may now proceed to the rest of this TR.
We agree on my next visit and I walk out a little stiffly with my unhappy ending, but with a smile at another OTC prospect.
Lurker_001
04-24-2005, 12:59 PM
WARNIG:this post contains text of an explicit sexual nature
Fuck Repetition
I arrived a little later then normal and took my seat at the bar.She comes over and sits.For some stupid reason i check to see if she's wearing the necklace i bought for her.The one "being repaired",lol...
We talked and had a good conversation tonight about some comedy movies.I did one of the dialouge lines from a movie.She laughed, a very good belly laugh, and said "I'm impressed.You know that movie so well".I bought her a drink,we talked some more and then headed off to the VIP room.
S.O.P in the V.I.P. is a two chair show.She has one to lean back on or rest her upper body and our lower bodys rest on the other.
She's trying to do her show with the second chair but the other dancers keep taking it.This is a good thing and a bad thing.Good because she's hugging alot and doing the"Reverse cowgirl".Bad because we're not "In the groove".
Part of the conversation While hugging:
ME:I'm so happy that you're my regular girl.
ME:You're an important part of my life.
ME:Someone i can share,laugh and have fun with.
HER:*laughing* awww
We finally get a second chair,she's comfortable now and making good contact... but,there's something wrong tonight.Maybe my pants are too rough or there're too many distractions in the VIP.
Thinking back on it now i'm pretty sure our "Repetition" got messed up by the lack of chairs and she wasn't in her rythym.
Anyway,she's relaxed enough and using the cock to rub her clit.She's doing alot of circular movements but when the time comes to slide the fat head up and over her slitty clitty she appears to be overly sensitive and hesitent.
I test the waters by grabbing her hips and pulling.Something in the past that would drive her to hump like crazy.Tonight though she humped hard for ten or fifteen seconds then would stop or go back to rotational stimulation.
She's reseptive to my input and when i pushed her out,head in contact with hood and stopped her there she liked it and repeated it on her own a couple times.
She's also very into no touching,as far as i can tell.When she's simulating doggy and i put my hands down to the side of the chair the whole mood changes.She'll look deeply into my eyes from over her shoulder and just slowly move forward and back.It's like there's nothing else in the world except her pussy and a cock,lol...
ME:That contact you do... does it hurt or is it overly sensitive tonight?
HER:No
ME:It's making me sensitive. *The glans man.. the GLANS!*
HER:*Jumping up thinking i may cum* is that good?Do you want to stop?
ME:*Thinking* "Ahhh fuck it.It's just not happening tonight anyway".Yes... maybe we should stop...
We ended the VIPs early,i paid her the usual 200 and she went to do her stage show.I stage tipped the usual 100 dollar bill and waited for her to finish.
Part of the conversation at the table:
ME: Did you have fun in VIP?
HER:Yes... I'm very selective though.I only like doing shows for people i trust.
ME: Am i any good in VIP?
HER:*Big smile,laughing* Oh yeah...
ME:I'm not trying to hit up on you but...
ME:You're a woman....
HER:*Big smile* Thanks for noticing
ME:You told me about not emotionally involved with anyone... What do you do when... when the disire is too much?
HER:Sex?
ME:Yeah... Do you have toys?
HER:No... When i want sex i just do it.
We talked some more.There's a machine that gives stuffed animals,if you can grab 'em.We played that and she won a stuffed eagle... :D
It was a fun night,got to enjoy her company outside of VIP a bit more than usual.That was very nice and something i would have liked to have done more often in the past.Something i hope we can do more of in the future...
Ginorod55
04-24-2005, 04:22 PM
PART III
It's been two weeks since my HG #2 with Ms F. I call her and find out she's working. I tell her I'm working late, but I'll try to swing by afterwards. It's been an extra-long day with a moonlighting job in another city 50 miles away to supplement the war chest, and I'm really bushed. If Ms F wants to play it won't be as much fun as if I were rested up, so I call and leave a voice mail telling her I'm going home and I'll catch her later.
Next day I call and tell her I'm hoping to finish my moonlighting project early afternoon of day 3. I'm not expected till early evening.
GR - What time are you going in to work tomorrow night? Want to meet for a late lunch?
Ms F - That sounds good. Call me tomorrow when you get off.
I call on day 3 and she tells me she's been out and about with her daughters and is gonna skip work and just go home and hit the sack.
Ms F - Today is not a good day to play.
GR - Wow! I wasn't even thinking about that (Liar, liar, pants on fire!), but now that you mention it, it would've been nice. Maybe next week.
So I've got 3 hours to kill. Last time I went to Ms F's club, Club P, I was hanging out with her for about an hour before her quitting time. During that time I tipped Ms F-2 while Ms F hit the RR before her turn on stage.
Ms F-2 is early 20's, nice D-cups and caboose. I go up during the second song, which is nude. She sees me and, being I'm the only one at the tip stage, comes over. She spreads wide.
Ms F-2 - Look at my little pussy, all ready for a little dick.
GR - Very nice.
Ms F-2 - See how wet I am? That guy got me all wet in VIP (she had just come down from VIP when her name was called.)
So I'm remembering this little conversation two weeks later and decide it's the perfect time to get acquainted with Ms F's coworkers, since she's not going to be in.
Club P opens at 4. A bouncer is outside when I arrive at 4:30, pulling stuff from his car. He tells me there's only 1 girl now, but more will be arriving shortly. (Here we go again!)
No one's at the register, but I'm sure it'll be slow inside, so I'll pay the $10 to someone when they come to collect. I've brought my own refreshments (it's BYOB) and sit by the main stage. Whaddaya know, I'm the only one there. After a while someone goes behind the bar. It's the owner and we shoot the breeze, I tell him about my other club visits, who I've been seeing here, and so forth. My bona fides established, we start discussing players in different clubs, and how nice it is to find someone that won't bs when OTC is discussed. Just tell me no and get it over with; don't try to string along just to get at my $.
The owner has the DJ page Ms A to the stage. It's gonna be a one-on-one.
Ms A has been taking a nap in the VIP area and heads for the DR. A couple of songs later she comes out. She's 23, I find out later, natural D-cups, with a great attitude. I get up close to tip her and like what I see.
GR - Sorry they made you come out for just me.
Ms A - I don't mind.
She comes over and sits with me and we chit-chat for half an hour. I turn on my CS and try everything I've learned over the last 4 years, with a healthy dose of SCJ fine-tuning. I flirt, I compliment, I make her laugh. It's like a pissing contest between the SS and the CS. ;D
She buys some chips with my meager stage tip. She tells me she was sleeping because she worked 4 to 4 yesterday and will be doing the same today. She didn't sleep much this morning because people kept coming over and waking her up. Some friends even showed up with some vegetal matter and they had to try it out.
GR - You know, I'm really enjoying this, and I didn't even get any dances yet. You're a lot of fun. Smart, and with an awesome body.
Ms A - You don't think I'm too fat?
GR - Oh, no! You're perfect. Great boobies, too. Are they all you, or did you buy them?
She pulls them out to show me up close.
Ms A - Oh, no, they're all natural.
GR - And what a beautiful pair they are!
We keep talking and flirting. I tell her how now she knows I'm all hot and bothered for her and I've revealed too much and she's gonna take advantage of me.
Ms A - I don't believe it for a minute. I think you're a slut.
:O
GR - What on earth is that supposed to mean?
Ms A - I think you sleep with a lot of women. Like when a girl sleeps around, people call her a slut. How many women have you slept with?
GR - Meeeee??? :angel: Oh, noooo...
Ms A - Yes, you are. But I won't hold that against you.
So we decide to have some laps. I decide to hold out and ask for a topless dance to begin with.
Her body is awesome. It starts slow -- I press my luck and get in a little nipple-nibble.
GR - Remember that I'm a slut and you're taking advantage of me and pushing all my buttons.
Even with just a topless dance she puts her cookie right in front of my face. I grab that beautiful ass and squeeze it just enough. She slithers down and blows on Gino's Rod, complimenting on size (SS again). She grinds me nice and slow in CG and then steps forward and bends backward all the way over and tucks her head below my crotch, puts her mouth on my jewels and blows warm air. Damn, she can bend!
After that I tell her I want nude dances.
Her little skirt comes off in a jiffy, and so does her thong. She steps up on the couch and teases me with her beautiful body. I start more breast exploration, both manually and orally. I caress and massage her buttocks. Her cookie is right in front of me. She slaps my hand lightly.
We take a break and she sits next to me, still in the nude. We chat.
Ms A - Okay, so far you've spent 30.
I agree. I like having clear accounting practices. She excuses herself and goes to the RR, leaving her outfit and without asking for her tips. I guess I've earned a pretty good amount of trust. I walk around to see who else has arrived, especially since I came wanting to see Ms F-2, but also wanting to know if one of Ms F's daughters comes in, so I can be more discreet.
Ms A comes back out and we start another song. This one's even hotter, and I get to kiss and nibble her caboose and her belly, and that lovely spot where the legs fit into the abdomen. She shifts Gino's Rod down one leg and rides it in CG. The kitty comes closer.
GR - I'm trying to behave. Maybe I need to sit on my hands.
Ms A - Yeah, you might have to do that.
[RED ALERT - Sensitive souls scroll down to the Green All Clear signal]
As the song ends she rubs her cookie and puts her fingers up to my nose.
GR - Ooooh, you're wet, aren't you?
I lick her fingers.
Ms A - I guess I am. :flirt:
GR - All right, one more for the road.
I find it's sometimes good to announce when the last song is starting, so that if things are coming to a climax, they can do so now and not remain inconclusive.
Ms A climbs up on the couch and offers some cookie dough. I take her into my mouth and nibble and pull and lick and suck and tease and her legs begin to buckle. She steps back down to the floor and proceeds with all her gyrations and grinding and blowing hot air. She backs into my face and I lick her starfish -- she pushes hard. Then she wants more. She looks around and makes sure no one is watching. No one is, we have the club to ourselves.
[ALL CLEAR - You may proceed]
She climbs the couch one last time, grabs my head and brings me up to the promised land. I hold on to her beautiful rear end and go all out. It's intense and we both end up panting.
We chat for a while longer. I hint but there's no indication that things could go any further.
GR - Next time I want to make you come.
Ms A - Sure thing, baby. You bring 2 franklins and I'm all yours in VIP for 2 hrs.
GR - What do I get for 2 franklins?
Ms A - The same thing, no more.
GR - :crying:
Somehow she manages to drop a hint about her BF.
Ms A - He's a big, black mother-f**r.
GR - Wow, so then if what they say about black men is true...
Ms A - Oh, it is!
GR - Then what you said earlier about my size was quite a compliment, huh? [Or some pretty good SS!! ;D]
Ms A - Oh, yeah, baby.
I get her schedule, pay for songs (70) and a tip (5) and promise to be back soon.
mr_punk
04-24-2005, 04:55 PM
ME:I'm so happy that you're my regular girl.
ME:You're an important part of my life.
ME:Someone i can share,laugh and have fun with.
HER:*laughing* awwwstripper translation: jesus f#@king christ! now, i have to get two restraining orders this week. one for my ex-BF who was just paroled and another for this guy. why do i always get the weird ones?
ME:It's making me sensitive. *The glans man.. the GLANS!*
HER:*Jumping up thinking i may cum* is that good?Do you want to stop?stripper translation: i'm a cum dodger. besides, i don't want you popping in your pants in case you want to buy more dances.
HER:Yes... I'm very selective though.I only like doing shows for people i trust.
ME: Am i any good in VIP?
HER:*Big smile,laughing* Oh yeah...stripper translation: any customer who's buying $200 in dances plus $100 in tips can buy my trust. so, you bet your sweet bippity that you're one hot and well-hung stud.
ME:You told me about not emotionally involved with anyone... What do you do when... when the disire is too much?
HER:Sex?
ME:Yeah... Do you have toys?
HER:No... When i want sex i just do it.stripper translation: i'm not going to have it with you if that's what you're getting at. i'm going to have sex with my unemployed musician boyfriend after i give him your money to fix his band's van.
burrrrrrrppp! garcon! my please pass my compliments along to the chef. the meal was superb and this chocolate mousse is absolutely divine. now, there's only one way to end a perfect meal like this...<mr_punk pick up a newspaper and heads off to the crapper.>}:D
Chili Palmer
04-24-2005, 05:23 PM
Another post from the "Swingin' Dick Chronicles" (it's been a busy weekend for yours truly):
Turns out Maxi Mounds (http://maximounds.com/)is dancing at some obscure club in Arcadia. Now, 99% of you reading this have no idea who she is; the few mega-tit hounds are nodding their heads knowingly. I had to see her, even if just to get a Polaroid to add to my set.
I left the homestead about 8:00, figuring to stop off on the way at DV-CoI to see a top dancer from the NoHo club who was supposed to be slumming it in Industry that night. Sadly, the Deja Vu turned out to be The Club That Breasts Forgot; maybe 10-12 dancers on shift, only one above a B-Cup, and she, a beautiful Latina/Asian mix, is, unfortunately, the reigning NFZ queen of the club. Ugh. I did get one lap with a refugee from Spearmint Rhino; sure enough, she tried her old upsell techniques on me almost immediately ("No, don't touch me there, I'll get in trouble...but we can in the VIP..."). I cut her off after one song, finished my Coke, and bounced out after 45 minutes ready for Arcadia.
Or so I thought.
The devil, as they say, is in the details. In the case, there's a big difference between the 10 Freeway and the 210 Freeway. My directions told me to exit the 10; I spent 30 minutes driving around South El Monte, which is not exactly the safest recipe for a white boy driving around in a new car. I finally find a pay phone that has a Yellow Page book and tear out the map page: Arcadia is still north and west of me by a bit. Now, you're probably thinking, why not just call the club, Chili? well, first off, I'd left my cell phone at home, not thinking for a minute I'd need it and secondly, just to call 411 now costs 50 cents. I may be old school, but I will be damned before I pay 50 cents to talk to a fucken operator. Like my forebears before me, I'll wander in the LA desert for 40 years before that happens.
I get to Arcadia, and start looking for the alleged cross street. Nowhere to be found, natch. I finally stop at a Denny's, and then find the number for another club on the same street, call them and get some directions. 15 minutes later, the club is found. A sigh of relief that can be heard in Glendale is exhaled, and I walk into the club. A surly Arab takes my cover (no surprise; this chain is run by a surly Arab family). Not a bad looking club, even considering the carpeting was bought from a Spearmint Rhino garage sale (all leopard prints, including the chairs and curtains), intimate, lots of dancers with protruding mammary glands and even bigger booties. I will dwell here.
I spot Maxi. Her show is clearly over, and it looks like she's almost ready to pack up and head to dressing room until her midnight show. I go over to her and ask for a couple of Polaroids; she's more than friendly and we get our shots. Mission accomplished. Each of her boobs, by the way, are bigger than my head. Seriously. Now I can relax, and I rail a few dancers. Finally try out one gal on a 4-for-$40 special...no mileage except light grinding, so no need to waste more time here.
I roll to my main club, get in about midnight. The place is as busy as I have seen it in a long, long time. Immediately, a long time top fave of mine spots me. She's a pro's pro, one of the friendliest gals you could hope to find in or out of a club. We converse, then she tells me to track her down when I'm ready for her, not a jealous, possessive, dramatic bone in her body. She knows there's always room for one more VIP session with her, and doesn't sweat it.
I find a seat and enjoy the show. The DJ announces the name of a dancer who has recently returned to the club, and who has already performed at a party for me and my friends, but never went any further because of boyfriend issues. She disappeared for about a year, but we renewed acquaintances a few weeks back and even exchanged phone numbers. She comes off the stage and I bumrush her off to the nude rooms just in time for a series of 2-for-1s. Lots of mutual groping and fingering, some light kissing. We finish up and I inquire about seeing her outside. Her concern is no longer her BF, just others finding out what she is doing. Who am I going to tell? Tentatively, we set a date for next Thursday.
I step out of the nude room and, having lost my seat, stand by an alcove in the club. A short while later, a somewhat thick blonde walks up, almost my type but not quite. Pretty face, but boobs need to be at least one cup size bigger. A punkass kid in a group of three punkass kids grabs her ass as she walks by. "Hey, that costs money," she tells them, then focuses her attention on me. "Wanna go have some fun?," she asks as she reaches down to stroke little CP. "Oooh, you're ready to play." I demur, and she keep on stroking me as we stand facing each other. Punkass grabs her ass again, and I tell him you have to be this tall to go on the ride. That quiets him down, and the dancer hasn't missed a stroke during this interlude. Finally, I tell her that her arguments are persuasive, and we head to VIP.
She does not disappoint. As we wait for the first song to start, she has me unzipped and is stroking away. "You want to get really dirty?" "Always." She releases me, walks over to her purse a grabs a wrapper. I tear it open, place it on and she mounts me. We fuck like wildcats for all three songs. When the third one is over, she asks, "Did you finish?" I tell her no but it's okay. "You really are unbelievable, wow." Stripper shit? Maybe, but I never tire of hearing it. As we walk out, she keeps on kissing me goodbye, each kiss getting harder and harder. We finally break it up as she reaches the dressing room.
I head to the bathroom to remove the evidence and clean up. When I return, my old fave is coming out of the dressing room. We head right back to the VIPs, and I warn her I might have a bit of a rubbery taste but hadn't come yet. She thanks me, and unzips me as she places her breasts in my mouth. When I am sated, she stands up on the couch and I service her for most of 2 songs, then she does more on me. She wants to know if I want to finish, but I demur. We clean up, head out to the main floor, where I hear the DJ announce the name of a dancer whom I have been told by three different sources that I need to lap.
I immediately rail her, and plunk down more tip money than anyone else to get her attention. Big older blonde, huge implants, shaved kitty, but showing some wear around the midsection (stretchmarks). No matter. She comes over and I tell her we have to get laps when she gets offstage. She doesn't understand what I am saying, but I finally make it clear. She comes off, we head over to the far nude room. When she sees I am more than ready, she asks if I want to fuck. No beating around the bush with her. I say yes, she quotes a price, and we go to the VIP room to consummate the deal. All the rooms are filled, and she curses out a floater for the problem. We wait, and another dancer tries to get into "our" room. She then berates her, and we go in. She strokes me for a bit, then heads out and comes back in just carrying a six pack of condoms, without a care in the world who sees it. She places a chair in the doorway, then says, "Watch this." Amazingly, she proceeds to deep throat me. Remarkable skills. She finishes up, I slip the condom on, she mounts me cowgirl and away we go. She's digging it, then after a bit, tells me to fuck her on top. Now, there are no doors, and while you can disguise cowgirl or reverse cowgirl as simply heavy grinding, there can be no mistaking what is going on when I am poised above her pistoning in and out. The chick is fucken crazy, but I don't really care at this point. If it is fucking she wants, it is fucking she gets. I get on my knees, grab her legs and bring her forward to me. I fuck her, hard, harder, and she starts to jabber. Finally, after two sets of VIPs (six songs), I release.
I find out she is actually staying with her sister, and lives about 6 miles from me. I know I can get her number if I want, but in this case, discretion is definitely the better part of valor and I simply part ways with a promise to do it again next time we meet. No way I want this one calling at all hours of the night. We kiss, part ways, I clean up, and head home. To quote Clint Eastwood in Absolute Power, "Tomorrow is promised to no one."
CP
SportsWriter2
04-24-2005, 06:02 PM
Chili, I had this urge to walk into to a certain club on a Wednesday afternoon at 3PM and get BJ/FS from three dancers in 48 minutes. Kind of like an NBA triple double.
I got over it reading your reports. Why bother? It's like Oscar Robertson is still playing and averaging a triple double for the season. :-\
Gino, way to go with the starfish. It's fun reading here and living vicariously. :)
mr_punk
04-24-2005, 06:17 PM
Turns out Maxi Mounds is dancing at some obscure club in Arcadia.yikes! i think the woman with the largest breasts that i've ever been with was an enhanced F-cup. her russian gave new meaning to the phrase "booby trapped". however, this maxi woman almost makes her look flat-chested. although, she was tall as well.
I know I can get her number if I want, but in this case, discretion is definitely the better part of valor and I simply part ways with a promise to do it again next time we meet. No way I want this one calling at all hours of the night.sure, just because a stripper makes a good ITC encounter doesn't mean she makes a good canidate for an OTC encounters.
GenWar
04-24-2005, 08:19 PM
TR #1 of 3 - Part 1 of 2 - Weekend of April 22nd thru 24th, 2005 - Detroit MI
So this weekend, me and the wingman are in Detroit for some card playing. Naturally, after some drinking on Friday night, someone suggests that we find a club. Tonight, we have the Mexican with us and he is only 18 so the thought is that this will complicate matters. The wingman suggests some club just outside the city but I say, “No, let’s go to Canada.” So we stumble over to the car and head for the tunnel (wingman is driving. Ms. Gen gave me a serious reaming over the drunk driving of previous trips.) After paying the toll, we stop off at the duty free shop.
Roll up in the shop and it is filled with beautiful blondes. Damn. I walk in and see them all giggling and buying cookies and I remark loudly, “We are with the wrong party!” They giggle at us and shop some more. We go up to currency exchange. This is not the main party (That is Saturday.) so I only exchange like $140. Actually, I was so buzzed, I just pulled out a handful of $20’s and said “This many.” Can I have change in $10s and $2s please? The lady looks at me. “$2s? you realize $2s are coins?” “What’s the smallest bill?” She rolls her eyes at me, and states “$5s”. Can I have the change in $10s and $5s please? She counts out some weird colored money and hands it to me. The Mexican steps up and exchanges $125 and then, the wingman, having to outdo everyone, hands in $200. The blondes observe our exchanges and one of them remarks, “Maybe we are with the wrong party?” So I smooth back, “We can certainly combine.” One of the more sour ones tries a discouraging “Well, we are going to Danny’s. You wanna go to Dannys?” “Absolutely,” I respond, throwing her off. She didn’t peg us as the type to go to a guy club. The Mexican and the wingman are shaking their heads vigorously. We head outside and there is a white, stretch Excursion limo. The driver is standing outside. I go up to him…”What’s with the party?” I ask. He grins, “These ladies are the Detroit Pistons cheerleaders.” “No shit?” He nods…and points. One of the ladies, the sour one, has come out of the shop. He calls over, “Who are you guys with?” She says, “I am a dancer.” “Really,” I remark, “Where?” “For the Detroit Pistons,” she replies. DAMN! Oh well, they aren’t really interested in us as much as going to see naked schlong so….
We pile back into the pacifica and hit the tunnel. The wingman decides to play a game wherein he sees how close to the side of the tiny packed tunnel he can get my poor lady without actually hitting. Or perhaps it is because I am a passenger and more than a little drunk. Either way, I did NOT enjoy the trip. Plus, I am blasting the music and trying to scream lyrics and he keeps turning it down asking for directions and what to do…like he doesn’t have Sheila (my GPS) right there in front of him. Far side of the tunnel, we undergo a custom’s scrutiny that would not keep out Satan himself and we are in land of the maple leaf. We drive around, find the club of choice, drive around some more, find a parking lot. The Mexican hops out and attempts to get into the club (minimum age is 19; clubbing with children is so annoying) while we park. We pull into a spot and the wingman starts depositing $2 coins into a machine. At $10, he hits Print Ticket and pulls out a piece of paper, which he puts in the pacifica. We start the short walk to the club when I remember that Mexican may not get in.
Sure enough, we round the corner and the Mexican is walking towards us. “Dammit!” the wingman comments. We review the situation. “Let’s go to the other club,” the wingman suggests. “We are already here and already paid ridiculous parking fees.” I respond. “Mexican, try the one across the street.” So the Mexican ambles across the street and enters another club. We wait a minute. And another minute. And another minute. When he doesn’t come out, we head in. As we are climbing the stairs, I realize I forgot my cigars. So wingman heads in and I go back to the pacifica. When I finally get to the door, I am greated by a large gentleman in a nice suit. I tell him I am meeting some people and he says “Two guys?” I affirm and he leads me around the club to seats RIGHT up by the stage, where the Mexican and wingman are sitting. He says, “If you take care of me, I’ll take care of you.” So I slip him a canadian $5 and ask his name. He nods and says, “Mr. R. Thank you.” I have a seat and the waitress comes over. “Tequila sunrise with patron.” I say. She shakes her head. No Patron. Grey Goose? She nods. “Cosmopolitan with Grey Goose.” She disappears and I look at the situation.
The stage has no tip rail. In fact, we are not seated AT the stage but at small tables NEAR the stage. The seats are absolutely terrible. I look up and up and up to the stage and see what has to be one of the most amazing dancers I have ever seen in my life. Her name is Miss K (found out later) and she has the most phenomenal body! It is like her form was a collaboration of God and herself. The Big Guy gave her the raw material and she proceeded to mold it to its utmost potential. Every muscle on her body was toned and ripped. Her abs were phenomenal. Her breasts were high and firm and didn’t appear the least bit fake. Only tiny crows feet at her eyes and the vein structure on the back of her hands gave you the tiniest inkling that she was not 19 and was, in fact, closer to 30. I was dumbfounded.
But still, the seats SUCKED. I leaned over to the wingman. “What the hell is with these seats?” “I just sat where the Mexican sat,” he responds. The waitress returns with my Cosmo. “$12.75” she says. ACK! $12.75! She must have noticed the look on my face because she added, “Canadian.” Oh yeah. I give her some multicolored bills and she tries to hand me some large coins but I wave her off. I take a sip and realize how inaccessible my drink is based on the seats. I contemplate. On the one hand, I think it is rude to get up but, on the other, the seats SUCKED. “I am moving.” I announce. I pull out another $5 and set it on the stage and I get up and head back. Mr. R appears out of nowhere and points at some promising suggested seats. They seem good so I have a seat and the wingman and the Mexican swing around and join me at the table. We sit and I light up the first cigar.
I smoke for a bit and watch Miss K on stage. Apparantly, the set in this club is 2 on stage, in varying stages of undress, dancer’s choice. Afterwards, there is a brief intermission where the dancer goes in the DR and changes into a different outfit, once that accentuates her form less but is more conducive for nudity. She then returns and does 1-2 more songs during which she definitely gets naked. I notice that my $5 is still sitting on the stage as K is in the back changing. A waiter walks by so I stop him and ask him about it. “Are we not allowed to tip on stage?” He looks confused. “No, she must have missed it. I’ll make sure she gets it and knows that it came from you.” Say what you want about this club, they take service seriously.
A little after her set, Miss K comes out of the DR and stops by to see me. I make a conscious effort to keep my eyes on her face, but it is tough. She drops a little mild game…not fancy enough to wake up my SS sensor. She gives me the low down on the club, saying there is no touching. No problem, I am a gentleman. “That won’t be a problem.” I tell her. “Would you like to try a dance now?” she asks. (Rule #1 of Sales- You gotta ask for the business.) “Sure,” I smile. She leads me back into the private dance room. She chooses a seat and I sit down. And down. And down. The chair is tiny and my ass is only 3 ft from the floor, though my knees are 4 ft. This is bad. This chair is especially designed to prevent grind. You can’t get decent contact at all. Each chair comes with a tiny ottoman, which she seats herself on. She chats me up a bit during the first song. She has a cute little Canadian accent. It is all innocent stuff…the sensor is silent.
Then the dance begins. It is a nice dance. She bares her lovely body and proceeds to display it, and it is a sight to see. However, there is an immediate issue. She doesn’t touch me. AT ALL. Not so much as fingertips on my cheek. Now, you know I am not Capt. Mileage and actually, I was pretty much ok with the dance. Any chance to see a body as gorgeous as that up close is worth a mere $20. Especially Canadian $20. Still, I recognize a train wreck coming when I see the guy parked on the tracks. The wingman is NOT going to like this…not one little teensy bit.
After the dance, she thanks me politely and I give her some funny looking money. I can’t go clubbing in Canada…the money doesn’t mean anything to me. She walks me back to my chair and rubs the wingman on his shoulder. Before I can stop the wreck from happening, the Mexican comes to the rescue by reaching out and grabbing her hand. He pulls her over and chats momentarily and then they get up and head for the back room. After they are gone, I chat with the wingman. “Whew. That was a close one.” I say. “What?” he asks. “Well, on the mileage scale of 0 to 10, that was basically a point 7.” “Point 7?” he queries, raising an eyebrow. I nod. “Honestly, I am not comfortable going all the way up to 1 on that dance.” He frowns thoughtfully.
(to be continued)
GenWar
04-24-2005, 08:21 PM
TR #1 of 3 - Part 2 of 2 - Weekend of April 22nd thru 24th, 2005 - Detroit MI
I look up on stage and there is another absolutely gorgeous body finishing up a set. By glancing around, I notice the theme of this club seems to be hard bodies. I mean, all of the women in the place are absolutely ripped. Most look as though they could easily break a normal guy in half. But, they are NOT the ultra-ripped, almost non-feminine body builder types you see on ESPN 8 the Ocho late at night. They all manage to look like lovely ladies, just one’s that are SERIOUS about fitness. The dancer finishes her set and a new brunette comes on stage. I watch with fascination and smoke away as the wingman leaves for a dance and the Mexican returns from 2. He is absolutely enamored with Miss K and LOVED his dance. “LOVED it?” I asked. “LOVED it.” He confirms. “But what about mileage? There was absolutely NO contact.” I point out. He shrugs and says, “Actually, mileage is not that important to me. Honestly, I don’t like mileage all that much.” (insert “record being ripped of player” sound here) “What?!?” I exclaimed. He shrugs again, so I let it go.
The brunette on stage is really giving a hard core show. Most of the ladies haven’t been working the stage, preferring to let their nigh-perfect bodies do the showing for them. However, this lady is doing pull-ups on the cross bar, showing off her biceps very nicely. She does head and hand stands, where in she leans on her neck and one arm and supports her entire body as it points straight up. One of the patrons comes over and lays on his back on the stage with a bill in his mouth. She comes over and leans over him, giving him a little mini show and takes the bill. This opens the floodgates as everyone realizes this is acceptable and 5-6 guys take turns lying on stage. One guy climbs all the way on stage, so his feet are not on the floor and he is trying to scoot more and more towards the middle of the stage. She quickly takes his bill and Mr. R comes over, grabs his legs and pulls him off, whispering forcefully into his ear. Trying to take some of the tension off, I get up and stand at the stage politely, waiting for her to come over. When she spots me, she saunters over and I up one of the randomly colored bills, which she takes with her breasts. Up close, her abs look like they are made of perfectly flesh colored plastic. DAMN. She continues her dance and does some more exercise moves including hanging from the crossbar by her knees.
The wingman returns from his dances and he is shooting me pointed looks. I interpret them instantly and realizing I am leaving these lovely ladies behind after only 45 minutes of exposure. I frown back and he just keeps up the looks. He then verbalizes it, “I’m ready to go.” The Mexican is aghast. “What? This place is great.” He states. The wingman shakes his head. Mileage is everything to the wingman. As much as I am enjoying looking, I can feel his pain a bit. So I look at the Mexican and say, “We are gonna go.” The Mexican grumbles his usual 18-year-old grumbling and says he is gonna have a couple more dances with Miss K. We agree and he catches her attention and wanders off.
As he is leaving, another hardbody comes over to talk to me. She is the only lady of color in the place, her skin the color of sweet, marshmallowed hot chocolate on a cool winter night. She is virtually flawless, save for her braces. The dental work doesn’t detract from her appearance but her manner clearly indicates that she believes it does, as she won’t smile and when you make her laugh, she visibly catches her self and closes her mouth. It was distracting enough to notice. She introduces herself as Miss N starts a little game on me and the SS sensor sparks to life for the first time all night. She starts asking me my race and doesn’t believe me when I say black. She keeps up a flirty banter about it, eventually actually reviewing my driver’s license as proof. Now, I have no intention of getting any more dances but I AM a sucker for a good line so when she says, “So, are you ready for some chocolate?” Wow, what a line! After a millisecond of review, I indicate that I would like a table dance as opposed to a trip in the back. She nods and smiles and has a seat to wait for the next song.
As the next song begins, she starts her dance and it is a very very nice air dance. She gets about ½ naked, baring the important parts and begins to do some pretty intricate and entertaining moves. Since she is doing well and the table dances are only $10, I encourage her to continue when the song ends. I glance over at the wingman and he rolls his eyes at me. So I continue to enjoy her display for another song but she has to go on stage so she ends a bit early and rushes to dress. I pay her and she dashes off without even a thank you.
By this time, the Mexican has returned and our cigars are smoked. Both the wingman and the Mexican look at me. The wingman knows it is a foregone conclusion and the Mexican is trying not to let the pleading show in his eyes. I feel for him, especially with the trouble he has getting in to places but, ultimately, I have to owe my loyalty to the wingman. So I start stuffing pockets. The Mexican sighs and we start to pack up. The waitress wanders by and I slip her $5 more for the road, though, in hindsight, that might have been a bit much for one round of drinks that I tipped on when I got them *shrug*. We start to roll and hit the door. Mr. R gives me a questioning look and I say, “Hey, it’s the wingman. It’s not me.” He nods and says “have a good night.” “Thanks,” I respond and we are out on the street. A short drive, a quick stop at the duty free shop for a massive loss on the exchange rate, and 20 minutes in line at the other side of the tunnel and we are back on American soil…heading for a club in Lincoln Park, MI. But that is a story for another trip report.
Net time in the club - 1:10 Canadian
Dance with Miss K - $20 Canadian
Dances with Miss N - $20 Canadian
Drink and tips - $25 Canadian
Learning never to go clubbing in Windsor, Ontario, Canada again – Priceless.
(2 more TRs to come. Gonna try and spread them out because of the ridiculous length. ;) -gen)
KC Joe
04-24-2005, 09:33 PM
Wow Chilli, I used to think Moneywise was the SCJ God, but after reading your posts, he's just a novice. Was this a SC or a whorehouse?
Chili Palmer
04-24-2005, 09:57 PM
Depends on who you're dancing with and how much you have to spend. :hypnotize
Nicolina
04-25-2005, 01:53 AM
Good Lord, Chili!!! I mean, your posts got me hot and everything, and I'm in proper awe of your prowess, but you're kinda scaring me off L.A. clubs. Is this my competition??/:O :O
Chili Palmer
04-25-2005, 07:56 AM
Good Lord, Chili!!! I mean, your posts got me hot and everything, and I'm in proper awe of your prowess, but you're kinda scaring me off L.A. clubs. Is this my competition??/:O :O
Glad you enjoy the TRs, Nic...but remember, I went to three clubs Saturday, two of which were big goose eggs when it came to contact. There's nearly 100 clubs in SoCal, and that percentage of touch-to-no touch pretty much holds true throughout the basin. Ya just gotta know how to connect the dots.
CP
Element
04-25-2005, 09:21 AM
Wow Chili you should add this to the "Cross-country research on contact/touching" thread.
But then again that might be to tame of a topic for you.
Lurker_001
04-25-2005, 02:12 PM
Mr.Punk,you're wrong... the real translation goes like this... the whole time outside VIP anyways.
HER:*Thinking while looking away in another direction* "I think i'll either call one if my ten on the cell phone list boyfriends or fuck that guy over there"
Mr.Punk ...it's worst than it sounds.I really don't want to get into it though...
Fortunatly there is a nice little asian that has shown intrest.Perhaps i should dump this goddess,lower my sights and in the future post a OTC report involving the asian sweetie...
... Then, maybe i'll get some respect around here,lol...
Katrine
04-25-2005, 06:54 PM
Mr.Punk,you're wrong... the real translation goes like this... the whole time outside VIP anyways.
HER:*Thinking while looking away in another direction* "I think i'll either call one if my ten on the cell phone list boyfriends or fuck that guy over there"
Mr.Punk ...it's worst than it sounds.I really don't want to get into it though...
No, Punkie is probably right. Seriously, the last thing going through our minds when we are working is sex. Yup, for the most part, we're thinking about getting some food, going home, washing the manstank off our bodies, and getting rest! :-\
But hey, who am I to cut into a sister's income? She just sounds like Moneywise's former old lady. When she asks you for a loan, I suggest you hightail it out of there........
Moneywise
04-26-2005, 06:05 AM
Wow Chilli, I used to think Moneywise was the SCJ God, but after reading your posts, he's just a novice. Was this a SC or a whorehouse?
I'm no god by any means in the club. I simply went from green atm machine to colorful safe depository. I owe that all to the likes of the real SCJ vets (FBR, Chili, mr_p, SW2, Fishnet, etc etc) If I left you out I love you just the same.
Going to the strip club is so not what it used to be. I say that with a large mischievous grin on my face. ;) Knowledge truly is power. }:D
GenWar
04-26-2005, 09:16 AM
TR #2 of 3 - Part 1 of 3 - Weekend of April 22nd thru 24th, 2005 - Detroit MI
So, after an unsuccessful trip to Canada (see other TR), the wingman is driving us to a club he chose in Lincoln Park, MI. The trip over is very frustrating. The wingman drives like a 87 year old blind man so the 15 minute drive takes us 30 minutes. Then we get lost because we don’t actually know the address. Finally, rather than just figure it out, the Mexican calls information and then calls the club. We get the addy and roll up about 11:50 pm.
So we are out in serious urban landscape. The club is in the parking lot of a very questionable motel and we are force to park in the same lot. Some random guy directs us as we pull in. Once out, we hit the door and I am immediately worried. The club has a little entrance area which is quite dirty and the whole place needs a paint job. This is not your run of the mill “Gentlemen’s Club.” I am instead reminded of reviews on TUSCL that call places “Neighborhood Bars” and the like. Sign on the door says “$7.00 cover. 1 Drink Minimum.” Clear, plain English so there is no way you can misunderstand. So we open the door and step in. Continued entrance is blocked by a velvet rope. A misplaced piece of class in an otherwise classless establishment. A large man in a t-shirt comes out from behind the bar and steps up to us. “That’ll be $7..uh…$8 cover, gentlemen.” “How much is the cover?” I ask, recalling the sign of 15 seconds previous. “$8.” He insists. We don’t argue, what would be the point? As soon as we pay, he says, “Step RIGHT over to the bar and buy a drink.” So I head over to the bar where the wingman and the Mexican are paying too much for watered-down cokes. (no alcohol.) I order an O’douls which I do every so often when I feel bad for the Budweiser Company that they are still making that shit.
Grasping our drinks we turn around and look at the bar. Not much in the way of available seating…certainly not anything with three seats together. There are seats at the stage but this is not a primary club trip so full-on party mode is not in order. Besides, I don’t think there were three stage seats anyway. Glancing to the left I see that there are three very large booths that are blocked off by velvet ropes. (Somewhere, there is a real club missing some ropes and very pissed off.) The Mexican disappears into the bathroom, so I ask the wingman if he is interested in getting one of the booths. “How much?” he asks me. I don’t know so I grab the bouncer. I ask and he responds, “$20.” REEAAALLLYYY? Given his unblemished record of honesty and forthrightness, I have very little trouble believing him. So I ask the wingman and he agrees. He fumbles out a $20 from his endless supply of random bills and hands it to the bouncer. I ask his name and get it as Mr. O.
Mr. O leads us down to the last booth and removes the rope. He lets us know that there is a bar across the street if we would like to duck out for a drink. Just let him know and he will keep our reasonably priced booth safe. We thank him and he ambles off. So we settle in and I light up Cigar #2 – this one a Cuban. Oh, how sweet it was! I sit back and relax and puff a while, taking in the surroundings. The club is about medium full and there is very little hustle going on. In fact, a lot of the ladies are simply seated in random places about the room, staring blankly into space. Interesting.
The DJ is really one of the worst DJs I have experienced and the whole setup lacks expertise. For one, when a dancer is on stage and she hasn’t gotten all her tips, he will extend her time. This is fine but he does it by STARTING THE SAME SONG OVER AGAIN! This is great if you like to listen to the same song over and over again…for some ladies, you almost heard the entire song twice. The other problem was that each stage tip was accompanied by a show that lacked only stirrups to be a full gynecological examination. This took a bit of time you might imagine. So, almost EVERY girl went over her time. Next, they didn’t seem to have the ability to strongly encourage the ladies to take their stage set. Many times, the name would be called and no one would appear. The stage would be empty for 30-60 seconds, sometimes more. TERRIBLE. At one point, the manager got on the mic and actually chastised the girls for failing to appear at stage. He stated, “When you hear your name called, you need to be there. You need to get your asses on stage. You do not need to be doing this New York stroll TO the stage.” Very unprofessional, I thought. Certainly, didn’t give the patrons the idea that it was a warm, happy family.
So we sat and we sat and we sat. I went through half the cigar before any dancers even noticed we were there. And we were in the VIP booth. Finally, one chick came over and said to me, “Wanna dance?” I looked at her and she was very plain but I did like her look. However, I said no. (Rule #12 – You never, ever “Wanna dance?” No matter how badly you actually want one.) She smiled politely and wandered off. She didn’t make it far as she ended up seated in the next booth over with 4 other girls. I checked out the booth and it had what appeared to be a “high rolling” regular…a reasonably nice guy with a cool fedora-like hat and like 5 ladies in his booth with him. I assumed he was a regular by the way he bantered with the DJ loudly across the room and the way ALL the women flocked to him at one point or another.
So we sat some more and checked out the talent. I don’t know if it was the location or the way that we had just been at the club of perfect feminine specimens but the field was decidedly subpar. Many girls walked by that I didn’t mind if they kept on walking. Most of the ladies were just not the traditionally medium-hot to hot types you get in a club, at least in my experience. These ladies were really more run-of-the-mill, average women. I think I have learned that this is the kind of roster the 18+ clubs tend to have. I have also realized that at least part of that phenomenon is the fact that I don’t get to view all the ladies through alcohol-colored glasses. Still, I am not elitist; I just wanna have a good time.
There were a few gems in the rough, including at all redhead with a nice black outfit. Once close up walk by and I observed a smattering of freckles on her shoulders and I was immediately hooked. However, I did everything I could think of (short of getting off my lazy ass and going to talk to her) and she never made it over. I pointed her out to the wingman and said, “I’d actually like to get a dance from that redhead.” “Yeah, me too.” He replied, somewhat sardonically. Soon, I got desperate for company and just started making eye contact with any lady I could fine. This STILL didn’t work as many of them would smile and nod and keep moving…eventually resting somewhere DOING nothing. The concept of hustle was completely alien in this environment. This wasn’t just one or 2 girls, it was ALL of them. I was intrigued.
Finally, a lovely black girl named Miss K, stopped at my insistence. She had some nice facial piercings and a reasonable level of intelligence. She chatted me up a bit, giving me a nice, massaging buzz in the back of the neck. Nothing that scared my poor little sensor, which is a good thing. After some discussion, I broached the subject of the hustle factor. She looked at me blankly and asked “What is hustle?” Odd. I tried a different approach. I asked her tip out. She said “Nothing.” Wha-wha-what? “Nothing at all.” I asked. “Well,” she confirmed. “practically nothing.” I later learned that it is $10 to work, $10 to the bouncer and 10% to the DJ. This seemed like a slightly odd scenario but I think it offered a theory as to the lack of hustle. Basically, if a girl doesn’t want to work, after 2-3 dances, she doesn’t have to. This creates a very interesting dynamic for the club. So, after working it for a while, she gets around to asking for the dances. Of course, I obliged.
We get in the back which is not a very large room but has this giant piece of metal right by the entrance. She directs me to a seat and she fiddles with the metal thing and it turns on. I realize it is a very very large fan. When the fan comes on, the other unique characteristic of this dance room comes into play. The ladies began to discuss the use of the fan. Some are cold and feel it is unnecessary. Others are hot and are thankful for it, Miss K being among them. So they argue about it with very good natured banter. Finally, Miss K points at one of the other girls and says, “Shut up bitch, or you won’t get any later.” Everyone laughs. Miss K begins her dances which are very good. Significant mutual contact and a lot of ball juggling. After the requisite 2 dances, I thank her and return to the table. Miss K comes out and grabs the wingman, leaving me and the Mexican at the booth.
To be continued...
GenWar
04-26-2005, 09:20 AM
TR #2 of 3 - Part 2 of 3 - Weekend of April 22nd thru 24th, 2005 - Detroit MI
I relight my cigar and begin smoking again, suffering through the stage dances. I am smoking and enjoying my tasty O’douls when the redhead comes out of the back. I look at her and smiles. She smiles back and proceeds to attempt to walk right by the booth again. “Hey!” I say, a little perturbed. She turns to me and a SS smile lights up here face. A lot. The transformation is startling. “Hey baby!” she says. I pat the seat next to me and she sits. “What’s going on?” she asks. I try to play it cool. “You know, just chilling out.” She introduces herself as Miss S and scoots in close to me. I start staring at the freckles on her shoulder and smile to myself. She gives me a decent line, nothing too complementary but enough to keep it interesting as she waits for me to ask for a dance. Since I am wont to do so, we end up chatting for a while, long enough for the wingman to return to the table. He had been eyeing her too. So, finally, she does a roundabout offer, saying something like, “So are you guys going to get any dances tonight?” Not much of a line but it is all I am gonna get so I say “Sure” and we head back.
Her dances are much more energetic than Miss K’s with a lot of bouncing around and close up kitty displays. All the time, she is keeping the running banter with the rest of the girls in the room, which is pretty odd but not unpleasant. On the whole, I did the 2 but I didn’t feel like I couldn’t live without more. So I thanked her and escorted her out to the booth where the wingman immediately picked up on the situation and grabbed her.
My Cuban cigar is ¾ done and I wanna finish it up. I don’t have another so I really want to get the most out of the rest of it. I light up again and relax to enjoy it. As I am puffing away, an enormously cute dark goddess rushs up and jumps right into my lap. I catch her name as Miss K. (Damn the anonymity. Since the first Miss K doesn’t figure heavily into the rest of the evening, I will just refer to the new Miss K as that from now on.) “Hello,” I say, with a smile, trying not to breathe smoke on her. Without preamble, she states, “I really want to get a shot before the end of the night but it is almost time for last call.” I raise an eyebrow as the club is nonalcoholic and there are no shots. She explains, “We can go across the street to the bar and have a shot there.” I seem to remember Mr. O saying something about that so I nod. “So, will you go over there with me?” Well, I am lazy and really wanting to finish the cigar so I decided to pull a little deflection. I say, “I am not up for it right now, but the Mexican will take you.” She turns to him and gives him a pretty smile. He shrugs and says “Sure.” A thought occurs to me. “You can’t go across the street dressed like this.” She nods. “I will go throw on a tshirt and jeans. Be right back.” She dashes off to the DR, leaving me alone with the Mexican. As soon as she is gone, I realize my mistake. The Mexican is 18 and he can’t buy alcohol or likely even get into the bar. “Dude. I’m sorry. You can’t go over there, can you?” He gives his goofy Mexican grin and says, “Don’t worry, I got this.” “Aight,” I shrug. “Buy me a cigar if they have them” She returns, looking even hotter with clothes on, and they dash off together.
I finish the cigar in peace and sit back for a moment, resting my psyche. After a scarce 10 minutes, they return. “Did you get my cigar?” I ask. She frowns a little. “We forgot to ask but we had a great shot. I really wanna go for another, up for it?” As I contemplate, the DJ calls her name as next for the stage. She curses vehemently, and thanks me anyway and rushes to the DR to disrobe. I turn to the Mexican. “What happened?” Again, the goofy grin. “I walked in that bar like I owned the place and they didn’t say shit.” Say what you want about the Mexican, boy has got game. But I feel like giving him shit, because that is how we are. “What? They didn’t card your 12 year old ass?” He shoots back a good natured expletive and I give him another. We have a good argument, throwing around a few racial comments and laughing at each other. Midway through, the first girl who asked for a dance, steps up into the booth and says, “Hey hey, what is going on?!” We look at her. I remember her name from on stage as Miss B. “Hello, Miss B.” She grins at my recognition. “How do you know my name?” She asks. I smile back a smooth CS smile and wink. “I pay attention.” I size her up. She is medium height and natural, though not impressive. Still, it takes style to interrupt an argument so I am intrigued. I invite her to have a seat.
Miss B has an absolutely adorable personality and is a great conversationalist. She is also the only one to really get the sensor going as she throws some good observations my way. Since she has the SS in effect, I spend a while talking to her and I am liking her more and more. She excuses me to go to the stage and tip Miss K and when I get back, she starts the conversation right where she left off. She doesn’t go long before going to the dance request, but the SS is such that I am ready to go. We leave the Mexican and wingman at the booth and get back into the room, sitting and talking some more. She just crawls into the hollow made by my arm around her and I realize she is tiny without her shoes. We chat some more and before we know it, a new song has started. I ask about that and she just shrugs. “You wanna wait for the next one?” she asks. “ok.” I was having a good time talking so I didn’t mind. As the song is starting to end, she starts to get ready. I remove my glasses for the dance and she leans into me and starts up with the song.
Halleluiah. I have found some decent compatibility. Her dances are perfect for me; it is almost as though she has been briefed by one or more of my ATFs. Midway through the first song, I hear a voice say, “Gen, can you see me?” I look up and realize that the Mexican is in the room with Miss S. “yeah.” I reply. So he starts up with the silly arguing again. We shoot back and forth for a second before I tell him to shut up and enjoy his dance. After two, I need a break. I don’t want one but I NEED one, you know what I mean. So, I pay up and she walks me back to the booth. She says she will check on me later and wanders off.
I chat some with the wingman, who has figured out the secret to getting the dancers is to sit on the edge of the booth and not back against the wall. It never takes him long to size up a situation, if it means getting dances. He is sitting out waiting for a tall blonde he has had his eye on. He eventually catchs her and they disappear as the Mexican is returning. He sits and I am sitting against the table with my head down a bit. “Gen, what’s wrong?” the Mexican asks. “Nothing,” I respond. “I am just recovering.” “Recovering from what?” he wonders. “Me.” I hear…I look up and Miss B has returned. The Mexican looks at her and says, “Oh, the white girl named Miss B.” (Miss B’s name is a geographical place that is populated mostly by Hispanics and the Mexican is a little offended that she chose that as a stage name.) She just shoots him a look and settles in next to me. “You weren’t gone long.” I comment. She grins at me, “nope. It’s dead in here.” It was actually dying down a lot. “Oh,” I respond weakly and she smiles even larger. She is clearly flattered that she had such a significant effect on me in the dances. She furthers, “You watch. It is going to pick up a LOT in a few minutes.” “Oh?” “Yeah, it is 2 am now. There will be a ton of people here in just a bit when all the bars and other clubs close.” I nod.
She gives me a polite amount of time which actually translates to more than 30 minutes or so, chatting me up as she goes. Sure enough, her prediction is correct and the club absolute swells under the weight of many new customers of both genders. When she feels I have sufficiently recovered, she asks for more dances. I am unable to say no. She takes me in the back again and we sit. We chat for a bit but she seems distracted. When the third song starts and no dance is happening, I ask her what is wrong. “Oh…um…nothing.” “ok.” I shrug. “That’s what I thought.” She says, more to herself than me. “What?” I ask again, confused. I follow her gaze and realize she is watching another dancer across the tiny room. Now, I don’t believe in being all up in someone else’s dance, but I decide to check it out. I mean, whatever it is, it is interfering with my fun, so that lowers the expectation of privacy, right? I look over out of the corner of my eye and watch the dance for a minute. It doesn’t take long to realize what is happening. A dancer I knew as Miss T is performing FS on a guy from the booth behind ours. That shouldn’t be happening, I look up for the bouncer and the random group of patrons who hang out in the entrance. I start to digest some subconscious listening as well as some current listening and from the sounds I hear from the DJ and the cheering, it is apparent that a lady patron of the club has decided to be an amateur and the DJ has worked out an impromptu amateur night on the stage. All eyes, except those few in the dance room, are obviously tuned in as this customer demonstrates her skills. This has apparently distracted the entire group of monitors.
To be concluded. Promise. :)
GenWar
04-26-2005, 09:22 AM
TR #2 of 3 - Part 3 of 3 - Weekend of April 22nd thru 24th, 2005 - Detroit MI
I am confused. I am totally against extras, and I can see why Miss B is pissed. If this is not a place where that goes on, one example can ruin all the ladies reputations. Further, I have never been there before; I could be a cop. I don’t know why…maybe it was selfish desire for dances which weren’t happening or maybe I felt something kindred for the other guy but I try some lame CS about how Miss B should just pay attention to me and not worry about the other situations. It doesn’t work and in hindsight, I am glad it didn’t. Miss B catchs a dancer on the way out and whispers to her. The other dancer nods and wanders off. Miss B then turns to me, apologizes, and promises to start the dances. I go sans glasses and she starts in again. Shortly thereafter, during our dance, I see the dance room bouncer return. A few moments later, there is a loud smack as the bouncer hits his water bottle against something or someone and says, “Miss T. OUT. NOW!” I didn’t bother to watch as I am enjoying the dance. But from the aural clues, the bouncer has removed the dancer from the room. Moments later, I hear the guy say, “Is she coming back?” The dancers all laugh at him and one says, “you may as well zip up and head out, cuz she ain’t coming back.” The laughter continues as, I assume, the guy vacates. As soon as he is gone, Miss B’s head is back in the game and I am getting the level of dance I got before.
Miss B soon senses that I need a break again. (Yes, for me she was THAT good. When you make that compatibility link, it can be so amazing.) She is happy because she got me to expand on the usual 2, going to 3 that time. She dresses and takes me back to the booth where I collapse with a sigh. The wingman says, “Gen, you SO missed it. That one girl there, got up on stage and did a show.” I respond, “Perhaps, but you guys missed an interesting show too.” I settle in and try to relax as the guys tell me about the show I missed. After some time for significant reflection, Miss K wanders by and stops in to see us. She already done some dances for the Mexican. He told me that she was well worth it, so I made sure that she knew that she had his highest recommendation. She smiled and cut to the chase, asking almost immediately if I want to go back for a dance. Well, I have to see what the Mexican’s recommendation is worth, so I agree (in spite of Rule #12) and follow her back. On the way back, I see Miss B. I search her face but I see no jealousy or bullshit, just a genuine smile. That’s kind of nice…no drama.
Miss K’s dances are again, more high energy and less relaxed, which aren’t really my ideal cup of tea. Not that it is bad…How can it be bad when a lovely lady is naked in your lap rubbing against you? But, it does reinforce for me why I like Miss B’s dances so much. I do the requisite 2, and then I thank her and head back to the booth. The wingman and the Mexican are sitting there, looking a little forlorn. I ask what is wrong and the Mexican starts complaining about wanting to leave. No constitution…his stomach hurts and he is starting to get a headache. Plus, I am not doing anything…just sitting there. I start to chock it up to youthful whining but the Wingman chimes in that it is getting late and he, too, is starting to get tired. I DEFINITELY have to get some more dances from Miss B before I go. She is currently walking around the club, physically linked in sort of a mobile hug with another dancer, Miss J. They walk by a couple of times and she makes eye contact and indicates that she is involved in some sort of situation with Miss J. I am cool to wait but if the Fellowship of the Club says it is time to go, then I can’t be the lone Hobbit out, you know? So, I relent and get up and walk around to find Miss B. I fill her in and she says to give her a second. I nod and return to the table, promising the guys we will leave soon.
Shortly thereafter, Miss B comes over and gets me and we head back. She apologizes for missing me and let’s me know that she has been helping Miss J with some rough night issues. Miss J isn’t making enough money (wonder why?) and she has been really emotional, as some guys have been getting grabby in ways they should not have been, etc, etc. I tell her I understand but the boys want to roll so…Her final dances were not spectacularly different than the others but that is good enough. I am just glad to find a style that works so well with my tastes in such an unusual club. At the end, she thanks me and invites me back for Sunday but we will be long gone by then. I thank her as well and give a tip equal to one more dance. She doesn’t blink, just slides it away real cool. I realize she thinks that I mistakenly overpaid but, in that moment, no smooth CS came to mind to straighten her out, so I leave the misconception in place. She follows me back to the table wherein we gather up all the stuff and pocket it up. She then walks us all to the door and gives me a big hug. I thank her for the nice time, and head out, tipping Mr. O on the way.
Total Spent: $320
Cover - $8
Table - $7 (split with the wingman and the Mexican)
O’Douls (ugh) - $5 with tip
2 Dances – Miss K #1 - $40
2 Dances – Miss S - $40
2 Dances – Miss K #2 - $40
7 Dances – Miss B - $140 + $20 tip
Misc Stage and Bouncer Tips - $25
Susan Wayward
04-26-2005, 09:47 AM
Miss B’s name is a geographical place that is populated mostly by Hispanics and the Mexican is a little offended that she chose that as a stage name
Brownsville?
Bolivia?
Brooklyn?
GenWar
04-26-2005, 10:00 AM
Brownsville?
Bolivia?
Brooklyn?
Honestly, I don't understand the anonymity practices here. I have just emulated them. Maybe there is a noob thread somewhere on it I missed. I mean, I do a TR and then I do a TUSCL review. I reveal the town. It wouldn't take a Holmesian feat to figure out who and where I am talking about, right?
In this case, I am confident that Miss B would prefer I reveal her name as opposed to hide it. It was THAT kind of club.
That said, it was one of those. And, have you seriously ever known a dancer named Brownsville? ;D
Susan Wayward
04-26-2005, 10:05 AM
Nope, nor Bolivia (though I've know some girls who liked Bolivian marching powder so much they should have used it). Brooklyn, yes. In Austin, of course, we had a lot of Hispanic/Latino/Mexican guys in the club. Me and one of my friends did pretty well with them; they seem to like us big old white girls. Anyhow, we both speak a little Spanish and would always Spanish-ize our names for them. I of course am Susana and Becky was Rebecca (somehow that was easier than Becky).
Moneywise
04-27-2005, 05:54 PM
Honestly, I don't understand the anonymity practices here.
Gen, I do it simply because I like to control my own level of anonymity. I'm also not sure some of the intersting situations I divulge would go over well with my temporary better halves if anonymity were not the food of choice. :D
I also remember being a newbie on this site long ago and noticing it as sort of a modus operandi for the vets and thus I simply conformed out of respect for the site.
Back then I wasn't getting nothing near the level of "play" I get nowadays in the SC. Therefore, the anonymity factor takes on more importance to me nowadays than it ever did before.
GenWar
04-27-2005, 08:10 PM
TR #3 of 3 - Part 1 of 5 - Weekend of April 22nd thru 24th, 2005 - Detroit MI
So, Saturday night is the main night on any weekend trip. This night, we had reservations at one of the Detroit MI airport clubs. These clubs have something of a reputation, so I was looking forward to checking it out. We made the reservations for 4, because some of the usual hanger-ons had made noises about joining us but when push came to shove and it was time to get dressed, they bowed out as usual. So it was left to just me and the wingman.
We didn’t plan a pre-club dinner. For the club we had chosen, the reviews all mentioned really good food and so, we decided to operate outside our comfort zone and have dinner AT the club. The wingman was a little worried about this I think, until a dancer at another club gave him a positive review of the food at the club we were going to and he felt better. Our reservations were for 9 pm and I was serious about not being late but we left with barely enough time for the 30 minute haul from downtown and the wingman needed a high-limit ATM on the way. Finally, with able directions from Sheila (my onboard GPS,) we turned into the club parking lot at about 9:08 pm.
A young man in a club valet jacket appeared from behind a door and drove away my darling car without a word. It was a little odd that he didn’t say anything but at least he had the club logo on. I wondered briefly if I would ever see my car again but discarded the thought. We entered the door and a nice lady asked us for $8 for cover. We paid and slipped a dollar each in her jar. I asked about the reservations and she said to mention them upstairs. She handed us a little ticket and we headed up the winding stairs to the main entrance.
Arriving at the door, a very large doorman blocked our way. He took our tickets and motioned us in. I mentioned that I had made a reservation and he stated that no one had mentioned any reservations to him. I assured him that I made it and he said, “Well, it is news to me.” “OK,” I responded, “We want to get a table to have some dinner.” “You mean you want a booth?” he clarified. “yes, that’d be great, I told him.” “Hmmm…” he said thoughtfully, “Have you been here before?” Now, I know what he is getting at but I am in a perverse mood so I decide to have some fun with him. “Nope,” I say, “This is my first time.” He nods. “But you have in a strip club before, right?” “Sure have,” I respond amiably. “Lots of them.” “Well then you know things work?” he continued pointedly. “Umm…with booths?” I ask, continuing, “It is different every place you go.” He frowns. “Well, not with booths, per se…” He is at a loss. I feel a bit guilty so I stop and clasp him on the shoulder in a friendly way. “I am just messing with you, brother.” I tell him. “I wanted to see if you would ask for it.” He shakes his head, “Not ask for it. I would never ask for it.” I palm my roll and see only $1s and $20s and a single $5. I motion to the wingman and he hands the bouncer a $10. I give him my $5 to even up and the bouncer leads over to a reasonably nice booth. I ask his name and he says Mr. J. I thank him and flash the inside of my jacket where the cigars rest. “These cool?” He shrugs. “No rule against them.” He states. We have a seat and begin to unload all the pockets. Cigars (4), Matches (2 boxes, wooded, no sulfer on the tips.), mints (2 varieties, and lots of em.) and cash.
I make myself comfortable, adjusting the table for extra room and removing my jacket which I set on the inside of the booth. The table has some advertising cards, which I quickly consolidate, and a little placard that says “St” which is obviously the name of our waitress. There is also a large, black ashtray, which brings a smile to my face. The wingman sees the smile and says, “No cigars until after dinner, right?” “Of course not,” I reply. He doesn’t really like cigar smoke. Hey, no relationship is perfect. The waitress bounces over, literally bobbing in time to the music. She introduces herself as Miss St and she smiles a big, beautiful smile. She is gorgeous and petite with slightly asian features and a tight black mini which appears to be the waitress uniform. It is just short of complete coverage so watching her walk away is a real treat. She inquires as to our needs and we request menus. She brings over some large, laminated-plastic food lists and we begin a review. After a couple more stop bys, we are ready. (Hey! It is hard to choose a meal when your eyes are continually being drawn to the stage.)
She sits next to me and begins to make notes on a coaster. The wingman orders the filet, of course, most expensive thing on the menu. He gets a salad and a coke to go with. I order the grilled chicken strips, buffalo style with ranch and a burger with bacon, cheese and sautéed onions. I ask for an iced tea and a tequila sunrise with patron to wash it down. She thanks us and wanders off, again, giving us a delicious rear view. She returns a moment later to let me know that the supply of Patron has been exhausted and I need to order something else. I spy the Grey Goose bottle behind the bar and sigh, ordering the Cosmopolitan that is my default second choice. We spend a few minutes reviewing the club layout and the crowd before she returns with the drinks and the bill. We cough up the significant amount of cash and relax. I sip the Cosmo and I am startled by how weak it is. This is a bit of a disappointment. I drink some ice tea and contemplate negatively. I know I am not going to complain so...
As we sit and wait for the food, I begin to watch the stage, trying not to idly fondle my cigars. Most of the women are decent enough but not ridiculously hot. It is a good mix, with a LOT of variety. After some exchanges, I see a decent dirty blonde with one of the best BAs I have had the opportunity to observe. I decided that she needed a tip, if only to offset the cost of that masterwork. So I drag myself up and wind myself through the maze of chairs that gives me access to a corner of the stage. I produce 3 $1s and hold them up. She saunters over and gives me a big smile. She sits on the stage so that she is level with me and leans over to say Hi. “Hello.” I grin. “I’m Miss G.” She introduces. I introduce myself back and tell her how much I would like to see her more personally. She agrees to come see me and I point out our booth. She nods, gives me a big hug and returns to her dance. I manage to navigate back to the booth and sit down.
Shortly thereafter, Miss St returns with the wingman’s salad with Italian dressing. He proceeds to heavily edit it, removing all the croutons, cucumbers, tomatoes, and placing them in his napkin, which I personally found hilarious. As he digs in and I sip the cranberry juice that passes for a Cosmopolitan, one of the dancers wanders by and stops to chat. She is dressed in a custom “police officer” outfit, complete with knee hi vinyl boots, a badge and a little night stick. She sits next to me and introduces herself as Miss D. She chats momentarily. As she is talking, I see Miss G walk by and shoot a look over. Her face is neutral and I don’t know her well enough to tell if there is drama or not. Miss D continues with some pleasantries before she spies the wingman’s salad and realizes that we are waiting for dinner. She confirms this with me and then excuses herself, promising to return after we have had our meal. Miss G appears within mere moments of Miss D’s departure.
She immediately has a seat and scoots in REAL close. I have to put my arm around her for it to be at all comfortable. She drapes a leg over my thigh and her hand starts wandering around under the table. She starts in with some decent game. She asks after our night, why we are in town, and the usual nonsense. She is very friendly and very cuddly. I give her the standard opening line, “How’s your night going?” “Terrible, I haven’t made ANY money and I’ve been here since SIX THIRTY.” She is very dramatic, heaving an overacted sigh which does all sorts of interesting things for her artificially perky chest. “Well,” I reply, “How about you tell us about the club?” So she gives the lowdown… dance options, associated costs and the like. The wingman leans over and absorbs the info for filing and processing. When she is done, I thank her and she responds with an impromptu hug.
We chat for a while and she notices that we are having dinner. She starts to give positive reviews of the food, “It is REALLY good here,” and the sensor wakes up for the first time of the night, which is odd because we are talking about food. However, as the conversation progresses, she notes no less than 3 times that she is pondering the ordering of some dinner. The first time is an innocent comment; the second, a contemplation; the third must be a hint. The sensor agrees, buzzing angrily. “Would you like something to eat?” I ask, giving her a pointed smile. “yeah, I said I was considering that.” She frowns prettily, as though I must have missed it. It is then when I realize that there is more at work here than I originally thought.
GenWar
04-27-2005, 08:12 PM
TR #3 of 3 - Part 2 of 5 - Weekend of April 22nd thru 24th, 2005 - Detroit MI
I take a moment to check out her eyes and suddenly I recognize the signs. “What are you drinking?” I ask. “Oh, this is a Purple Rain. They are really good.” “Oh?” I prompt her. She continues, “Yes, they are like a Long Island Iced Tea but instead of Coke they use Chambord.” That actually sounds pretty good to me. “Is it strong?” I ask. She laughs, “Oh yes. Wanna sip?” I take a sip from the edge of her glass and I now have a new drink for the evening. I continue my investigation. “How many of these have you had?” I ask. “Four or Five,” she responds. Bingo. Before I could say anything more, she continues, “Plus, I smoked some weed before coming to work.” The theory falls into place. “So you are having a good time.” I state. She grins and says, “No, WE are having a good time.” The sensor sends a sharp pain, as though I might miss the SS of THAT comment. She moves in a little closer and says, “Hmm, I wonder if I should order some dinner?”
Rather than continue to hear that, I insist that she orders some food. She nods and continues her below the table explorations. I am not minding this in the least, though I do have a fleeting thought as to whether or not this constitutes an extra. Since everything is covered, I decide that it doesn’t. Rationalization is one of mankind’s most powerful tools. The most amazing thing about Miss G is that she has a level of skill with nonverbal SS that I haven’t experienced before. Her hands wander around. She does subtle kisses on the cheek and neck. Blowing in the ear. It got so she could actually set of the sensor just by touching me.
Miss St wanders by and we grab her. Miss G orders a chicken Caesar salad. She turns to me and asks, “Drink?” I turn to Miss St and state, “And two of these Purple Rain things.” When I order the drink, it sparks something in Miss G’s memory. She pulls Miss St down into the booth and has her taste the Cosmo. “This is freaking weak!” she states and asks Miss St to talk to the bartenders and see if anything can be done. Miss St agrees and heads out to fill the order. We all watch her walk away.
Miss G produces a pack of Newports and grabs my matches to light up. It only occurs to me AFTER she sets them down that there might be a match issue, as I only have a box and a half of the cigar matches. So I subtly segregate the cigar matches and replace them with a book of the club matches near her cigarettes. She doesn’t notice as she is leaned in real close to me, breathing into my neck. We talk more about clubs and clubbing and what makes a good dancer, which gives her the chance to point out how she always does a good job taking care of her customers. Bzzzzz. Miss St returns with my grilled chicken strips which are basically two large chicken breasts, grilled to done and then coated in buffalo sauce before being sliced into strips. The ranch is one of my favorite varieties as well. They are absolutely delicious. It is also way more than I can eat alone. Luckily, Miss G is there to help and, without preamble or introduction, she helps herself, digging in. I chuckle and join her and we proceed to give a decent showing, finishing them off, just as the main course arrives. After some condiment based editing to my burger, I get going on that as well. It is delicious; they did that deal where they put the onion soup mix in the meat…never had that outside my mom’s kitchen. The wingman is making positive noises about his filet, too. A club that makes a decent filet and a decent burger, who knew?
Through out the entire meal, she keeps up the running under-the-table exploration. I lean over and whisper to the wingman, “Watch how many times her left hand disappears.” He raises and eyebrow and chuckles in response. We continue the meal as she tells me about her day, which was spent taking her daughter and her daughter’s friends to Chuck-E-Cheese’s. She jokes how a night working at the club almost seems like a vacation after that day. She also offers it by way of explanation for her need to relax, meaning the recreational pharmaceuticals. I am working on buying into the story but the sensor is scoffing at me and not believing any of it. How can a little piece of metal be so damn cynical? It is supposed to be an artificial link to my subconscious mind, but I am convinced it is actually an intelligent piece of metal, because surely no part of ME is that cynical? As I am winding up my burger, she announces that she is done though the salad is about 30% eaten.
A guy who has been checking our ashtray all night comes over and starts removing plates. Miss G reserves her salad and has Miss St come over and promise to wrap it up and put it in the fridge. You don’t need a hi-tech SS sensor to see through THAT one, but Miss St gamely plays along, raising my already soaring estimation of her. As the table gets cleared, Miss G invites me up for some dances. I demur, as I haven’t had a cigar yet and I am really looking forward to them. She agrees and lights up another cigarette, clearly not intending to go anywhere. My expectation was that should would work the room but I am liking having her around so I don’t complain as I light up my cigar. I guess hanging out is par for the course when you buy dinner? I blow some smoke around and so does she, trying to scoot even closer to me. As soon as we get going on the smoking, a dancer stops by and whispers in the wingman’s ear. He smiles and nods and gets up and heads around the corner, towards the dance room. After his departure, Miss G and I smoke and chat some more.
After a bit, the DJ announces a bachelor party and Mr. J wanders by and taps Miss G. She has to go to the stage for the special deal. She stubs out the cigarette and excuses herself, making me promise to be here when she returns. I watch her and most all the dancers make the way to the stage as the wingman reappears and regains his seat. He makes a face at the cigar and I shrug an apology. The stage show is basically an opportunity to abuse the potential groom. Miss G is mostly just standing on the stage along with most of the ladies while a few give him the 5 on 1 type dance and then spank him with his own belt. Good Times.
Miss G returns moments after the stage thingy ends. She cuddles up again. She starts the sales game, talking about what fun dances can be and how she is going to take GREAT care of me. The sensor buzzes mildly, knowing that I know how to interpret this talk. I look over at the wingman to see what he is making of this and I see that he has been joined by a lady. I missed this completely and I do start a bit. The wingman doesn’t normally rest with ladies…he is the customer version of the “Wanna dance?” He gets dances, he recovers from dances, he repeats. I can’t remember the last time he sat with a lady for an extended period of time…that is my schtick. The lady is a petite brunette with impossibly long hair and a dull eyed expression. I smile a greeting and turn back to Miss G. She has a look in her eye that I recognize as the end of accepting my objections. She nods at the corner where the stairs are and I shrug, looking for an out and finding none.***
We excuse ourselves and head for the corner. There is a guy at a chair next to the stairs. He says $5 for a wristband to get into the dance room. I pull a five from the cigar case and hand it over and he puts a paper wristband on my arm. I pull out three more ones and hand them to him. He starts for a moment, enough for me to realize that no one tips him, and thanks me. I head up the stairs behind Miss G. The upstairs dance room is some reasonably nice leather couches which is a really nice touch. They are pretty comfortable. Miss G directs me to one, removes her microscopic top and gives me a pair of pretty fantastic dances. Excellent mutual contact with a lot of nice moves. She manages to expand on the nonverbal SS without crossing the line. I do get the sense that she might be open to an expansion of opportunities but I have no interest in anything more than a dance so either she picks up on that or my sense is wrong because she does a good job toeing the limit line. Unfortunately, the dances do not “click” into that magical feeling that indicates chemistry; Miss G will never be one of my ATFs. Still, we are having a good time; that’s all that matters.
Midway through the first dance, I witness an interchange going on one couch over. An average guy is declining a dance and the dancer is basically refusing the denial. He says, “I’m done.” And she says, “No, you are not, so you better sit your ass back down.” Both of them are smiling, so this isn’t drama. But, as he tries to move off, she bodily returns him to the couch. She is an impossibly tall black dancer with a thin athletic body. I make a note to see her later. I like that style.
GenWar
04-27-2005, 08:16 PM
TR #3 of 3 - Part 3 of 5 - Weekend of April 22nd thru 24th, 2005 - Detroit MI
After two dances, I beg off from additional dances. Two at a time is my usual limit for a lot of different reasons. Miss G takes it better than most, perhaps because she knows I am her customer as long as she wants me. As we settle up, I notice a room to our right on the far side of the dance room. It is the DJ booth…which overlooks the whole bar. I mention it to her and she takes me in and introduces me. I put a few ones in my hand as I shake his and ask him if he can dig up my favorite club song. He wonders if he can so I say, “C’mon man…any DJ who can scare up the Gap Band for a request knows what he is doing.” He laughs and promises to do his best. I thank him and turn back to Miss G. She takes my hand and leads me back downstairs. We return to the seats and sit down. The wingman is still there and is still with the same girl, Miss Sa. Now, we have an unprecedented situation; the wingman has a companion. Miss G and I light up and order another round of drinks. After a bit of time and hanging, she excuses herself to make a call. She is gone a while so I start listening to the wingman’s conversation. It is too loud to make out most of it but it doesn’t appear to be very coherent. I smoke and try and participate but it is tough because of the volume issue.
I blink and Miss G’s seat is filled by a gorgeous blonde in a waitress minidress and a Detroit Tigers cap backwards. The cap is enormously sexy on her long blonde hair. She has set down a HUGE tray of test tube shots and is absolutely insistent that we have one. This club would seriously be the death of anyone on a budget. I ask Miss Sa if she would like a shot. Somehow, 12 seconds later, I had purchased 4 shots. One for myself, one for Miss Sa, one for the shot girl and one for Miss St, who had magically appeared when it came time to do shots. We drink to lovely ladies and I down the green concoction. We return the test tubes and I accept their thanks with graciousness. I ask how much and she says $6/each. Ay carumba! I hand her $27 and lean over and whisper in her ear. “If you want more business for this table, you have to bring something for my wingman. Non-alcoholic.” She nods and promises to return. Where is my cigar? *Sigh*
As I am practicing pathetic attempts at smoke rings, Miss Sa leans over and asks me if she can have a drink. This is a bit weird…I mean, she is with the wingman, right? I am confused as hell about this…and it has nothing to do with the 3 purple rains and a random shot that I have had. Honest! I give the wingman the money hand symbol out of her view. He stares at me. I make the signal again and he stares at me. He isn’t getting it. I do it one more time and add a second hand signal so that the message becomes “Give me money.” He frowns and says, “I can pay for the drink!” He sounds pissy. *shrug* Just asking. Not like there is a history here I can call on. I call over Miss St and Miss Sa wants to order the coffee martini that is advertised on the table and I convince her of the virtue of the Purple Rain. Miss St wanders off to fill the order. We all watch her walk away.
After a while, Miss G returns. She starts to tell me about her lost cell phone and her child’s behavorial issues. She is getting less and less coherent as the night goes on. After some attempts, I manage to translate and it is not a positive message. Her daughter has begun to act out in a way that the sitter is not comfortable with. Long story short, she has a ride on the way and is leaving in 20 minutes. My heart doesn’t break. Like I said, She is nice and fun to cuddle with but the chemistry is not there. If she were sober and able to converse intelligently, maybe it would have been different. However, without the chemistry, I am basically ok with it. I would like some more exposure to her impressive body, though. Coincidentally, she would like some more exposure to my cash flow and suggests we make the most of our remaining time upstairs. I look over at the wingman as it is technically his turn. He glances to his left at Miss Sa and nods at me, waving me off.
Upstairs, we get a slightly better positioned couch and she gives me another couple of wonderful dances. We do have a brief discussion of regret about our inability to spend more time together. She suggests I return Monday night but I will be home by then. I wonder about the next day, Sunday. She says that Sunday is bad. “The guy who paid for the boobs is coming over. We are gonna look at some car leases that he night help me with.” I chuckle and reply, “Fair enough. I can’t compete with that.” A moment later, I wonder out loud, “Is tomorrow a Holy Grail?” I expect her to have no clue. Instead, she knows what I mean and replies, “No, actually, he just gets dances.” “Cool.” I say, a little stunned that she understood. Must have been context clues. (Are you reading this, Miss G?) After two more dances, I stop her again. While I am enjoying myself, I am not losing myself in it. We go back downstairs and reseat. The wingman is still there with Miss Sa. I am actually starting to get weirded out a little but I am not gonna say anything…as long as he is having fun, right? Miss G cuddles up for a bit, giving me some kisses and nibbles before she leaves to get into her street clothes. I relight up the cigar and smoke some, leaning over to chat with the wingman and Miss Sa.
After a bit, I check the stage and notice that the tall dancer from upstairs is on stage. I grab some ones from the cigar case and navigate over. She smiles at me when I walk up and step over. I offer the ones and jerk my head towards my seat with a wink. She nods with a knowing smile and I head back. No words necessary.
Back at the table, I smoke until Miss G returns. She is wearing white jeans and a mauve top that is cut short. She climbs into me again and starts to work on her drink and smokes. She is not sure how much longer until her ride arrives so she is just hanging out. I notice that her jeans are not zipped up and comment upon it. She flows off that it is just in case of any last minute tips. Of course, I now HAVE to put a few dollars down the front of her pants.
About this time, the shot girl returns. I frown at her. I keep my voice low and ask, “Do you have a shot with no alcohol?” “I have one with practically no alcohol.” She replies. I shake my head. “It is a lemon drop,” she explains, “it hardly contains any.” “No,” I say. She sighs and removes an empty tube and heads to the bar. She returns a moment later with a layered red/yellow shot. I raise an eyebrow and she says “cranberry and pineapple.” So I hand the shot to the Wingman, who stares. I nod, “Trust me.” He shrugs. The shot girl starts to hand out shots…one for me, one for Miss G, one for Miss Sa, one for Miss St (where did she come from?) and then takes one herself. We drank to clubbing and downed it. The shot did a couple of flip flops on the way down as I tried to mentally calculate the cost of these shots when the wingman says “I got this one.” I somehow managed not to exclaim out loud in happiness. Not sure how…I put a couple of extra dollars on top of the wingman’s cash and whisper in the shot girls ear. “Thanks for the drinks but we are done for tonight.” She nods and says thanks and moves away.
As soon as the shot girl is gone, Miss G calls over the ashtray guy. She demands his cell phone. He raises an eyebrow and she gives him shit. He hauls out one of those little blackberry numbers with a tiny keyboard. He hands it to her and she just starts at all the little buttons dumbfounded. He takes it back and asks the number. She gives it to him and I memorize it. Probably she shouldn’t have said it out loud, but how did she know I can remember numbers very easily? He dials it and hits send and hands it back to her. I never did catch this guys name but he is a lifesaver as he keeps the ashtray from filling up and he always makes the glasses disappear. I thank him for the help. Miss G hands him back the phone and says she accidentally hung up. Can he redial? “You’re lucky I am on free nights and weekends…” he grumbles, making the phone do its redial thing. He hands it to her again and she mumbles into it, wandering off as she does so.
I relax for a few minute, puffing away and then the dude wanders by again. “Umm…you might want to find her for your phone?” I suggest. He nods, “She is just around the corner.” Sure enough, Miss G comes around the corner, gives him his phone and leans over to say goodbye. She thanks me for dinner and the nice time and gives me her number on the inside of a matchbook. “Call me the next time you are in town and let me know when you are coming by.” I check the number…it is the same one she gave the guy earlier. She continues, “Leave a message with my roommates if you don’t get me.” She follows up with a brief description of her roommates and her real name so I know who I am asking for. She tells me that her ride is almost here so she has to go. We exchange regrets and she gives me a pretty passionate kiss goodbye. As she walks off, I realize I don’t even know what exactly happened in our time together. A number and a kiss? I didn’t even spend THAT much. *shrug*
Anyway, so now I am alone and the wingman has a constant companion. It is like the world is upside down. Well, I always have my cigar and so I spend some time with it. As I am forced to admit that it has died and I stub it out, I hear, “I had a baby 10 months ago.” I look up and first see a warm brown female stomach way higher than it should be. The stomach is flat and tight without a hint of stretchmarks. I keep looking up and up and into the eyes of the dancer I saw upstairs. “Hello,” I grin. She grins back, “Hi there, I’m Miss T.” I introduce myself in response. She glances at the seat and I catch the hint and invite her to sit down.
GenWar
04-27-2005, 08:17 PM
TR #3 of 3 - Part 4 of 5 - Weekend of April 22nd thru 24th, 2005 - Detroit MI
Talking to Miss T is a wild reverse from my time with Miss G. She is sober and intelligent and only says things once. She tells me she is on her second night after a three year hiatis. Her night is not going well, in response to my question, because she started too early and she is TIRED. We get into a good conversation about the club. I keep unconsciously trying to put my arm around her but she isn’t sitting in a way where that will work. Miss G had spoiled me, I guess. We talk a bit about hustle and she is strongly anti-hustle. She doesn’t want to ask guys for dances, she says. “How can you make and reach a goal, then?” I ask. She asks what do I mean by goal and I get to go on a diatribe about a dancer is essentially a sales position. She keeps up with the argument, giving as good as she gets, but it is apparent to me that she has actually never thought of it like that. I am really getting into the talk about one of my favorite subjects. Especially because I am sitting with and talking to a beautiful woman for nothing. I mean, I haven’t bought a drink or a dance or nothing. I am far too much of a sap to not be guilty about that but I know I can make it worth her while before the end of the night.
As we chat, Miss Sa leaves the wingman’s side to go on stage. After he stage set, she comes back (I don’t even notice the time passing as I am engrossed in conversation with Miss T.) She leans over and whispers to the wingman and he nods. She then rushes off. The wingman shakes his head so I excuse myself from Miss T and lean over to him. “How am I gonna get rid of this girl?” he laments. “I mean, it took her an hour and a half to drink the first drink and now she has asked for a second.” I review the options that come to me. What would mr_punk do? I come up with a few thoughts and I don’t like them. I lean back over to the wingman, “I have a few thoughts but none of them are outside the realm of rude.” He makes a face that says that would be just fine. Another thought occurs to me, “How about I ask Miss T?” He shrugs, looking desperate enough to try anything. I reverse my position and explain the situation briefly to Miss T. She gives me a look that says, “How can a pair of guys as naïve as you have this much money to waste in a strip club?” What her mouth says is, “I will just take him up for a dance.” “Umm…how will that work?” I ask, just as Miss Sa reappears and sits next to the wingman. “Watch.” She says. She stands up and points at the wingman. “We are going for that dance now.” It is not a question. The wingman manages not to smile in relief but moves out, forcing Miss Sa to vacate the booth so he can get out. I wave at her and catch her eye. I pat the seat next to me. She looks confused and more than a little annoyed. But she takes the seat.
She still hasn’t dressed from her time on stage. So she is dressed only in a thong and she scoots in close to me, emulating Miss G’s position, though she doesn’t have the natural warmth and cuddle Miss G did. However, Mr. J wanders by and taps her on the shoulder. I look up and realize they are doing a birthday dance or something on stage. All the ladies are supposed to go on stage. She nods and he wanders off. She explains that she has to go but she doesn’t want to. Suddenly, a lightbulb goes on over her head. She gets to her knees in the booth and leans way over on me, pressing my face into her chest and just holds that position. She whispers to me, “If anyone asks, you are paying for this.” I nod. We sit there like that, which is entirely enjoyable from where I am sitting, as she smells pretty nice. Mr. J wanders by a couple of times but she points at me and nods pointedly, so he keeps moving. After the stage event ends, she returns to sitting. I look at the table and evaluate. I am out of drink and so is she. 2 cigars left. I catch Miss St’s eye and nod. She comes over and I order 2 more Purple Rains. She nods and sashays away. I watch her leave. Open Cigar case and pull out a gold labeled one that I recognize as one of my favorite brands. I remove the wrapper and sniff deeply of it. She raises an eyebrow, so I let her smell. She smiles at the scent…they are really spicy. I light up and blow some smoke. She leans over and asks what happened with the wingman. I shrug and explain that he wanted to go for a dance. She wonders why he didn’t go with her. “Did you ask him to?” She looks at me, “I was with you guys all night. I was right here?” I frowned. “I know,” I tell her. “but he doesn’t operate that way.” She looks confused. I try to explain but she doesn’t get it. She seems to have no SS. None at all. Finally, I give up.
She starts talking to me about some of the things that she was discussing early. She has found out the daytime events that the wingman and I do on these trips and she asks questions about it. She gains some understanding and then comments on some things she knows that are similar in nature. It is a good technique for getting to know someone but I am not used to experiencing it in the club. She then turns to some innocent topics, movies and media and the like. It is fun to talk and I am not in any hurry to go anywhere and do anything. After a long while, with much drinking, talking and smoking (Miss Sa had been bumming cigarettes from Miss G all night and had a few left.), the wingman returns with Miss T. He sits and she sits with him.
I suddenly have to go to the restroom. I excuse myself and Miss Sa gets up to let me out. I stumble as I stand up and the wingman sends me a sharp look. So much for driving L . Miss Sa asks me to get her some cigarettes. I nod and grab the cigar case for cash and stagger around the overcrowded club to the far corner where the restroom is. After handling my business, getting change and buying some cigarettes, I stagger back around the stage to the booth. The positions have changed as Miss T is in my seat, Miss Sa is in the wingman’s seat, the wingman is on the outside and there is a seat for me on the outside. The wingman looks at me as I approach and says, “Give me the keys.” “No.” I respond. He frowns. “GIVE me the keys.” I frown too. “I am not gonna give you the keys.” He is pissed and Miss T is shaking her head. Miss Sa is deadpan, as usual. Miss T mutters something about drinks and the wingman tries a different tact, saying “How many of those have you had?” I ignore it and say, “I am NOT giving you the keys.” “Why not?!” he wants to know, as he knows I am not stupid. I shrug, “Because the valet has them.” I laugh and Miss Sa smiles but the wingman just rolls his eyes.
I sit down and fumble for my cigar. I hand Miss Sa the Newports I scored in the bathroom. We both light up and create a cross path of smoke over Miss T, who doesn’t appreciate it. After a few moments, another extremely cute lady comes over and gives the wingman a meaningful whisper. He had tipped her on stage earlier, and it appears now that it was with purpose, so he wanders off with her around the corner. Miss Sa frowns as he leaves, but I can’t feel sympathy…she is abandoning her own destiny. We sit in silence briefly as I do some good smoke production when Miss Sa calls out to a passing customer, a big blonde guy in a very nice sweater. He doesn’t hear her, though she yells quite loudly. The club was very loud. He keeps moving and I offer to go fetch him (I am on the outside after all.) Miss T says NO! but Miss Sa nods and smiles. The sensor goes off, hard, surprising me, as I had forgotten it after hanging with “Miss Sa of the completely lack of SS” for so long. I assume that Miss T’s objection must be service related so, since I really don’t mind, I get up and get the guy. He introduces himself as Mr. M and follows me to the table. He sets down his beer and smiles recognition at Miss Sa. Before any words are exchanged, he excuses himself and heads towards the bar, leaving his beer.
Miss T smacks me upside the head. “Why did you do that? I am gonna kick your ass.” “What?” I reply, confused. “What’s the problem?” “Why did you get him?” she asks me. I shrug. Miss Sa pipes up, “He will definitely buy some dances from you.” She says to Miss T. Miss T frowns strongly at her and says, “I am sitting with who I want to do dances for.” The words form tiny frostsicles on every glass on the table. She turns back to me and says, with more warmth, “I am gonna kick your ass.” Believe it or not, I STILL don’t get it. I want to blame it on the drink, but the sensor has been buzzing like a FM frequency with no broadcasting station, so I have no excuse.
Mr. M returns and before he can sit, Miss Sa jumps up and grabs me. “We are gonna go do some dances.” She announces. I can’t help but reward that uncharacteristic level of assertiveness. I look at Miss T and she frowns at me. I lean over and promise that we will have fun and I let Miss Sa drag me off. Mr. M sits down and smiles at Miss T and she smiles back but the smile she gives him sets off the buzzer in my neck…the first time that has ever happened with Miss T. As we turn the corner, the wingman is coming back to the table. I lean over and tell him that Mr. M is there as a funding source for Miss T. He nods and I keep moving. As we approach the guy under the stairs, he is arguing with a guy about something that went on in the dance room. The guy is being flanked by Mr. J and the ashtray guy. The guy is loud and slightly abusive and obviously drunk. They are trying to be rational with him but he isn’t hearing it. Halfway up the stairs, I turn around and say, “Hey!” The guy stops and looks at me. I speak up again, “Dude. You are never going to win. Don’t bother to fight.” He doesn’t have the presence of mind to comment back, so I turn around again. Miss Sa is waiting there and she gives me a look that stopped me in mid step.
GenWar
04-27-2005, 08:19 PM
TR #3 of 3 - Part 5 of 5 - Weekend of April 22nd thru 24th, 2005 - Detroit MI
Her face is all wrong. It is like the moment in the movie when you realize that the main character’s friend is the one who is possessed by the demon. Gone is her dull look and heavy eyes. Her eyes are wide open and are glittering with intelligence. Her mouth is twisted in a sardonic smile that I can only describe as evil…pure, uncut evil. I blink and the look is gone and she is back to normal. That is when it hits me. “You played me.” I say to her. She blinks slowly, “huh?” “You had me get Mr. M to distract Miss T so that you could get me upstairs.” She shakes her head slowly, “No no…I just know him. He has a fetish for black girls, she will be able to make money off of him.” I shake my head and smile. “Too late, I have you pegged now.” She just shrugs and leads me to the couch. I am more than a little creeped out by this chick but not so much that I can’t get some dances.
Miss Sa’s dances are not really even dances really. But they are good. She disrobes and straddles me pulling me in close. With a flick of her neck, her hair fans out and settles around us, creating a small private area around our heads. She leans in close and begins to slowly grind in this position, which is really quite nice and very distracting. Also distracting is that she continues the semi-monologue of chatter that has become her trademark. It is very odd to get a lap dance and hear about the positive features of a renaissance faire upstate that is really cool. After the song is over, she keeps going. I lean in and say flirtatiously, “You are supposed to ask me for another.” She grins and says, “That’s two, would you like another?” “Two? That was just one?” I state. She shakes her head, “No honey, that was 2.” I shrug, and give in. I know better than to argue. I am drunk and she did the magic hair thing so maybe it WAS 2? We’ll never know. “then I am good for now.” I say. She presses the issue, begging for one more dance. I decline, as I am no longer THAT comfortable. I think she might be crazy.
She jumps off and starts to dress. She suggests that she might finally get some dances from the wingman. “That’s fine,” I tell her, “But you gots to come correct.” “huh?” she says. *sigh* Miss G would have understood. I translate, “you go down there and you ask him politely but firmly if he would like a dance. Don’t sit. Don’t dawdle. Don’t tell him any stories about the renaissance faire. Just ask for the dances.” She frowns at me and nods and moves downstairs. I follow in her wake, trying to figure her out. We get down there and Mr. M is gone…the wingman is sitting and Miss Sa is immediately whispering in his ear. He nods and they move to leave. I grab him and whisper in his ear, “Make sure you keep track of the songs.” He nods again and moves around the corner. I sit with Miss T.
She frowns at me and I apologize to her. I never should have fallen for it and I regret it. She says to me, “Well, you have to get a dance now!” I shake my head, “Don’t sell yourself short.” “What do you mean?” She asks. I shrug, “Maybe I have to get more than one.” She grins and pushing me bodily out of the both and grabs my hand. As we move off, I catch Miss St’s eye and beg her to keep my cigar safe. She promises and I let Miss T pull me to the stairs. Upstairs, she picks a couch and shoves me down into it. She shrugs out of her outfit, steps out of her shoes and jumps on.
She has a much more aggressive style of dance. Her first move is to grab my hands and place them firmly and directly on her butt. She does a lot of that, grabbing and guiding my hands into a lot of places that they would not normally go on their own. She gives decent grind as we do that but she doesn’t do any up close moves, which I kinda miss. Still, it is a nice dance and, when combined with the time she spent chatting, I feel I have a decent ROI. After 2, she stops, as we have discussed my habits. However, the night is ending so I tell her to continue. She does another one, though the song ends 45 seconds early. The dance room erupts into unhappy complaints but I don’t join in. I am slowly replaying the internal Tivo of the night and I am feeling pretty good about the time I had. So she accepts her payment and tip and gives me a hug. She then says her goodbyes and heads out.
I open the cigar case and remove all the ones and fives. I go over to the DJ and I tip him. I head down the stairs and I tip Miss St who is behind the bar. Then I tip the cigar guy again. Then I tip the second bouncer who worked in our area. By this time, I am back to the table. The wingman has my coat, so I just grab my mints and misc stuff and head for the door. I run in to Mr. M and I apologize for the games. He responds, “All good. I’ll look her up next time.” As we hit the door, I hand Mr. J some more bills and thank him. I apologize for funning him in the beginning. He gives a good natured smile and wishes us a good night. Outside, it is still snowing. I nod at the valet, “Maroon Pacifica, name of Sheila.” He runs off. He pulls up in the lady and the wingman jumps into the driver’s seat. I slip the valet the last $5 and I get in the passenger seat and start programming the GPS. He is checking his cell phone messages. “What a night!” I exclaim. “Hang on, it ain’t over,” he responds, “Mexican went back to last night’s club and is calling for a ride.” I grin. “Let’s do it, then.” But that is a story for another TR…
Tally Up (figures may be a little confused, we spent a LOT.)
Cover - $8 + tip
Dinner - $72 + tip (split with wingman)
Miss G’s salad - $11.75
Drinks – for me and dancers over the night - $162
Shot round - $27 w/tip
Cigarettes in the bathroom for Miss Sa - $3.50
Dances – Miss G - $100
Dances – Miss Sa - $50
Dances – Miss T - $80 w/tip
Misc waitress, bouncer, dj and dance room monitor tips - $65
Total – Ridiculous. But hey…it made an awesome night.
mike_somd
04-28-2005, 02:46 AM
GenWar awesome trip report as usual. This one is a fricken novel. It took me forever to read it, but good none the less. It sounded like a good ole time.
Your dance style seems like me two then a break, but I am more like your wingman dances only. If I wanted conversation I would go talk to a friend...
GenWar
04-28-2005, 04:23 AM
GenWar awesome trip report as usual. This one is a fricken novel. It took me forever to read it, but good none the less. It sounded like a good ole time.
Thanks, mike. I am always nervous about the length. When this one hit 40K in chars, I had to jump in chat and have some people help me work up the nerve to post it. Glad you enjoyed it though.
Your dance style seems like me two then a break, but I am more like your wingman dances only. If I wanted conversation I would go talk to a friend...
;D Fair enough. If I had a nickle for every junkie who said this or something substantially similar to me, I could probably afford one of Miss G's drinks. :)
-gen
KC Joe
04-28-2005, 08:40 PM
Well I’m a glutton for punishment so I decided to stop by the SC again today.
If I wasn’t having any fun after a half-hour, I’d cut my losses and go over to Bazookas here in KC to see Briana Banks.
Several PLs like me in there, but it didn’t look as if anyone was getting any dances or tipping the stage. Tipped the first girl a couple sat back down and waited for the waitress. Next song, different dancer, no waitress. Tipped her and finally got my drink order. Lady came up to me and asked if I wanted a dance. Sure! Went into VIP and talked until the next song started.
Said she recognized me from a previous visit.
How can that be, I said, this is my first time here.
You sure look familiar.
Only got one dance before shift change and she had to go. Nice nips, but a little on the heavy side for me.
Watched the stage for the night shift and recognized a dancer whose company I had enjoyed on a couple of previous visits. Older dancer, but the best body of any dancer that works at the club.
She saw me from the stage and waved at me. I, being a dumb ass didn’t know she was waving at me, so I just sat there like a lump.
After everyone exited stage left, she came over and sat on my lap and gave me a big hug.
She: “So glad to see you again, it’s been awhile”.
Me: “Yea, the last few times I came in, you weren’t working.”
She: “I gave you my number why didn’t you call?”
Me: “I did, but all I got was your voicemail.”
She: “Leave a call back number so we can stay in touch.”
Me: “Next time I will.”
She: “You still have my number?”
Me: “You bet.” I then opened my billfold and showed her the slip she gave me the last visit.
She had to go on stage next and told me not to get hi-jacked by another dancer.
After her stage set, we headed into VIP.
We had done about 5 laps when she asked if I wanted to take a break.
“Nope, I want to keep working your ass until you have to go back on stage.”
She did a pretty good grind with this little move where she would be laying back on me with her hand between us squeezing my manhood. I kept my actions pretty clean except for a lot of nipple sucking. I was her first PL of the night, so I didn’t worry about any one else’s spit. Her nips were a good ½ inch long. Absolutely lovely. She had this move where she’d have her left leg wrapped around my right to get some good leverage for the old crotch grind. Had me trying to think of batting averages so I wouldn’t lose control.
After 8 total she had to go back on stage. She told me to wait until she was done. After her stage set, she headed into the DR and was gone awhile. Finally came out in a different outfit.
When she came back into VIP and sat on my lap, I asked her why the change in outfits.
“I got so wet dancing for you, I needed to change and let my panties dry out.” SS SS SS SS SS SS SS SS SS.
“Un-huh. If we a few more dances, will you get wet again?”
“Definitely!”
“Get to work!”
After 4 more laps, I asked her if she was wet again.
“Yeah.”
“Prove-it”
She was facing me, so she leaned back and pulled her thong to the side, took her fingers and rubbed them on her slit, took my hand and touched my palm with her fingers.
“Okay if I check myself?”
“Yeah, but watch for anyone coming in.”
Anyway, after I’d figured I’d spent my budget for the night, I told her I’d had enough and was going to leave.
“Call me as soon as you can, leave your number, cause I really want to stay in touch with you.”
“Okay”.
“Promise?”
“I promise. Now go make some money.”
Give my number out again? Not likely.
Drinks $15
Stage tips $15
Laps $380
KC Joe
04-28-2005, 10:16 PM
Drinks $15
Stage tips $15
Laps $380
I stopped at the store on the way home tonight. Studied a bag pistachios trying to decide if it was worth an extra $1 to buy name brand vs store brand.
I just dropped over $400 at a SC with only a hard-on to show for it.
I need help.
Chili Palmer
04-28-2005, 10:19 PM
I stopped at the store on the way home tonight. Studied a bag pistachios trying to decide if it was worth an extra $1 to buy name brand vs store brand.
I just dropped over $400 at a SC with only a hard-on to show for it.
I need help.
You gotta draw the line somewhere, KC. With me, it's paying 50 cents to call 411 from a payphone; it's all nuts to you. ;)
CP
Malak
04-30-2005, 06:21 AM
The Gold Club - Hartford, CT(Friday)
I woke up this morning with that current song "Hollow"
on my mind realizing I must have heard it at the club
last night. That's a great dancing song because it pulls
off something which is kind of hard to do... on the one
hand it seems very fast-paced and upbeat from the
drumwork but some of the vocals evoke feelings of
ectasy or revelation which is perfect for a dancer
slowly moving her hips as she spins around seductively
reaching out or up with her arms.
Anyways, I arrived at 11:15 PM with kind of high
expectations since this is where porn stars show-up
regularly and I had heard the girls were both very
pretty and drunk. LOL The place was the most hoppin'
atmosphere I've seen yet... lots of dancers and customers.
The stage was recently redone although I dislike a literal
rail. A girl can't lay on top of a rail too easily. The lightshow
was awesome and the music crankin'. The DJ did a good
job trying to motivate the crowd repeatedly mentioning how
the girls need our support etc. But very few girls seems to
really be working the crowd. I was only asked once for a
dance. (Yes, I was freshly bathed and dressed nicely.) I
have no specific bartender comments and only heard the name
of one of them the whole time but they were doing their best
to keep up in a busy place.
As I walked in I noticed that one of the girls on stage was
definitely my type but she was finishing up just after I got to
the tiprail. Damn! I tipped "Janessa" - a blonde with nice
boobs. I found her to be the most interesting psychologically.
She was very professional and if you watched closely her
"act" was not consistent. I could tell she was tired and did not
want to be there probably but I give her credit for putting her
gameface on when dealing with a guy who was the creepiest
looking guy there. She made him think she there all for him.
Was amazed at a skinny blonde named "Rain" who was so
acrobatic she seemed to be living in the rafters and was
upside down on the pole more than anyone.
I had been watching for the girl I saw when I first walked in
and she was stuck in conversations and on the other side of
the room from me but they finally had a 2-for-1 special and
that brought her back to the stage. She escaped after that
but now I was determined and I snagged her. She is a
light-skinned black woman so you could call this my first
intimate contact with this wonderful subset of the female
species :-) This was also the first time I had a mirror right
across from me and a bouncer 5 feet away but it was all
good. She is a true beauty and I was not kissing her ass when
I said she was the best girl there because it was my honest
opinion so far. I was very impressed that she determined on
her own, thru trial and error, what I liked. She could just TELL.
Others, reading what I have had to say in the past here, probably
realized this before me I'm sure, but what I like if for the dancer
to be in my personal space. That's really the best way to say it.
So I told her my sob story about no longer hanging out with my
dancer chick and she was a pretty good psychologist too.
I went back to sit in "row two" and pick my next lapdance
partner. Very shortly after that I noticed this very tall and
busty brunette "Asia" and she asked me for a dance. Like an
idiot I said maybe later only because I had just had one. Stupid!
I realized later that she was one of the top 3 chicks there for
sure. Her stage set was impressive with lots of crowd reaction
and afterwards she was doing dances non-stop which I knew
would happen. Remember in the past when I said snooze you
lose! I never did hook up with her. Ugh!
The girls there are perhaps more face pretty but I really don't
think I like them better than the suburban clubs. I think what
they are lacking is Brazilians! LOL For the first time ever I
left with half my cash still in my pocket. How's this for irony...
I thought it might be a nice touch to tip someone with real
gold being that it is the "Gold Club" so I also walked out with
a 1/10th ounce kruggerand still in my pocket! LOL Well, I
guess the dancers can learn from the "snooze you lose"
principle too! :-p And I saw no drunk girls - they seemed
quite sober.
Sidenote: Of my tour of the local clubs I would have to say
the best all around attitude was from "Lucy" at Electric Blue.
"Camilla" would be second(more subdued, but always smiling).
Ginorod55
05-01-2005, 07:49 PM
Classy Faves Make It All Worthwhile
My date was running late, so I stopped by another club, Club RP, to see if my good friend Ms A was working so I could say hi and maybe set up some future play time. I haven't seen her in about six weeks, when we had our last OTC date. I had wanted to call her cell phone to see if she was working, but she had told me that some creep that had been stalking her had grabbed her little tip purse with her phone, id, and about $400 and had run out of the club. Creepy!
>:(
I tried her mother's cell no. that she gave me in the meantime but got no answer. As I pull in to Club RP I see a car that looks like hers, but I've never bothered to pay attention to the plates. I asked the cashier, but she didn't know Ms A. I realized then that she had probably changed her name at this club. I thought I would chance the $7 admission fee.
Ms A is hot hot hot. She is 28, 115#, 34d-24-34, and is always very playful with me. I've seen her OTC 4 or 5 times, and each time the sex gets better. So much so that I've purposely made myself wait so I don't become too much a PL and become a stalker myself. She is that good to me OTC. (Plus I've had the MILF, Ms F, to play with.)
;)
I walked around the club, by the bar, glanced up at the VIP balcony -- don't know if I'll pay the extra $20 to see if she's up there. I went around the main stage and when I turned around toward the VIP balcony here she comes! She's got a huge smile and is wearing a new costume, nice small lacy panties and bra. She's reaching out to me with both her arms and rushes to hug and kiss me.
"Baby, I brought you here tonight; I was calling out for you and you came!"
:D
Some women can pull off the SS so well that you have to wonder whether they're telling the truth.
"Don't you love me anymore? I've missed you so much!"
Damn, it feels good. A hot woman is all over me and the fantasy almost blends into reality. I don't really care if it's an act. I want her, I want her now!
}:D
We sit down to visit, we catch up, I found out she's now going by Ms G at this club. I tell her I'm just waiting for a phone call from a buddy to go for a beer. Yeah, right. She gives me her new number and we set up a play date for next week. We're talking up close, touching lightly, looking into each other's eyes, stealing kisses. Am I back in college?
Damn, here come the boys in blue at this club too. No matter -- soon enough I get my call and it's time to roll for my date.
That was five days ago and I'm still glowing with anticipation, or some such thing.
When they're good, they're great! 8)
Moneywise
05-03-2005, 12:06 AM
“Let The Games Begin (again)”
I ventured into my old stomping grounds on Friday. I also decided to pull another double dip and hit the SC closeby before driving over to my old stomping grounds again Sunday night. Boy am I ever glad I went on both nights.
When I pulled up to the club Friday night I initially noticed the parking lot was jam packed. It was payday for those that don’t utilize warchests. I immediately take up residence at the bar where Ms. A (the hottest 20 yr old bartender I have ever seen) is filling glasses. “Hey baby” she says. I’ve flirted with her on more than one occasion and will continue to do so. We both make small talk and she catches me up on the latest drama in her life. She had been outside all day mowing grass because her LL left a note on her door stating “mow it or get the hell out” (I’m paraphrasing). She gives me the usual and we continue to carry on conversation while she works the bar. I sat there talking with her for so long that by the time I got up to scope the club I was working on my second drink.
I venture into the DJ booth to holla at P. We both immediately start in on talk about our favorite baseball teams (boys will be boys). Little did I know this would be the start of a very interesting night. Another guy was hanging out in the booth on Friday night. P introduced us and the downward spiral began. Somehow the three of us decided that every girl that frequented the booth on this night would have the opportunity to make some extra cash by simply satisfying our devious desires. One by one the girls ventured up to pick their music. The conversation flowed with P being the ringleader. On one occasion one of the dancers (a short stacked Puerto Rican burner) was up in the booth joking around with us. “Turn around and show us that ass” P says. She obliges. P then proceeds to simulate doggie sex with her while pressing her large BAs against my chest. After she leaves he tells us how she loves to take it in the ass.
One particular dancer is in attendance on her night off. She’s Asian, petite, and incredibly cute. She talks shit with the best of them too. While in the booth she and P go at it talking crap to each other. All the while I am stuffing ones into her fleece jogging pants. Either I was high on crack (will never happen) or every girl that hit the booth on this night was a looker. She looked so cute with her cap cocked to the side. Each one that I stuffed into her pants found its way deeper until my hand was practically resting comfortably on her perineum. I was feeling frisky and didn’t have a care in the world.
One particular dancer’s stage act is so vastly different than the others. She dances slow and very sensually. She always attracts masses to the stage because of the “dirty” nature in which she performs on the stage. Tonight was no different. I turned to P and said “I would hit that like it was extinct, I can’t lie to you”. He replied “dude, tell me about it. She love to have trains run on her.” Why did he have to say that? Not that I find any particular enjoyment in being a box car or anything. At that very moment, just the vision of her on stage doing her thing and the notion that she was every bit as dirty as advertised, was enough to get my blood flowing. “Oh, you’ve got to get her in here” I said. P then gets on the mic and calls her to the booth. A few minutes later she arrives. This girl reminds me so much of Angelina Jolie. Not so much physical resemblance. Rather, she enjoys the same facial expression that simply says “fuck me” without saying a word. It’s really amazing. While we bullshit about music my hands wander and begin to stuff ones in her thong. After stuffing a few ones I slipped one right where the thong and her starfish kiss each other. This move caused her to reach back and softly brush my hand away. I deserved that. I was being such a bad boy. LOL She then turned to me and struck up a conversation about a song she wants. I took that opportunity to pull her closer and enjoy the moment while the smell of her well thought out perfume selection engulfed my senses.
"Let them get a good glimpse of that ass" P tells her. She then leans over and pokes her hot little ass out for us with her legs slightly spread apart. The other dude on the booth whips out the cameraphone and starts snapping away. She then lets him take a picture of her face. I could probably rub one out with just that picture of her smiling. The bedroom eyes coupled with that facial expression she carries around is enough to set even the greatest proponent of self-control off into a blaze of 5 minute glory.
My girl Ms. J is in attendance. While I am caught up in an embrace with Ms. Fuck Me Ms. J steps into the booth. Whoops! Not that I belong to anyone or anything. I totally understand the dynamics behind money sources and all of that but I refuse to ever get caught up in the type of drama I once endured with Ms. L. You know the drama that had you popping large bags of popcorn daily. Ms. J looks at me as she steps past us to select her music. The look in her eyes could have turned me to stone if I hadn’t looked away. Off she went back into the pool of payday ATMs.
I questioned P about a girl that used to work there. I once described her as beautiful and also totally stuck on herself. She’s out on the west coast trying to make a relationship work. He beats her though so the word is she should be arriving back in the area very soon. It turns out the club owner (who happens to be a svelte 60+ yrs old) was bonking the living crap out of her. I’m officially part of the vine crowd. I’m finding out things I could have never imagined. For instance, the owner is one of the freakiest people you’ll ever meet. He also has a dick the size of a baseball bat. P tells me this story of a time when the owner was out at a local restaurant and overheard a lady sitting nearby complaining of how her tea wasn’t sweet enough. He got up, walked over to her table, whipped it out, and plopped it in her glass. “It should be sweet enough for you now” he said. Needless to say his restaurant stay ended that very moment.
Later that night Ms. J comes back into the booth. She snuggles up into my arms and asks how I am. “I’m doing good” I reply. While exchanging small talk she snuggles a bit more. I’m not sure how we went from snuggling to full on kissing with each of my hands cupping half of her incredible buttocks and spreading them apart. Meanwhile P is on the mic ignoring us and the other guy is standing in a neutral corner looking dumbfounded. Some things don’t necessarily involve money. There’s a mutual likeness between Ms. J and I. I still spend money on laps from her but it’s now more in the neighborhood of 20-60 as compared to the 100-200 that I once spent on laps from her. The blue site vets are right on the money whenever they talk about how OTC adventures can totally change the way you see things between you and your ATF ITC. She and I haven’t had sex (well not by Bill Clinton’s definition of it). However, we have thoroughly explored each other’s nether regions on more than one occasion OTC. She sucks a great dick.
P leaves the booth for a few and returns with fire in his eyes. “Dude, they’re about to throw down. Cmon.” Off I go with him as we make our way to the front door. By that time the fight had ended and some guy was leaning on a car outside fielding questions from 5-0 with a bloodied face that told the story fairly well. Just as long as he wasn’t leaning on my car it was all good.
By the time we make it back to the booth one of the door guys and his buddy have brought two girls into the booth. (GFs) These girls looked like it was past their curfew. Both were hot and innocent. One of them was particularly frisky. I sat on a stool right next to her and watched as she ran her hand up the skirt of the other girl and was working some nice hand action under there. (instant hard on.. I cannot tell a lie) Their BFs stood in front peering out into the crowd. I mean she was fucking working the other girl over. Good god. I think I could feel my hearbeat along the length of my cock. Throb throb throb! Yet, there I sat trying my best not to look amazed. Suddenly out of the blue her other hand begins to rub my back. “WTF is going on?” I say to myself. She’s seated next to me and directly behind the other girl. I look over while she’s rubbing my back unbeknownst to either of the two BFs who are too busy studying the audience and attempting to look super cool and her hand is really rubbing a good pattern under the other girl’s skirt. I think I could have probably chiseled another face onto Mount Rushmore with the raging hard on that I was experiencing. The BFs motion for the girl to join them out at the bar and as quickly as it began the playtime ended. As the two girls follow the BFs out of the booth the frisky one walks past me and brushes her ass against my inner lap. I proceed to grab a nice portion of ass as she walked away. I’m not sure WTH is going on but the night had definitely taken a turn into the realm of strange yet scintillating.
One of the guys comes back in with the girl that had been getting her underskirt massaged. He then proceeds to pin her in the corner and berate her as though she was a child. He dared her to move and threatened to punch her if she did. This went on for a good ten minutes. Talk about a fucking hard on killer… It was all I could do to maintain my composure and not jump into this guy’s ass. After a good 15 minutes of asserting that “I man you woman now lie down so I can drag you by your hair” he walks out and she sheepishly follows. As she walks past me somehow we brushed against each other and my hand ended up on her ass. (boy, that Grey Goose is like liquid courage) By this time he had already left the booth and she paused for a moment as if to say “that feels good”. She leaned against me placing her cheeks squarely over raging hard on round 2 and then walked out of the booth before he had a chance to return.
By this time it was time for me to go. I gave P some love and left.
Dent: $50 drinks. Zero LDs. 2 episodes of borderline cock aneurisms.
(Part 2 Sunday night: on deck)
Moneywise
05-03-2005, 05:51 AM
One of them was particularly frisky. I sat on a stool right next to her and watched as she ran her hand up the skirt of the other girl and was working some nice hand action under there. (instant hard on.. I cannot tell a lie) Their BFs stood in front peering out into the crowd. I mean she was fucking working the other girl over. Good god. I think I could feel my hearbeat along the length of my cock. Throb throb throb! Yet, there I sat trying my best not to look amazed. Suddenly out of the blue her other hand begins to rub my back. “WTF is going on?” I say to myself.
I had some time to sleep on this one and realized she might have been drugged. I remember the vets talking about how X can make a person very sensitive to touch or touchy feely. I guess it's possible she might have been on something.
SportsWriter2
05-03-2005, 05:58 AM
I've realized for some time that you can make up quotes, but this is the first time I really wanted to do it. }:D
One of the guys comes back in with the girl that had been getting her underskirt massaged. He then proceeds to pin her in the corner and berate her as though she was a child. He dared her to move and threatened to punch her if she did. This went on for a good ten minutes. I tried to keep my cool, but I had heard enough. I took the kid out with one punch, then took the two girls home with me and dogged them on the floor all night.
Awesome report, MW. That girl so reminded me of a past favorite who loved being dogged with her friend. I later found out she was actually 17 and in HS during the months she was dancing. ::)
I had some time to sleep on this one and realized she might have been drugged. I remember the vets talking about how X can make a person very sensitive to touch or touchy feely. I guess it's possible she might have been on something.
MW, it's good that you have a delayed memory. Why spoil the moment? :)
Moneywise
05-04-2005, 12:50 AM
Part 2: The games really begin.
On Sunday night I had an itch to pull a double run. I began the night by stopping by the club just up the highway 5 minutes away. This club is hardly ever busy. This is the club in which I landed a very enjoyable OTC experience with the 19 year old Ms. J (not to be confused w/ Ms. J from my old stomping grounds). I’ll call her 19 to help avoid any confusion. 19 and I lost contact with each other about 6 months ago after she moved out of her parents home. She had gone down to the Orlando area and stayed with some family there for quite some time. That’s really all I knew. Just 6 months ago she was an innocent apprehensive sweetheart of a woman. Although we hooked up OTC I can’t say there wasn’t any apprehension initially on her part. I’m sure you all remember her feeling uncomfy with taking money from me. She commented something along the lines of wanting me to be her fuck buddy with no money involved. We hooked up and proceeded to set a rather exclusive hotel room on fire one night. I paid her. She took it.
Over the past few months I had called this club on occasion to see if 19 was working. This really isn’t the type of club I could spend any extended period of time in without a real purpose for being there. Every time I called 19 still worked there but wasn’t working that particular night. I decided to venture in Sunday night without calling with plans to simply have a drink before heading over to my old stomping grounds. Who do I see when I walk in? None other than 19 seated at the bar chatting up some custy. Her back is turned. I take up residence at the other side of the bar and order a drink. A few minutes later our eyes meet. Up she jumps to rush over and give me a nice little missed you hug. I hadn’t seen her in awhile and took a second to warm up to her club charm.
19: What’s wrong with you? You’re acting like you don’t know me.
*I just haven’t seen you in a long while. I’m glad you’re ok.
19: Well, I wouldn’t say that. I’m getting by. I moved out and am living with one of the waitresses.
We then lose ourselves in a warm embrace.
*Let’s go get comfortable.
19: Alright.
Once we get into the LD room there’s more catching up.
19: The last time we talked you wanted to hook back up again. I wanted to but was going through a lot back then. My father overdosed and had to be admitted. It was really ugly.
I had already known her father had a nice little coke habit.
19: I’m not as shy as I used to be.
*Oh really now. What makes you say that?
19: Remember I was a little apprehensive back then. Well, I’m not apprehensive anymore.
Translation: I’m getting pounded on the regular.
*hmmm…
19: Give me your number again. I lost it awhile ago when things went bad at home.
Translation: I could use a little extra pocket cash.
*I’m not into giving my number out to people that don’t use it.
19: Aw cmon. That’s not fair. You know I will use it. Didn’t you miss me?
*A little. (so lame) Does the thought of a mutually rewarding agreement still make you cringe?
19: No not at all. I’ve come a long way since we last talked. Obviously it didn’t bother me that much before silly.
*Give me a call and we’ll hook something up.
19:I will.
She then proceeds to dance for me. Over the duration of two songs she skillfully drained the majority of the blood from the brain on my shoulders. Her dancers were better than ever. I could tell she had made the transition from young innocence to the level of skilled vet. As she grinded on my lap RCG I slid my hand down the crest of her ass cheeks and played with her culo. The bouncer found himself working over time as she and I managed to hide the majority of our contact from his eyesight. He did shout something in our direction when he looked and saw her seated on me CG with both of my hands cupping her ass cheeks and spreading them apart. While looking out of the corner of her eye she took every private opportunity to kiss me deeply. After the second dance ended we gathered ourselves and she gave me the old pinkie finger promise to call. She hasn’t called yet but that’s very much her style. I’ll work on OTC part two when she does call. Yes. The pussy was that good. I’m going back in for more. Cover me!
Dent :$20 for drinks, $40 for LDS, & $5 to tip the bouncer.
Total: $65