Thursday, February 27, 2014

In and Out

It's been too long, walking through this door. I have a few minutes, and a hundred dollars in my pocket, and I need a new memory.

Strategizing begins before I walk in. Before I pull into the parking lot even. How can I maximize my time and minimize my spend? How will I choose a dancer tonight? How will I have a good minimal time and not a regret? It'll work out. Just go in.

Walking in to the club it all comes back. The music, the layout, the anticipation. I hear the answer to my questions before I even hit a table. "Two for one dances, gentleman. Choose a dancer!" I only see 3 dancers come on stage for the special, but scanning the room I like my chances. Doesn't seem to be any go getters. Two go straight for a big spender and one for a regular. Hmmmm. I'm thinking that one will peel off of the big spender, and one does sure enough. I catch her eye, and next thing I know a lovely dancer is walking me hand in hand to a private dance area.  Score.

We settle in on a couch, dancer and I, and cuddle a bit for warmth as we do the pre-dance small talk. Dancer is tall and lovely and a feast for my tired eyes. I take in her lithe beauty as she strips to a thong in front of me and recites the rules. "You can't touch in a two-for-one dance. But I can touch you!" And I have no doubt that this lovely young dancer will - touch me. Works for me.

I've been in the club less than 10 minutes when the song starts, and dancer straddles my lap facing me. Ahhhh. Long flowing hair envelopes me in a privacy zone. "I love the long hair", I whisper. "It hides things", Dancer promises. And the dance is on. I remember this. .

Dancer begins the familiar rhythms. Straddle here, rub there, slide a knee across that. Reverse cowgirl with a thong view of a luscious derriere doing a slow circular rub on my crotch. Nice. But, let's switch up the routine early....

"Can I share a secret with you?", I whisper as she envelops me in the hair chamber again. "Sure, I like secrets."

"My lap area is pretty much broken. Nothing will be happening there. No point in grinding. Stay with me up here."

"That's okay, honey. I don't need down there myself. I can cum from someone licking my nipples. Let's just be sensual." Sensual works. Sensual way works. And sensual dancer is. The rest of the first song is all GFE. The girlfriend experience. Nuzzling. Grazing. Lips on throats. Soft breasts cradling me. Ahhh. Very nice.

"Do you mind?", Dancer asks as she begins unbuttoning my shirt for the second song. "I'll put you back together". My shirt opens, my undershirt slid up, and Dancer has my nipple in my mouth. Soft at first, as I nuzzle a bit into her hair - which smells delicious. Her lips are soft and warm on me. Then harder. Painful even. Teeth clamping down firmly. Ah, there's that Dancer aggression that I know. It sharpens the moment. I think about licking her nipples if we had a half hour in here. Would she let herself get off with me? Ah, no time. Dancer comes back up to me and nuzzles into my neck and cheek some more. She even grazes my lips in a brief kiss as we conclude.

Thoughts of continuing into a third dance are interrupted by the DJ calling her to the stage. "We can come back when I'm off the stage", she offers. But I know that we are done. It's brief, but it's enough. "I have to go, but I'll stay for your stage set." We settle up - $30 for the two songs with one free. Could have been $60. I got the deal I was looking for.

No one else joins me at the stage for her two songs. I put out five ones for her. What a lovely woman she is. I memorize her as she dances, and thank her as she hugs me at the rail. "Come back some time, honey."

Thank you, Dancer. I will remember you.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Getting to the GFE

It is an amazing thing, this: I keep getting older, but the dancers never do.

I remember this club, this city. It makes me comfortable and I know how it works. 3 stages and a back private area. Dollars out here. Twenties in the back. A good mix of young lithe dancers. It works for me tonight.

I got there too early, I see. Not enough dancers. Not enough crowd for me to hide in. Maybe I should just leave after one beer. Like that's going to happen.

I know this is going to be a quick night. Pick a dancer. Do our thing. Back to the hotel, lonely and remembering dancer. That's how it works. Let's get on with it.

I moved to a stage with the singles that came with change for my beer. A dancer was finishing up, and I knew it wouldn't be her. But, a single and some boobs in my face were a good start.

As dancer took the stage I knew I was smitten. Lovely. Impossibly young and lovely. Leggy. Blonde. A high-wattage smile turned on me.

No need being shy here. I tented up a single and placed it on the rail and over she came early in her first of two songs. Dancer parked herself in front of me with her legs straight up in the air, twisting slightly. Long enough to give me a good look at the panty-covered cookie. Then CLAP! as she smaked her thighs together. That got my attention. Smooth. Dancer sat up and cradled my face to her soft bosom. Nice. "Thank you, honey", and back to the pole in the center.

No one else at the stage, so soon she was looking at me again - asking with her gaze. No need being coy. she works for me, and is the one. I placed a $5 on the rail to draw her back to me, which works immediately. Legs in the air. CLAP! Cradle. And the $5 is swept away. Smooth. "Will you dance for me?" Sure, and she seeks me out before I even get back to my table and takes my hand and walks me back to the deep red room with the side-by-side red couches. She snuggles up to me pre-dance.

"Remind me how this works again. It's been a while."

"Let's get everything out of your pockets. First. $20 a dance. You can touch, you just can't touch my pussy."

I can work with that. I am a gentleman. No need to get handsy too soon. I'll be here a while.

Dancer spreads my leg as the first song starts and pulls me forward into a more laying back position. She's in charge. For now, anyway. She pulls off her bra and stradles my lap reverse cowgirl. Head away from me. Looking down at her perfectly-shaped derrierre over her lovely back and shoulders to the blonde hair swept down hiding her face. She needed that time to establish the pace. A slow grind on my lap. Reaching under herself to draw one finger tantalizing me over her panty-covered crotch. Pausing to rub slowly, for my benefit. I benefitted, no doubt. And I began a light touch, fingertips only, along her hips and the back of her thighs. Delicious feeling.

"Let's keep going", I whisper as she turns to face me for the second song. I let her settle comfortably on my lap facing me, keeping her distance still. That's okay. There's time. My fingertips gently trace her sides, her ribcage, her hips. Tracing. Tactile memorization - for later. This lovely young lady spending time with me in the dark, getting comfortable with each other, unrushed, for $20 a song.

"More", unsaid, as she leans into me for song three. Ah, there it is. The GFE. The girl friend experience. The pure gold. I don't need the lap grinding that is for much effect any more anyway, although I was stirring under the influence of 20mg of a certain little pill. Skip the grinding and just nuzzle my neck. Just brush that long luscious hair against my face. Just breathe on me. Just rest your weight on my chest. Nice. Very nice. Heavenly.

"You smell nice", she whispered as her cheek brushed against my cheek. She relaxed, and slowed her pace and just was. Still. Against me. My hand found her soft round breast and cupped it. Soft nipple between my fingertip, not pinching - just slight pressure. Not squeezing just holding, as my other hand traced her shape - fingertips only. Still. Comfortable. GFE.

Readjustment for song four. Dancer stood and readjusted her g-string under her panty. Two layers! "I get camel-toe bad. Sorry". No problem. I adjusted my package as well, not that I cared. I watched her and touched her as she moved back into her moves on my lap. It gave me a look at her smile and her beauty. Real ethereal beauty.

Song five was back to the GFE. Still and slow. Her soft full breast cupped in my hand. Her cheek against my cheek. My lips grazing her throat as her soft hair covered me. Her weight full on me. Comfortable. Insanely sexy. In the moment, for that brief moment.

"Thank you, baby. I'll stop there." Great restraint on my part. 5 songs - $100 with an extra $10 just because tucked into her G-String at her hip.

And I was out. Back to my hotel, where a suite with a hot tub awaited me. Arousing jets and lonely nakedness. Self-pleasure, with the delicious stripper-scent still lingering in my nostrils and the feel of her young soft skin under my fingertips filling my memory. Lubricated release. Then sleep.

Thank you, Dancer. I enjoyed that time with you. It will hold me for a while. And I will remember you.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Making Choices in the Dark Again

I had a reason to celebrate. Some money in my pocket. And an unaccountable night out of town.

I say all that by way of explaining why I walked purposely into my favorite strip club at 9pm one night and treated myself to another memorable night spent in the company of a lithe and lovely young lady, and left smelling of that delightful stripper scent.

It's been awhile. 3 1/2 years since I've been in any club, and longer for this particular club. I had a plan, and the long dormant club knowledge to execute it. I dressed well, in casual business attire with nice shoes. (Dancers notice that). I shaved, to have a fresh clean cheek for dancer to nuzzle against. I had breath mints in my pocket to not smell of beer. I want to be a pleasant customer for my dance partner.

I pull into the gravel parking lot and walk under the purple lighting into the just-constructed-looking entry foyer. Five buck cover, and I'm with a ten and a five in my wallet with the twenties. I'm going to need some singles.

It all comes back to me as I walk into the club door at the back of the room. The sounds from the DJ booth. The lighting. The club layout. I'm back, and I soak it in. The stage in front of me has a lovely dancer circling a pole. Bar right center. Private rooms at the back of the room next to me: table dances upstairs right and longer couch dances off to my left. That's where I want to end up. The manager of the rooms greets me with a handshake and asks if he can help. "What are the dance prices?" I ask, to see if they had changed since last time. They hadn't. $30 for a single song upstairs. $150 for a 1/2 hour and $300 for an hour in the VIP lounge. More in a ultra private room with a bathroom and a bed - much more. I'm thinking a half hour is my goal, and I need to manage the next hour well to make that happen the best that I can.

I survey the room as I head to the rest room, washing my hands thoroughly as I left. I know where my hands are going to be, and it's courteous. It's a small amount of men, and a quiet room. Must be early. Almost one guy per dancer, and that's not a good ratio. It means the dancers will be sizing me up and approaching me soon. I stand out like day-glo in my white dress shirt in the club, and I see dancers looking my way.

I know that means that I will be making choices quickly. Managing your night in a strip club is all about making choices, which means managing your money. I had two constraints: I could spend under $300 and in less than 90 minutes. Money can go fast in there if you are careless. I have spent too much time in this club to be completely careless. So, I made my first choice of the night as the DJ was announcing last dance of the night for the sexy young lady on stage, and that choice was where to sit. Doesn't sound like a hard choice, but it is an important choice.

I chose a table two back from the stage and waited for my waitress. She brought me a Sam Adams for another $4 with a dollar for her. She left me a stack of singles in change for my twenty. Ah, now I'm in business. I looked over the room again as I poured my beer in a glass. I was fairly sure that it had been long enough since I had been here that it would be new dancers, and it was. So, who to choose for my 1/2 hour dance? How to choose from this sexy group of semi-clad young ladies walking around me? Two or three seemed to be wrapped around regulars. One at the bar being fondled by a really old guy who was all hands.

I moved quickly to the tip rail to start meeting dancers. Up close and personal. A dollar at a time. The lovely girl dancing came over to me and swept my dollar away as she sat on the rail stradling me. She moved off the rail and into my lap and pulled me into her pillow-soft breasts. Wow. I remember this. How did I let it get away from me? Choose her, I thought? Maybe. I stayed hands-free with Dancer, letting her move on me, unlike the guy down the rail who groped away. It's a "touch" club, but not yet. I'm not ready yet. Be a gentleman in a gentleman's club.

Dancer number two was up, and she shook her derriere seductively at me as she used her first song to wipe down the poles. Enticing attire, with unique fishnets, not in hurry to get them off. Song two came quickly, and she was in front of me soon taking my singles. Laying on her side, showing me her delightful curves. Oh, I like this one. She's not the youngest in the room, and that's a plus. I want someone who has been here a while and will read me right. Someone who understands and can deliver the Girlfriend Experience. I live for GFE. Someone with her full shapely ass. "Come get some boobs before I leave", she whispers. Okay. "Would you come sit with me for a while", I ask. She smiles. I'm thinking that she's the one for the 1/2 hour. We'll talk at my table for a while, we'll do the 1/2 hour, and I'll be out. This choosing is working well.

As she goes off the back of the stage to dress, I head back to my table to wait for her. Oh, but I only barely made it there when the DJ announced a club special. Two-for-one dance, with a dancer parade. The first dancer down the stage passes me, and then circles back. "Would you like the two-for-one?" Yes. Oh yes. We can do this before my dancer comes back out, I think. Then I'll sit with her and do the 1/2 hour. Less than a half hour in and I have a slim young lady leading me upstairs.

Dancer has me pick a couch and settle in, while she disrobes. "Welcome to my naked office", she laughs as we're the first ones up there. We make small talk while the room fills up. Yes, I've been here before, but it has been a while. Yes I know this room. No, I was not in earlier this week. And as we chat I am visually taking in her delightfully naked body. Young. Tight. Sexy. Several tattoos discreetly placed. Lovely. She looks at me and tells me her dancer name, and it's one of the many that fade into each other. I hear her but don't register what she said. I am mesmerized by her young beauty. Dancer is really an exceptional beauty.

Our songs start and dancer goes into her routine. Expert. Energetic. Gliding over my lap, first facing me an then away. Wow, that is a beautiful derriere grinding on my lap right in front of me. Indescribable, but hot. Dancer leans into me and I nuzzle my nose into her neck, hands still at my side. I know I can touch, but I don't. I just want to see her beauty. To take it in. To nuzzle my face grazing into her neck. I just want to experience her. To marvel at this exquisite young lady naked with me. She stands over me and I see her shaved lips right above my eyes. Heaven. But it's that trim firm ass that has me in a trance. It's the pinnacle of sexiness.

And in that moment I make my final decision. Her. This is the one for the 1/2 hour. I could spend the whole night searching and deciding and not find another dancer as fine as this one. She's a little energetic for me. But that's okay, and worth it.

I offer. She accepts. We pay our way out of the upstairs room and move across the room with here still naked to the VIP room. "Hide me", she says as she tucks into my side. Isn't that cute? She was naked upstairs, and will be naked with me still, and has been naked in her stage dances. But, she's shy to walk across the club naked. Hide her I do, until we're through the curtain and on the red couch.

Two, count them, two managers come over and give me "speech". It consists mainly of touch rules. You can touch, just not boobs or crotch - as the demonstrate with waving hands. I know the rules, and believe me I want to touch - but not yet. We settle in to the couch and wait for the songs to start. More small talk with a naked young girl.

"Be careful with this area", I show. "I just had got a tattoo today".

"Get out of here, you did not!" she squeals as she thumps me in the chest. "You do not look like a tattoo guy! Show me!" I disrobe some and show her enough. "You are a surprise, mister." I like being a surprise. I like to see here smile. It's sexy, as she positions her lovely body on my lap for our extended dance. Good choice. I am going to enjoy this.

Dancer stradles my lap, with her crotch planted where my johnson should be and begins a focused grind. I feel the heat in my lap and she brings me to a joyous firmness. She's leaning over me and I nuzzle into her soft hair and cheek and neck again. This is what does it for me, not the grind. This is what I live for. If she could get off grinding on me, that would be great. I have no expectation for getting off. Just for experiencing her nakedness.

"You can touch", she says as she slaps her hip. "Just not where they said." No worries. I am a gentleman. I've been invited now. That makes a difference. And touch I do. Lightly, very lightly. Just my fingertips, tracing her figure. Experiencing. Enjoying. Memorizing.

As the songs play out, I touch. I feel. Her skin and muscle tone delicious to my fingertips. Wow. I trace over down her ribcage and along her hips. Over her thighs, and back up again to do it all over. Across her belly when she's grinding on my lap facing away. Along her spine when she's tucked into me. Down to cup here delicious ass with my happy palms. Yes. That ass. That small tight ass. Indescribable, but strangely familiar. Where have I seen that shape? Felt that feel? I know that lovely behind. "That feels nice", she says, and I believe her.

We grind on into the songs, with the managers appearing now and then to give her signals on how many songs left. Dancer is aware of the room, joking with the dancer grinding a guy next to us. I'm in the moment. Reaching between us to adjust my package for maximum contact in the grind. She is completely comfortable with her nakedness and my package and the grinding. Nice.

Last song. "Can we just cuddle for this one?" I ask. I don't need more grinding. I need nuzzling. GFE. Intimacy. I'm practically laying down on the couch now, and dancer hugs up on me, with her cheek against my cheek. My fingertips tracing her sides and back and beautiful skin. Nice. Bliss. She looks up at me in this intimate position and says "I feel comfortable with you. I don't know what it is, but you make me feel comfortable." That's my thing. I'm a gentleman and you can trust me. Trust goes a long way in the club.

I'm spent. Dancer has made some bank and I've spent the amount that I wanted to. Time is up. It's time to leave, and dancer walks me to the door.

I'm embarassed to ask this, but I ask anyway. "Tell me your name again?"

She does, and I know that name. "There used to dancer here years ago with that name. She was amazing. She looked a lot like you."

Dancer knows who I mean. They're related I think. I missed the relationship, but it's there.

And that explains why I recognized that perfect ass. They share that trait, that shape, that lovely shape. And now I've experienced it twice. Wonderful, that.

I got in my car and, in that close space, was awash in that intoxicating stripper scent from dancer. I love that smell, but it's on my clothes. It could get me in trouble, but I don't care. That smell is full of memories, and it's locking in this memory.

Thank you, Dancer. You are lovely beyond lovely. You made my night. Maybe my year. I will remember you...

You Don't Forget...

You don't forget how. It's like riding a bicycle that way, coming back to a strip club after a long absence. Only sexier.

I'm back. And I have a tale to tell about the lovely young lady that I spent time with in the dark....soon....

Until then, find my archives on the right side of the page. Start at the beginning. Read some sexy stories. Relive those moments with me.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

"In the back, In the dark"....again

Dancer passed by my table, eyes searching the club for a customer owed a dance.

Oh my God, I thought as I watched her glide by me. Pick me instead. All of my resolve to take my time in choosing a dancer for a private dance was gone 5 minutes into the club as this beautiful young girl stopped at my table having not found her target.

She was striking. The perfect picture of a stripper. Tall and pretty, with waist length blonde hair. Dressed to arouse in a mini school-girl skirt, barely covering a perfect and sexy ass, and knee-high leggings. And she was staring down at me.

"Would you like a dance?" Ahh, that question. So quickly posed.

"How much?"

"$20 a dance". "Absolutely, let's do it." She took my hand and we were striding off with a purpose.

"Where are we off to?", I innocently asked.

"In the back, in the dark, because that's the kind of girl I am", she said with a sweet smile.

Ahhh. And that's the kind of guy I used to be. So, why again? What brought me back? It's not what you think. Not lust. Not escape. Let's call it research of a medical science variety to benefit my marriage.

Flashback to earlier in the afternoon when a package arrived in the mail. Little blue pills from India. I've been looking forward to getting those since I ordered them a couple of weeks ago. Do I need Viagra? Well, in short, yes. For a couple of years now, ever since experiencing severe complications during a vasectomy, I haven't had the confidence that I need to have in an erection. Not that that's stopped me. I have skills in the bedroom, manually and orally, that are well above average and I'm capable of delivering a pleasant experience and multiple orgasms to my partner, firm boner or not. But it helps to walk into the situation confident and I'm not averse to taking the pills. A Viagra hard-on is an awesome thing.

So, I got the pills in the mail. The only question: would the generic version from a foreign lab be effective? Would the dosage required be the same?

Only one way to find out, really. I showed Mrs. Dancefan the package, took one in front of her, and a half-hour later we had a pleasant late afternoon "nooner". Rare for us, but certainly welcome. But, here's the rub. A half hour into our celebration of each other's body, her three orgasms ahead of me, I recognize that the pill does not seem to be providing the full strength experience that I've had before on the regular prescription Viagra. Am I imagining it? We had to quit where we were at to get the kids from school, and I'm left wondering: is the pill working or not? Am I going to get the full raging 4-hour boner that is the miracle of modern medicine? I want to know.

One other way to find out. I excused myself and went out for an "errand". And so I found myself walking into a strip club with the sun still shining outside. (Isn't there a Chris Rock routine about that? "Guys, if you're in a strip club and the sun is still up - you have a problem." Funny.)

In the back, in the dark, with the beautiful and sexy Dancer. A test, for medical science. What would arousal tell me?

We had the VIP to ourselves, and some time to talk as the current song played out.

"Wow, I just got here.", I said as we were settling in. "I haven't even had a beer yet."
She giggled. "And I just swooped you up." Thank you for that, I'm thinking. I'm a very lucky man to be swooped up by this lovely young girl.

It had been a while, but it was all coming back to me. The sense of being in a strip club. A beautiful semi-naked dancer snuggled up against me. Dim lighting. Pounding music. Ahh, yes. I remember this....

"What are we listening to.", I asked as she snuggled a knee up against my thigh.

"Kid Rock"

"Yes. He's got a new album out".

"Really?" She said, puzzled. "I think this is older. Maybe high school"

"Not from my high school days", I smiled at her.

"Oh, what was from your high school days?"

"Bee Gees", I said seriously. She punched me in the side playfully. "No way!"

"I was thinking Poison or Motley Crue for you. 80's stuff".

"Earlier", I said. Just enjoying being this close to her and talking casually. "Think 70's."

"Wow", she said. "You wear it well." Isn't she nice.

And our song began.

Dancer stood before me to begin, and it's apparent that not only is she fabulously sexy but that she has skills. Lapdance skills. Just the way I like them.

Teasing erotic touch. A foot gently playing in my lap. Straddling me on my lap, gliding not grinding. Gentle GFE cheek nuzzling with her face grazing mine and then down to play her soft soft lips against my neck. Her long hair engulfing me as she turns on my lap. Yes. Very nice. Her wonderful soft breast stroking my face.

And there, yes there it is. Dropping onto her knees between my spread leg. Finding my aroused "unit" with her hands and blowing hot vibrating air against it through my strained slacks. Unbelievably erotic. And a visual treat.

"Let's keep going", I say. And I enjoy myself. Enjoy the sight of Dancer's taut but feminine skin at her naked hips. Enjoying the sight of her lovely derriere pressed against my chest as she straddles me. Oh my. Lovely. And there for me. Enjoying her playing against my neck with her delightful lips.

Three songs. Bliss. Enough to know what I need to know. "Let's stop there", I say.

Dancer is slower than most to disengage. Keeping her hands on me. Rubbing against me with that delicious body. Engulfing me in her beautiful hair as she nuzzled into my neck.

"You smell wonderful", she said smiling up at me. "Really very nice." She was enjoying this unexpected moment. "What are you wearing? I recognize all of the common colognes, and this is not one. It's nice".

I paid the money, said a nice goodbye, and exited out into the bright sunlight - back my wife, knowing what I need to know.

For the record, the generic pills from Asia were not providing the firmest results that I was hoping for - despite the expert ministrations of the lovely and sexy and talented dancer. Maybe a higher dosage. Maybe there's no substitute for the real thing.

And, in case you're wondering - I was wearing "Afta" brand after shave from Mennen. Original scent in the green bottle. $2.12 at Walmart in the shaving lotion aisle. My all time favorite scent.

Dancer was wonderful to spend time with. Thank you, baby. It was a pleasure to meet you.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Stay and Read! 200+ Strip Club Customer Posts

I love strippers! And strip clubs. It's a world I traveled in for years, enjoyed to my fullest, and wrote extensively about here on DanceFan.

There is a lot here for you to enjoy. Over two hundred posts covering:

- positive tributes to many of the lovely dancers that I enjoyed time with
- observations on the strip club experience (couples, babes with belts, etc.)
- meeting porn star feature dancers in person
- my advice for how to enjoy a strip club (tipping, etc.)
- and one hot story about taking a stripper back to my hotel. You'll have to find it!

Scroll down and read. All 200+ posts are scrollable. (You don't have to go to archives.) In fact, scroll all the way down and read my first post for my explanation of why I started the blog. The first few posts are some of the best.

Or you can jump to some of my favorites:

My Beautiful Companion
Double-Dance Part II in Four Acts
Southern Comfort
Three in a Booth
My Passionate Catwoman

and a bonus for you bloggers who dig spanking:
Babes Wielding Belts

Stay and read. Bookmark and come back. There are some good tales here of my time in the dark, with the music thumping into my chest, and beautiful young ladies spending time with me. Enjoy! I hope you enjoy reading the experiences as much as I enjoyed re-living them.

Please leave a comment on any story that spoke to you. I'll see them.

And who knows. The next time you are out in a strip club, DanceFan could be the guy sitting by himself at a table in the back.

Saturday, January 21, 2006

Stick around DanceFan's Lair

Yes, this blog is retiring. But don't leave just yet.

If you just found it through a link that is still open on another site, stick around for a while and read some of my posts.

There are over two hundred posts on this site about my experiences for 20 years as a strip club customer, most related to a binge of attendance over the last two years.

There are tributes to the lovely dancers that I met. There are observations on the club scene. There are even a couple posts mixed in of memorable erotic encounters.

So, scroll down to the bottom and read from the first posts - they're some of the best.

As you read, picture the setting. The dimly lit club. The thumping music. The lovely dancers. The private lounge. The almost-makeout.

If you like one of the posts, leave me a comment. I'll see it. Or email me ( Tell me what you liked or didn't like about a story.


Monday, January 09, 2006

Postscript 2: My Kinky Backpack Finds a Home

Closure. Sweet closure, to the tale of my kinky backpack, as told in my post "Bondage in a Bag", . You remember, the backpack full of fun that rode around innocently in the trunk of my car for five years - unfulfilled.

Ahhh. It has found a home. My mind is at rest.

My solution came to me during a visit, a farewell visit, to my favorite strip club. To see her. To say goodbye to her. To experience one last embrace in one of her amazing hugs.

An all start cast was there that evening. The Queen of the Club. An angel. Cavegirl. All there. All gorgeous. All off limits.

No dances. I promised.

But I could talk. And so we met again at one of our tables. I waited as she went off to please some lucky guy in a two for one dance. And she was back. With me. In my own little world for an hour.

Passion. My favorite. In the end I come back to her.

She was beautiful. Confident. Radiant. And a deligt to chat with. All topics. Many topics. Confessions. Fantasies. Kink.

And that lead to the topic. My backpack, and it's kinky contents.

And that lead to the solution. Passion should have it. Finally, someone to enjoy it.

And maybe, she suggested, to share it. Enter Spirit, sitting on my lap. Talking with me about B.O.B. s (battery operated boyfriends).

With the solution at hand, and holding strong on no dances, I left.

So, I stopped back tonight with my backpack in tow. Full of all the contents I described in my last post (leather restraints, rope, whips, etc.) - plus some extra toys I threw in from another inspired trip to the adult store. A B.O.B. for Passion and two more adventurous toys for her to share with Spirit.

So. Not only is my mind at rest with the backpack out of my car trunk at last and in the hands of a beautiful young lady who may find pleasure from it. It is also inflamed with the thought of the two of them, Passion and Spirit, finding pleasure together from my donation. Visually inflamed.

So. Goodbye backpack. Goodbye Passion - a deep well of intense beauty. Goodbye Spirit - the sex pixie.

I'm left with my memories, and the fantasy of Passion and Spirit and the backpack.

Who knows - maybe they will favor us with an after-action report.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Postscript. Plus a Guest Blog

Hey, what are you guys doing here reading this? DanceFan's retired already!

Just kidding. I'm just stopping in again to feature a guest post from a DanceFan reader.

I hope everyone is having a happy (and horny) holiday season. I am, well the happy part anyway!. I'm getting to spend good time with my family. And, I'm behaving. I haven't been to any strip clubs since I made my decision to stop going. No adventures. No music thumping me in the dark. No lovely dancers. It's tough because I regularly travel near one of my favorite clubs now. But I'm holding firm. And it's okay. I'll live on the memories I recorded here and not generate new ones.

My blog email ( still open. A couple of you have written to me since I stopped blogging, which I appreciate.

So, on to the guest post.

If you ever read the comments on Dancefan you've met one of my regular readers - my virtual friend Don. In the comments on my last post, Don left this question:

"Is it too late to submit a guest blog?" (I assumed it would be about a dancer.)

The answer is that I'm glad to do it. So, without further ado, here is Don's guest post submission, which he titled "lasagna_tattoo".

Lasagna tonight! But first, a trip to the store. And before that, a quick stop by my favorite titty bar. As Ronnie brings my MGD, I sit on the stool next to Teak, a new dancer, playing ‘Food and Wine Trivia’ on the video game. Her filmy red top does little to hide her small but perky breasts. I give her a hug from the side, then let my hand slip down to her butt. “Don!”

What? I say, expecting a rebuke.

“Could you rub me, I have a tight muscle?” Sure, show me where, I say, relieved. “Right here,” She puts a finger on her back, I start rubbing. Gentle or hard? “Both. If you rub this knot out, I’ll love you forever.” I’ll do my best. “Can you feel it?” Right here? “Yeah….” I start to rub, wishing I knew more about massages, but she seems content. “That feels better.”

Then she sits next to me, bums a smoke. “Will you be my Daddy?” I think it’s a little late to be your father. “No, I want a tattoo. TODAY” What’s the problem? “I have to be twenty-one, or have a parent.” You have two parents. “Don, you fuck, I need you to be my step-father, I’m only 19.” What am I going to get out of this? “Depends on what my boyfriend says.” Ronnie and I look at each other, knowingly, how much will it cost me, Ronnie? “Probably about fifty. There’s a place on Kay Street, Anna’s T’s, just down the road.” What time are you off, Teak? “Three.” It’s two, I really need to get stuff for lasagna, then make it. “PLEASE, Daddy?” Well, okay. (An adventure, I think.) “Please hold my hand?” Okay. “Will it hurt?” Don’t know, I’ve never had one. I think it just tingles, at first. “Just hold my hand?” Then she goes to dance for the few customers.

Three. Teak has changed into street clothes, braless in a white knit top, jean shorts. “Ready to go, Don, Dad?” Not till I tip Ronnie. “You could stiff her.” No, I can’t. RONNIE! “What do you want, I’m busy.” Too busy for a tip? “You have an MGD, up.” Sell it, we’re out of here. Ronnie takes my whole stack, “Thanks, Don!” Ronnie! “Okay,” she throws some bills back on the bar, “Get out of here, take that bitch with you!”

I follow Teak’s blue beater to the tattoo parlor. “Xxxxx Xxxxx, that’s my real name.” We go in, the manager is a big guy, but really nice,) “The artist will be done in a few minutes.” Cassandra asks him “I’m dancing tonight, do I have to wear a bandage?” “No,” he answers and leaves. Want before and after pictures? “Good idea, Don!” I take a shot with the Polaroid, she’s pointing to a spot on her right leg. “I want bite marks, right here.” Then the manager comes back with the release form, points. “No, our last names aren’t the same, he’s my step dad.” she explains. “Can’t do it, then, he could be anybody.” Then I want the release form back. “Why?” I don’t want my daughter’s identity stolen. Now he’s not as nice, “We keep them on file. And you, you took pictures, against the rules. Now kindly leave!”

I take her hand, we go back to the lot. “You going back to the Cove?” No, I still have lasagna to make. Sorry, sweety. “Not your fault. You tried, Daddy.” Kiss and hug. And from that time on, she always calls me Daddy.

Anyone else got a story about a dancer in them to tell?

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Last Dance

Well, my blogger family, regrettably - and for the second time in the life of this blog - I have decided to pull the plug. This post (my 223rd) will in all likelihood be the last post for DanceFan.

Two years. Two fulfilling years of storytelling, beginning on Nov 5th, 2003 based on inspiration from discovering the world of naughty blogging. Two years of spinning out all of my memories of twenty plus years of frequenting strip clubs across America. My observations on the club scene. My tributes to the lovely dancers.

Will I really go? You would be right to wonder, given that I did the same disappearing act about this time last year. I did it in drastic fashion then by deleting the entire original blog called Strip Club Memories. Fortunately, I saved a copy of all the posts and reconstituted it two months later as DanceFan when I missed it too much and still had stories to tell. Not this time. I will be gone.

Why am I leaving?

The short answer is because I have no more stories to tell and I will not be generating any new ones.

The longer answer in a moment. But first, a couple of thoughts:

First, it was deeply satisfying to get to tell my stories. All of them true. All of them meangingful to me. All of them revealing me. The writing itself being a welcome mind-healing release. A creative outlet that I needed to express the deepest, most compartmentalized, part of me.

Second, I didn't write my tales for anyone but me. To remember.

But, and this is a big but, I deeply appreciate all of you who have been out there for whatever period of time reading. The blog family is truly awesome and talented. I appreciate all of you who enjoyed or hated this little text blog. Thank you to everyone who took the time to write to me in comments or emails. Really. Thank you.

I made a handful of deep and meaningful virtual friendships by virtue of this blog that I would never have known otherwise, and that in itself is amazing.

Thank you to Don and Mic and my other constant buddies out there who could relate to my experiences.

Thank you to Passion and Spirit and Sassy Girl and Danielle and all of the other lovely and talented Dancers. Wow! You are incredible people.

Thank you to the bloggers who are on my links and who stop in from time to time. You are all interesting, immensely talented, and expressive. I learned from you every week.

Thank you to my beautiful companion, an elegant and intelligent young lady who is more terrific than she knows. I really enjoyed meeting you and being in your company. Thank you for taking risks.

Thank you to my alt-mod-hippie-chick from the Bay area, who always makes my laugh and think. I'll see you elsewhere in the blogosphere.

And thank you most of all to my other California girl, K, who means the world to me and is in my thoughts.

So, why am I leaving?

The uncomplicated answer is that there are big changes in my life. Principally, a massive career change that will mean limited or no travel - resulting in limited or no opportunities to visit clubs.

The more complicated and serious reason is to honor my wife. My wife of almost a quarter century and my partner. My wife who recently confronted me with a question and a demand.

The question: "Are you visiting strip clubs on the road?". My answer, a direct yes.

The demand: No more strip clubs. None. Zero tolerance. So, that's that.

I am really envious of the couples blogs, and of the experiences that you share together. I don't have that situation. I've painted little pieces of that story in my posts over the last two years. Simply said, my wife and I are substantially different people than we were when we fell in love back in the late 70's. How could we know then what we would be like almost three decades later? We didn't then, we do now. We're different. Not her fault. Not my fault. Just different.

It's been stressful. It's been lonely. But we're still together.

The bottom line is that she has drawn a line and I'm going to honor it. I'm going to honor my vows as best as I can and walk the straight and narrow. I'll pour the creative energy that drove my club activities, and thi0s blog, into my marriage and my family and work and - believe it or not - church. And I'll be fine. Probably better. But sublimating a piece of me.

So, carry on bloggers. I'll lurk and enjoy your amazing, fun, and sexy work and live vicariously through you.

Hey, it was fun and I don't regret it.

I'm out.

P.S. - I'm not going to delete the blog. I promise. You can still read all of my memories if you're just now stopping in. And keep surfing the links. Especially all of the fascinating women represented there (sorry guys) like Piper and Veronica Vinegar and Violet Blue and Diablo Cody and Stefanie and Wilma and Leela and many more.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Customer Girl and Me

Another long night on the road. Another trip to a semi-naked haven of respite.

I'd been here before, and the club looked like any other weeknight that I'd seen. A sparse crowd of regulars, with dancers scattered at tables and one lonely dancer onstage.

I settled in at a table, ordered a beer, and relaxed - feeling the tension releasing from me. I could rest here. What kind of experience I would have was still unknown, but I was comfortable here alone among the scattered groups. Just me, some beautiful semi-naked strippers. (And some random guys - whatever).

Some dancers I recognized. One or two. Most I didn't. Including the sexy girl sitting topless on the lap of the guy next to me getting a shoulder massage - distracting me in a pleasant way.

Eventually I had company in my voyeuristic escapades. A girl. A pretty girl. A civilian. A customer girl (CG).

Not with me, exactly. She came in with two guys. But with me in spirit. Sharing the experience in the room. My voyeur compadre.

It was her hair that caught my eye as she came in. (Maybe I'm a "hair man". I seem to comment on it a lot!) Long, luscious, full bodied dirty blonde hair with texture and streaking and curls. Hair you could run your hands through. Hair you could brush for hours. Hair you could twist in your hands and hold onto from behind. Beautiful, sexy hair. And a smile that wouldn't quit. Sexy, playful and mischievious. A smile that eventually said "kid in a candy store".

CG reminded me of someone, and it took me a minute to place it. Silly as it sounds, it was of the actress who played Elaine, the secretary, on the TV show "Ally McBeal" - one of my all time favorite shows. (I know it was a chick show, but Lucy Liu giving her boyfriend a "hairjob", come on.)

She started slow, as girls seem to do in the club until they have a few beers in them. Sitting sedately. Looking around surreptitiously. Deferring to her gentlemen hosts - two scruffy college guy types with jeans and sweatshirts and hats turned around backwards. Guys who seemed to be more into hanging out with each other than in being with a beautiful girl in a strip club. (She would have more fun here with me, at twice their age, but she doesn't know that.)

I visited the tiprail. Boobs in my face. Nice. Shapely derriere displayed. Nicer. Hot breath on my neck. Nicest.

CG visited the tiprail, accompanying one of the mooks, politely demurring while he partook of the pleasures of the dancer. Looking away, but not quite. The mook looked annoyed and bugged out leaving CG with her one remaining "date".

CG sat with a dancer. Getting a little bolder.

I sat with a dancer. Talk time at the table. The topless massage girl. A beautiful girl with a schoolgirl outfit and both nipples pierced. Yeow!

"So, what do you do?", she asked me.

"Nothing interesting", I replied.

"Come on, what do you do?"

"Nothing this fun", I said - looking around and smiling.

Whack! She hit me on my shoulder and asked more intently "Tell me, what do you do?"


"Yeah?" she said. "Me too."

Funny, this one. And pretty too. I was enjoying this.

I could tell by that answer, and by her pole routine that she had been at this a while.

"You know", I said, "I've been to a lot of clubs. I've seen pretty girls. I've seen talented girls. You're both. Pretty and talented."

"Thanks", she said - beaming.

"I haven't seen you here before."

"I've been here eight years. Must have just been the wrong nights."

I talked a while with Dancer and was watching CG out of the corner of my eye. Getting bolder now. Going to the tiprail by herself. Tame tipping, but it was a start.

"Would you like a dance?" said Dancer, and we were off to the couches. One song. Hot. Those soft pierced breasts on my cheeks. Her delicious weight on my lap. Two songs. Hot breath on my neck. Three songs. My arousal evident. My enjoyment unquestioned. A skillful dancer. A beautiful smile. An enjoyable time.

"I'll be out to talk with you more later." And I was out to wait at a table.

CG has come into her own by now. Leaving her sulking "date" off pouting at a table, she planted herself at the tiprail. Feet hiked up on the bar. Leaned back in her chair. Ready for action. Action soon supplied by a sultry blonde temptress eager to indulge in CG. Leaning into her lap to nuzzle. Coming off the stage to straddle CG on her chair and fondle her at her leisure. A full girl-on-girl make-out for a dollar. Hot.

Not done there, "the body" - a tall, lean, black diva with a giving smile - pulled her up on stage and put her through the undressing and fondling paces. Ending with a lay-down simulated 69 session with lots of fondling and nuzzling of CG's now-naked tits. Unbelievable.

I stuck around to watch a bachelor get a humiliating workover on stage, delivered skillfully by my Dancer and "the body". And it was time to call it a night.

CG was out, as well. Laughing, and dancing, and skipping her way out - high on the pleasures of the lovely ladies - with her silent, brooding, guy behind her. I smiled, enjoying her evident enjoyment of the night. Glad to share it alongside her.

And thank you to my Dancer, a pretty and talented young lady. More next time, please.

Monday, October 17, 2005

Comment Curiosity

I found it very curious that my post about the sensousness of getting my hair cut got way more comments than most of my more erotic posts about my activities in the strip club.

After I laughed about that for a while, I decided that it must be because more people can relate to getting your hair cut than can relate to getting a lapdance.

Whatever the reason, thank you all for the nice comments.

No stories this week. I'm afraid I'm a little pre-occupied for a while. Also, my computer access is becoming limited. I'll do what I can.

Stay tuned...

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Watching Her Arousal

A glass of fine wine.

Stimulating dinner conversation with my companion. Beautiful. Vunerable. Safe.

Quality time in the club with the lovely dancers. Private time - their caresses, my gaze.

"I had her nipple in my mouth for most of the 3rd song", she told me - still flushed.

'nuff said.

Monday, October 10, 2005

Her Fingers in My Hair

We had just met. And she was treating me to a explosion of the senses.

Staring at me.

Appraising me.

Circling me.

Talking to me in that lovely feminine lilt.

Her breath on my skin.

There. Stop everything. Running her fingers through my hair. Gliding through. Stopping. Pulling lightly. Teasing.

My senses alert now. The hair standing up on the back of my neck.

Moving to me. To ask the question:

"Do you know what size?"

"Size?" I asked.

"Size clipper", she answered.

"No. Just guess."

Buzz. Clip. Snip.

Leaning into me. Firm body contact. The swell of her breasts hovering over me as she tended to me. A sweet, feminine scent.

"Follow me". I did as she asked. "Lay back there." I did as she asked.

Warm water cascading over me. Tingling shampoo massaged into me, invigorating my scalp. Vigorous rubbing with her fingertips in the warm sudsy water. Heavenly.

A blow dry. A tip. A restaurant recommendation in this unfamiliar town I was visiting. A friendly "Come back again". And I was out and back down the road.

One of my best haircut experiences ever. Not as good a cut as the ex-GI at my home barbershop that deals with guys all day gives. But a better experience. A more sensual experience.

Of course, I would edit out of this memory the few moments we spent discussing whether I should color the increasing grey out of my sideburns. In the end, I opted to keep the grey. I've earned it.

Friday, October 07, 2005

Bondage in a Bag

I have a dilemma. A problem. A quandry. Seriously. And it started with a pervy shopping trip.

My dilemma is physical. It's an object. Or rather, a collection of objects within a object.

A backpack, to be specific, average in appearance but mysterious in nature.

A plain black backpack that rides in the trunk of my car wherever I go. Always there. I see it. I know it's there. Yet, untouched.

The contents of the backpack are.....well, let's just say interesting. And kinky.

We'll get back to that in a minute.

How did it get there? Hmmmm.

Let's go back in time, years ago, to a late night stop on one of many business trips on the road. In addition to frequenting strip clubs on the road, I have been known to stop at an adult bookstore or two. One chain adult superstore in particular that can be found at out-of-the-way exits on interstate highways. I browse at length. For a DVD. Or a magazine. Or, if I'm feeling frisky, a toy. I actually love to shop for sex toys. Love it. Usually to no avail, as my Mrs. is absolutely and totally uninterested in them. Everything I've brought home over the years has been tried once and then relegated to a box on the top shelf of the closet never to be seen again.

So there I was one night, on the road at the adult superstore, browsing. Feeling frisky. Knowing the likely result but wanting to believe that maybe this time my purchases would not be in vain. Browsing through the usual devices. Plastic. Gel. Cyberskin. Beads. Vibrating. Non-vibrating. Getting hornier as I shopped. Lost in my internal world. And then I wandered into a new section.

Leather. BDSM. Restraints. Whips. Chains. Yeow! Now my lizard brain was fully engaged and the possibilities unfolded before me. My skin tingled and I was fully alive. I thought. I dreamed. I fantasized. And, eventually, I selected.

Not just one item. A collection. A very naughty collection.

Over the next week I got the items out of the bag and looked at them. I thought about them. And I added some household items to the collection.

Then I came to my senses. I woke up. And I knew. These could not be shared. They would not be tried and banished to the box. They would be thrown out and would earn me some scorn in the process. I would never live down the fact that I had bought them in the first place. I knew.

So, I hid them. I made two additional purchases: a backpack and a padlock. I loaded the backpack with my secret purchases and I locked it up by placing the padlock through the holes in the zippers so that it could not be opened. And I hid it. First in my attic. Later in my garage. And finally, when it was almost discovered, in the trunk of my car where it has remained. When I change cars or rent cars it goes with me. Transferred from car to car. Never opened. Until tonight, when I opened it to remember.

Laid out on my hotel bed tonight are the contents:

- red leather bra and panty set
- red leather ankle restraints (1 pair)
- red leather wrist restraints (1 pair)
- red leather collar
- red leather ball gag with black rubber ball
- red braided pet leashes(2) (to loop around feet of bed and clip to ankle restraints, purchased new for this purpose)
- 4 metal double-ended clips
- copy of "Erotic Bondage Handbook" by Jay Wiseman
- several lengths of soft nylon cord
- crop: black with simulated leather handle
- flogger: black leather strips with studded black leather braided handle.
- receipt for $191 dated September 2000

Yeah. All high quality. All unused. All unknown to anyone but me.

My dilemma? What in the world am I going to do with this backpack.

It's making me nervous driving it around in the trunk of my car. I keep imagining getting pulled over for some moving violation, getting my car searched, and getting arrested for having a "rape kit" in my trunk. (Melodramatic, I know. But I saw that on a made-for-TV movie once.) That wouldn't be good. Mainly, though, it's just the psychic wear and tear on me moving the bag from trunk to trunk all of the time that's getting to me. It would be one thing if I was getting some benefit from the contents. But I'm not. I've just been continuously hiding it for five years now. Wow.

My dilemma? What in the world am I going to do with this backpack?

Well, for starters, for tonight anyway, I'm just going to repack it and relock it and re-hide it. Back in the trunk.

And then what? It's making me tired.

Saturday, October 01, 2005

Worth the Wait

She was there, after all. And she was as pretty as I remembered. And she was worth the wait.

I knew which city I was going to land in. I knew which club that meant I would visit. And I knew which dancer that I wanted to see again.

I just wasn't totally sure that I was going to make it there. But, at the end of a seven hour white-knuckle drive through a pounding storm, I made it. A smart man would have turned in at the hotel after a ten o'clock check-in on a week night. But the club was calling. It took me another hour to settle in and freshen up before I entered the familiar doors of the club.

"Hi. Are you the "doorguy" who left a comment on my blog?"

"How's it going? Yeah, Dancer told me that you had mentioned your blog. Thanks for the nice comments about our club. ...She's in tonight."

I moved through the club to find an inconspicuous table and relax. I scanned the room as I walked, looking for Dancer. Not sure at all that I would recognize her again until she got onstage and I saw those great stage moves again. I could see the white board in the DJ booth from my table - could see her name on a list of eight or so dancers - but was not sure where we were in the rotation.

As soon as I settled in and took a long draw on an Amber Bock draft all of the tension from long stormy road drained out of me. It was all I could do to stay awake and enjoy my surroundings. I must have been giving off that vibe, because everyone pretty much left me alone to enjoy the stage show through my drowsiness.

As soon as DJ called up the next dancer, I figured out where we were. I had just missed Dancer and I would have to wait through the rotation. With everyone doing a long 3 song set, it was going to be a while. I was, in fact starting to worry that I had missed her as I watched a pretty girl cash out (tip out?) with the door guy in her civilian clothes. Was that her? I don't think so, but I wasn't trusting my memory in my tired state. Maybe I should just call it a night and crash.

And then, eventualy, the rotation returned to the top and I heard DJ call Dancer's name. And there she was, standing up from a table where she had been setting for a long time working a customer. She passed by me on the way to the stage, and it came immediately back to me. Watching her spritz and wipe the pole, oh yeah. And then the dance.

She is a stripper, true. But she is also a Dancer, and an excellent one at that. The first dance is for her. Graceful moves, checking herself out in the mirror opposite the stage. Turns. Kicks. Moves. It's a privilege to watch her own the stage and practice her craft.

I meet Dancer again at the tiprail. Up close and personal I definitely remember her. The habit at this particular club is to come down off of the stage and to straddle the customer's lap for an upclose and personal tip. We did this twice. First in her signature straddle with her back to me, pushing that perfectly shaped beautiful ass into my chest. Then again, facing me and greeting me with that luminous smile.

A movie star smile. A movie star look. A dead ringer in fact for one of my favorite starlets - Kate Beckinsale. Not the Kate Beckinsale look from "Underworld". And not quite the Kate Beckinsale look from "Pearl Harbor", although the coy and flirtatious 50's essence is there in it's most positive sense. Close, but a little more raw. I'm thinking the Kate Beckinsale from the movie "Laurel Canyon" (click here for pic). Really beautiful. Movie star beautiful.

"Would you find me for a dance after your set?", I asked.

Dancer came off the stage and extended her hand and off we went to the couches, where we jumped into a couch dance to Evanesence's "Wake me Up". Two terrific dances. Sensual more than sexual. I relaxed in my tiredness and just enjoyed her skill and her professionalism. The delicious feel of her on my lap. The tingle of her silky hair against my cheek. The heat of her breath on my neck. The radiance of her beautiful smile. Dancer was very skillful and very professional.

"I definitely remember you", was all I could think to say.

"Yeah", she said, "you're the blog guy. I still read it."

I'm honored.

I would have liked to have spent time talking with her at a table. Or to spend more time on the couch. But I hit the hotel and crashed into a deep, contented sleep.

Thank you Dancer, it was a pleasure.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

"Have We Met Before"

It wasn't the first time I heard the question that night. Not even the second. In a night of club hopping and serial lapdancing, it was in fact the third time in one night.

And at the end of a long work day and a long club night, the beautiful young lady sitting on the stage before me with her head cocked quizzically asked it for that third time: "Have we met before?"

A deep gaze into that beautiful face, the whisper of her name - "I'm Heather", and it clicked.

"Now that I think about it", I said cryptically, "I've not only met you before, but I've written about you before." (Here in a post titled "A Quintet of Beautiful and Sexy Women". Go read it again, it's worth it.)

There are some really beautiful girls dancing in strip clubs. Unbelievably pretty. Unbelievably shapely. Unbelievably sexy. And my intent was to meet several of them in one night. Not my usual pattern of a lot of dances with one girl. Different this time - serial lapdancing. I chose some repeat clubs to do it in, and as a result I met some new girls as well as several lovely dancers that I had met before.

First one club - urban and tough with touch allowed in the private dance. Not only allowed, but encouraged.

First up, a new girl. Far eastern and exotic. All bounce and energy, hopped up on multiple coffees. "Aren't you all gentlemanly", she said as she grabbed my hands and placed them on her booty. "Grab hold of some skin!".

Costume girl next, from my "Christmas Day for Dancer" post. My new friend that I had bought the naughty schoolgirl outfit for. "Have you worn it again? Did you bank with it?" I asked. Oh yeah, she told me. She was totally into costumes now. Not only had she spiced that one up with glasses and pigtails and a paddle, but she had bought new ones as well. She ran off to the dressing room to model one for me - a short black kimono with a red sash. Very hot. The girl looks awesome in any outfit, and I saw her in 4 different ones in the space of two hours. Plus a couch dance. Nice.

Then it was my Cameron Diaz lookalike from "Three in a Booth" (7/20/05). She slid into my booth again, same as before. This time she paused, looked at me, and asked "Have we met before". Some tiprail time and then off to the couches for two slow, gentle, erotic couch dances. She is really, really good at this.

Reluctantly I'm out, but I can't bring myself to call it an evening. So I'm off to the west side of town and a more upscale club, where I met the original quintet of beautiful and sexy dancers. Should I? It's getting late. But walking in I knew. Oh yeah. Beautiful dancers in abundance. Model beautiful. Hollywood beautiful. And some cute civilians. I'll stay.

Some tiprail time with several of the lovely ladies.

- the beautiful Mariah, she of the long brown hair. "Have we met before?", she asked me. Oh yes. It was my privilege. I certainly remember.

- a new girl. Sexy. Perky. willing to manhandle me at the rail for $1. Undressing me. Pulling me up close and scissoring her legs over my shoulders as she strategically rubbed her silk panty covered mound against the tip of my ski nose. "I knew my nose was shaped that way for a reason", I joked. I'm certain I could get her off with just the tip of my nose, and she's welcome to use me for that anytime.

And finally, in the early morning hours at the end of a long long night, the beautiful Heather.

I had seen her as soon as I came in, dancing on a satellite stage. She stood out, even in a room full of beautiful dancers. Elegant and radiant. Tasteful in a white skirt and top. Beauty in a league of her own. Wanting to go tip her, but not quite making it over to her stage. Watching her as she sat with a good customer. And finally, realizing as she took the stage again that I had one more chance.

Her question, after the tipping and the cradling in those delicious soft breasts and the recognition, was simple - "Would you like a dance?" Oh yes. Off we went to the back area and the couches and two sensual private dances. Close contact with a beautiful woman skilled in the dance. Gentlemanly no-touch dances. Contact. Heat. Exciting. Erotic, but to no obvious effect on my part. Most dancers expect that their private efforts will be greeted with an appropriate state of arousal. After the long night of serial lapdancing, and despite Dancer's expert ministrations, I wasn't like to be "up" to the challenge. But I was able, absolutely, to enjoy her for her. For her beauty. For her talent. For the simulated intimacy. Lovely.

There are many beautiful ladies dancing in strip clubs and I got to spend time with several in one night. Yes, I've met them before and it's likely that I will meet them again. Especially Heather.

Thank you ladies. I'll remember it.

Monday, September 26, 2005

Sunshine Flowerchild

A lot of things are reminding me of the 70's lately. Dancer included.

I saw her at the club where I saw the Porn Star and the Rock Star. She was a house dancer. Marking time between the feature sets, taking care of the customers.

It was her look that caught my eye, in two senses.

First, it was her appearance. All 70's. Dancer was a petite blonde, with a silky flowing Dorothy Hamill haircut and a look that was intentionally out of place. Bright pink and yellow flowered hotpants with a wide belt, and matching bikini top, straight out of the 70's. Neon flower child. With go-go boots to match. Think Goldie Hawn from "Laugh-in". A very pretty girl.

Not quite Goldie Hawn though, because of her "look", in the second sense. Her gaze. Her stare. Not perky like Goldie, but the opposite. Robotic, with a thousand-yard stare. She was present the whole time, but not there if that makes sense.

I first saw Dancer on the stage before the first feature set. She came out and started to work the pole. She caught my eye immediately, but I never caught hers. Nor did anyone else. Dancer stared out over our heads for the whole set. Never engaging. Never smiling. Never acknowledging anyone was there watching her.

Maybe she's nervous, I thought. Maybe it's her first night. That thought was dispelled, however, when she started working the pole. Dancer was skilled on the pole. Mega-skilled. She had moves. It was like watching an advanced level excercise class in pole-dancing, with Dancer tuning out the environment. And the tippers. All of the singles sat untouched on the tiprail. All of the customers sat unmolested at the tiprail. No boobs in the face. Not even a glance. Just Dancer, in her own little world, thoroughly enjoying her skillful ballet at the pole.

Dancer had a signature move. I'll call it the "Flag", for lack of a better description. Picture her - blonde, cute, in boots only having shed her flowered hotpants. Dancer climbs to the very top of the pole and positions her body, through an intricate leg and ankle lock on the pole, straight out horizontal from the pole. I think she was even rotating around the pole. But her body was rigid and straight out horizontal from the top of the pole. Then, carefully and delicately, she reached her arm down her back, under her exquisite ass cheeks, to curl her hand up to and over her pussy - which she petted for a few moments. I'm going to say for her own enjoyment, since she never once looked at the crowd. Very impressive. I was saluting at full mast.

I saw Dancer twice again.

Once at the tiprail during the feature show. Not watching the show, just there. Seated cross legged with her hand bent at the wrist out straight horizontally and her cigarette perched straight vertically. Burning. Dancer staring. The thousand-yard stare that says "What am I doing here?". Oblivious to the Porn Star working the stage above her.

Then again, after the show on the satellite stage. Guys crowding the small stage with singles out on the rail. Dancer oblivious. Staring out over our heads into the void. Displaying her pole mastery, including the awesome "Flag" position. Awesome.

Thank you, Sunshine Flowerchild. For the trip back in time.

Monday, September 19, 2005

The Pornstar, The Rock Star, and Me - Part II in Three Acts

…so there I was, out for a night in the chain club for the specific intent of enjoying the talents and charms of the Porn Star Feature Dancer. I’ve called on all of my knowledge and experience to maximize my enjoyment of the evening with Dancer. I’m seated at the main stage, front and center. And after the buildup and bio from the DJ, she’s there – onstage and in the flesh.

Dancer was exquisite. Porn Star beautiful. Two dimensional airbrushed perfection even in person in three dimensions.

I should qualify that, probably. I’ve met several porn starlets in person now, always in the context of featuring dancing in strip clubs. They are all pretty, no question. And they are all sexy, no question – projecting an attitude of sexuality that stands out even in a room full of strippers. And they are all bigger than life with the costumes that they wear onstage in the feature act. All sexy. All celebrities, in a sense. Dancer was all that and more. A step above. Clearly deserving of fame. A superstar.

Tall. Beautiful. Young. Very young. Sexy. Gorgeous. The perfect ass. Delicious legs. The total sex package. Ms. Jenna Haze.

Act I – the Stage

The costume for her first show fit her personality well. Naughty schoolgirl, of course. Plaid skirt. White knee socks. Black strappy stripper shoes. A white blouse, tied at the midriff. Hot. Unbelievably hot.

Dancer was nervous. Her first set in a new club. How do I know? She mouthed the words as she moved around the pole. “I’m nervous”. And her eyes sought out a friendly face for support in the natural place for her to look. Front and center. At me. And I obliged, providing positive feedback and encouragement for her whole set. Just me and dancer. (And some other guys, whatever).

Dancer took the measure of the stage in her first song. Working the pole. Working up some energy. Good stage dancing with a good sense of herself and the stage. Wow. I was entranced.

And then it was time. Time to engage the tiprail. Where to start? Can you guess? Front and center, of course, with her source of encouragement. DanceFan. Encouraging her. Appreciating her. And tipping her – with my $5 standing out from the singles lining the tiprail. Cheap, really, but effective. Dancer chose me to get the tipping started and she spent some time with me to set the example. Up close and personal. Handling me. Wowing me. Finally, grabbing my shirt to pull me up close to the stage to mount me – legs thrown over my shoulder, soft sexy thighs squeezing my face, with her silk-panty covered mound an inch from my nose. Wow.

Dancer worked the stage. Checking me with her eyes every so often as a comfortable touchstone. 3rd song – naked. In her glory. Laying on the stage in front of me – back arched and legs spread, masturbating furiously. Wow.

Act II – Conversation

I moved away from the stage to wait for the next event in the typical feature show agenda – signing and selling merchandise in a private booth. That would have to wait a while. Dancer had another stop first. She left the stage, still naked, and ran straight over to the roped off VIP area to sit with Rock Star.

Rock Star had come in a bit earlier, right before the stage show. I didn’t recognize him, but I knew right away that this was a band by their look and the VIP treatment. Especially his look, which was very distinctive. Later, by asking a couple of discreet questions, I learned who he was. ( If you’re a MTV2 fan, you probably would know him.) Rock Star and his entourage sat quietly on the VIP couch, remarkably quiet and well behaved. They didn’t have to say or do anything. They were quickly joined by naked showgirls, including the lovely Dancer. She sat with Rock Star, and it looked like they might know each other.

I chilled out with a beer and watched the informal show for a while – naked Dancer and the Rock Stary holding court. And eventually, she moved back to the schedule. The booth. The merchandise. I waited in line, very patiently. I knew how this worked. No hurry. I let the line move, ten or so guys ahead of me all buying a Polaroid of her sitting naked on their laps. Hot, definitely. Especially for the cute girl who worked up her courage to get in line and get a picture with naked Dancer on her lap. But not for me. Not when it was my turn.

“Hi baby. What would you like?”

“I’d like a DVD.”

“Come on over and let me show you.”

And Dancer, very lovely and very naked, sat with me on the couch to show me her wares.

“Do you want to see me with boys or with girls?”

“Girls. Definitely Girls.”

“Oh, goody!” , she squealed.

“Anything with Cassidey?”, I asked. “I’ve seen photo layouts with you and her that were hot.”

“No, she was under contract to Vivid. We couldn’t do movies together. Besides, she’s not in the business anymore. But I hang out with her a lot.”

So, Dancer talked me through my choices. So many scenes in this one. Anal with girls in that one. Strap-ons in the third with her friends. Yes, that will do. Strap-ons. Sold. So, Dancer signed my DVD as we talked.

“Do you want a picture, too?”, she asked.

“No!”, I laughed. “I’m still trying to hide the one I took with Felecia.”

Dancer squealed again. “Oh, I love Felecia! She’s one of the first girls I met in the business.”

We stood, the transaction completed. Dancer stood with me. Very lovely. Very naked.

A surreal experience.

“Make sure you stay for my next show”, Dancer whispered to me. “It’s my best.”

How could I refuse.

Act III - Sharing Dancer with the Rock Star

At midnight, more or less, Dancer was out on stage. I didn’t think she could outdo naughty schoolgirl. I was wrong.

Naughty French Maid. Yeow! Black vinyl maid’s outfit. Black knee-high boots. And a feather duster, with a handle that would come in handy as a prop for a horny French Maid while she danced. Yeow!

I chose a seat at the side this time. Just watch. And there was a lot to watch. Besides, this set was for her friend, the Rock Star.

Dancer did find me, and recognize me I think. Some eye contact. Some smiles. And a tip where she came out over the stage head down into my lap. Yeow!

Dancer moved out of the first song – a driving rock song – with more energy into the second song. Marilyn Manson – the “Dope Show”. Rock Star stood up by the side of the stage and got some attention. Some bills on the stage. Probably not singles. Dancer spent some time treating him well, with the rest of us average joes watching with envy.

And then it got surreal-er.

Dancer moved into her third song. Some driving heavy metal unknown to me.

“That’s his song”, said the guy next to me. “He’s singing it”. Unreal. We both looked at Rock Star, still standing at the stage – grinning a confident grin.

Dancer reached back behind the stage and pulled out a lollipop, which she preceded to abuse for our visual enjoyment. Licking it seductively. Sucking on it. Rubbing it on her nipples. Laying on the stage – back arched and legs spread – to rub it vigorously on her clit to the beat. ( Rock Star grinning ear to ear.) For the climax – moving over to my side of the stage and kneeling right beside me while she inserted the lollipop inside of her – stick deep – and working it in and out furiously. Unbelievable.

Finally, Dancer withdrew the lollipop as the song was ending, stood and walked to the other side of the stage, and popped the sucker into Rock Stars surprised mouth as she exited the stage.


And I was out. Great show. Thank you, Dancer.

Passing 100,000!

I have a hit counter on this blog, but I don't check it very often. Only if I accidentally scroll down too far while surfing my links. Which I did today - whereupon I noticed that I have passed thru 100,000 hits. Yeah!

That is, of course, more hits than I ever expected to get when I started this little out-of-the-way blog with no pictures or advertising. Just me, laid bare, and my thoughts and my links.

As some of you know, I started this blog in November of 2003. I had stumbled on blogs somehow and was inspired by a few that I first read. I knew I had to write. To express these experiences that I live in the dark. To pay tribute to the dancers that I was fortunate to spend time with. And, as an unexpected benefit, to join and live in the blog community.

It had a different original name. One that fit me and that expressed what I wanted to say. But I gave that name up one hasty night when I decided to pull the plug. I deleted the blog. Zap. Gone. I was fine with that for a month until two things happened. One - I realized that I still need to write. Two - I realized that some pervert had assumed my old name and was writing filth on it. Also, that he copied all of the blogroll. That was a shocker.

So, I reconstituted the blog as DanceFan. And here I am.

And here you all are as well. Thank you all for visiting.

Thank you to the regulars that have been out there since the beginning. My virtual friends! I appreciate each and every one of you.

And thank you to every new reader. Welcome. Stay and read for a while. There's over two hundred posts for you to browse through at your leisure. Just scroll down.

And, while you're here, visit my links on my sidebar. They're all interesting people and it's worth the surfing.

I'll stay around for a while. I have more stories to tell.

For example, the rest of the "Pornstar, Rockstar, and Me" story, which I promise I'll write this week.

Here's to blogging!

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Christmas Day for Dancer

It was the end of a long day. Work, of course. And a nice dinner with my beautiful companion.

I was letting down, tired even. Dancer perked me up. And Dancer and I shared a new experience together.

As we talked at the table, discussion turned to a recent feature dancer show that I had seen.

"What's a feature show".

"It's a porn star or famous dancer who travels to a club."

"Do they dance too?"

"Yes. Three shows a night. In costumes."

"What kind of costumes?"

"Oh, a range of elaborate costumes like naughty schoolgirl, or a french maid."

"Schoolgirl? What's that look like?"

"Plaid skirt. Pig tails. White kneesocks."

"Which costume does it for you?"

"I like them all. I don't have one favorite. Besides, it's more about personality and attitude."

"Wow, I'm glad you said all of that. I've been thinking about changing my look in here."

"You have a great personality. You already stand out in here. And I like what you're wearing".

I should say that Dancer is very pretty young lady with a sparkling personality. She is the energy in the room. She's a tall, slender, and pretty. Her red slinky-dress perfectly set off her ebony skin and her long straight black hair.

"But", I said, "it would be fun to take you shopping for an outfit."

"What would you recommend for me?"

"A choker, to start with. Black leather."

"Okay, what else."

"I'd go with the naughty schoolgirl outfit. You're young and pretty. Almost every club has someone with that look and I don't see it here. It's not particularly my thing, although it can be hot. Most importantly, you would probably seriously "bank" in that outfit."

"Wow, I would like to change my look".

"I tell you what. I'll go shopping for you. There's a store down the street."

"And you'll bring it back tonight? I'll wear it for you onstage."

"If I find something."

A word to the bouncer on the way out - "I may be back" - and I was off down the street.

I love shopping in a lingerie / toy store. Picturing the intended in each outfit. Imagining the combinations. It's a terrific experience. It would have been better if she was there shopping with me. But it was fun as it was.

Choices. So many choices.

And, eventually, I arrived back at the club with a bag in hand. A nod from the doorman and I'm back in.

Dancer sees the bag and comes racing right to me. Giggling. Shrieking.

It's Christmas Day.

She's disbelieving as she looks through the bag.

A schoolgirl outfit, 2 piece. A red plaid skirt, of course. And a lycra top, red with a white collar. Short with the midriff exposed. I had decided that red was a good color on her.

White knee socks.

Choker. Black, leather, with the word "SEXY" in silver.

Plus, a toy for good measure. Fun for her off hours. A simple mini-mite pocket rocket style. (I didn't find batteries. Sorry Dancer, you're on your own there. But find them and try it. It will be worth it.)

Dancer, bounded off, all excitement and energy, to the dressing room. My energy was picking up too.

After a few short minutes, she was called to the stage. And she emerged - dressed in my outfit.

Wow! Hot! Sexy! A very exciting experience. (Her house mom, she told me later, helped her spice it up backstage by tying it in back. Nice.)

Dancer got a lot of immediate attention from both customers and dancers as she came out on stage and went into a high energy stage set. For me, at the tiprail and others. A lot of attention.

And we danced, of course, in the private dance. Very hot. Very personal. Did I mention that Dancer is a beautiful young girl. Nice.

I don't know if she'll wear that outfit again. If it works for her, if she banks, then wear it. If it doesn't, then don't.

I know it worked for me.

Thank you, Dancer, for the experience. See you next time.

Monday, September 12, 2005

Doing It in the Dark

I see on the news that the Los Angeles area, out to the San Fernando Valley, is without power.

Lights out in the Valley. Uh oh.

Are they filming the porn with flashlights and candles today?

Sunday, September 11, 2005

The Porn Star, the Rock Star, and Me

I knew she was coming, and my business travel matched up with her visit. So, naturally, I had to go see her.

A porn star. In the flesh. Dancing on stage for me. (And some other guys. Whatever.)

Had I seen her work before? Oh yeah. Still photos, mostly. And a bio on HBO's Real Sex. And a flirty segment on Howard Stern. Still photos, mostly.

She's beautiful, of course. Tall. Tanned. Toned. Long, sexy, silky brunette hair.

But can she dance?

I was going to use everything I know about porn star feature dancing to maximize my experience. There is definitely an advantage in experience. Knowledge is power. Knowledge is success. I'll let you in on some of my hard-earned secrets regarding Feature Dancers.

Arrive early in the week. Most of the features that I've seen dance a Thursday thru Saturday schedule. So arrive early in the week while Dancer is new to the club and the rest of the crowd hasn't figured out how it all works yet. I showed up Thursday night.

Arrive early in the night. In my experience, features usually put on 3 shows a night. Let's say 10pm, midnight, and 2 am. Something like that. Again, your best chance to enjoy personal interaction with a feature dancer is to be up first. That means the 10pm show on Thursday night. I was there by 8:30 - learning the layout of the club. It was a chain club, well known with outlets around the country. The club was one large cavernous room with a main stage, a couple of satellite stages, a bar, and some high profile VIP areas roped off around each stage. There weren't many people in the club, given that a gorgeous porn star was about to take the stage. I sat off on the side at table for a while to observe the dynamics of the club. Not much going on, honestly. Most importantly, the main stage was completely open.

Get a center-front seat at the main stage. This should be basic common sense. However, it was evading everyone in the club. The DJ was doing his best to get the word out. "Come on guys, only 3 songs left. Pull up a chair and get that front row seat!". Nothing. Despite the DJ's pleadings, everyone was indifferent. Except for me - that's why I was there. I got up, walked over to the stage, and took a seat all by myself at dead center front. Everyone else is on their own. I'm ready for a great show.

Make eye contact. When Dancer comes out on stage for that first show in a new club, she's going to be nervous. Wouldn't you be? She's going to seek out a friendly face. I'm that friendly face. It's not faked. I'm there to see her. She's there to perform for me. I know I'm going to have a great time. I try to help her have one too. I give her feedback. Encouragement. Energy. It's the least I can do.

Tip bigger. Not extravagantly bigger. Just bigger. Here's the dynamics of it: guys have been tipping dancers on stage all night - $1 at a time. It takes them a while to switch gears a little bit when a porn star feature dancer shows up in front of them. Really, guys. This girl is famous. She's been all over the country. She's made some serious money. Is a $1 tip sufficient? Eventually, the tip rail will be crowded. Is a $1 tip going to get her attention at that point? Doubtful. Some guys up the ante a little and slide a couple or even five singles out on the stage. Good. But not great. If you want personal interaction, go bigger quicker. A $5 or a $10 is sufficient early on and it will stand out from all of the singles laid out around the tiprail. Try it. You'll see.

So. She was coming. I was in place with a plan. Not a conscious plan. Just experience. It was time.

After the usual DJ buildup and Dancer bio, she was there. Live. Onstage. In front of me.....

(Part II soon)

Thursday, September 08, 2005

Am I addicted?

I was driving down the street one day and I saw a sign in the window of a chain lingerie/novelties store. DVD's on sale - $2.95.

I stopped.

I went into the "porn stare" zone, and in the space of 15 minutes I had selected 8 DVDs. They covered the spectrum of tastes, quirks, and kinks. $25 total.

Each was a 4 hour DVD.

That, folks, is 32 hours of quality hardcore porn.

32 hours. Of porn.

What am I going to do with 32 hours of porn?

Okay, strike that. I know what I'm going to do with it.

Go blind.

Friday, September 02, 2005

The Perfect Strip Club

I can stop looking now. I found it one night. The perfect strip club.

One of the common questions that I'm asked by dancers in our tableside chats in the dark, when the topic of my travels comes up, is: "What is the best strip club that you've been to in the country?"

I've never really had an answer to that question. Or, more accurately, I've had too many answers to that question.

I've been to a lot of clubs in twenty plus years of enjoying strippers. A lot of clubs. Everything from maximum upscale to hole-in-the-wall dive. Chain clubs. Local bars with a stage. The whole gamut. A lot of clubs. And I've enjoyed myself in most of them.

So. The best?

Well, I'm partial to my home club. I'd highly recommend it. But it's a little off the beaten path.

I also have some favorites here and there around the country, both on the coasts and in the heartland. And I imagine that there are some great clubs in Vegas, but I haven't been to those.

So. The best?

I found it. And, although I only had a short time to enjoy it one night, I'm sure I'll be back.

What makes a great club? Decor. Music. Friendly waitresses. Beautiful and sexy dancers, of course. And lastly, liberal contact rules in the private dance.

Did the Perfect Club have those elements? In spades. If ever a club was designed specifically to be a great club - this one was it.

From the high intensity light beams scanning the sky from the roof that drew me in, to the incredible day-glo and neon interior, to the professionally designed stages. Perfect.

From the friendly waitressess to the great DJ. Perfect. (Hi to my waitress - a cutie!)

From the TV's playing hardcore adult videos to the drink holders at the urinals in the immaculate restrooms. Perfect.

Let's not forget the world-class gorgeous,sexy, and eventually nude dancers. Perfect.

And, as the capstone, the extremely liberal contact with the dancers rules. Perfect.

I had a great time.

At the tiprail, where I met several lovely young ladies who took my hands and placed them strategically to keep them busy.

At the table, where I had a nice chat with Dancer and our dancer/waitress. Dancer liked running her hands through my "soft hair". I liked everything about Dancer. A cute petite sweetie with a great attitude. Shots with Dancer, and we're off to:

The private dance. A bed dance. With liberal contact rules. And a beautiful, delightful, spirited, pretty, feisty young Dancer. My hands on her delightful body. All of her on me. My appreciation evident. One of the best private dance I've ever had. Perfect. Thank you, Dancer! I want to meet you again.

A tip to the DJ, and I was out, reluctantly.

A great night in the Perfect Strip Club. I'll be back.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

A Sensusal Exhibition

She settled onto the couch, guided into place by Dancer.

I settled as well, opposite.

A dance not of three, but of two and one.

She - beautiful and interesting.

Dancer - sexy and confident.

I - delighted to be witness to the encounter.

She - eyes closed, head bowed, fingertips aware. Accepting of Dancer's touch and aware of my gaze - aroused.

I - aroused as well by the exhibition of sensual feminine contact.

A visual memory formed.

With her, in that moment, I did indeed win the lottery.

Thank you, ladies. A beautiful, feminine,sensual exhibition.

Friday, August 26, 2005


You may have noticed that I generally only write positive stories about my experiences with clubs and with strippers. That's just how I see things. The good and the great I remember. The poor and the bad I just shake off and forget.

But, there was one exceptionally bad experience with a stripper recently that I just have to describe.

It wasn't just a bad lapdance. It was an assault on my person. I think I could have called the cops and filed a complaint and gotten somewhere.

I was in a club, bored. It was at a lull between events.

The DJ had announced some $1 tableside dances, and all of the available dancers were circling the floor landing on guys for a portion of the song for a $1. I wasn't really up for it, but what the heck - it's a dollar. I can try out a couple of dancers and see if I'm interested in more.

Then Dancer descended on me. Literally.

I only had a minute or so to look at her before she pounced. Dancer was a mess. Physically and mentally, a mess. She had some crazy outfit on that looked like Miss Kitty night at the saloon. She had wild hair going every direction. And she had tattoos - many and awful. I generally like tattoos on a dancer - but not in this case. Really awful.

I knew from the first second that this was a mistake. But what the heck. It's only a portion of a song, after all. I can make it through. I thought.

Dancer had other ideas. She was determined to turn it into a $10 tableside dance whether I wanted to or not. Let's call it aggressive selling.

Speaking of aggressive - Dancer was in spades. I'm not sure if she was angry or deranged, but I'll put my money on both at the same time.

Dancer's concept of a lapdance was of the full contact type most commonly taught at a pro football training camp. Tackles. Grinding intended to erase my lap. Beating on my neck with shin bones. Bony knees and elbows pummeling me in a frantic contortionist routine.

Now I'm a big guy - 6'2" / 240 lbs. It takes some doing to shake me up. But Dancer achieved it.

I'm not sure how I came out of the "tableside dance" without broken bones. Bruised definitely, but not quite broken.

The funny part, if there was one, was Dancer's continuously running banter during the assault. "Do you want to come back to the lounge with me? I'm looking for someone to molest." Molest is right. I take her at her word. She was under the delusion that this was sexy. Coked up or deranged, I'm not sure.

The really funny part was that she found me again later. I had moved to a different part of the club and she found me again - only she didn't recognize me. She started the banter again. "I'm looking for someone to molest", she said earnestly. I just looked at her. You've got to be kidding me. I chased her away with the one surefire way to get a dancer to leave your table. I told her I was broke. Done. All my money spent. Finished. She said "bye" quickly and departed with mach speed - looking for the next guy to molest. Watch out guys.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Shaved - the Story of the Day

So, I was driving around this week doing my work thing. Long days in the car. Listening to the radio - my style.

AM radio. Talk radio. Newstalk radio. Yeah, I know - it's one of my quirks.

Driving and flipping channels to catch all my favorite talk show hosts. Hosts that most of you would not like. But, that's my thing too.

And then it happened.

Rush Limbaugh was holding court in the middle of the day, and I was half listening to the topics rotating by as I drove and worked. The war in Iraq. The protestor mom. The upcoming Supreme Court nomination hearings. Etc. Hours of it.

Then, out of the blue, the maha Rushie throws in a newspaper story - in the context of changes in our culture.

The story? All about how actress Eva Langoria awoke to her sexuality when she decided to shave her nether regions.

Eva Langoria, shaved.

I lost my ability to think straight for the rest of the day.

Eva Langoria, shaved.

I think I'll pause to imagine it again now....

Thursday, August 18, 2005

She's Coming......

A porn starlett. A feature dancer. A deliciously sexy girl.

She's coming.

I've seen her in magazines. I've seen her on Howard Stern.

She's coming.

And now it's time to see her in the flesh. Emphasis on flesh.

I can't wait.


Monday, August 08, 2005

A Beautiful Companion: Our Second Outing

She met me again. My beautiful companion. For another outing to a strip club together.

Virtual strangers still. But "virtual" friends as well, having met through a post I placed on the internet asking for a cute girl to go to a club with me so that I would know what that was like. I've enjoyed that, twice now.

We drank together first, and shared an insight or two and a laugh or two. Cautious. Exploring. Unsure of where this might lead. Where might it lead if you take attraction and add alcohol and arousal?

We clubbed together. A predetermined club with a high possiblity of enjoying strippers and the club environment. Lots of pretty girls. Loose rules. Yeow.

A toast: "to arousal for arousal's sake".

Some watching, together. Some mutual admiration of some talented dancers.

A naked girl: a sexy, petite, cheerleader type brunette with a perfect slim body who had a penchant for walking around the club in only a thong. An attribute which thrilled my companion. We shared some time at the tiprail with naked girl, who laid companion out on the stage on her back and slowly and teasingly caressed her with her hands and her lips. Hot.

Some talking. Freeing talk about private things, shared between strangers. Exciting. I enjoyed the talk as much as I enjoyed taking in her beauty. Companion is quite simply a classically beautiful young woman. And it was my pleasure to draw her out in a discussion that she did not initiate, but willingly participated in.

Some partying. With two lovely dancers who joined us at our table. Another new experience for me. Sexy strippers drawn to the table by the couple dynamic, or simply by their fascination with my companion. For a short time, it was a party at our table.

As I bought them all drinks I realized that I was totally off of my game, awash in the disparate needs of three lovely ladies. Enjoying the unofficial and still-distant connection with companion. Aroused by the sexy stripper at my side who was endlessly and aggressively kneading my thigh. Entertained by the vivacious stripper on my other side who was a party unto herself.

And I danced, alone - unable to entice companion to participate - with both dancers in turn. Private dances. The last with companion seated on the couch next to me. A mental, not physical, experience.

Ultimately, I was a little off my game in the club as I had to take into consideration someone else's needs. Out of my comfort zone, as it were. Was she enjoying herself? Who, if any, was she attracted to? Did she want a private dance? By herself, or with me watching? What was she thinking as she sat next to me in my dance?

And we were out, separately, off into the night.

Thank you, my new friend, for helping me have a new experience.

To arousal, for arousal's sake.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

I'm so Dirrrrrrty, Please.....Wash Me

Another road trip. Another hotel. Another dinner alone. With a twist, because I couldn't find my usual chain restaurant.

But the owl was there, beckoning me. I passed it once, twice, and succumbed on the third trip past the blazing orange eatery.

A so-so dinner, but then it's not known - at least to me - for it's food. Almost tasteless food actually, but that's beside the point. The attractive waitstaff is the point.

The gorgeous orange bottomed girls. (Strippers-in-training, as Brighton called them). Proudly dressed for my visual enjoyment. Cute and perky, with tight filled out tops, girlie sneakers with girlie socks bunched at the ankle. And that shimmering hosiery encasing those sexy calves and thighs - calling to my fingertips to caress that silky treasure. And those sexy swishing behinds passing back and forth between the tables. Visual paradise.

Ladies, if I may digress a moment, you are missing out on the visual treat. Not of the waitstaff, although you may enjoy that too, but within the customer base. A entire restaurant wall-to-wall bulging with horny guys. A veritable sausage factory. You'd have your pick. But, that's not my, back to my tale.

My meal passed quickly and unnoticeably and all to quickly.

But, I was left with two bonuses:

1. Key Lime pie. Delicious. I can never get enough of that.

2. A charity carwash outside the restaurant with off duty orange bottomed girls raising money for some charity or other.

Six lovely young ladies in bikini tops and jean skirts soaping and sudsing cars in all kinds of hot wet positions. Count me in.

I pulled my car in and let the show begin. Wow. Tight tanned bodies enthusiastically stroking my ride. Soaping and wiping and rubbing and bending. Emphasis on the rubbing. Oh, my.

Ironically, it's a rental car and I could care less if it was shiny or not. But, what the heck. It's for the kids.