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 (talk2me_dance4me_online@yahoo.com)is 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?