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?"

"Sales."

"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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.