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itsthatguy
06-04-2006, 07:22 PM
Nice reference to a "solo girl" (typically a teen who plays with herself on her own website for caring nerds). Here's the definitive thumbnail collection of solo girls for lookup purposes.

www.tiavasgirls.com (http://www.tiavasgirls.com/)

And then there are solo girl imposters like www.brandibelle.com (http://www.brandibelle.com), whose welcome promo trailer makes fun of the solo girl concept.
God, I would love to go to a Alyssa Doll autograph signing. It would one of the only times I would literally be speechless in front of a beautiful girl.

GenWar
06-05-2006, 06:15 PM
Hi all. Time for more.

For those who are clammoring for stuff from this weekend...Saturday night is done but Friday night isn't even started. I think Friday will be my longest one ever, so I will need a few days. Hope to get it up by end of the week. Will save Saturday for after for continuity's sake. Speaking of continuity, I can't do either without doing Houston, so here is Houston.

-gen
--------------------------------------------------------------
So I ended up with a 12 hour layover in Houston, TX. What else should I do but rent a car and find a club. So with that in mind, I reserved a car at the rental place and then got a room at the El Cheapo Suites Airport in Houston. Figured I could get a shower before going out and steal 2 hours of sleep before flying out. Well, after arriving, standing in line at the rental place for 40 minutes, getting a random Toyota Camry, I called the hotel for directions. I am told to get on the freeway and head for exit 36. So I wind my way from the airport to the freeway and find my way on. It is not uncomplicated but I manage. Once on the freeway, I check the exit number. 59. What??? Well, as it turns out, there are TWO %&^*&#@^#% airports in Houston. My hotel is at the wrong one. Nice. In fact, it is miles past the club on the OTHER side. L What the hell…by the time I make to the hotel, check in, get cleaned up, dressed and out for the club, it is 11:30. Oh well, I follow the printed directions to Treasures.

Now, I have been to the Treasures in Vegas, so that is what I am expecting. I have also been warned here on the boards about various things to expect. I pull the Camry up into the valet area where an enterprising man takes it off to be parked. I walk through the door, cigar wallet in hand, where I find 4 (count em, FOUR!) doormen. They open the door to 3 more bouncers and a metal detector. K I pass security muster and turn to pay one of the cover ladies my $10 entry fee. At this point, one of the 5 or so waitresses standing by the front desk ask if I would like a table. (So far, I am not yet IN the club and I have seen like 18 club employees.) I confirm that I would and she leads me into the club proper. She points towards the back and suggests that it is probably quite full and that we would have better luck out front. For some reason, I am associating the back with extras, so I readily agree to a front seat. She selects some seats right up front, next to the rail that leads along the path to the back. I shake my head…too exposed. I point at the back wall where there are booths and inquire. She leads me to one and I plop down, dumping the copious pocket contents onto the table in front of me. She inquires as to the drink and I order the Belvedere and tonic.

The place is not packed…in fact, there seems to be a 2 to 1 ratio and a lot of girls are wandering the floor. The girl on stage is lonely and bored. This differs with the expectations that were set for me previous about Thursday being the busiest night. There is also some sort of dynamic I can’t track. The girls wander by and they look at you but they don’t always approach. I can’t figure out their decision making choices…the usual stuff (presence of eye contact, smiling) doesn’t seem to be working consistently. `Course, it could always be the cigar, as I am puffing merrily away. (I love Texas.)

Eventually, a nice looking blonde decides to give me a try. She comes up and asks is I am alone. I confirm that I am and gesture for her to join me. She sits, introduces herself as Miss M and starts in with some decent game…nothing spectacular. I am sensing that she has done this bit MANY MANY times. But she is interactive and does a good job of appearing interested. I comment that her name seems tame and she replies that it is her real name. I inquire after her dancer name and she frowns and tells me Miss C. I ask why she frowned and she says she hates her name. I ask her why she doesn’t pick a new one and she just shrugs. When the waitress appears, I offer a drink. She orders a bottled water.K I ask her to give me the story on Treasures and she does, telling me the pertinents, including the fact that lap dances are “a contact sport.” Hilarious.

As you may know from my previous posts, I believe there is a minimal amount of SS that needs to flow for a dancer to “earn the right” to ask for a dance. I don’t need her to spend the night pretending to be in love with me but I also can’t accept the simple, “Hello, My name is Miss V. Would you like a dance?” or, God forbid, “Wanna dance? (while smacking on chewing gum). Well, this lady gets right up to the line of what I could consider to be an appropriate amount of discussion in what I would characterize as the minimum amount of time in which one might accomplish it. Then, she asks for the business. I do a quick mental review and realize she has matched my needs and maximized her time in a perfect synchronicity. I do a mental headshake and agree to my first dance of the evening.

Her dance is decent. Good contact and, while she doesn’t give ridiculous mileage, she does the proper cues to indicate that she would not be adverse to said mileage. It is an analysis tool. She will only do the mileage I demand…why do more if I don’t need it? I enjoy the dance but I don’t think my eyes lit or my smile grew. I had just come from NC, where I have a couple of faves with whom the chemistry is so great that my internal organs ache. I think I was a little lapdanced out. After the song ends, she asks if I enjoyed my dance. I confirm that I did. Her eyes narrow slightly, as if she doesn’t believe it. “Then… another?” she inquires. The tone implies that she expects a no, but I usually only get one if they sucked. I nod. She sort of shrugs with her eyebrows as if to say, “Nice signals.” but starts in on the next dance. She pushes the mileage envelope a bit more and, at one point about 2/3 of the way through the song, she takes my hand and places it firmly and clearly on her breast. She presses down briefly, as if my hand has an activated “stick” function, and continues with the dance. Honestly, I am never comfortable with an open grope. I feel like I am going too far (probably too many hours in “no touch” low mileage gown clubs). When I do hit a high mileage environment, I tend to go for the odd caress and hand motions that are fleeting but still silently communicate that I appreciate her figure and the hard work she has put into it. After a moment of time to confirm that her breast is, indeed, quite nice, I let my hand slide away into one of those fleeting moves.

At this point, the second song ends and I feel that a break is in order. I give a polite “That’s good for now,” to her inquiry and relight my cigar as she dresses. When she is done with her outfit, I have the cash waiting. Without further ado, she thanks me, promises to check on me later, takes the cash and her bottled water and wanders into the night. I am not heartbroken (there are a LOT of lovely girls floating around) but I did appreciate her company and her dances and I thank her, trying to let her know that. Belatedly, I realize that she spent PRECISELY the minimum amount of time on me that she could. Either she reads this board religiously or she is one of the finest customer analysis sales people I have ever seen.

(continued...)

GenWar
06-05-2006, 06:18 PM
I am not much further into the cigar when my roaming eyes rest on a short latino lady with an impossibly tight and complicated outfit. It appears to be made of straps of a leather like material, stretched tightly around her ample figure, giving very attractive bulges in all the right places. She scans the room and her eyes link with mine. She waits a moment for confirmation and makes a beeline for my table. She walks up to the side near the vacant end of the booth, places a hand on the table and shifts her legs and hips to perfectly accentuate her body. My eyebrows raise in appreciation. Her opening line, “You like what you see, papy?” Her accent is pronounced and it comes off HOT. It is all I can do to maintain my suave Strip Club Aficionado demeanor and not drop my jaw and drool like an idiot. I give her the gracious single nod blink move that implies extreme appreciation. She smiles and settles into the seat next to me.

Her name was Miss A and her game was a LOT different that Miss M’s Midwestern girl-next-door action. She is all sexpot and wants to talk slightly dirty. She is whispering sexual miscellany in my ear and seems annoy by the traditional small talk like where she is from (Puerto Rico) and how long has she been a dancer (5 months.) I guess she has decided that my fantasy is for a hot, young Puerto Rican lass to curl up next to me and talk lewdly at me. As much as it wasn’t, I WAS enjoying it immensely. After a short time, she asked, nay, DEMANDED, that she dance for me. It would have taken an effort of will to say no.


Sadly, the hype was in the trailer and the movie just didn’t perform. While her dance was not air and had some good grind, I wasn’t feeling it. Firstly, the outfit, while cool looking, took damn near ½ song to come off. And that was NOT for her lack of trying. She was not experienced at removing it. Even once she got going, her contact was good, her moves well chosen and her enthusiasm apparent, but nada. I agreed to the second primarily because I couldn’t understand how she could be as hot as she was and do the things she was doing to me and me not have a reaction. But, by the end of the second song, I knew it wasn’t there. No chemisty. None at all. I called it…Time of Death: 12:12 am.

I had plenty of time to relight (3rd time, ick) the cigar and summon 2 Mr. Jacksons, as she struggled back into the outfit. It was very impractical…the straps didn’t want to go into the places they belonged. Once she got it finished, the effect was impressive. I handed her the money and she departed with minimal talk (“Thank you, papy.”) and no ceremony.

Once again, I was alone. I sat back and reflected on their performance as a club. The bouncers were excellent at being invisible. They were part of the background and tried to look unobtrusive. Those are the ones you have to worry about. The waitress was good for the most part. I was going to look for her for a refill and a menu (I wanted dinner, too) when I saw her leading a HUGE (14+ member) party into the back room. (I thought she said it was full.) For the next 20 minutes or so, I went dry while she ferried tray after tray of drinks from the front bar to the back room. (Don’t they have a bar back there?) The DJ was a frustrated comic whose jokes were so stupid that you had to laugh at them. Consequently, he was actually pretty funny, though I think the average junkie would have bought him an arsenic-laced mint julep within a half hour in the club. What struck me as real odd is that he couldn’t get a rotation going to save his life. Fully 75% of summoned dancers simply failed to show. The stage spent more time empty that full and no one, excepting the DJ, seemed to mind.

Eventually, the waitress returned. “I thought you forgot about me.” I told her. She grinned and apologized. I ordered a refill and a shot of Patron, chilled, straight up. She nodded and headed off, returning a VERY short time later with the drinks. I gave her my dinner order and sat back to sip the tequila lightly, taking a moment to marvel at the warmth it spread throughout the body. The cigar was approaching completion as I continued my review of the club. As my eyes wandered, I saw two black dancers walking hand in hand through the club, evaluating the status of everything. They walked back in my direction and started to approach the rear area where I was sitting. At the last second, based on some unknown silent signal, they separated and the one on the right approached me while her friend approached the booth to my left. Interesting.

She opened with Miss M’s line of asking if I am alone. I guess a lot of guys come looking to see a specific dancer, if this is a common opening. I nodded. She sat next to me and started up with her pitch. Again, it was a fairly straightforward issuance of small talk. Minimal SS, mostly just get-to-know-you kinda stuff. Again, not my ideal scenario but not unpleasant. At some point, however, she ran out of stuff to say. She just sort of sat back, staring blankly. I tried a couple more opening lines and she tried hard to parlay it into something but she lacked the skill. I thought about it and just guessed that she was REALLY bored and not having much luck combating it. After a while, she randomly asked for a dance and I agreed for lack of anything else to do.

Her dance was odd. She alternated between serious, hardcore RCG grinding and air dance moves like the face-away-bend-over and the one-leg-on-the-shoulder. I have seen and enjoyed all of the moves, just never in the same dance before. After just one, I was done. You should have SOME reason for wanting a second and I didn’t. She frowned briefly at the minimal sale but covered it quickly. Again, I got that feeling that she just was NOT into the job today and was struggling to cover it. I thanked her and gave her a twenty. She thanked me back and departed.

I know knew this would officially be a pattern…Approach, Charm/Game/SS, Ask, Dance, Depart. These ladies were hard core professionals…no time was wasted. I contemplating lighting a second cigar when dinner arrived. I took a break from the smoking to eat the meal...Chicken and Ziti in Alfredo Sauce. Not bad. Little bland but edible. Midway through, Miss M reapproached. She smiled and greeted me but decided to move on when she saw me eating. She promised to come back later. Based on my other experiences, I encouraged her to do so.

After a while, I finished eating, cleaned up the table and light the second cigar. I kinda wanted a minute with this one (it was a more expensive brand, one of my favorites) so I leaned back against the booth which took my eyes out of open view while still affording me the opportunity to scan the room. After a brief while of smoking, relaxing and listening to the DJ’s babble about the buffet being open, I sat back up and started scanning the room for another experience. Time went by. And more time. And more time. I think I sat alone for about 40 minutes. The # of girls passing by was less but not non-existent. I guess none of them liked my looks because it was a WHILE before I got another approach. Finally, a girl came over.

She was a very thin blonde with a bright red outfit. She approached me from the right instead of the left, the first one to do so, which I found weird. I scooted over to make room for her and she introduced herself. STRONG Russian accent. I melted. Like freckles, Russian accents do all sorts of interesting things for me. I encouraged her to sit and began to engage her in conversation with wild abandon. Anything to get her to talk. Eventually, I think she caught on because she started telling me stories of life in St. Petersburg and how to get good vodka when in Russia and lots of stuff. Of all the girls I had met in the evening, she was the first who didn’t seem to be tracking things on an internal timer as to when she could ask for a dance. She also was the first to accept an offer for a drink and get alcohol (vodka, of course) and we got to spend some time drinking together. Still, despite being more relaxed on the timing, she did get to the dance request. I readily agreed.

She also gave a good, decent mileage dance. I am starting to understand why this place is so popular. J She also had clued in on the fact that I found the accent hot, so she tried to talk to me during the dance. Not exactly dirty talk, more like dance supplemental talk like “You like that?” or “That feel good, eh?” Frankly, it worked, as I had a good time. Her accent made up for the fact that she was very thin, almost annoyingly so. After two dances, I called a halt. Standard Operating Procedure. She smiled and thanked me, redressed and SAT DOWN AGAIN. Halleluiah. We continued to drink and talk more. She didn’t even ask for the cash. We just went back to enjoying each other’s company. Ironically, or perhaps NOT so, she was the least attractive of all the girls that had visited me. But good chemistry can make up for that…why don’t more dancers understand this? The hottest was the Puerto Rican and I don’t think she would have gotten a second chance. What an odd little world is this strip club life.

(continued...)

GenWar
06-05-2006, 06:19 PM
After not too long, she asked for more dances. Again, I readily agreed. She got another 2 more out of me, both as good as the first 2. I thanked her and paid for all the dances. She spent a bit more exchanging pleasantries but I think we both felt the experience was closed. She moved on. I puffed away in her wake (she didn’t mind the cigar either. All the other girls were like…”No, the cigar is *cough, cough* just fine. Don’t put it out *energetically wave smoke away* for me.” so, of course, you have to put it out.) By now, it was about 2:30 am and girls were headed out the door in droves of tank top/jeans clad bodies. Even thought it was open until four, I got the sense that the night was winding down. I finished up the cigar and vodka and ordered coffee and a bottle of water. (Have to drive, after all. What a dumbass I am.) The waitress returned as I was consolidating my items for transport. She provided the “sober” drinks and gave me my tab as well. Nice read. I tipped her decently and she thanked me and wished me a good night.


I sipped the coffee and reviewed the contents of my brain. I must have shut my eyes for a minute, just to rest them and clean my contacts, when I hear a voice, “You awake?” I open my eyes and Miss M is back. And I realize I am happy to see her. “Yeah…just cleaning my contacts.” I tell her and we chuckle. She settles in on the right (in the russian’s spot) and starts to tell me about her recent past. She was going home but decided to have the buffet. Now, after far too much sausage, she is worried about being too fat. Now, I may not be a major leaguer but I can smack softballs with the best of them. I rush to reassure her that she has plenty more sausage to go before she has to worry about impacting her lovely figure. I start to give her some CS about my experiences of the night and how she had the best body of any of them (I am conveniently editing out the Puerto Rican, which is why it is CS. J) She knows it is CS but it is the end of the night and we are both tired and I think she appreciated the effort. She reaches for a sip of water from the table and I catch a glimpse of the back of her hand for the first time. Wha-wha-what? Her face and body are maybe 26-27 but her hands are 40 if they are a day. I think I actually physically started because she asked “What?” “Nothing,” I say quickly but it is too late. “No, really, what?” Shrug, in for a penny…I take her hand and hold it palm down and rub the skin of the back of her hand. It takes her a moment but she gets it. She nods and smiles. “42.” She says. I don’t believe it. I honestly don’t believe it and I say so. No friggin’ way. She laughs, flattered and confirms it. “Not bad, eh?” She says. It is not fishing…it is pride and it is deserved. I shake my head in wonder. She grins and decides it is time for more dances. I agree.

She is disrobed and on my lap in no time. Maybe it was the alcohol or the chemistry or the end of the night but I am more in to it than I was before. I am enjoying myself and much more interactive than I would normally be. Of course, I am still a gentleman but she doesn’t grab my hand and but it anywhere this time. J I think we made it to 4 or 5 before I called a halt. Now THAT was a lap dance experience. I pulled out the cash as she redressed. Again, she was making to leave, though it was much slower this time. I looked up at her and said, “I don’t think I have ever in my life wished I was older until now.” More CS but she gets a kick out of it and smiles at me. She looks at the table and asks if she can have one of my bottles of water. I inform her that the one on the right is actually her bottle that she brought. She giggles again and this is the first inkling I have that she might have had more than sausage for dinner. *shrug* She handles her intoxicants better than me. Must be experience. She moves off and I sigh. I count to 10 while all the pieces of my soul resettle and get to my feet filling pockets.

Rather than hit the door directly, I walk back towards the back. I hadn’t actually left my seat the whole 4 hour night, so I hit the bathroom and then walk in the back so I can see what all the fuss is about. Sure enough, the far wall in the far back is like ridiculously dark. You can pretty much birth calves in those booths and the bouncers wouldn’t be able to tell. As the wingman would say, Nice. There are still a few stragglers left at 3:30 am. Not many dances going on but dancers sitting and talking with custys. Tables of dancers enjoying the bounty of the buffet, etc. I wander slowly and aimlessly out of the room before setting a course for the front door and the painful drive back across town to my stupidly far hotel.

aggieed
06-05-2006, 06:47 PM
Once on the freeway, I check the exit number. 59. What??? Well, as it turns out, there are TWO %&^*&#@^#% airports in Houston.

D'oh! Yeah...two airports...both across town from each other...essentially but still off of IH-45...you lucked out there.


Her name was Miss A and her game was a LOT different that Miss M’s Midwestern girl-next-door action. She is all sexpot and wants to talk slightly dirty. She is whispering sexual miscellany in my ear and seems annoy by the traditional small talk like where she is from (Puerto Rico) and how long has she been a dancer (5 months.) I guess she has decided that my fantasy is for a hot, young Puerto Rican lass to curl up next to me and talk lewdly at me. As much as it wasn’t, I WAS enjoying it immensely. After a short time, she asked, nay, DEMANDED, that she dance for me. It would have taken an effort of will to say no.

Definitely not the same Puerto Rican I met just a few days later in the afternoon. That one had her hand down my pants by the second song and wanted to make sure "Big Papi" (meaning me not...well, you know) was satisifed.


Once again, I was alone. I sat back and reflected on their performance as a club. The bouncers were excellent at being invisible. They were part of the background and tried to look unobtrusive. Those are the ones you have to worry about. The waitress was good for the most part. I was going to look for her for a refill and a menu (I wanted dinner, too) when I saw her leading a HUGE (14+ member) party into the back room.

There are bouncers at Treasures?

Amazed your waitress came back...one of the horror stories of waitresses at Treasures is that they pretty much forget about you. Some guys I know will keep their waitress's cell phone numbers with them so that they can call with their drink order.

So no naughty sex and hell-bent debauchery. I'm soooo disappointed. ;)

Cally
06-05-2006, 07:57 PM
Hi all. Time for more.

I think Friday will be my longest one ever

Oh dear god... I am responsible for your longest Trip Report ever... I will say sorry ahead of time to those who have adult ADD like I do lol

FBR
06-05-2006, 08:31 PM
LOL

Gen continues to be unmerciful towards us old fuckers that struggle with our trifocles and the small print. But duty calls that we try to read and enjoy.

FBR

NoCoverLover
06-05-2006, 08:44 PM
Hi all. Time for more.

For those who are clammoring for stuff from this weekend...Saturday night is done but Friday night isn't even started. I think Friday will be my longest one ever, so I will need a few days. Hope to get it up by end of the week.

-genEven I'm looking forward to Friday's TR and I was there for it, well some of it at least! I need details about the earlier missed segment though...

I knew of GenWar's destination for Saturday, but got the timing wrong and missed them. :( So I guess I'll have to live vicariously through his TR.

As for it being your longest ever... shit. That Houston monster took up an entire page of posts. Wow!!

lunchbox
06-06-2006, 12:07 PM
I concur with everything aggied said. Was your PR girl a Miss L by chance?

They were doing work on something in library a week or two ago w/ the door propped open, and it was where you said it was, I had no idea that was there.


GW - sounded like a good trip :)

GenWar
06-06-2006, 09:15 PM
There are bouncers at Treasures?

yeah, they are there, you gotta LOOK for them but they are there...

They just don't have a helluva lot to do besides take turns making sure that no one sneaks any significant quantities of metal into the club.


Amazed your waitress came back...one of the horror stories of waitresses at Treasures is that they pretty much forget about you. Some guys I know will keep their waitress's cell phone numbers with them so that they can call with their drink order.

Yeah, and she was quite the biscuit too. Why are the waitresses always hotter than the dancers? The answer, my friends, is unattainability.


So no naughty sex and hell-bent debauchery. I'm soooo disappointed.

Sorry, dude. If I may paraphrase the great Austin Powers, that sort of thing is not my bag, baby. Yeeeaaahhh!!!


LOL

Gen continues to be unmerciful towards us old fuckers that struggle with our trifocles and the small print. But duty calls that we try to read and enjoy.

FBR

I could use a bigger font, but just think how much LONGER it would be then. Err...wait...it wouldn't be any longer...but it would LOOK longer. ::)


I knew of GenWar's destination for Saturday, but got the timing wrong and missed them. So I guess I'll have to live vicariously through his TR.

yeah, I got there just after you. Waiting for a bunch of youngin's who ultimately bailed and wouldn't have liked that club anyway. :-\


As for it being your longest ever... shit. That Houston monster took up an entire page of posts. Wow!!

Dude, have you read any of earlier TRs? The Houston one was nuthin...the Em/redredred one was longer than that, and that was also small time. ;)


I concur with everything aggied said. Was your PR girl a Miss L by chance?

Dude..her name are lost in the annals of time. I am getting old. :'(


GW - sounded like a good trip :)

Yep. Thanks for all the advice to all.

-gen

Cally
06-06-2006, 09:25 PM
GenWar Im waiting for the trip report from our friday evening :P

aggieed
06-06-2006, 11:45 PM
Yeah, and she was quite the biscuit too. Why are the waitresses always hotter than the dancers? The answer, my friends, is unattainability.

Funny thing about, Houston, though...chances are the waitress is as much a "player" OTC as the dancers are. They all know the drill, man. :O

GenWar
06-07-2006, 05:08 AM
QUOTE=Cally:
GenWar Im waiting for the trip report from our friday evening :P
----------------------------

In the words of the immortal Tweak, "Ack! The pressure. I can't take it, man. Too much pressure!"

Seriously, I got like 45 minutes of the 4 hours done. Every spare minute (which are few and far between) is devoted to it.

-gen

easy_e
06-07-2006, 08:53 AM
Funny thing about, Houston, though...chances are the waitress is as much a "player" OTC as the dancers are. They all know the drill, man. :O

There's a lot of funny things about Houston. You can "buy" the waitresses off the floor and take them into VIP if you want.......or so I've been told.

Howie
06-07-2006, 01:47 PM
Hi everyone. I guess for a first post, this thread is about as good a place to start as any. I enjoy the trip reports about as much as any other subject here. The NATO is pretty good also, but they are few and far between. I especially enjoy the train wrecks when they happen. I have to agree with Jenny’s comment about these TRs being nothing more then a circle jerk. So here it is.

A little background on me. I’m in my mid 40’s and frequent clubs in the Midwest. I have a particular club that I’ve been visiting more regularly than others recently. I’ve gotten to know a few girls who work on different shifts and every time I visit, my time is usually monopolized by one particular dancer. The other night, I happened to stop by when two of my regulars were working the same shift. As soon as I sat down, Girl A sees me and comes over on plops down on my lap. It just so happens that Girl B is on stage. At this club, it seems that stage tipping is infrequent. So I tell A that I wanted to give the dancer a tip, cause no one else was tipping. A tells me not to give her any money cause she’s a skank and just got out of prison not too long ago. Besides she works to support her boyfriend who doesn’t have a job, and is black. Could she be a racist?

Anyway, I told her I was going to tip her and then we’d go back to VIP. I went up to the stage and B sees me, comes over with a big smile. I give her a $5 tip and she asks if she can dance for me when she gets off stage. I explain that I with A at the moment and will have to catch up with her some other time.

A and I go back to VIP and she starts the grind. A is older than most of the dancers in the club, but has a killer body. I’ve been seeing her in the club for about nine months. She keeps talking about wanting to get together OTC, but I’ve been married for 20+ years and I’m just not that interested in whatever activity that might entail. It was about a month ago that she called me late on a Saturday night from the club and said she was really drunk and was going to have to spend the night in a motel (she drives about 40 miles to work) close to the club and wanted me to come spend the night with her. I made up the excuse that I wasn’t in town, (ongoing excuse that I spent every weekend at a vacation home).

As she starts to dance, I immediately take liberties and break about every rule they have for VIP. While I have my hand inside her thong, she talks about how I’m the only one she lets touch her that way. I say u-huh as she reaches down the front of my pants to stroke me. We play this way for about 7 songs when she says she has to go up on stage. I pay her and tell her I’m going to get a dance from B while she’s up. “Don’t you dare, I’ll pick short songs so I won’t be too long.”

We walk out of VIP and she goes to the DR. I spy B who is sitting with four other guys. I figure she’s too busy to see me so I grab a chair to watch the stage. Next thing I know is B came up behind me, giving be a hug. I ask if she has time for a couple of quick dances, and off we go to VIP. The club wasn’t all that busy, so we had the VIP room pretty much to ourselves. B starts by sitting on my lap and facing me while pulling her panties to the side and masturbating. Ever the gentleman, I ask if I can touch. She responds by taking my hand and rubbing her crouch with it. I can’t believe how wet she is. Kind of squishy. After three songs and a couple of fake orgasms, I figure that A is done with her turn on the stage. I tell B that I need to get back to A. B says she wants to do a few more dances but I beg off and tell her I’ll be back when A not working. She gets up and starts to put her shorts on. I take her top, which she had around my neck and wipe my hands off on it and put it on the table. While she’s getting dressed, I walk out of VIP, intending to go to the RR and wash my hands. A is sitting outside of VIP with the kind of look that could kill.

“Who were you in there with?” I tell her I was in with B. Just as B walked out behind me. A takes my hand and leads me back into VIP, sits me down and starts to admonish me about getting dances from someone else. “You need to understand that I own you when you’re here.” To use a line I had read previously on this site, I responded, “I didn’t think we had an exclusive relationship!” As she guided my hands to her tits and ass, she asked if I had played with her (B)’s pussy. “Absolutely not! You’re the only one that lets me touch the cookie. Although she did give be a blow job.” At that she grabs my crotch and tells me what a liar I am. We do a few more dances when I finally decide I’ve had enough.

As we’re wrapping it up, A tells me to call her the next time I’m heading to the club and she’ll come in just to see me if she’s not scheduled to work. Or we could meet up for drinks instead. I beg off, saying that I’m not going to call, and that dancers don’t really meet customers outside of work. It’s just a sales pitch to get me to come back in. A says she’s not kidding; she’d really like to go out with me. “Can we have sex on the first date?” I ask. “You owe me at least two dates before sex.” Wasn’t she just giving me a hand job awhile ago? I don’t know who’s telling more lies, her or me.

I’m not sure why I’m enjoying a sudden popularity with dancers. I figure it must be because I usually drop about $300 each time I visit. When observing other customers, it doesn’t appear that very many are spending much money. Either on stage tipping or on dances. I know I’m an extras hound, and I don’t quite understand what has changed in the last couple of years that extras have become the norm instead of the exception. Used to be visits to SC’s were somewhat boring. Now it’s so much fun, I can hardly stay away. My disposable income has increase a lot and that has to be the reason for much of the difference in my visits. I’ve gotten numerous phone numbers in the past year from dancers wanting me to call them (which I never do). Made the mistake of giving my number to A, and now she calls all the time. Anymore, when asked for my number, I give them a business card of a friend who is single and loves to bullshit them. I know the women who read this will probably be offended, but I don’t really care what they think.

Anyway, this is my little contribution. Hope it doesn’t sound too pathetic. I’ve got more tales if anyone is interested.

GenWar
06-07-2006, 02:24 PM
Nice TR. Little short...::)

Man, did you get off easy. I was expecting a much less civil outcome to THAT story. In fact, I was expecting bloodshed. Nice CS too..."Absolutely not. You're the only one who let's me touch the cookie." Classic.;D

-gen

SportsWriter2
06-07-2006, 02:58 PM
when asked for my number, I give them a business card of a friend who is single and loves to bullshit them.
Good idea, Howie, I never would have thought of that. Free phone sex for him, too. :)

Cally
06-07-2006, 04:52 PM
Umm... I cant believe I just wasted 5 minutes of my life reading Howies bullshit..

Now back to harassing GenWar to finish his TR!

FBR
06-07-2006, 05:34 PM
GenWar Im waiting for the trip report from our friday evening :P


Me too. I think Cally is hot and want to live vicariously thru Gen :P

FBR

Richard_Head
06-07-2006, 07:48 PM
Anyway, this is my little contribution. Hope it doesn’t sound too pathetic. I’ve got more tales if anyone is interested.More would be good :thumbsup:.

GenWar
06-07-2006, 07:57 PM
Preamble/Epilogue:

I woke up Saturday morning with the worst hangover in a long time. And in a REALLY good mood. I played in the tournament and went 3-2-1. That record won't make day 2 but I had fun cuz life was GOOD. It is amazing what a good club experience can do for your outlook. Anyway, FBR, you are so right, my friend.

Anyway, by inexplicably popular demand, Friday's TR. (Remember, don't out anybody til they out themselves. Common courtesy.)

Saturday's is long done and is too follow...

-gen

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

I love my primary hobby. It involves a major tournament on Saturday and minor tournaments on Friday night and Sunday. Normally, I don’t play on the Friday night tournaments; instead, I choose to do shots in the hotel room until I am embarrassingly intoxicated and then hang out at the tournament site until I make the Wingman drive me to a club. Well, I followed that plan except that the Wingman was sidelined for the evening, so I was being backed up by the Mexican. We wandered among all the players and greeted our friends and acquaintances while I took regular shots from a Jaegermeister bottle in my back pocket. That stuff rocks. Anyway, round 9:30ish, I informed the Mexican we were bound for downtown. He nodded his agreement and finished up his contacts. We headed outside and elicited a local to give us the name of a cab company. One call and a brief 15 minute wait yielded a Jamaican-piloted cab which we piled in. He took one look at us and tuned to the rap channel. “Stereotype, much?” I mumbled under my breath but it was good music, so whatever. I handed him a slip of paper that had the address of the downtown club we were visiting scrawled on it in my semi-drunk hand and he nodded and pointed his hack north.


25 minutes and $50 later, he screeched to a halt in front of the club. I was nervous because I had done NO research on this club. I had arranged to meet a pinkie that I was charmed by and she had PMed me last minute to let me know of a venue change. Due to a 7 hour flight delay on my business trip, pushing back the departure on my pleasure trip, I had had no free time to read up. I slipped the driver a $50 and the remaining Jaeger with a wink. He looked at me blankly. *shrug* I got out and the Mexican followed. I stepped up to the club. Uh oh. 2 clubs. There was a club on the left and one on the right. The dancer had informed me that the downstairs was “laid back” and the upstairs was more “classy.” Mmm-kay, which do you think I picked? So me and the Mexican mounted the impossibly steep staircase. He pealed open the glass door and faced the cute young thang working the coat room. In June. Poor lass. She told us no cover, so she earned a smile and a couple of bucks in her jar. We walked left into the club proper.

The club was DEAD. At 10 pm, there were NO customers and NO dancers. There were 4 bartenders and a waitress, staring at us as though we were undead. I nodded at them and they made the appropriate motions back. There were also NO benches, booths, VIP tables or anything really that I would define as comfortable seating. Also, it was a “thin” club, one of those big city clubs that are not very far across but are very deep. I hate those. L We glanced around, looked at each other and nodded. “Downstairs?” I asked. “Downstairs.” He replied. We returned to the coat check girl and confirmed that, if we return, there would be no cover. She agreed and we slid down the treacherous stairs and around the corner to the right.

The downstairs club was the exact opposite of the upstairs club. It was bumping. Seating was actually a bit of a challenge, but not a major one. We walked in past 4-5 bouncers in the door, who all looked us up and down. They caught the look on our faces and saw that we were pros and would not be trouble. One of them nodded at us. No one asked for a cover. I explained that the lady upstairs had offered us free entry. He shrugged his lack of caring. So we wandered in. Once in the club proper, I began to scan the place. As I began to identify potential seating opportunities, another bouncer approached and decided to be ‘helpful dude.’ He pointed out the bar and encouraged us to order a drink. He offered the alternative option of going to some seats where a waitress would help us. I nodded my thanks and tried to reach for a tip. He smiled, waved it off and moved off into the crowd. *shrug* I moved back some and over to the left, opposite the stage and took a seat on one of the chairs lining the back wall behind a small table. The Mexican took the chair behind the table one over. A waitress walked up, smoking hot brunette with short shorts and a radiant smile. I asked for a Belvedere and tonic. She nodded and the Mexican ordered a corona with lime. She turned to leave and I called out and asked her name. She gave me something impossible to pronounce but shifted it to “Just call me Miss J.” I grinned as she moved off, watching the play of the muscles in her shorts.

I scanned the room and didn’t like what I saw. The crowd was young…college age types and miscellaneous foreign business men types. I didn’t see ANY pros or hard core clubbers, just partying college jocks, random “dance club types” with stripped shirts and slick demeanors and the odd pair of Asian men in ill-fitting suites. This was NOT my crowd. I turned to the Mexican. “Upstairs?” he asked. We chuckled. He was feeling down because of a fight he had had with a friend of ours earlier and was venting his anger through complaints about the wingman not being present to drive us. A blonde waitress, NOT Miss J, arrived with our drinks. She was NOT radiant. L She also wasn’t THAT good with the English. I tried to order some Patron for me and the Mexican. That brought a smile to his face until she said, “What’s Patron?” We did exaggerated movie-style triple takes. “Patron? It’s good tequila.” I replied. She did a quick mental review and replied, “Umm…we don’t have that.” Fair enough. “What kind of tequila do you have?” I tried. She nodded once with understand and replied, “I believe we have Sauza.” She told us. The Mexican moved to half rise from his seat, as if he would walk out right then and there. I waived him down. “Sauza???” I replied, incredulous. She shrugged. “Would you like to see a menu?” I let her off the hook and she moved to leave.

“Wait!” I called out. She turned again. “I’m here to see Miss A. Could you let her know I am here?” Again with the blank look. I tried again, “Do you know a dancer named Miss A? She’s new.” The waitress (still didn’t have her name) shook her head. “Umm, can you just ask Miss J to stop by?” The waitress smiled with relief at a request she could fulfill and promised to take care of it. I signed in exasperation and turned to the Mexican. “No Tequila?” he asked. I shrugged.

Miss J arrived and I asked after Miss A. “She is here.” I am told. “I saw her going into the DR earlier.” “Could you give her this?” I produce a card. “…and let her know where I am.” I produce a $5 bill. Miss J smiles and makes both items disappear. She departs and is replaced by the waitress, who quickly deposits a menu and evaporates. The Mexican crowds me to review the menu. There is a section for scotch, whiskey, cognac and others. There is also a LONG list of specialty cocktails. No Tequila. I turn the menu over and there is a section of “cordials.” At the bottom is simply “tequila” with no mention of brand. The Mexican shakes his head in frustration. We discuss options for a minute before he throws up his hands and tells me to order whatever I want. When the waitress returns, I whisper in her ear to bring us two Crown Royal’s, straight up. She smiles widely, making the Mexican bit nervous and departs.
“I think we should go back upstairs.” He announces. I know what he means…A medium sized bachelor party has deposited itself in FRONT of me, between me and the path. Basically, to move, I am going to have to get…familiar…with the bachelor…that is how close the quarters were. To my left, a couple of suits have deposited themselves and from their stance and drinks, they are in for the long haul. Further, the ladies cannot approach…they come up, case the scene and go right to the bachelor party. Whatever! “Gimme a few minutes…Miss A might come out for me.” I respond. He nods assent and settles back. Eventually, the waitress returns with the whiskey. The Mexican eyes it suspiciously. “What’s this?” he says. “Oh, just drink it,” I tell him, taking a sip. HE shrugs, downs it and makes a face like a 5 month baby given a little lemon juice. To his credit, he doesn’t cough or sputter but it is clear that the whiskey is beyond his drinking experience. “Awful.” He announces. I shake my head and take another sip, savoring the warmth as it spreads through my body. He frowns at me and says, “We HAVE to get drunk.” I agree…that cab ride was AWFUL pricey.
(continued...)

GenWar
06-07-2006, 07:59 PM
We sit and watch the stage for a few more minutes. Several dancers begin the approach but veer off to the bachelor party or to other, more seedy guys to our right. In a moment of abject frustration, I silently ask God to please just have a girl approach us. Seeing an opportunity, God delivers a reasonably stunning blonde to the front of the Mexican’s table. She sweeps her gaze from the suits to me to the Mexican to the seedy types on his right, waves her finger in an arc and asks, without preamble, “Are any of you fellows interested in a dance?” The Mexican’s jaw drops and I slap my forehead with my hand. She violated Rule #12 on 7 people simultaneously. I take a moment to glance up at the ceiling and note, “Funny.” The Mexican turns to me with pleading in his eyes. That really is a straw that will break any camel’s back. I shrug and signal to the waitress for the tab. We are going upstairs. As I wait to settle up, I glance around in search of Miss J to give her an update on our status. She is not to be found. I sign the check and we swim through the random dudes to the path and beeline for the front. We remount the stairs and hit the upstairs again.


Up top is still mostly dead. There is now a dancer on stage and louder music but still not much in the way of custys. We nod to the door girl and the now-present bouncer and belly up to the bar, taking seats. A dapper bartender in all black comes over and gives us the “What’ll ya have?” Vodka/Tonic for Gen and Rum&Coke for the Mexican. As he moves off to make the drinks, I get tapped on the shoulder. The bouncer asks for $20 for cover. We explain briefly that we were present earlier and the coat check girl said we could return cover free. He frowns and asks if we bought a drink when we came in at that time. I reply that we did not. He explains that, in order to get free cover, we needed to have bought a drink. It’s bullshit but what are you gonna do? We paid the man.

The bartender returns with our drinks and introduces himself as Mr. Ca. He strikes up a conversation, asking us the usual about where we are from and what’s going on. We chat amiably with him and watch some of the baseball game on TV. The local team is beating the pants off one of their weaker division rivals. Mildly entertaining. Mr. Ca inquires what brought us to this club. I explain that I am here to meet Miss A who recently started. He grins and explains that he knows her and he would be happy to get her for us. I nod thanks and slip him a couple of bucks for the effort. He walks over to the back of the bar and digs around, producing a small phone which he picks up and begins to speak into. He returns and said that it is in the works and he will give me an update when he has one. I nod and order another shot of Crown. The Mexican grumbles and Mr. Ca asks him what is wrong. He laments the lack of tequila and explains that he only drinks certain beverages. “I need something sweet and maybe a little sour to get drunk on.” He explains. Mr. Ca thinks for a moment and exclaims, “I have just the thing!” The Mexican shrugs assent and Mr. Ca begins to gather random ingredients and pour into a mixing glass. After he is satisfied with the concoction, he shakes it up and delivers to the Mexican, who tastes it and grins. He offers me a taste and I sip from a corner. It takes like a liquid sour jolly rancher. Ick. I push it back to him and cleanse my palate with some Crown.

We chat some more and watch some more of the game. The opposing team is punishing their pitcher by leaving him on the mound as the home team just smacks base hit after base hit. I start loudly advising the manager to have a talk with him. The other random bartenders glance at me discussing with a plasma screen tv but I ignore them. Moments later, Mr. Ca excuses himself to run an errand. He promises to check on Miss A for me. I agree. The Mexican goes to the restroom and I am left to discuss the finer points of the strike zone with the plasma alone. Tiring quickly of talking to an inanimate object, I spin in my chair and look around. There are a lot more dancers present now and even a few customers. The dancers are mostly standing around looking board. 4 of them are sitting on these hard mini couches next to the stage, having a silent lounging contest. The one on the back left is clearly winning. There are a LOT of nice looking ladies but they haven’t approached us at all. I suspect the bar, with your back to the room, is not a good place to meet ladies but I am really just present to see Miss A. Let the Mexican worry about it.

Eventually, he returns and then Mr. Ca returns and lets me know that Miss A is busy downstairs right now, but she will join me in approximately 20 minutes. “No problem,” I reply. “She is probably making some money.” Can’t fault her for that. Mr. Ca keeps us entertained, talking about travel, drinking, baseball, other sports and misc other topics. He is a good bartender and keeps us in drinks. It doesn’t hurt that he has like 4 customers, us and 2 dancers further down the bar. The other random dudes are handing the waitresses requests. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a dancer on stage. I remember that I am being a lump on a log and decide to get up and tip. I excuse myself. “Where ya going?” Mr. Ca inquires. “To avoid Rule #13.” I reply moving off. I hear the Mexican start to explain behind me. I move up to the girl on stage and produce $2 in ones. She is a bit surprised (no one tips.) but she is ready for it and takes it graciously in her garter. I smile up at her and she smiles back. “Thank you baby.” She says. I look into her eyes and note that the green in them contrasts quite interestingly with the brown. I move back to the bar, careful not to fall. The Mexican is looking at me and grinning. So is Mr. Ca. “What?” I ask. “Did you notice anything?” Mr. Ca asks me. “Ummm…” I temporize. “Yeah,” the Mexican chimes in. “Did you notice anything?” I shrug, remembering her eyes. “One of her boobs is larger than the other.” Mr. Ca tells me. One eyebrow involuntarily raises. He chuckles, as does the Mexican. “Oh THAT? Yeah, I noticed that! Course I did.” I try to cover. They let it go but they know I am bs-ing. I’m a putz.

Well, time passes. Conversation happens and Mr. Ca gets to make more of his concoctions. (The Mexican LOVES them.) I am patient. The kind of patient that only a good buzz can bring on. I miss smoking but so far, I am having a good time. The DJ is exceptional. We note the choice of songs and the order and we are really impressed with his performance. After some indeterminate amount of time, Mr. Ca says sharply, “Gen, look!” I turn to follow his gaze and Miss A has appeared. She is a brunette of medium height. She has a very pretty face, described as angular, with a sharp nose and a tight chin. Her eyes are calm and her smile is at the perfect intensity to seem genuine. She is wearing a long, black, strapless gown. I try not to drool.

I greet her enthusiastically and insist that she sit. I move over so she can sit between me and the Mexican. I introduce her to him and he is polite and sedate, sensing that random freak-outs might dismay her and force me to kill him. We turn to Mr. Ca and I insist she have a drink. She names something girly (Sex-on-the-Beach, I think) and he moves off to make it. I begin with the small talk and try to feel out how we are going to play this. She gives back evenly but carefully with a genuine vibe. She is going for the “get to know” route and come in at “friend” level. I sense that she is feeling out the level I want to play at, because she doesn’t know how I will react. I am just fine at that level, because I wanted to meet her because she seems exciting and fun on the boards, not because I heard about incredible mileage :P I follow up on the talk and soon we are in genuine conversation about what is going on.

We talked a good long while…the alcohol made it difficult to track time. The baseball game was off and replaced with news, which sucked…I was tracking time by the innings. Mostly the conversation kept up for at least an hour with a couple of interesting occurrences interspersed.

Firstly, at one point, her friend came over to greet her. We were introduced to Miss Ch, who seamlessly joined the Mexican as though it were planned, which, of course, it might very well have been. So now, there were four of us at the bar, chatting off an on with Mr. Ca.

(continued)

GenWar
06-07-2006, 08:02 PM
At some point, the DJ finally struck me with his work. I asked Mr. Ca to call him down. He hopped on his little phone and 4 seconds later (damn time tracking thing), the DJ appeared. He was a large, roundish black man with a scraggly beard and a pleasant demeanor. He introduced himself (name omitted to prevent acronym confusion.) and inquired why he was summoned. I said that I wanted to thank him for the job he was doing, producing the roll and peeling off a $5 to give him. He smiled and thanked me. He then looked at Mr. Ca. I turned and Mr. Ca was staring at us. I turned around and Miss A was staring at us. I looked past her at the Mexican and I saw it in his eyes. I pulled my head to the left in the beginnings of a shake off but he was too quick. “Damn, Gen. He looks JUST like you!” he announced, cackling like a moron. Miss A grinned with warm humor and agreed, “I wasn’t going to say anything but…” Mr. Ca laughed then, “I was just about to say that.” I sighed and looked at the DJ with a smile. We decided to take it in the humor of the intent, and chuckled politely, despite the fact that I don’t think either of us had a personal mental image that in any way matches the other’s appearance. For some reason, he felt the need to massage the humor and stated, “Actually, this is what happens when Soandso and I have a kid.” He stated, obviously joking. “Who is Soandso?” I inquire. “Oh, he’s the manager,” he replied. “Over there. *points*” and with that, he points at some random white dude across the club. I was insulted. Probably shouldn’t have been, but you know how sensitive I am. I was. I *think* I covered it well. I plastered on a fake grin and gritted my teeth and laughed my way through it. You’ll have to ask someone else who was there if I pulled it off.

Miss A informed me that another blueballer, Mr. N, was in the club. He wanted to meet me. Mr. Ca chuckled and stated, “You mean the Duke!” Miss A looked confused. He clarified, “That’s what we call him. Mr. N. The Duke.” He grinned but it was inside joke that we didn’t get. Anyway, somehow we got an update on “The Duke.” (Not sure if Miss A checked or Mr. Ca did). He would be by later to meet me. Cool.

At one point, I am talking to Miss A and Miss Ch catches my attention. “Gen, can I have a drink?” I look past her at the Mexican who is all fake innocence. Choose your wingmen, carefully. “Of course you can, dear. Mr. Ca, let’s get this lady a drink.” I resolve to pummel the Mexican later. Ultimately, we squared up but he just thought it would be funny to ask her to ask me for a drink.

Miss A and Miss Ch had to go on stage, Miss A first in the rotation and Miss Ch next. I checked my tipping stash after she disappeared. She did a three song set. On the first song, I wandered up to the stage, feeling the heat of the customers’ gaze on me. The club had filled up some and No ONE Tips. Yet, here I was, standing at the base of the stage with a $5 in my hand. She came over and smiled her little smile at me. I handed up the bill and she thanked me politely. I returned to my seat and had a few more sips before the next song was in swing. I rose again, made my way back to the stage with another tip. As I approached, I realized she had removed the gown. Time stopped for a split second. There was a second there where there was no motion in time or space. Everyone and everything was perfect still. Miss A’s body was freaking stupendous. Unequally gorgeous. I don’t know how or why I let the simple black gown distract me but it had led me to her face and there I had resided, not even noticing her figure. But for one second that night, I was utterly lost in it. Then, as quickly as it happened, my consciousness rushed back into my body and time started again. I somehow made it to the stage but my control of such things as limbs was spotty at best. She gave me the same smile and I tucked my bill some place or another. She thanked me again, probably more surprised that I was back than anything. I mutely, dumbly and without feeling, staggered back to my seat and barely managed to climb up into it. The Mexican was looking over Mr. Ca’s shoulder at the stage and nodded with approval. “Nice.” For a man who defines the word “boisterous” he sure can coin an understatement. The world has taken on a fuzzy quality that indicates I am drunk. Three things intoxicate me. Liquor. Cigars. Women. I was high on two. I try and find some clarity in the bottom of the latest shot of Crown. Alas, it wasn’t there. Belatedly, I realized that the third song was in swing. Bracing myself on the bar, I rose again. With a breath, I mentally reached out and grabbed all the escaping bits of my essence and reined them in. Once done, I began the slow, deliberate gait of the large drunk man (who is NOT going to fall) back up to the stage. I am braced this time but this time she is NUDE. Still, I have all of me in check and manage to at least acquit myself decently in facial expression and conversation. I have to hand her the bill, as there is no place to tuck. She thanks me and promises to see me shortly. I nod and carefully return to the chair and order another round.

Later, after Miss A had returned, she realized that she had to go on stage downstairs at a certain time. How would I feel about a couple of dances before she went? I would feel quite good about it, thank you very much J The Mexican and Miss Ch had already claimed one of the tiny dance booths. We claimed the only open one, next to theirs. The Mexican made some misc comment and I think I replied, “Shut up and enjoy your dance.”


Miss A gave me the rundown on what I couldn’t do. As is par for this town, it was a short list and was far more liberal than I would ever need on my best day. Seriously, she could have given me air dances and I would have begged for more. And they were NOT air dances. For an “upscale” place, her dances were remarkably mileaged. She knew what she was doing and she was showing me a good time and it was awesome. I think I can honestly say it was the best dance I have ever had, without any SS/CS interchange. We had just chatted and really enjoyed the company and the dance felt like an extension of that. Well, an extension in which she showed me exactly how freakin hot she was. She kept up talking during the dances, something I am not at all adverse to. My recollection was that the conversation was good but I’ll be damned if I can remember what we talked about. Honestly, I would not be surprised if she told me today that all I did was grunt in response…I was quite a bit distracted. I think we made it to two dances before her watch informed her she had to go. She promised me a rematch. I said I wanted to come down and tip her. She outlined for me the EXACT time she would be on stage but I dutifully memorized it, as though I had the facilities to manipulate it. She then disappeared.


I returned to my seat and chatted with the Mexican. He was enjoying his time with Miss Ch, he told me, for which I was glad. I worked on some more drinks before I felt like I needed to go down and see if she was on stage. I hit door. The steep and endless stairs confirmed my intoxication. Once on the ground floor, I threaded through the significant crowd and looked at the lower club. PACKED. Existing-room-only. I pushed my way through the crowd with one hand on the roll. I had to resist the urge to do the “Everybody, MOVE!” from the Princess Bride. She was not on stage and, according to the DJ announce, she was not next. I asked a random bouncer to do me a favor and call Mr. Ca on his little phone when she went on. I had a $10 extended when I made this request. He was supposed to make it disappear and make it happen. Instead he declined, which shocked me a bit. He offered to take me to the DJ, who might make it happen. He led me ALL the way to the back of the club and pointed up the stairs. At the top of the stairs was a large Samoan bouncer who gestured me up. “Easier said that done,” I yelled up at him and I slowly negotiated the stairs, gripping the hand rail for dear life. Once at the top, he silently pointed a Sumo hand through a small bar/seating area to the DJ booth. I walked up and the DJ appeared and asked what he could do for me. I explained my request and he stupidly pointed out that Miss A was right here. (She was behind him in the booth waiting to go on stage.) That’s great, Einstein, but could he call me when she went on stage, appropriate tip included. Negative. He can’t do that, God knows why. He tried to explain the flaw in my plan but I was too drunk to process so I just rolled my eyes at him and decided to return upstairs. I returned to the Samoan and asked if there was an easier way to the upstairs club besides down these stairs, across the entire downstairs club, and up the front stairs. He shook his head like a silent Middle Pacific golem. I shrugged and began to negotiate my trip back down his stairs. Back in the downstairs club, the DJ welcomed a new dancer and listed Miss A as next. Fine. I walked to the front of the club and noticed a lone chair at the very end of the curved stage. I scooted between two random dudes and took it. I flagged a waitress who flagged another waitress who took my order for a vodka tonic and put my head in my hands to wait.


(continued...)

GenWar
06-07-2006, 08:03 PM
Interestingly enough, I was approached 3 times during the random dancers three song set and 2 more times during Miss A’s set. All different dancers, all good approaches. Not a single Rule #12 violation, but a decent amount of game from all. Little SS from some of them too. I turned them all down without even appraising them. There wasn’t anything left in me for anyone other than Miss A. Eventually, her stage set began and she did some good stage work. The crowd was larger, the energy higher and the stage larger and she worked those aspects to her advantage. Once per song, I would stand to my feet (being already at the stage) indicating that I would tip. The surrounding fuckos stared at me as though another arm had sprouted from my forehead but I didn’t care. I wanted Miss A to feel appreciated and I would single handedly assume that mission. I tipped her the now-standard $5 on each song. At the last one, she gave me a peck on the cheek and thanked me for the effort. Drunken idiot that I was, I was charmed. I turned to leave after the last tip.


On the way to the front, Miss J stopped me and said that she hadn’t seen Miss A yet but she would let me know. I stared at her for a moment but she didn’t get it so I just nodded and moved on. As I approached the door, the bouncers were ejecting 4 rowdy guys. 8 bouncers had formed a phalanx and were pushing the guys right out the front. Wisdom said to wait for completion but I just joined the throng and tried to slide deftly over to the staircase. Well, I don’t slide deftly, especially drunk. So I pushed and prodded and leaned and eventually asked my way over to the stairs and headed up to my now familiar seat.

The Mexican was there, nursing one of Mr. Ca’s concoctions. We chatted briefly before Miss Ch dragged him away. I was left with some random dude (Mr. B) drinking Glenfiddich straight at the next seat over. I struck up a conversation and asked why he was alone. He pointed to a girl with another guy and lamented his lack of fundage. I nodded sympathy at his plight and pointed out the ATM. He frowned and I shrugged agreement at the frown. We chatted about “these places” and the pitfalls thereof before he wandered off.

Miss A returned shortly thereafter and joined me again, returning to her drink. We chatted a bit more before she noticed Mr. N standing up the bar. She summoned him over and I got to meet my first blueballer ever. I shook his hand solemnly and with great ceremony. We chatted for a bit and he seemed like a really nice guy. He wasn’t quite as glib as his posts. Miss A caught my eye and we had a silent non-verbal conversation. She raised an eyebrow as if to say, “What do you think of Mr. N?” I nodded back but twisted my mouth into a smirk, saying, “Seems like a nice guy but different from the guy online.” She nodded, lowering the lids of her eyes and flattening her smile. I didn’t get it at first but she told me later that he had been drinking pretty significantly. I found this funny…and wondered if I, too, was giving off a different vibe because of my intoxication. I remembered we chatted with Mr. N, the Mexican, and Mr. B (Miss Ch didn’t return) for a short while before Miss A acknowledged that she had been sitting around chatting all night and that she should probably work the room. My heart twisted at her departure but I remembered that I had put a little something aside for her. I rubbed my “rules cards” apart and revealed a $100 bill. “I saved this for us to have a little fun before you go.” I told her. She gave me a look. I couldn’t read it, dammit. I remember this clearly despite all the drink. It was a clear, defined expression with a clear message and I couldn’t read it. Damn my drunken senses. It might have been…resignation. (that might be my insecurities, talking.) It might have been…gratitude. (it was too intense for such a small amount of money.) It might have been…surprise (*shrug* she should know from my posts that I take my debts in the club seriously.) Whatever it was, she was happy enough to grab my hand and drag me to a dance booth, barely leaving me enough time to warn Mr. Ca that we’d be back.

We got comfortable and had a great end to the night. Well, I thought it was the end. I gave her all the CS I wanted to give her, meaning a fair amount of it. I wanted to impress upon her how much I thought of her. She was one of those girls that makes you mentally plan a return trip before the night is over. When she is 400 miles away, that is no mean feat. We chatted for quite some time and she danced almost all of it, taking brief breaks when the conversation warranted. I lost track of the songs (and I NEVER lose track of the songs) so after when I thought was 2-3, I told her to stop me at 5, cuz that was when the bill dried up. I knew that all I had was cab fare for cash after that. She agreed. I will die not knowing if she stopped at 5 or not but we spent a really wonderful body of time there. It made it all worthwhile. Eventually, she did stop. I flatter myself by remembering it as somewhat reluctant. We returned to the bar and she joined me briefly but I knew she was moving on. After a few moments, she let me know that she was going to dance with Mr. N. I nodded and smiled. Good for him, more power to you. She took him to one of those booths and I tuned them out, as politeness demands. I sat and drinked and scanned the club. I turned back around and saw the Mexican and Mr. B chilling. I struck up a conversation with both. We chatted a bit before a noise turned me around. Three guys were in a table right outside Miss A and Mr N’s booth and they were blatantly watching the dance. Moreover, they were commenting on Miss A. Loudly. Now, she is very much worthy of comment but there is no cause for lack of cooth.

I leaned over to their table and said “Sup, guys?” They turned to look at me, clearly not expecting interruption. I forged ahead, “Yeah, she’s great. Next time, you should look her up, she took all my money.” I smiled amiably at them but the whole statement was accompanied with shushing motions with my hands. They looked at me like, “Fucking Prick.” But they recognized they were being rude and seemed to calm a bit after that. Just a bit but you do what you can.

Miss A and Mr. N returned as I was signing off on the bill. It was far more than I had planned on spending and I was disappointed in my lack of control. I tipped Mr. Ca as much as I could (like 22%) but I was regretful it was not more. I actually apologized for it (I was drunk, impaired judgement) but he gave me a “no worries,” that seemed at least partially genuine. I think the night was pretty much over but, at some point, Miss A and I had planned to go for Pizza. The Mexican and I hadn’t eaten since Noon and it was now 2:25 am. (Maybe THAT’s why I was so drunk.) Miss A promised to meet us downstairs and Mr. N asked to join us. We readily agreed and the Mexican, Mr. N and I hit the door to wait. Downstairs and on the street out in front of the club, we hung out, making loud drunken conversation and giving random change to panhandlers. After 20 minutes or so, Miss A emerged with Miss Ch dressed in street clothes which, if anything, made her look hotter. She exchanged goodbye kisses with Miss Ch and joined us for a walk up the street. I think I tried something lame like “you look great,” but my CS powers are weakened when there is no blacklight. She said, “thanks.” And gave me a sidelong glance, as if trying to figure me out.

I had never done anything OTC before, cept in Thailand, which doesn’t count. It was just a pizza but it was a little odd. Mr. N seemed perfectly comfortable and the Mexican is just the Mexican. We walked up the street to a pizza place but it was closing at 3 am and the proprietor refused to let us eat “in.” So we stood on the street to say goodnights. I thanked her and moved to leave but she stopped me and explained that we should share a cab, cuz we are going the same way. I have no idea where I am going, so I trusted her and stepped into the street to stop traffic. The Mexican laughed and Mr. N asked me what the hell I am doing. I replied that I am a black man and cabs don’t stop for black men. Which is true. Seriously. Anyway, they dragged me out of the street and Miss A hailed one.

We said ‘bye,’ to Mr. N and sped off into the night. Miss A kept up the conversation with stories of some other meets she has done (she has far more experience than me at meeting SCJers and Pinkies) and some things she had seen. It was good stories and conversation but I was damn near passed out. She was patient with us and we said good nights as we pulled up to her place. She tossed some cash at the cab driver which made me feel bad but I was too drunk and slow to react. TOO would have been ashamed. I let her out and thanked her for a magical evening. I then reentered the cab and promptly passed out.

fin.

GenWar
06-07-2006, 08:04 PM
P.S. Reminder: You DID ask. :)

-gen

dayzed
06-07-2006, 09:02 PM
Entertaining, inspirational story. Great excuse to fire up my new espresso maker.

My question is whether you think Miss A would have made the same monumental impression had you just encountered her in the club, without the shared SW experience in common.

Or perhaps the time on SW just provided the necessary foundation for spending most of an evening comfortably together, thereby enabling the glowing overall package to come into full relief. ;)

Jenny
06-07-2006, 09:43 PM
You know, when I first met Cally (we don't really need to keep up a Ms A fiction, do we?) I had a remarkably similar experience? Except, I've gotta say, I really did WANT the mileage.

Cally
06-08-2006, 12:10 AM
LMAO!!! I actually read that entire TR and laughed my ass off!!! That was a good laugh for a damn shitty evening. And for you slow blueballers... I would be Miss A :P Gen I seriously had a damn good time and you were a complete blast to hang out with even in your drunken stouper :P

And Jenny I wanted the mileage too ;)

GenWar
06-08-2006, 07:49 AM
Dayzed> If you mean the last expression, I can't say. It was clear but I couldn't read it. I bhave been beating myself up for days on that one. A good drunk is always accompanied by that one defining moment in which you wish you were NOT drunk. Friday, that was it.

Jenny> *shrug* I don't out anyone. Cally pretty much outted herself before I even WROTE the TR (heh.) but I saw no reason to avoid the general principle. `Sides, I also flatter myself with the ridiculous theory that these TRs might one day be read out of context in which the anonymity should be preserved.

Cally> The only thing that is left to be said is...I'll be back. *big goofy grin*

Jay> Mr. Ca called them Jamaican Soda's and claimed to have invented them. I know there was several types of girly rum and a shot of some decent rum too. *Shrug* They were very much for the 19 year old.

-gen

Jenny
06-08-2006, 08:16 AM
Gen - of course we all realize you are a perfect gentleman. Or, if not absolutely perfect, only very slightly less than perfect. (I'm a firm believer that we must always give people a LITTLE room to improve). I think I was more referring to Cally leaping around, raising her hands and yelling "It's me! It's me! Everyone look!" In a cute and sweet way, of course.

dayzed
06-08-2006, 08:27 AM
I have to wonder how a trip to Toronto could not include a visit w/ Jenny. (Unless she deliberately recuses herself from such interactions, of course.)

Jenny
06-08-2006, 08:30 AM
Dayzed - I'm shy. And I really prefer that all you guys think I'm actually this fantastic.

gameover
06-08-2006, 08:52 AM
Jenny, I really starting to like you :)

And darn, this is one really long thread :)

NoCoverLover
06-08-2006, 09:25 AM
A very good TR sir! Guess that's what happens when you have a good trip! :)

In case the rest of you haven't figured it out from my earlier post in this thread, I'm Mr N. }:D.I have GenWar's card on my table. Whenever he mentioned one of his rules during the TR, I had to check the card to see which one it was!

First off, if you thing those steps at the front are steep, you haven't seen the service stairs at the back. They are 10 degrees steeper than the ones at the front, and less than a foot length wide!

I see that you are as impressed with Miss A as I am.She is truly an amazing woman! :-* Miss Ch is a good friend of mine OTC. Glad you liked her, and yes the 'can I have a drink' is her favorite question, annoyingly so. :(

Back when I first met Mr Ca (circa 2002), he misunderstood one of my friends and thought my name was Earl. His first thought of course was 'Duke of Earl'! That is why he calls me Duke. That name has stuck since.

As for my being comfortaable OTC, that is the norm for me. I've been to Miss Ch's place before. In fact I've met her daughter.

Anyway dude, glad you had such a good time.

Docido
06-08-2006, 05:03 PM
I really did WANT the mileage.


And Jenny I wanted the mileage too ;)

So ladies, what color are your raincoats? :P

FBR
06-08-2006, 06:14 PM
Gen - of course we all realize you are a perfect gentleman.

Which, of course, creates a hard act to follow and a delimna for me. Cally has been threatening to come visit Ohio. When she discovers there are NO gentlemen in Ohio she is really gonna be pissed :P

FBR

Jenny
06-09-2006, 04:45 PM
So ladies, what color are your raincoats? :P

Pink. And shut up! We're not here to sexually titillate you.

gameover
06-09-2006, 06:23 PM
Pink. And shut up! We're not here to sexually titillate you.

Too late. we are easy to titilate :)

shark_bait
06-09-2006, 11:44 PM
So my nephew, just got a full ride to a college in Boston, so as the good uncle I am I take him to my favorite club. It all starts fine walk in tell the bouncer he is with me so that took care of the ID, just cleared my tab so we were good all night, but being that I have been to this club at least 3 times a month since it opened 10yrs ago I didnt think how they took care of me would effect him so. By the end of the night I had the poor kid up on stage taking his licks like a man(pretty good from a kid that came on his first lapdance). well now he is back for the summer and is begging me to take him back. What should an uncle do?

GenWar
06-12-2006, 08:29 PM
Aight...so Saturday...

So, after a successful Friday evening, we head out again on Saturday night. This time, I have prearranged to meet Miss X. I am very excited because I had no expectation that I would be able to make this happen; many told me that she was too private to meet someone from the boards. I believed them but I sent a PM anyway. I tried not to sound like I was begging when I asked and surprisingly, after some discussion, she agreed. We were plagued by some logistical issues but, where there’s a will, there’s a way and we made it happen.


So, I arrived downtown and parked under a large mall like 3 blocks from the club. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get totally wasted like the previous night because of the presence of Sheila (my Chrysler Pacifica) and because I was on a secondary wingman, the Mexican, who could NOT be counted on for DD duties. Me and the Mexican walked up the street to the club. I was prepared for the standard $20 cover but the sign on the door said proudly, “No cover!” Cool. So I stepped from the bright lights of the club’s front into the darkness of the interior.

Immediately, I was somewhat turned off by the club’s decor. It was what I call a “thin” club. You find these in major cities where real estate is at a premium. Despite being relatively large, the club was, at no point, more than 25 yards across. There were two paths from the front door, a thin one to the right by the bar and a thinner one to the left that was a raised seating area. I pointed the Mexican towards the latter and we stepped up to the raised level and moved a few seats down, settling on the booth couch to the left.

I hated the seats but decided to stick with them for one drink. Glancing around, I looked up on stage and saw an absolutely lovely redhead in a black negligee dress. She was working the stage hard, dancing with vigor and enthusiasm and style, using the poles without abusing them, if you know what I mean. She was quite attractive, especially for a man with a thing for redheads and freckles. Maybe this was Miss X? A waitress came over and took our drink orders. I ordered a Heineken, cuz I was drivin’. The Mexican ordered a Corona with lime. Stereotype.

I sat back and watched the show and reviewed what information I had on Miss X. The DJ came up and started talking but the Mexican started babbling at the same time and I totally missed her name. L I had heard that she was a redhead and I didn’t see a lot of redheads in the place. My hope grew a bit, because, after a cursory review of the talent, it became clear that she was one of the top 3, if not the top, girl in the club. The waitress returned with the beers and I grabbed her arm. “Do you know the name of the girl on stage?” I asked her. “Ummm….” She temporized before admitting that she did not. She turned to see another dancer moving by on the thin path. She stopped her and pointed to the stage. “Do you know her?” The other dancer shook her head and responded, “She’s new.” I frowned, as I was aware that Miss X has been at her current club (here) for a while, so this can’t be her. The dancer saw an opportunity. “She’s Mary, Sally, Beth, Susie…who knows?” she joked, with an inviting smile. My frown did not disappear but I chuckled politely. She shrugged and moved on down the path. The waitress smiled an apology and moved off as well.

My heart sank. I consoled myself that I KNEW Miss X would be amazing from her posts, so it didn’t matter that this totally hot dancer on stage was not her. Without a single sip from my beer, I decided that I was NOT going to sit here. With a nod to the Mexican, I got up and moved carefully down the path in search of more ideal seating. The path was tight and I didn’t want another fall situation. As I moved past the area of the bar and the stage, the club did open up a bit. There were stairs to VIP on the left and, as I moved back, I noticed a small booth area under the stairs. It was back to the wall and a bit more intimate. I decided that this was the new spot. I returned to the front, grabbed my beer and waved the Mexican to follow.

Settling into the new seats, I took a sip of the beer and kicked back. The seats were not overly comfortable, but it was clear that none of the seats in the club would be. However, they were close enough to the path to make eye contact with dancers but far enough so as to allow for some intimacy. It was the best we were going to do.

We sat for a bit and a dancer moved to sit around the bench corner from us. She leaned over and chatted a brief greeting. The Mexican made a face, because he has no home training. She was not, by the most liberal of definitions, attractive. I instead gave back a minimally flirtatious reply with a wan smile. She followed up with a joke about our mints (the Lifesaver Wintergreen mints on our table were 50+.) and implied that I would need to get a dances from her shortly. I grunted something noncommittal, not wanting to encourage her.

As the dancer on stage moved into her third song, I decided that she was doing too good a job to not be tipped. This is a point of contention because, in this city, no one and I mean NO ONE, EVER tips. In fact, there are not even any chairs at the stage in this club. Still, I am not from this city, so I want no part of their stupid custom. I get up, dig out a couple of bucks and head towards the stage. I can feel the eyes of everyone in the club checking me out as I walk up towards the stage. I take my steps carefully because a fall at this point would be mortifying. I approach the stage and she spins around, sees me standing there, and starts a bit. Later, she would tell me that I scared the hell out of her, as she didn’t see it coming. She did a move or two that allowed her to settle to the floor, as the stage was chest high on me, so like 5.5 feet high from the floor. She leaned over and took the bills from my hand. I smiled and asked her name, fully expecting to hear something random. She smiled back at me and gave me Miss X’s stage name. I blinked. It WAS her. Awesome. J I glibly replied with my own name. She nodded, without recognition. “I’m genwar.” I added and a light went on in her eyes. “I’m over there,” I added, jerking my head towards the Mexican. She nodded and moved to stand again. I headed back to the seats.

I sat and tried to make myself comfortable. Our new waitress stopped by and introduced herself. She inquired as to the mints on the table. Moments later, several dancers had gathered to discuss the mints. They all helped themselves, as I encouraged them to do. Most moved off with the waitress. As one settled in with the Mexican, the dancer on the corner smiled at me again. “You’re cheating on me already.” She stated, nodding at the stage, where Miss X was winding down from her last song. “I had no notion that we were in a committed relationship,” I replied flatly. I was toeing the line with her and she was not easily discouraged. I wished for Miss X to come and save me. Shortly, my prayers were answered and she did.

She appeared from somewhere near the stairs, fully “dressed” once again, and made a beeline for us. As she approached, I nodded at her and she smiled. Her smile was subtle and full of implied promise. It was a knowing smile, but not a broadcasting one. I decided that I liked it. She spread out a small square of cloth on the booth seat and sat. This was another custom that I thought was unique, as I had not seen it before. I had commented on it the previous night and Miss Ch, the Mexican’s local fave, had stated bluntly, “Are you going to pull your pants down and put your naked ass on these seats?” I confirmed in the negative and she laughed, as if to say, “There you go.” This time I chuckled and made a brief comment on it. She responded briefly to my comment and I had a moment of panic. I couldn’t understand her. She said something and I missed it completely. I was pretty sure it was English and it was loud enough to be audible but my brain did not translate the sound into concepts. My immediate thought was that she had a thick accent, which would make things tough. We began to chat a bit more and with some more input, I figured it out. She speaks very quickly, maybe 1.2 or 1.3 times standard speed. You can’t just idly half-listen and get the gist…you have to focus your attention and concentrate on what she is saying.

We sit and chat more, talking about the boards, and about some stories of my recent clubbing experiences. The waitress comes by and I encourage her to order something. She orders a vodka soda. I order another Heiny and the Mexican decides to switch to his new drink of choice, Rum and Coke. I am chatting more with her and the Mexican is sort of involved on a sideway level but he is mostly just sitting back and drinking. No women approach him. I don’t know if it is because Miss X is present or if he is giving them the shake-off but he doesn’t seem to care. I think he is trying to defeat Rule #1, which has proved a challenge for him in the past. In fact, the previous 2 clubs on this trip had resulted in him being beat up by Rule #1 pretty badly, requiring him to make some adjustments he didn’t want to make. I think he is determined to prove to himself that he can beat the Rule.

(cont...)

GenWar
06-12-2006, 08:31 PM
Anyway, just as I suspected from the boards, Miss X is an amazing conversationalist. She is engaging, remarkably intelligent, and knows how to keep the conversation flowing. At one point, she joked that she could keep a conversation going by herself. I told her that I believed it. She told me some of her travels and clubs she has worked in. I told her of some of my travels and clubs I have visited. We commented on the unique aspects of her town and her club and her role within it. She found the fact that the other dancer didn’t know her to be hilarious. She told me about her practice of maintaining privacy and how she was even able to do it within the confines of her actual club. We talked more about the club because, honestly, in my opinion, it didn’t fit her. Further, more in-depth review of the talent had revealed that, not only was she the hottest dancer, but she was the hottest by far. In fact, it was almost troubling how much the distance was between her and her coworkers. Her discussions of the club clearly indicated that she was fairly happy with the current state of things, so I didn’t really try to push the issue. As long as you are happy, right?


At this point, I could sense the Mexican was getting ansy. He had had two beers and two Rum and Cokes, in addition to the drinks at the earlier club of the evening. He was hating the talent of the club, and honestly, I couldn’t blame him. The ladies did range from SHOULD NOT BE DANCING to so-so but they were almost all greater than 40. When you are 19, as the Mexican is, you have a hard hard time finding a woman of 40+ attractive. The fact that he is not the deepest person you ever met doesn’t help. So, he is basically unaccompanied and not happy about it. Further, Miss Ch, a darling youthful girl he absolutely loved, is a mere 15 minute walk up the street. As Miss X and I chatted merrily away, he got more and more uneasy. Eventually, I turned to him and said, “If you need to go to the other club, go. We can hook up later.” He shook his head and claimed he was fine. I shrugged and decided to ignore it.

After about an hour or so, I was on my fourth beer and Miss X was on her second Vodka soda. The Mexican was up to about 5-6 Rum and Cokes and he was starting to sense that the third club of the evening wasn’t, in fact, going to happen. Miss X had not thrown out any sort of question, not even a subtle one. Neither of us had started any sort of CS or SS game, we were just chatting and enjoying the conversation and the commiseration. It is fun to discuss people from the board and the different opinions thereof. To get a unique perspective on all the personalities of Strip Club Junkie is a very interesting thing. So anyway, the Mexican starts making vague statements featuring the number 15. “You know, gen, I love 15. Isn’t it a great number?” and crap like that. After 3-4 of them, I turn to him and state basically, “You are a big, non-subtle, dumbass Mexican motherfucker, you know that?” He grins and loudly pleads innocence. “What? I just like 15 that’s all.” Miss X raises a quizzical eyebrow, so I explain that he is hinting, towards her, that she is unaware of rule #15. She goes to pull out the rule card from her purse that I gave her earlier in the night. She didn’t review it because she read the rules post. I save her the trouble and quote rule #15 as, “It’s not a sale until she asks for the business.” Fact is, I am DYING to get a dance. I am totally intoxicated on her and I would have asked much earlier, if asking was something I could do. I don’t think I ever wanted to be RH so badly. She digests the rule for a moment and looks at me dead on and states, “I wasn’t done being friends, yet.” I melt. Damn, what a statement. I don’t think I could have come up with a more perfect thing for her to say.

I turn to the Mexican and I lay it out for him. I had come to see Miss X and that was what I was going to do. There would be no other clubs for me tonight and that was the end of that. I encouraged him strongly to leave and go to the other club. He would not. I believe it was partly his need to fight with Rule #1, partly his desire to not go to a club alone (IMHO, that IS a big step, it was hard for me to do) and partly taking his wingman responsibilities very seriously (almost too seriously.) The Wingman takes care of me and us when we go out. He is always sober and he makes sure we don’t do anything stupid. I am libel to get drunk and try and climb on stage; he stops that nonsense. The Mexican is a secondary wingman and doesn’t ever perform those duties. However, since the Wingman was out of the weekend, the Mexican was trying to surrogate for him. It was flattering but the fact is that I would NEVER jeopardize Sheila, so there is no real concern for getting too wild. Still, he refused to leave and just decided to wallow in misery.

At this point, Miss X asked if I wanted to go to VIP for some dances. I did, oh my lord, I did. I briefly felt bad because I wondered if I hadn’t accelerated her natural process but then I reminded myself that it was getting late and that I would feel MUCH worse if the whole night passed and I hadn’t given her any money. This made me feel better. As we moved towards the stairs, she informed me of the $20 cover in VIP and inquired if that was ok. I replied in the affirmative; honestly, watching her walk towards the stairs and up them, I resolved that the cover could be my first born and that would be ok. When we got up there, I found a wide area with semiprivate booths with leather loveseats. Her normal booth was taken so we settled in another one. I sat on one side and she spread her cloth out on the other side and sat next to me, inquiring politely if she could drape her legs over mine. We chatted briefly while the DJ ended the song. As he started the next song (Metallica, Nice!), she got up and straddled me. She was getting into the dance and the #*%$^@#& bouncer interrupted me for the $20 cover. I didn’t think this club could go down in my opinion but right there I discovered I was wrong. Once he left, she continued.

Her dances were phenomenal. Abso-fucking-lutely phenomenal. I was lost…she finished the first and asked about the second. I nodded dumbly. After the second, I knew it was time to stop. She stopped at the end and asked about continuing. I opened my mouth to say no and “Yes, please.” came out. I started briefly and then chuckled to myself. She asked me what was funny and I told her that I only ever get two. She looked confused but I shrugged it off. She asked again at the third and then, at the fourth, she asked if I just wanted to inform her when we were done. “Noooo…” I replied. “We will never finish if we go that route.” She laughed and told me she was wondering about the limit of 2. I told her not to worry, just keep on doing what she was doing. After 5, she stopped to ask again and I needed a break. I wanted more but there IS such a thing as too much of a good thing. She stated, “I’m not sure exactly how many that was.” I thought briefly that that might be SS, because she is as sharp a dancer as I have ever met. “It was 5,” I told her. “Three Metallica songs and two Enrique Iglesius songs.” She laughed, “You are a genius!” THAT was SS. “Hardly,” I replied. “But you have to track stuff like that. It’s important.” (Plus, it doesn’t hurt that the DJ is playing artists in three song sets.)

As she gets dressed, I ask if the $20 cover is per visit. She lets me know that it is for the night and that the bouncer will just recognize me. “But if another girl tries to take you to the downstairs VIP, don’t go. You will have to pay the downstairs VIP another cover.” Before I could stop it, the natural CS response flows off me, “There will not be any other girls.” Thing was, CS and all, I meant it. I headed downstairs while she went to chat with the DJ regarding upcoming stage sets. Once downstairs, I finished my beer until she returned.

The Mexican was even more morose so I just ignored him until she returned. We resumed our chatting and she ordered another drink. I ordered whatever she was having and got the interesting experience of discovering I don’t like Vodka and soda. After a brief time, she had to go on stage. She moved off to mount the impossibly high stage and launched into her energetic set. As I was hanging out with the Mexican, he pointed out an older dancer who had a pretty nice body. She wasn’t cute but she was smoking hot from the neck down. I asked if he wanted to go for a dance and he told me she had done a Rule #12 violation. That is unfortunate…I can tell he is interested but he isn’t going to make it happen. So I take it upon myself to help him out. No good deed goes unpunished. After tipping Miss X on stage, I grabbed the lady and brought her to sit with us. I gave her a copy of the rules and, after tipping Miss X on her second song, began to explain why the Mexican had not partaken. I must have handled it poorly because I can tell she is offended. I backpedal and try to soften it but it is too late. She is pissed. I apologize no less than three times, but she is too far gone. She rips up my card with the rules and tucks it into my shirt and storms off, while the Mexican laughs like an idiot at me.
(cont...)

GenWar
06-12-2006, 08:32 PM
This pisses me off. Not because she became offended. I think that is understandable. But because she refuses to accept my apology…I wasn’t being a dick. I was trying to communicate clearly our needs. I have done the same to 100 dancers before and none of them showed offense. Possibly some of them were offended but they simply listened, processed and used the information to take our money. You ask me, that would have been a better path….take our money and then bitch about us after the fact in private. But, for at least this dancer, pride was more important. I was genuinely regretful that she was offended but what more could I do than apologize? Especially because she disappeared and never came back for the rest of the night.


After she stormed off, I went to the stage again and gave Miss X another tip. The patrons of the club looked at me like I was an idiot but I decided that I would not care what they think so much as treat Miss X right. Shortly after her stage set, she rejoined us. I communicated the story of the pissed off dancer. She felt my pain but admitted that it might have pissed her off in the same circumstances. I asked if she would accept the apology and she said she probably would. Then, the Mexican told her about the card being ripped up. I produced the fragments and the both of them laughed hysterically at me L. I took it in good humor, or tried to at least. They insisted that I take a picture of the card and attach it to this TR. I will attempt to do so.

At this point, it is pretty late in the evening. Miss X and I resume our conversation and we STILL haven’t run out of things to chat about. I am amazed because I would have even had a dry spell with my ATFs by now. The club is picking up because a drunk party has deposited themselves as close to the stage as possible and they are yelling and whistling and whatnot. We have some fun observing them and their drunken antics.
We are still talking when the DJ announces the last dancer, which tells me three more songs. I am not sure if Miss X notices. The second to last song starts and I decide I can’t take it anymore. Rules are made to be broken, so I ask Miss X if she would like to go upstairs for the last song. We agree and up we go.


Of course, I could have had so many more WONDERFUL dances if I had been willing to do that earlier but, honestly, I would have traded the conversation for the world. After the dance, she dressed as the club turned on harsh overhead lighting. I thanked her for the wonderful evening and we hugged and I headed downstairs to find the Mexican. We carefully picked our way through the drunk customers and headed out into the night.
fin.

Docido
06-12-2006, 09:03 PM
Excellent trip report! Another "On the Road" adventure with Genwar. Now lets' start the wild speculation on the identity of Miss X. 8)

FBR
06-12-2006, 09:07 PM
Excellent trip report! Another "On the Road" adventure with Genwar. Now lets' start the wild speculation on the identity of Miss X. 8)
Is Miss X an SW dancer? Damn, now I have to go back and read that fuckin size 6 font LOL Gen is merciless. Old guys need larger type faces!

FBR

Cally
06-12-2006, 09:19 PM
Nice GenWar!! I actually read the entire length of that one as well :O I knew you would enjoy Miss X more then me ;) I had a feeling she was more your type lol! Glad to see you had another great night *mwah*

Docido
06-12-2006, 09:42 PM
Well if it is who I think it is, the rest of us junkies can only sigh with envy. Genwar you must be a "true gentleman" to gain that level of trust. Well done!

Richard_Head
06-12-2006, 10:35 PM
Now lets' start the wild speculation on the identity of Miss X. 8)Without outing anyone, my guess is that her username is 5 letters long, starts with a "J" and ends with a "Y", that's just a wild guess on my part though.

GenWar
06-13-2006, 06:09 AM
Excellent trip report! Another "On the Road" adventure with Genwar. Now lets' start the wild speculation on the identity of Miss X. 8)

I'll never tell. ::)


Nice GenWar!! I actually read the entire length of that one as well :O I knew you would enjoy Miss X more then me ;) I had a feeling she was more your type lol! Glad to see you had another great night *mwah*

I wouldn't say "more than". Simply different. One thing about me is that I almost ALWAYS have fun. I have to look to NOT have fun. And the meeting people IRL is a blast! Miss X was a great time, but I wouldn't trade that Friday night with Cally for anything. 8)

I remember driving from Orlando to Daytona back in 2003. I had a friend with me and somehow our "little club visit" had turned into 8 guys in a big rental gold Cadillac Deville. I said to my friend, "Man, I hope this is a good club. All these guys are going on my recommendation." He replied, "There's going to be naked chicks there. How can we NOT have fun?" Simple. Profound. True.

-gen

Jenny
06-13-2006, 07:21 AM
Without outing anyone, my guess is that her username is 5 letters long, starts with a "J" and ends with a "Y", that's just a wild guess on my part though.
Dude - I already told you. I'm shy. And I'm saving myself for mr. punk. I've been practicing the whole bending over and showing my ass assiduously. (Hee. Puns are funny).

lunchbox
06-13-2006, 09:02 AM
I've never heard it called "showing."