Stalker, Dancer, and Me

It was a weird vibe in the club that night...

Beautiful dancers. Drunk guys.

Lovely young ladies. High guys.

Beautiful lady civilians (a very cool birthday party). Stalker guys.

Guys...What's up with that? Where is the love, the love, the love... (Sorry, I've been listening to that song all week.)

Several dancers comment to me that it's a strange night. "I noticed it too" I say. And I realized I've been in this particular club too often if I notice that it's an off vibe for this particular night of the week. Weird.

Dancers pass by me and sit. Beautiful blondes, sexy brunettes. Pixie-ish and statuesque. Exotic and normal. They're having an off night, no one's dancing. So they sit with me - hoping to entice me for a dance.

But I'm in a funk this night and dancing's not on my mind yet. I just sit, soaking it in, de-stressing from my week. I sit silently. Only half there. Letting the music pull me up. Enjoying the beauty but not drawn in. Yet.

I'm captivated by one in particular on this strange night. She sits with me and I smile. Getting better.

She's changed her hair, and I notice. "Do you like it straight or curly?". "Straight" I say. (But it's like asking me if I like ice cream or pizza. Yes, please!) She looks lovely either way. Really truly lovely. And slowly the week from hell is fading into the background...

But I'm not there yet so I send her away. She's working, I know. Go... do what you have to do and come back to me. I catch sight of her now and then. Sitting, talking, flirting, working. She's beautiful and it's okay that she's not with me. We'll be together soon.

And there's Stalker, but I don't know about him yet.

She comes back and we talk. I'm out of the funk and she's light me up. We have so much in common and the talk is light and lively.

And then there's Stalker. He waves her over and wants a dance now. I can see the anguish in her face as she waves him off. She knows him and does not want to dance for him. I'm her refuge.

And Stalker comes to our table and grabs her arm. He wants a dance NOW! And she adeptly fends him off again. Will we need a bouncer? The police? How often does she deal with this? I want to rescue her! But, there's a limit to how I can help.

But I can help, and we help each other. We excuse ourselves from the main area of the club and we dance the rest of the night with each other. And we are each other's refuge. We put it behind us and we dance. And it's truly one of the best dancetimes I've had in a club. The power of the refuge and the connection we have combine and we melt together..... And it is memorable.

My tribute to Dancer today is that I'll have to leave you without a description of that dance that night. That night is for Dancer and I. Her lovely face, her beautiful soft skin, our passion together is just for us. Thank you, my enchanting, lovely dancer.

Six Things that Occurred to Me Today

1. People are reading this. My counter tells me so. That's both exciting and a little scary. Thanks for reading and hopefully coming back. Click on my email link and say hi.

2. The sex blog community, or "naughty blog" as I call it, is a very interesting virtual community with some terrific, anonymous, people. I've linked to my favorites, and some have linked back. Thank you. Thanks also to responses to my emails with nice words about my writing and tips and encouragement. Thanks especially to Bacchus, DeeGee Girl, Sophia, TwiddlyBits, and the Vanilla Sex Goddess. They've inspired me. Visit their sites with my links!

3. This is my 10th post! It goes fast. Do other bloggers feel a pang of despair when their 1st posts go off the screen to archive-land? By posting these little vacant thoughts tonight I will lose one of my favorite posts (Girl-Dar) to the archives. Oh well. Read my archives too!

4. I've read back through my posts. I'm more long-winded than I thought I was at the time. But they say what I wanted to say, so I'm happy with that. I'm comfortable that I'm writing this for me, foremost.

5. I am clearly pulling my punches a little. I want this to be anonymous, that's why I don't use Dancer's names, even the fake club names. I'm not as graphic as I could be. Why? I imagine people in Chicago and New York, and L.A., and small town America reading this and what do you care who I'm talking about? You care about the story, the memory. But the thing is: I'm telling a story that involves both of us and I respect each of these girls. I've shared the secret that this journal exists with 2 of the Dancer's that I've paid tribute to here. They've read it and took it positively. They recognized themselves, but not the others. (I'm mixing and matching tributes from different clubs, but some are from the same club.) But still, if they read this I would want them to be honored by their tribute and not feel strange by recognizing another dancer. We'll see how that goes.

6. I probably got carried away in my last post. But wow!, that was a powerful memory. And Dancer, you connected with me emotionally on a level few else have.

okay - enough "inside baseball" about the blog. Let's get naughty.

The Derriere Drag

Dancer is a beauty and a STRIPPER. She's experienced and she's good at it. She looks the part - long flowing hair, tanned skin, elaborate costumes, tight body. She's a true professional and when it's her time on the main stage she's "on". She lights up and she's focused and she makes everyone at the tiprail feel special.

Dancer has 2 special skills when we're together:

First, she likes to slowly drag her butt across my face.

We get there in stages. She'll confirm to herself that I'm a gentleman and I respect her boundaries and I'm not a groper. She'll cradle me into her breasts for an eternity, and then draw back leaving a nipple right on my lips. Will I kiss it, lick it, suck it, nip at it? I resist. Will I break the rules on touching private parts? No, I'm a gentleman. Then she gets close, her lips micro-inches from my lips. Will I kiss her? I resist, though I would willingly kiss her for hours.

After we've gotten comfortable with each other- she gets physical. The straddle gets closer, the almost make-out gets realer, the contact longer. And then she does it.

She stands facing away from me feet at my side. So many dancers do this position that ther must be a training class that teaches it. Most will pass their bottom by my face inches away. They pause, bend at the waist and show me their pussy while they look at me (peek-a-boo!) upside down between their legs. Some will linger and draw their finger slowly through their lips and play teasingly with their clit for my benefit. A few will briefly graze my cheek or my nose intentionally or not.

But Dancer, Ahhhhh Dancer. Dancer will dragggggggg her delightful derriere across my face. And it's the absolute softest skin I've ever felt against my skin ever! Amazing. I want the moment to last forever. I'm lost in it. She'll drag it slowllllllly across to one side .... and then slowlllllly back. No doubt about the contact. It's all contact. And it's marshmallowy soft, cottony soft. Delicious. No hardbody-20 year old-bounce a quater off it, ass here. But different: soft and delightful. And then she stops right in the middle and she presses herself back against me full on with her vulva right up against me. Her nether lips pressed firmly against my lips. A boundary crossed. Tempted again. Will I reach out with my tongue and lick the full length of her slit? Will I taste the essence of her? Were I her lover I would take pleasure for hours in that task. But I'm not, and I resist. Does she want me to? I don't think so. I think she trusts that I will not and she can be a little freer with me than with others. It's how she expresses herself.

And Dancer's not finished. She turns, still standing, and faces me. She again does a routine that's common to others: pulling me to her and grazing my cheek down her thigh until my nose is a breath away from her pussy. Common, and always enjoyed. But Dancer, Ahhhh Dancer. She crosses the boundary again and there's contact on her terms. She pulls me into her and parks her clit right on my ski nose! And rests there with slow movements just for her. And her eyes close and she drifts for a moment. Small movements as she works herself momentarily against me. And then she moves, back to the straddle and finish.

Her second skill? She's absolutely one of the best at the Headspace. I absolutely, totally, convincingly believe that she's "present" with me before, during, and after the dance. And that, while I'm a customer and this is a transaction, we're both there together and this is mutual. I love that.

Dancer, I miss you. thank you, baby.

And the Moment Passed....

There were 5 sexy dancers that night, somewhere in time, sharing playtime with me...

The 1 who I look for: who knows me so well.

And 2 who were brief moments of comfort and arousal. 2 songs, 6 minutes, of pleasure with each of these beautiful young dancers. They know me and we click easily into our groove.

And the moment passes.

And the 1 who I lust for: And we pass each other all night in our comings and our goings with a furitive "let's dance later (me)" and "don't stand me up! (her)". And we hug each time we meet. But I'm deliciously sidetracked all night. And finally it's the end of the evening and we connect. And it's sensational. Dancer is feisty tonight and she's all hands all over me. She smiles at me and says "I like to kiss" and I long to kiss her as we almost make-out. And though I know there will be longer, better times together...

the moment passes.

And the 1 who I long for: who so deliciously sidetracked me. Although sidetracked is not the right word because she is the destination in herself.

We click, her and I, so suddenly and so completely.

She smiles sweetly as she sees me at the tiprail. There's a whispered promise to find me after she dances. She seeks me out and we talk at the table. We sit closely together and we talk. And we connect on an intellectual level - in a strip club, surrounded by strangers and naked people. It's crazy, but it's true.

And we dance. And Dancer and I are completely in our own little world. And she trusts me to caress her without crossing boundaries. And caress her I do - with the back of my fingers across her cheek, and the slightest playfulness with the ends of her hair, and my cheek nuzzled into her neck. We're totally, mutually, completely into the Headspace. And it's blissful. And erotic and we connect physically and almost spiritually in our playtime.

Most suprisingly, we linger on our overstuffed private playspace. She curls into me and we entwine and breathe into each other and soak each other in. And neither wants to part. I'm so alive! We connect in a way I can't even adequately describe.

And again we talk. We draw our chairs closely together and we stare into each other's being as we talk. She's excited and animated. " I feel like I've known you my whole life" she says. "You're so respectful and I know you would be a passionate and generous lover".

And the moment passes...

Tribute: to my Dancer who so deliciously sidetracked me that night .... Here's what I wish I would have said to you:

We have a connection together, you and I. "We were intimate" as you rightly said. When we lingered together in the glow every molecule in my body wanted to make love with you. And it would be magical if we did.

You're right. I am a passionate and generous lover. I've learned over the years how to be patient and giving and to take pleasure in pleasing. And the secret is to know that there will eventually and inexorably be my time - and when you're pleased, I would take my pleasure from you. And when I did it would be powerful and urgent and penetrating.

And I know you already. Not completely. But enough for it to be soul-rocking. And I know how to connect with you. And we know we can build it slowly and teasingly and temptingly. And I know your body. I know that you trust me. I know how you like to be touched. I know from watching you where the most sensitive part of your breast is and how you escape into yourself when you stroke there. And so on.

But the moment passed...

Dancer - if you're reading this: know that, from the time we were together on, I imagine us together and how it would be. It would be magical.

Heart Shaped Perfection

I am an ass-man.

I could be more politically correct and say "buttman". Or even wimpy about it and say "leg man", because I think most leg-men are really ass-men who don't want to say it. (Comment to me below if I'm wrong!).

There are lovely dancers of all shapes and sizes in the club. And I'm turned on by most of them. Each has something special about them that catches my eyes and arouses my interest. (did I say arouse?)

But it's the ass that does it for me.

There are breasts everywhere. Especially in a "topless" club. It is called a titty-bar for a reason. From small, natural, perky, breasts to massive, silicon engorged, airbag TITS. It's a memorable feeling having that stretched unflexible skin pressed against your cheek. (Can I, please?) But I prefer a gentle cradle into really soft breasts. And I could name 3 or 4 young dancers with magically soft skin.

But it's the ass that gets me there.

And there's long firm legs. And impossibly smooth flat tummies (usually pierced) that beckon me to stroke with my fingertips. And there's silky hair grazing across my face and ocassionally thru my fingers. And there's captivating eyes and smiles. And there's pretty toes in the classic big stipper shoes.

But it's the ass that clouds my judgement and starts the urgent throbbing in my boxer briefs.

And the Heart Shaped Ass! When a dancer is really working the magic on the stage, and she's sensously into the dance, and she crawls toward me at the tip rail, and I look thru her eyes and down her back, and there it is - the heart shape! Wow! And she crawls up on the tip rail and lays down on her side in front of me and brings her knees up to her chest - and there it is again. That beautiful chasm between her cheeks! It's art in the flesh. And my memory locks it in. And I murmur my appreciation. And I want to climb in there for hours. I want her to "back that thing up" and let's get to it.

Light in Her Eyes

Dancer smiles sweetly to me as she sits down with me. She's transitioning her mind to me after dances with another. "Is he a regular?" I ask to break the ice. And she winces. Then smiles and says "I prefer 'sponsor'". It's cute.

Dancer is feeling a little ragged - hard night of partying the night before. But she's radiant still. There a light in Dancer's eyes that says that this is a young girl who enjoys life. "You changed your hair", say I and the wattage in her eyes increases. "You noticed" she says with glee. "It's very glamorous" I offer. And now she's beaming. "That's exactly what I was going for". And the raggedness has evaporated.

And we dance. We have before - on the couch and in private - and we will again.

Dancer is special. It's not only that she's drop dead gorgeous, with a graceful athletic body (and the perfect ass!). What makes her special is that she truly is a dancer, both on the main stage and in our private time. On the stage she's all grace and beauty with a natural feel for the music and a comfort and style with the pole. Mesmerizing. In private she's graceful still with smooth ballets of transition from straddle to layback to splayed across my lap to arched back presented to me.

And we touch. And Dancer has the smoothest skin, and the tightest back, and the leanest legs. And the glamorous hair caresses me as we almost-makeout, cheek to cheek, breath to breath. And my fingertips memorize her body from the nape of her beautiful neck down her shoulders and alonside her delicate ribs and across her hips and settle on the smallest most delicious ass I've ever had the pleasure to cradle in my lucky palms. And we grind and we move to the music. And we please each other within the limits of our artificial world.

To Dancer: I'll treasure the light in your eyes and the grace in your movement. Thank you, baby.

Let's Comfort Each Other

So it's a milestone day. An anniversary of sorts. Not really a celebration, more a remembrance of a path not finished. A sadness, really. And it falls to me to remember alone.

Where to go, self. Ah...... the club. My friend. And it welcomes me in. Slowly at first. Then pulsing. But a comfort for me.

Tribute: "She made me purr"

And I meet Dancer. New to me but friendly. And she sits and we talk.

She's having a slow night so far and the discouragement settles in with her. Sadness and discouragement at our table. But we can change that.

Dancer is really quite lovely, I notice as we talk. A young sweetness. And we settle in to comfort each other.

And we dance. A special, two songs and a prize. There's others around us, but we settle in. Soft and slow and sensous. The cheek nuzzle, the pause. My hands at my side we graze each other. And I purrrrrrrr. Into her cheek, into her neck, into her chest.

And the special is over, but we linger for one more. And I purrrrr.

And we segue back to the table, back to the talk. And I'm captured by her gaze and I hold it as we talk. And the sadness fades and the discouragement lifts.

And playtime resumes. Extended play with no rush to plunge in. We talk and entwine. And then we dance.

And it's sensous times ten.

And my hands caress and my cheek seeks out hers. We breathe with each other, sway with each other, purr with each other. And I'm so hard and she's so so soft.... I stroke her hair and nuzzle her neck and I feast in the closeness. I'm totally in the headspace.

And I can't stop purring into her. And it's wonderful and my sadness melts out of me.

There's others this night, beautiful and sexy all. And I see Dancer, smiling and laughing as she works the room. Her night got better.

And we connect again before I'm out the door, long enough for me to tell her, again, that she really is quite lovely.

to my Dancer: purrrrrrr!

Where Did all of the $20's in my Wallet Go?

I used to be good at budgeting my money. I could get by on $80 or so - a couple of drinks, some time at the tip rail, a couple of lapdances. Nice evening.

My fantasy was to walk into a stip club and drop $500 in an evening. I'm sure some guys do it. It's not hard to spot them, they usually have a couple of girls hovering around them.

Well I'm coming out of my binge summer and now I've done it. More than once.

Now I know what it's like to be a regular. To walk into a club and be recognized. To have most of the girls say hi to me by name. To have the waitress bring my favorite beer without asking. I feel like porno Norm!

I've lived my fantasy. And it's all I thought it would be. Now the bar is set high.

Talk Dirty With Me

Dancer is impossibly lovely. A vision out of a 60's movie. And I'm honestly awed that she's sitting at my table.

Dancer is nervous. First night in a new club. So we sit and we talk. I don't often have girls sit and talk with me, so I'm nervous too. But we click and the talk is natural and comfortable.

And Dancer shares herself with me. Her life, her likes, her needs, her fetishes. And the talk is refreshingly honest. And it's very hot. And then it's downright pornographic. And we're soulmates - what she needs is who I am. She wants to be taken - I want to take. And I'm so aroused you could hang a 10 lb weight off my cock. (It's a word she likes - cock. "Tell me to 'Suck my cock' not 'Suck my dick'. Dick is rude")

And we take my aroused self to the couch and we dance. And as her body grazes over mine our conversation replays in my head and I'm entranced. And she's nervous and giggly, but sexy and smooth. And it's awesome.

And there's other nights. And we talk and we dance. Extended dancetime that's the almost-makeout at it's most intense. And we click. What would we be like truly together? White hot passion.

to my Dancer: thank you, baby

Getting There

In my last post we discussed the truth that "there's no sex in the Champagne Room".

Having said that, my tribute tonight to a Dancer is the one time we bent the rule.

Somewhere in the arc of time in my 20 year career as a patron, Dancer and I shared a magical time.

And one of us "got there".

It was an intimate evening in a club I'd been to before. Dancer and I floated in and out of each other's presence thru the evening. Touching. Talking. Gone again. Back again.

And then it was our time.

And in the dark, away from all eyes, it was total Headspace. No routine. All straddle and grind. My cock straining thru my slacks against her. Her finding me.

And a whisper..."Make it good for you". And Dancer's taking me at my word.

And suddenly it's urgent. My hands caressing, my face buried in her neck, her silky hair smothering me. Gripping her butt, rising to meet her. Faster and harder. Feeling her hips and her back and stoking her hair.

The endless...tantalizing...almost-kiss!

And she found release.

And it was real.

And I was honored.

Collapse, embrace, parting.

So to Dancer out there.... Somewhere in time....Always in my headspace..."Thank you, baby"

There's No Sex in the Champagne Room

....as comedian Chris Rock famously says in his routine. "You can get champagne in the Champagne Room. But there's no sex in the Champagne Room!"

So, a friend asked me the other day "Will any of the dancers, ... you know, "get you off" for a little extra money?"

My answer: unequivocally no. Against the rules. Don't even ask. At least I've never asked.

That's not what I go to a strip club for anyway - to get off.

I go for the Headspace.

What's the Headspace? It's the connection between me and Dancer that's mental. That's the sexiest. In the head.

Sure, I'm into the physical. I enjoy the grind on the lap, smothered between natural or impossibly stuffed breasts. Totally.

But it's the headspace that I'm after.

I know, I know, it's an illusion. A cash transaction. A simulation.

But occasionally, I get to experience the feeling that I'm a millisecond away from passionately making out with this ravishingly beautiful girl half my age that I would never have in life outside the club. And I live in that millisecond.

Some dancers are oblivious to the headspace. They probably have to be. It's a dissociative survival jobskill to stick to the routine over and over all night. To get through the creeps.

Some dancers are very skilled at simulating the headspace, with all the right noises, etc.

With a select few I get to share the headspace and the pleasing is mutual to a point. And that's when it's magic.

If you asked me about my 5 favorite dancers, it wouldn't be about huge tits or platinum blond hair or thigh high boots or even who'll pay attention to my cock. (Although I like all those things!) It's about who'll share the Headspace with me. The almost-makeout.

Make sense? I hope so. It makes me a happier club patron.

Because "there's no sex in the Champagne Room".

(Originally posted by DanceFan at 11/11/2003 11:48:24 PM)

Let the Music Play

The music. It washes over me in the club. It's almost it's own character in this play.

On a good night, in a good club, with a good DJ, it's all good. The music thumps into my chest and parties with me. I'm always into the music. Tapping my feet, bobbing my head. Into it. I'm the only one, but I'm into it.

I'm usually in a club for a while. There's only so much private dance time, so much tip rail time, so much enjoying the view time. The music fills the rest of the time for me.

Rock, rap, country, it's all there. Beyonce', Kid Rock, Garth. Whatever your taste, it'll come around. I'll never forget the first time I heard Kid Rock's Cowboy - in a club, filling my ears, Dancer with me in private. It's locked in.

The funny thing is that I give more thought to the music than most Dancers. I'll often fill the awkward time on the couch with a new Dancer waiting for the next song by asking her what kind of music she likes to dance to. Most don't care. Whatever the DJ puts on as long as it has a beat.

W, Dancer, and Me

I promised in my last post (Girl-dar) to tell you about a girl I saw come into a club by herself for dances. My tribute tonight is to her and the Dancer we shared over the course of the night.

Years back. I'm travelling for business for the week. I fly in Saturday, find the club Saturday night. I'm back most nights that week.

Tuesday I see W. She's by herself and she stands out. A beauty out for the night. My Girl-dar tracks her all night as a string of dancers stop by her table.

While I'm waiting for a private dance I ask my young lady what's up with W? "Oh, she's a lesbian. She comes in every Tuesday and Thursday at 11. She's been trying to get me to go home with her."

W's definitely a lipstick lesbian. All dolled up. Gorgeous long curly hair, killer outfit.

I'm definitely back Thursday night early.

First my playtime. Dancer is beauty. Soft blonde hair, sexiest in the club that night. I follow her around the stages tipping liberally. Each time she stands me up and leans into me. It's the first time I notice what really fake breasts feel like against my cheeks. Interesting.

Each time Dancer whispers a "Thank you, baby" in a wonderful Southern drawl. I can still literally hear her voice. Some table dances - delicious.

Then it's 11, and W shows up on cue. She takes her place near the main stage and becomes the center of the club universe. She has her eye on my Dancer, and Dancer eyes her back. After her stage set Dancer heads straight for W. A fast embrace and they're up and out the back door. Gone for 1/2 hour - who knows where. Behind the club, in a car? Making out - of course. They gotta be. My mind goes numb imagining the possibilities.

They're back and it's dance time for W and Dancer, at her table in the middle of the club. And it's one of the sexiest things I ever saw in a club.

So my tribute is to both of them. W and Dancer. "Thank you, baby"

(Originally posted by DanceFan at 11/9/2003 10:24:16 PM )

Girl-Dar

There's a girl in the club! I don't mean the dancers. There's lots of those and they're supposed to be there. I mean a female customer. A fully clothed civilian.

Now, I know that there are girls that like strip clubs too. But you're in the minority. That's why they're called "gentlemen's clubs". There are some clubs, and some times of day, when there are a lot of girls in the club. But not often.

Lot's of men, but they're invisible to me. After a brief scan of the room to see if there's anyone I know, I tune them all out.

But an attractive girl as a customer is the sexiest thing going.

Let me tell you about my Girl-dar. It doesn't matter where I'm sitting, I instantly know if a girl walks into the club. It's a sixth-sense radar kinda thing.

I'm keenly aware of every girl in the place: where they're sitting, if they're enjoying the club or just there because some guy wants them to be, what their relationship is to the group they're with. ( I say group, because I've only seen 1 women come into a club by herself to get dances. More about her in the next post! More about couples later also.)

And an attactive girl at the tip rail getting special attention from the dancer while she tips will stop everything else in the club. All attention will be riveted to that scene. The girl-on-girl fantasy of every guy blots out all other thoughts, and all for $1.

I doubt I'm alone. I'm guessing almost every guy in there has Girl-dar.

Let me tender an example: I'm in a new club. It's after midnight. Lots of girls in the place. Groups and couples. Even two girls sitting at the satellite stage holding hands! Every so often the DJ announces a 2-dance special. I notice a pattern. 2 people hook up with a dancer and go to the couch area. Each one gets 1 song for a nude dance. Interesting.

So I pay attention the next time. And as I look across the row of private couches I see 3 pairs, 2 girl-guy, 1 girl-girl. I shift my chair so I have a view of this show, not the main stage. I'm not the only one. Lot's of guy's twisting in there chair, eyes locked on this scene.

Couple # 1: guy gets the first dance. Girl is snuggled up and into it, watching her man enjoy another. Then it's her turn. Very sensous. She's passive, but she's into it. Eyes glazed over while Dancer fondles her breasts. beautiful.

Couple # 2: guy gets the first dance. Girl acts disinterested. Turns away, legs crossed, and smokes casually. Then it's her turn. Now she's into it! Way into it! She's swaying to the beat in sync with Dancer's movements. Legs up in the air as Dancer plays with her butt. Leg's open as Dancer nuzzles her crotch. Legs down around Dancer's back as she slides up to nuzzle cheek to cheek. Is there kissing? Damn close. Dancer pulls her shirt up and fondles her bra. (My brain is melting). Her man sharing this show with every man in the place.

Couple # 3: 2 girls, the wives at the table, mid 40's, sharing a dancer that could be their daughter's friend! Very sensual. Dancer moves back and forth to each during both songs. First the blond, then the brunette. Back and forth, sliding and grazing, and oh so much breast fondling. Both ladies notice me watching and it captures their imagination. Eyes glazed when it's their turn, eyes searching me out when it's not.

And this is way better than the main stage. But the moment's over. Back to the Dancers.

Tribute: "Lost in Her Eyes"
Same club, earlier in the evening. Dancer is sublime. I meet her first at the satellite stage. 2 songs and I'm tipping early. The other guys around the table are not into it, just drinking and staring. But I'm into it and she appreciates that with some special attention my way.

Songs over, she turns immediately to me. "Would you like a dance?" Yes, Yes, Yes. I choose a table dance over a private couch dance. $10. Without her even dressing we move quicly to an available chair at a nearby table.

Dancer is lovely. The face of an angel. I've chosen the table dance because it's more subtle. Less about the grinding, more about the headspace. Lot's of eye contact. And I'm lost in her eyes. Green and penetrating. Deep black hair. Tall and shapely and natural. Maybe 21 or 22. Killer tight ass. Perfection.

Dancer is on her knees between my open legs. Rubbing her breasts against my jeans in just the right spot. Slow circles, no hurry. It's working. Circling and staring deep in my eyes. Right into the headspace where she takes up permanent residence with my other memories. Awesome.

1 song. 2 songs. $20. Worth it. "Thank you, baby" and she's off. Last I saw her.

What's in a Name?

Ahhh, stripper names. An integral part of the culture of the club. The enabler of the feeling of security in that fantasy world - anonymity. For me and for her. Her name an illusion, my last name never spoken. It works.

How much time do they spend choosing a name? No idea.

You would think the names would blend into each other over the years. Lots of Chloe's and Angel, Nikki, Dakota, and Joey's. Some exotic , some common. Some so unique they would identify one specific dancer. But I remember the names, even as I don't ever expect them to remember mine.

I've chosen not to use their names here. It's anonymous, as it is in the club. To you, reader, they'll all be simply "Dancer". Oh, but I know the name. They're seared in my mind.

Preppy Girl

My Dancer tonight stops by my table, finally. I've watched her before, working the room. She's relentless. I know she'll be by.

Some clubs, some girls, are not pushy. Some are. Dancer wasn't pushy, but she was focused. No sitting and chatting away the hours. She's working here and she has dances almost every song.

My turn: "Do you want a dance?"

Dancer is impossibly lovely, a vision. Not exotic, very natural. Shoulder length blonde hair, tight athletic body. Probably a college girl. Probably a sorority girl. Very preppy. Is it really possible that she's standing in front of me, enticing me?

A choice. Table, couch, bed? Couch it is, and off to the VIP area we go, hand-in-hand. Topless with a thong.

First song: she's very skilled. We move thru the paces: straddle, stand, reverse. Breasts against my face, a graze of the hand across my lap to check where I'm at, grinding on my lap. There's the smell, the instant recognition that I love of whatever shimmery body powder that strippers use.

She has a routine and she moves confidently thru it. I'm completely enjoying myself and it shows.

Second song: We're getting into each other. Am I imagining it, or is the straddle getting closer, the grinding more urgent, the breathing erratic? Now standing, facing away. As the DJ in this club likes to say, "get some ass in your face". In a nice way.

Then it happens, the only time it's happened to me. As the thong backs up, presses against me, millimeters from my face. The strong, unmistakeable, musky fragrance of a young lady aroused. Wow! My brain explodes and locks in this memory.

The song over, the wallet out, payment, dressing. "Thank you" says Dancer, sweetly. "Thank you, you're lovely" say I.

Back to working the room for Dancer. And I'm out.

(Originally posted by DanceFan at 11/7/2003 12:48:07 AM )

Meet DanceFan

I'll start my blog by saying this: I love strip clubs. I have for 20 years.

I love almost everything about them.

Of course I love the ladies that are the center of the universe of a club.

But I also love the music, the refuge that's offered, the fantasy memory that's created, etc.

Am I a club addict? Not really. At least I used to not be. I used to visit clubs only on business travel in whatever city work took me to. A few times a year, no more. Some really nice clubs and a couple of dives in a lot of cities.

I am, however, just coming off a 7 month binge. A perfect storm of high work and family stress, a work project that took me out of town weekly with a nice club halfway on the road, and a midlife crisis brought on by a 25th high school reunion resulted in an unanticipated binge.

And what a binge it was. But well talk about that.

We'll talk about topics like: is it cheating?, life in the club, the music, going alone, my fellow citizens, to drink?, and on and on.

And, of course, the ladies. Let's start with that.

My Dancer tonight sees me as I enter the club. She runs to me. A kiss on my cheek, a hug and a squeeze, a squeal and a "hi"! Never had that happen to me before. She calls me by name. It's nice. I ask her to stop and see me after I settle in. With a beer in hand I begin to watch the stage show.

A half hour later she's back. "Do you want a dance?"

We've danced a few times before, the tame version. On the couch, no touch, $20 a song. Dancer has a style that I'm comfortable with. Slowly at first, facing away, rotating her hips slowly grazing my lap. Warming things up. Not too hard, gentle and pleasing. The tattoo, tribal on the small of her back, mesmerizing me as it appears beneath her waistlength hair. Then facing me, straddling me, leaning into me. Close to me. Warm breath on my ear. Ahhh, now I'm aroused and there's no hiding it. A hand grazes down (she knows it's there!). Nuzzling our cheeks together, that's what I like most. The almost kiss. Wow. Now around, reverse cowgirl, leaning back on my shoulder. Cheek to cheek again, stoking nipples for me. Rocking into my lap (It's still there).Up again, standing over me, leaning into me. The cookie at eye level. Look, don't touch. Is she aroused? Too much to hope for. This is a show. Back straddling me, arm around my back, pulling me close. Ragged breathing in my ear. Grinding on the wood. Bliss. Then recognition, the song is over. My thinking impaired, I say what I know I shouldn't: "Let's do 1 more". $40 but worth it.

That's not the plan tonight, however. VIP. Touch - no private parts. 1/2 hour. A sensous time indeed. I'm a gentleman, but I touch, and she appreciates how I do. Very sensous, erotic, caressing with my fingertips. Mind-blowing. For a brief moment, maybe a song, she lets herself go. The grinding is for her, the breathing short and urgent. I think it's real. At least I'll hold on to that illusion. It brings me back.