Frustration and Discovery

Traveling again, during Valentine’s week. Frustrating.

I’m desperately lonely on the road lately, and horny as hell with no outlet. Frustrated. Oh well, the club will have to do.

Can I find a club? I always have before. I resort to my usual source, the yellow pages. Uh oh, no phone book in my hotel room. Frustrating.

Inspiration! I do an internet search using some familiar resources and I find some clubs listed in this frigid town. Hmmmm. Not enough detail to spot the quality club among the dives. Frustrating.

I set off for a late night drive, showered and dressed appropriately, to an area that seemed to have several club listings. Yeow! I’m not walking into those dives, in this new town, late at night. Not going to happen. I have to abandon my quest. Frustrating.

One last shot, back to my hotel, back on the Internet. What’s this? There’s another listing a couple of miles from my hotel. Out of the parking lot, two short right turns through an industrial park near an airport, and I’m there. But am I where I want to be? Hard to tell from the parking lot and the neon exterior, but it looks close enough to try. So I walk in.

It’s not so much a strip club as it is a small, cozy, bar with some club add-ons. There’s one small stage with a lot of stage lighting, a small DJ booth, and a small room with 3 couches as a VIP area. Other than that, it’s a bar. Everyone in the place, dancers and customers alike, all 10 of them are sitting around the bar. There are tables around the stage, but no one is there except one lonely dancer working hard. Clearly this is a local bar for regulars and I am one giant fish out of water. Should I leave? It’s hard to know. Frustrating.

I tough it out a little longer and find a seat, any seat, at a table. Man, do I stick out. No waitress, no beer. No idea what the tipping custom is. Frustrating. A less confident clubber would cut and run. I decide to stick it out.

A survival move is to relocate to the bar. Not exactly comfortable, but no one is acting hostile and I can breathe easier here. Blend in. Chill out. Survey the scene. What to do next, I have no idea. Frustrating.

After nursing one beer I’m plotting exit and capitulation. Things are not looking positive. The girls, while pretty, are not doing it for me. And the DJ keeps announcing that the girl’s are available for “ten dollar dances”. Ten dollars. That can’t be good. It must me fully clothed, minimal contact. Maybe even no contact. Not what I had in mind. Frustrating.

And then my whole night changes. Discovery!

Dancer comes on stage from out of nowhere and she is a beauty. Sexy, and confident – she owns the stage. Tall and beautiful, lean and toned, exuding sexuality in black and pink hotpants and a matching top that says “Naughty”. Naughty indeed! I can stick around for this. I moved back to the table and commenced to tip her.

I catch Dancer’s eye as she comes off stage. This is not the time to be shy or coy. Off we go to the VIP for ten dollar dances. The room is full and we have to find an empty spot on one of the couches. There’s an almost-orgy going on at the nearest couch, with two girls and a guy buying a simultaneous dance from one dancer. Wow!

“Tell me the rules”, I say as she settles in on my lap.

“Well, the dances are timed by the lights so don’t worry about when we start. My G-string and top will stay on. And you can touch me anywhere but private parts.”

Touch! I can touch for $10? Are you kidding me? This is a DISCOVERY.

Dancer and I settled into a nice lapdance groove. She was into a routine, straddling my lap and moving in slow circles. I switched into my gentlemanly touch mode. My fingertips alive as I caressed her delightfully soft but toned skin. Slow caresses along her sides and her back. Down her thighs. Along her hips. Nuzzling into her neck and against her cheek. Instant headspace. Cradling those incredibly small and tight ass cheeks. Phenomenal.

We had to move twice as couches opened up.

“How am I doing?”, I asked as we resettled.

“Fabulous”, she smiled as she reconnected.

Two songs, three songs, four songs. Lapdance bliss.

“You strike me as a nice guy”, she said as we gathered her things. “I’m heading home for the night. You have a nice stay.”

I only stayed for a little while longer, long enough to see her come out of the dressing room looking extremely civilian sexy in her jeans with her long flowing hair freshly brushed. Hot!

Ten dollar dances. An absolute bargain. And a temporary balm to my frustration.

Thank you, Dancer. I’ll remember you.