DanceFan: On Strippers and Life

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

2007-10-16T22:34:00.000-05:00

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.

Stay and Read! 200+ Strip Club Customer Posts

2006-07-11T11:25:00.001-05:00

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.

Stick around DanceFan's Lair

2006-01-21T12:13:00.001-06:00

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 (talk2me_dance4me_online@yahoo.com). Tell me what you liked or didn't like about a story.

Enjoy.

Postscript 2: My Kinky Backpack Finds a Home

2006-01-09T20:19:00.000-06:00

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.

Postscript. Plus a Guest Blog

2005-12-28T20:35:00.000-06:00

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?

Last Dance

2005-11-01T20:59:00.000-06:00

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.

Customer Girl and Me

2005-10-26T13:28:00.000-05:00

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

2005-10-17T16:20:00.000-05:00

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

2005-10-12T00:30:00.000-05:00

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

2005-10-10T15:25:00.000-05:00

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

2005-10-07T12:20:00.000-05:00

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

2005-10-01T23:15:00.000-05:00

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.

"Have We Met Before"

2005-09-27T02:10:00.000-05:00

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.

Sunshine Flowerchild

2005-09-26T11:59:00.000-05:00

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.

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

2005-09-19T20:53:00.000-05:00

…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.

Surreal.

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

Passing 100,000!

2005-09-19T09:25:00.000-05:00

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!

Christmas Day for Dancer

2005-09-13T11:32:00.000-05:00

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.

Doing It in the Dark

2005-09-12T15:42:00.000-05:00

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?

The Porn Star, the Rock Star, and Me

2005-09-11T10:09:00.000-05:00

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)

Am I addicted?

2005-09-08T19:39:00.000-05:00

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.

The Perfect Strip Club

2005-09-02T01:11:00.000-05:00

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.

A Sensusal Exhibition

2005-08-30T01:03:00.000-05:00

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.

Assaulted

2005-08-26T20:44:00.000-05:00

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.

Shaved - the Story of the Day

2005-08-23T22:41:00.000-05:00

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....

She's Coming......

2005-08-18T19:50:00.000-05:00

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.

Anticipating.....

A Beautiful Companion: Our Second Outing

2005-08-08T00:53:00.000-05:00

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.

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

2005-08-04T22:24:00.000-05:00

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 concern...so, 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.

Video Strippers

2005-07-31T21:31:00.000-05:00

I threw in a tape this week to try and catch the Jessica Simpson video that I've been hearing about on a video countdown show. You know the one. The boots one. The slutty one.

It was okay. No doubt she's hot and it was worth watching.

But I found a better one on the countdown. One I hadn't heard of. Hotter still by far.

That video was the "Pussycat Dolls" and their song "Don't Cha". 5 singers / sexy dancers fronted by a hot black-haired Latina who can sing and dance. Wow.

The chorus, if you haven't seen it, asks:

Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was raw like me?
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was fun like me?

Don't cha?
Don't cha?

I can answer that question. You and I both know what most males watching that video would answer.

Don't cha?

Hot. Freaky. Raw. Fun.

There are some adjectives missing from that list: pretty, intelligent, charming, wholesome, snuggly, frugal, spiritual, intuitive, interesting, lovable, friendly, etc.

The songwriter knew the hotbuttons. Hot. Freaky. Raw. Fun.

And my lizard brain knew the answer as I watched the hot, freaky, raw, fun dancing in the video: uh huh.

Yes, ladies, I know. That concept cuts both ways.

So, what's the ladies' ideal version of that song?

Picture the male dance review strippers in a video singing to you.

Fill in the blank 4 times:

Don't cha wish your boyfriend was _______ like me?

Tell me.

Saturday Morning Animalistic

2005-07-31T21:00:00.000-05:00

I woke slowly, stirring from a deep sleep with arousing sexy dreams. She was there, snuggled into me insistently. The TV was on, an anonymous music station playing loudly. The cobwebs clear, and I know what all of this adds up to on a Saturday morning. I'm guessing the bedroom door is locked.

"Where are the boys?", I ask as hands start exploring my back.

"Still sleeping", she whispers into my ear.

And it's on.

Normally, Saturday morning sex is a quiet, sensual affair. Lots of snuggling. Lots of quiet foreplay. Lots of slow, sensual, lovemaking. Heavy on the gentle. Slow and easy penetration. Gentle rocking. Slow hands.

Not that day. I woke with a different frame of mind. Vigorous. Aggressive. Hungry.

I was all over her. Insistent. Demanding. Aroused.

Passionate kisses. Roving hands. Finding what I wanted and taking it.

Aggressive penetration.

First with my hands. Lots of lube - and then penetration. One finger, then two, then quickly three. Deep penetration. Rocking. Sawing. Finding her G-spot - oh yes, I know where it is - and locking on.

Pinning her down. Laying across her, spread eagle. Laying across one thigh, scissor pinning the other with my legs.

Penetration. Deep, insistent. Claiming her.

And she responds. God, does she respond. Like she's never responded before. Out of her mind with pleasure. More, deeper she asks. Moaning. Begging. Delerious.

And I deliver.

Vigorous. Aggressive. Demanding.

Penetration, my cock taking her. Not gentle rythmic insertions that morning. Rough. Pounding. Slamming.

Vigorous. Aggressive.

One hour. more.

Missionary. Doggy. Head pushed down into the pillow. Forceful. Animalistic.

And she responds. God, does she respond.

Hour and a half.

Vigorous. Aggressive.

Until she's spent. And happy.

I can still learn some things about her. Nice to know.

Speaking a Fantasy Aloud, Part II

2005-07-27T23:06:00.000-05:00

As I said in my last post, some fantasies are too personal to say aloud to anyone. Some clearly will never happen. This one probably fits in the last category, and is easy to explain.

I would like to tie a pretty girl up in a rope body suit, like this one featured in a post (here) on the blog "The Wet Spot". (Thank you Suki and Sanyu for the inspiration.)

The technique is illustrated here:

(Click here)

Soft, colored rope - red or blue, lovingly tied by my hands.

Then, properly tied and dressed, we would head out for a night at a strip club where I would watch her getting deliciously fondled in a lapdance, knowing what lay beneath the clothing.

It's just a fantasy. But I may head out to the home depot today anyway.

Although....I do still have that red leather bondage kit (collar, wrist restraints, ankle restraints, etc.) in a backpack hidden somewhere - still unused....

Speaking a Fantasy Aloud

2005-07-23T13:27:00.000-05:00

Since I seem to be on a threesome theme here in the last couple of posts, let me comment again on the male fantasy of a guy-girl-girl threesome.

I realized the other night, when a beautiful young stripper asked me what my 3 favorite fantasies are, that a sexual fantasy is a very personal thing. Some fantasies are so personal that I don't think you could ever voice them out loud, even to your longtime partner. I think. But, since a threesome fantasy is pretty common, let's talk about that.

Said simply, my fantasy is not strictly a threesome. It's two on one. I want to share a girl with a girl. In the sense of the stories often told on "Naked Loft Party" (see my sidebar link) where Lex and his girl Les share a variety of girls between them.

In other words, the fantasy is not for two girls to please me. For both to be focused on me. Although I wouldn't turn that down, that's not how I see it.

My fantasy is for female Partner, who is sexually into me as well, who wants to make love to a Girl and to do that with me. Ideally, Girl would be a stripper that we met at a club and took home with us.

Partner and I would be focused on Girl. Finding her. Seducing her. Taking her. Together.

Partner and I would undress Girl together. Kiss and fondle her together. Please her together. And take our pleasure from her together.

In all of the positions you could imagine.

Giving oral. Receiving oral. Me at one end of Girl, Partner at the other, continuously, with lots of eye contact between me and Partner. Me behind Girl, cupping her tits and holding them for Partner to suck on.

My fingers in Girl - Girl's tongue on Partner. Me fucking Girl while Partner rubs her clit.

Eventually, a strap-on for Partner and we take her between us.

Girl sucking on me while partner fucks her on all fours.

Double penetration, with Partner on her back and Girl on top riding the strap-on. Me behind taking Girl in the ass while I lean over Girl and kiss Partner.

Partner and I, taking Girl together.

That's what I call a threesome.

4 1/2 Hour Threesome

2005-07-23T13:16:00.000-05:00

Me, and two sexy girls. Gorgeous girls. Kissable girls. Named:

R*chel McAd*ms (Wedding Crashers)

Sc*arlett Joh*nsen (The Island)

The fam was off doing things, so I took myself out for a Friday night double feature at the local multi-screen. Plush seats. Stadium seating. Popcorn refills. And a book to read between shows.

Wedding Crashers was better than I expected. Very funny. The Island was ok, worth seeing but not great.

The two girls made the outing worth the effort.

Rachel - a fun girl, pure and simple. A great smile. Very kissable. Great hips.

Scarlett - the most kissable lips on the silver screen, bar none. Every moment that she was on screen, with that tossled blonde hair and lost look, I just wanted to kiss those lips.

Oh, and there were some guys and other people in the movie or something.

Rachel and Scarlett and me, my 4 1/2 hour threesome.

Three in a Booth

2005-07-20T23:05:00.000-05:00

Two ladies. One black, one blonde. One young, one younger. One slow, one frenetic. Two beautiful strippers. And me. Nice.

I was only scouting a club, not planning to stay. I was looking at this club with a mind to visit again later and at length with a companion. But the club slowly drew me in.

It was quiet, at first, when I got there. One stage out of two open, with a lonely dancer circling by the empty tiprail. Almost as many waitresses as customers. The staff dressed in a tropical theme. An early evening vibe in the club. I'll just have a seat for a while and check it out.

To stay out of the way, in scouting mode, I chose a booth along the edge of the club instead of a table in the middle. Maybe a dancer would join me on the couch, I hoped. And soon enough, from out of nowhere, one did.

Dancer came around the DJ booth and I just had a brief glance before she slid in. Tall. Blonde. Stacked with long sexy legs. Dressed in red. Pretty. A Cameron Diaz look to her. She slid into the booth and snuggled up against me. She felt good, very good, snuggled into me. I could like this. We chatted for a while as I bought her a drink. Dancer was older than the others, as she told it, but that's alright. They don't all have to be hardbody 18 year olds. I actually prefer an older dancer. She's comfortable with the transaction, the interplay of two strangers meeting in this situation. She doesn't necessarily have to talk the small talk. It's okay to just sit and be with each other. I like that. Minimal talk about my job. Again, I like that. Just small talk about clubs.

After a drink, we dance. A private dance in public - on couches off to the side. As we wait, I ask the question: what are the rules? Suprising me, she answers "you can touch anywhere but the crotch. Boobs, butt, sides, anywhere." Really?

So, we dance. One song - very erotic. Instant headspace. Dancer's routine is to stay on my lap, straddling me, and grind while I touch. Softly, the fingertip routine. Loving her skin with my fingers. Along her back, her sides, her legs, her hips. Cradling her derriere. Beautiful. Sexy. Unbelievable. A second song - erotic still with my appreciation obvious. No talk between us, just contact. her lips nuzzled into my neck. My hands exploring. Unbelievably nice.

Back to my booth I go, soon to meet my next dancer. A vision in red. Very, very young. Black and beautiful and sexy, reminding me of Kelly Rowland from Destiny's Child. She was animated and talkative and I was glad she was sitting with me. A drink, again, and we were off to the private dance - her first of the evening. Dancer was energetic as she writhed on and around my lap. Playful, undressing me and grabbing my hands and placing them on her perfect small tits. Wow. One dance and I had to stop before I emptied my wallet.

Back to my booth I go, and to my delight both girls rejoined me. A threesome in my booth. My arms along the back of the couch around each's shoulders. Blonde with her leg thrown over mine and snuggled into me. Black with her hand on my thigh, an exciting touch. Tantalizing talk - "What are your top 3 fantasies", she asked me. "You don't know me well enough to ask me that", I replied. Hmmmm, let me think. This threesome in the booth is coming close to one of them.

My blonde dancer had to exit to go on stage. My sexy black dancer and I knocked off two more private dances. Frisky and frenetic and creative. Dancer took my hand and spanked herself with it. Yeow! That may be one of my fantasies, after all. Try it out, she offered. And I did, loudly spanking one of her small tasty cheeks. Smack! "Again", she offered. Smack! I could enjoy this. "Now you have to think of two more", she said laughing. And she was off to freshen up.

Back to my booth. I've passed the point of just scouting. I'm in. I'm deep in. And the touch rules of the private dance are drawing me in deeper. And I'm not done yet. Blonde Dancer appears at the booth again and we're off to the private dance again. Now, I like the fun of the frantic bump and tickle of my sexy black Dancer - but I love the slow sensual dance of my blonde Dancer. And I want more.

She asks for a back massage as we wait on the couch for a song to start. I close my eyes and set my fingers to work. Softly, on her neck and down her back. Very enjoyable. "You're good at that", she says as the song interrupts. "It's all in the fingertips", I reply. And that's true of the touch-allowed lapdance as well. It's all in the fingertips. And my fingertips get busy. It's good. Very good. Dancer settles in on my lap, staddling me facing me, and stays there. I'm hard, and she finds me and connects to me, and stays there. Rocking against me. My fingertips loving her skin. Purring into her neck.

I have to have more.

And after a brief break, we head to the 1/2 hour VIP.

Wow. The perfect 1/2 hour lapdance. A beautiful, mature, confident woman naked on my lap for 1/2 hour. Connected. The simulated making-out at it's best. Dancer is tuned to my needs, totally. She rides my lap, staying close to me, leaning into me. Breathing hotly into my ear. Nuzzling into my neck. The almost-kiss in slow motion. Looking into my eyes as she rides me. My fingertips caressing her lovely body. One hand holding the back of her head gently - he cheek nuzzling my cheek - my other hand cupping her breast. Loving her breasts with my hands - cupping them, tracing them gently with my fingertips, slowly rolling her nipples between my fingertips. It looks like, and feels like, we are completely making out. I know it's an act for her, but it's real - within bounds - to me. I'm not kissing her, for example, but almost and I'm sharing her space and nuzzling into her. And it's very, very nice.

Time's up and the dance is over. I've spent enough money to have gotten laid. Twice. So much for scouting. And now it's time to go.

But I'll remember my time in the booth with a Dancer snuggled into each side. My Dancer threesome. And our times in private, separately.

With two girls. Two beautiful, sexy strippers. Thank you ladies.

As a sidenote, I'll mention a tip about the lap grinding. I may have said this before on this blog, but here it is again. The male member is not made for 1/2 of dry humping through clothes. In and out, lubricated, yes. Grinding on top of, no. I always feel like I've sprained my Johnson when I do that. Ouch. Lighter and slower would be better. I don't actually need the grinding, seeing as how I'm not going to get off. I need the headspace and the cheek nuzzling and the almost-makeout. But who's complaining

Passion and Ink

2005-07-18T01:30:00.000-05:00

I should have kept on driving. It was a long day, stretching into a long night, and fatigue was setting in. The club was on the way home and I rationalized a stop for a break, even if it would eventually be just going through the motions.

Pretty girls on shift. Young girls. New girls even. But in my fatigue, I opted for the simplicity of dancers that I knew.

First, Passion. Beautiful as always. More upbeat than she had been of late. A hug to start, one of her full body passionate hugs. It almost woke me up. Some talk at the table to catch up. And dances, three to finish her night. Sexy. Comfortable. Nice. And she was out.

I had enough energy, and dollars, for a couple of more dances - but with who? Honestly, I didn't have it in me to meet someone new. A regular dancer, but who?

And then I saw her at the bar. And I made my choice. Ink.

It had been at least a year since I had seen her. I wrote about her then - here.

She's very recognizable, with her platinum blonde hair and full body tattoos. A work of art, really. Striking.

She hadn't changed. Still aloof. Sitting at the bar instead of working the room. Me would come to her. Or, as with me, she would make arrangements for a dance during her stage set.

No table talk. All business. "Are you ready for a dance?", she asked. I may be asleep, but yes I am.

And we danced. Dancer turns on like a switch when the music starts. Full body contact. Comfortable with her body, unafraid of mine. A routine, sensous and engaged. No response from me, physically. I'm just too tired. But I was interested visually and I did enjoy her touch. Especially when she lifted my shirt and then raked me from back to front around my midsection with her long, long fingernails. Wow. That was different. Two songs, very sensous, very nice. And then off like a switch.

Some money gone. Some time spent. Still not rested.

I got the $2 pizza, watched some awesome new girls' first dances. So young. So thin. So blonde.

And then I climbed back in my car and finished my trip on autopilot.

Passion and Ink, my break from the road.

Summer Girls and Endless Thrilling Rides

2005-07-10T23:49:00.000-05:00

I skipped clubbing this week and took my kids to a summer fair instead. I spent about the same amount of money and had more fun - as much as you can have without getting a lapdance anyway. I'm kidding of course. It's an awesome time.

But it does make for a long night for your basic voyeuristic guy:

Watch the kids on the carousel.

Watch some girls in tight shorts.

Watch them on the scrambler.

Watch some girls in sun dresses.

Watch them on the roller coaster.

Watch some pretty wives stroll by with their guy and their kids.

Watch them on bumper cars.

Watch some girls with low cut jeans and sexy swishing hips.

On and on and on for hours.

Until my feet hurt, my eyes were sore, and my wallet was empty.

A good night out.

A Beautiful Companion

2005-06-28T23:50:00.000-05:00

After many nights in my life of sitting alone in strip clubs , albeit enjoying myself, and watching couples together in a club I must admit that I have wondered something:

What would it be like to share a night in a club with a pretty girl who wanted to be there? A woman who would enjoy being there to be with the dancers as I did? What would that be like?

So, I took a stab at answering that question. And now I know, at least partially.

How do I know?

I took a risk. On a whim, I posted a message on an internet meet-up site. I was looking, I said, for a "cute girl companion for a night a strip club. Tipping at the stage. A private dance or two for each of us. That's all."

I had no takers that night. But, to my pleasant suprise, I got an email two days later offering to accompany me to a club the next time I was in town, for a night at a club looking at pretty girls. Wow.

A few email exchanges later, including a discussion of how to meet up somewhere first outside of the club, and the night came. I arrived in town early, did some shopping for necessities, and showered and dressed for the evening. Soon enough, I found myself waiting, slightly nervously, inside a restaurant for my companion. Scanning the entrants for the clothes that she had indicated that she would be wearing - khaki pants and a short sleeved black shirt.

A thousand thoughts as I waited.. Was it safe to do this? Would I have any idea how to behave, how to meet a perfect stranger in a situation like this? Would I be even remotely interesting company for her? And, as you would expect, how would the night end?

As she walked through the door - this unexpectedly beautiful girl - the questions vanished and I relaxed. The night would be whatever the night would be. I would just enjoy her company for the evening. My new companion.

I would say she was pretty, but beautiful is more apt - a description of her that I would hear from several dancers throughout the evening. She was much younger than me, but mature in her youth and graceful. She was elegant in hairstyle and dress. Confident in her stride. Beautiful.

By way of introduction, we had a simple meal together. The meal passed by easily enough, but it wasn't about the meal. It was about meeting. About holding a conversation. About establishing a comfort level. I picked at my food and I talked too much about myself and I probably did all of those wrong things. But by the end of the meal I was comfortable with her and with the odd realization that this was not a date, but a shared experience in the age of the internet. My beautiful new friend was my companion for the evening in the club.

Off we went to a predetermined nearby club, traveling separately and arriving together. We found a table and settled in to check out the vibe of the early evening crowd. Slow and hushed.

She was unhurried, my new friend. Content to look openly at the gorgeous semi-naked dancers around us. She had been to clubs before, she told me, and it had taken her time to realize that it was okay for her to look. Now, she was there to look. This beautiful girl enjoyed the look of other beautiful girls. What's not to like about that?

We shared the evening, she and I.

At our table. Observing the club. People watching. Learning about each other - about music and books and travel. Talking about trivia. Reliving the 70's and the 80's throught the music in the club. Discussing and admiring the dancers onstage together - this one's long hair, that one's breasts. Discussing the dynamics of a couple in the club, and how dancers were reacting to us.

I was asking too many questions and talking too much about strip clubs and too much about myself. But also trying to draw her out.

"Have you met people before online", I asked.

"I have", she said. "You can never quite tell what the chemistry will be like when you meet. Sometimes you just irritate each other."

Not this time. Not for me anyway. She was quiet and reserved, with flashes and moments of spark. Interesting. Beautiful. Certainly not irritating.

At the couches. Sharing a dancer in separate private dances. Sensous dances in the VIP with a sexy red dress and long black hair. First me. Then my companion. Hot, for me at least, with my arousal obvious to Dancer. "Your wife is very beautiful and she's so trusting to let you come back her by yourself", said dancer. "She's a friend", I said. "We're just enjoying a night together in the club." Dancer was very intrigued.

At the tiprail. Moving from stage to stage, getting boobs in our faces for a dollar apiece. My new friend, my beautiful companion, really enjoying this part. Relishing the contact. The sexual touch of feminine skin. The scent of a dancer. She was a sight to behold. She didn't whoop it up or grab at the dancers. She just went inside herself and reveled in the touch of their skin on her face. Very sexy.

And so, I experienced my night in the club in the company of a beautiful girl. And I'm glad I did.

How did it end?

Well, I am a guy. Did I have thoughts of passion? Did I long to lean her up against a wall in the club after a shared private dance and kissing her deeply and passionately? This intelligent and adventerous pretty girl, so near to me? Did I desire making out with her in the parking lot? Did I imagine the possibility of the night ending back in my hotel room? Did I have thoughts of the evening being more? Of intense stranger sex? Of me enjoying her beauty and her youth? Of her experiencing the skilled pleasure that a lover ten years her senior is capable of delivering? I am a man, so of course I did.

Especially the kissing part.

But, I'm also a gentleman that wasn't what I had asked for in my internet post. The evening was enjoyable for what it was. Nothing more. She didn't offer more. I didn't ask for more. I wouldn't even know how.

So, I walked her to her car and said thank you.

Thank you, my new friend - my beautiful companion - for giving me this experience.

Chances Are....

2005-06-23T00:06:00.000-05:00

...that any night I'm on the road on business, I may find myself in the company of beautiful semi-naked women. In this case, four very beautiful and very different semi-naked young girls.

I made it to a club earlier in the evening than usual for me. Early enough that the club had just opened for the night. I found 4 dancers and 3 customers when I walked in. Good odds for getting a dance from the girl of my choice. It would be harder later when the club filled up, so now was the time.

I spent the first hour or so watching the stage shows of the four girls and I quickly decided that I wanted at least one dance from each of them.

Foxy took the stage first. Beautiful, black, and dancing with herself. For herself. Foxy was entranced with her image in the mirrors opposite the stage. She danced seemingly unaware of the men admiring her from the tables. She turned this way and that, preening for the mirrors. Her aloofness, her attitude, was strangely appealing.

Casey chose that time to sit with me, but not for long. In the space of a minute we were off for a dance. Casey was a beautiful hardbody blonde. Very pretty. And very energetic in the dance with a particularly nice rhythm of kneeling between my knees and slowly grinding her breasts in slow circles on my lap. Very effective.

Casey rejoined me at my table as we watched Danielle take the stage. Casey was preoccupied, so there wasn't much chat at the table. It was her first night in the club as it turned out and she was nervous. I don't see obvious nervousness from dancers often, and it was kind of cute. I tried to help her out by sending her to the stage to tip Danielle for me. "I can do that?" she asked. "Yes, dear. You can do that", I assured her. "I just sit down and she'll come to me?", she asked as she moved forward. Yes. Oh, yes. Very erotic, those two. And Casey moved on to get ready to go onstage.

Danielle on stage was a real treat. I use the word dancer a lot when I'm talking about strippers on stage when the word stripper is more appropriate and descriptive. Not in Danielle's case. From the moment she finished washing down the brass pole she was dancing. Not in the frenetic phony sense of Hollywood's take on strippers. Not in the "passing time until someone tips me" way of most strippers on stage. But really dancing. More like a Laker Girl in a sexy stripper dress. Danielle was probably the best actual dancer that I've ever seen onstage.

Danielle was tall and beautiful and extremely shapely. She must get told every evening how much she looks like Kate Beckinsale. Maybe a little cuter, though. And with a perkier smile. She really seemed to be enjoying the close contact tipping dance at the tiprail. She was all sex when she climbed down off the stage to straddle mount the tipper backwards, leaning forward on the stage and shaking her backside into him in a doggy style lapdance at the stage. Very hot. I knew I had to get a dance from her - which turned out to be harder than I thought.

In the meantime, I turned my attention to Raven. A voluptous and sultry girl with wavy auburn hair and plenty of ink. I was the only one at the tiprail for Raven, and she spent some time with me there. First, facing away on all fours on the stage - displaying that lovely backside for me up close and personal. Then laying on her back, pulling me head into her with my head clamped between her thighs. Finally leaving the stage to sit on my lap, straddling me and settling into me as she pulled my face into her ample breasts and then nuzzled my cheek. Wow. That was worth the tip.

Raven sat and talked with me. She drank with me. She told stories with me. And then we danced. Two delicious private dances. Sultry and sensous dances, with slow close contact. Arousing dances, with my appreciation obvious. It was hard to stop at two. But we parted and she returned to the growing crowd.

I took a seat at a different table to enjoy Danielle on stage again. What an incredible dancer. Fluid and graceful and completely tuned in to the music. Sexy in the sleek dress. Friendly with the customers lining the railing. Very nice.

My observations were short lived, as Foxy made her way past my table. "You're coming to dance for me, I hope", I said with a smile. And she was. And we danced - one dance in private. The aloofness disappeared and I discovered that Foxy was a really sweet girl. Still new in the club and a little shy. But nice. And very pretty. And she smelled delicious. A short sexy dance and I was back out on the floor.

I took a different table, my final table, very far from the stage. Almost out of the door. I was thinking of heading that way when an angel, Danielle, appeared out of nowhere to stop at my table. "Were you still wanting a dance?". Oh yes. I wouldn't miss it.

She had a beautiful smile, is what I remember most of that private dance. Beautiful, no doubt. Sexy, absolutely with a killer body and soft porcelain skin. But her smile was luminous and engaging and so, so close to me as we sat entwined on the couch waiting for a song. That beautiful smile. And I was privileged to have this beautiful girl with me for a song

Thank you ladies. Casey and Foxy and Raven and Danielle. I'll remember you all.

And, chances are....I'll be back.

Small Club Vibe

2005-06-16T01:13:00.000-05:00

It was a small club in an out of the way city on another road trip.

You never know what kind of evening you're going to have in a small club. They're not standardized. They're more like local watering holes, where everyone knows everyone, than the major strip clubs are.

But I had a nice evening in this particular small club. It had an easy, laid back vibe. Low cost. Pretty girls. What more could you want?

One stage, more like a pit actually, that the girls rotated through. Not a lot of tipping going on at the stage itself. So little in fact, that the girls would go around the club after leaving the stage asking the seated patrons for a $1 tip each. Interesting practice.

Low pressure for dances. Most of the dancers were seated with a prospect, as opposed to wandering through the club asking "Do you want a dance?". I don't know if they were with regulars or not. Just that they all spent a lot of time seated.

So, I had my choice of several girls. I just had to indicate to them that I wanted a dance - which turned out to be harder than I thought.

Very small VIP area. Just a small walled off portion of the main room with two small couches. No touch - keep your hands at your sides, gentleman. No problem. I just want some light contact and to watch these pretty girls dance.

Angela first. A beautiful dancer who I met at the stage. Dancer was into herself, tuning out the group. Slow sensual dance with her eyes on the mirrors surrounding herself. Tuning us out. Angela was a beautiful girl. Tall and slender with nice legs and an thin, angular ass. Beautiful. Shoulder length feathered hair, brown with highlights. Beautiful thin lips and a delightful smile.

And we danced. Two songs for $20. No touch, but very sensual. It was very arousing. Very arousing, and my appreciation of her beauty and talents was visible. A nice routine through several poses. And it ended too soon.

I settled back at my table to make my next choice. There were at least four sexy dancers yet to meet. Any of the four would make a good choice. But they make it hard to meet them by staying seated with their prospects.

One stands out from the group. I see her across the room playing pool with her guy. Striking in high boots and tight half tap pant lingerie. Long brown hair. Very sexy muscular legs peeking out of the boots going into a shapely petite ass. Wow. She had a smoldering Aurora Snow porn star look to her. With an Eastern European quality thrown in.

I had to meet her, so I waited for a break. When she left her table briefly, I tipped the waitress to go ask her to sit with me. She did briefly, but then had to go onstage. After making the tipping rounds she was back to dance with me.

Phoenix was delightful. Petite and shy, looking everywhere around the VIP except at me. She did a practiced routine that was enjoyable and totally within bounds. This was a very young, and very sexy girl that I completely enjoyed a professional lapdance from.

I took a pause from the dancers to interact a little with the customers, not something I regularly do by any means. Sitting next to me on a couch against the wall was a couple that had come in late. I chatted with Mrs. while Mr. was getting a VIP dance or two. "Do you know the dancers?", asked her. Yes, they were in often enough to be like family in here. They had fun and shared the experience together. I thought she had a really good attitude about sharing this part of her husband's life. She had seen for herself that the dancers were working and weren't there to go home with their guy, so she was able to relax and enjoy it with him. And the dancers seemed to enjoy her. I'm glad I met her in there.

One final round before heading back to the hotel for the evening. I could have chosen another dancer for the variety aspect. But I went back to Angela. I figured she would be more relaxed in the dance the second time around because she knew me this time, and knew I behaved - so she could relax. She was back, with a new outfit on. Her third outfit of the evening that I had seen. I love that, when dancers take the time to change their look. I totally love that. She had a demure look this time with a pink top and a white ruffled tennis skirt. Very preppy. And it would come off nicely.

So we danced, again, Angela and I. Enjoyable again. Sexy again. Arousing again. An all around beautiful girl.

And on that note, with a wave to the couple I was out.

Angela and Phoenix and the Mrs. Thank you, ladies, for a nice evening.

Prayers for My Friend

2005-06-13T21:57:00.000-05:00

I don't have any erotic stories or club fantasies or humorous observations on life tonight.

A friend, a reader and contributor to this silly little blog of mine, a virtual but cherished new friend, has suffered a devastating loss of a daughter this week. A senseless tragic loss of a dynamic young lady.

I am at a loss for words, and they would be inadequate if I had them. I've never met either of them in person, yet I am grief stricken for their circumstance.

So, instead, I'll ask this. If you are a reader here and you are a praying person - say several prayers for my friend this week. You don't need to know her name. God knows who she is. God Bless her and her family.

A Quintet of Beautiful and Sexy Women

2005-06-08T01:40:00.000-05:00

As I said in my last post, I know what I'm buying when I enter a strip club. Not a fantasy. Not for me. Instead, a limited reality. I'm not paying for a girlfriend or a companion. I'm there for a limited reality of time and contact. Time to talk and to interact at the tiprail. Contact in the private dance. Simulated intimacy, to be sure. But a real experience nonetheless.

And sometimes what I'm buying is a really wonderful evening in the company of beautiful and sexy women.

Five of them, to be exact, on a memorable night.

More than that, if you count all of the beautiful strippers that entertained me at the tiprail with a dance and an intimate moment of contact for the tip.

But five in the private dance. Five beautiful and sexy women.

Sometimes it's a mistake to enter the club with a "type" in mind. It can be very limiting and you can miss an unexpected pleasurable experience. If you walk in thinking "blonde", then all you'll see is blonde and you'll miss out. Sometimes it's better to just be open to the diversity of women that a big club in a big city can offer.

Women are beautiful to me. Different body types and hair colors and attitudes. I see potential in them all. And on the memorable night, I was privileged to spend time with a diverse group of beautiful and sexy women. Five. Each different. Each beautiful. Each talented. Each a treasure. And each spending quality contact time with me on the red couches in the back in a limited reality.

Foxy - young and black and exotic. Exquisitely sexy. A shiffon miniskirt barely covering a slim and shapely derriere that I got to know in the private dance. Foxy was spirited and alive.

Heather - who looked like a certain movie star, but was quick to correct me that the movie star looked like her. Tall and lithe with long silky blonde tresses. Soft, soft skin. Skillful, natural, persistent moves. Delicious friction.

Mariah - a towering olive skinned beauty with slender hips and a long rich mane of gorgeous brown hair down to her ass. Working the hair on the stage - turned away from me on all fours, teasing a view of her thong, and then flipping that gorgeous hair down to cover her ass - peekaboo style. Skillful. Politely friendly in the private dance. Drawing me close to her and enveloping me in that mass of silky hair. Breathing together in that enclosed space, with her delicious weight on my lap. Unforgettable.

Raven - the beautiful Raven. An artistic soul in a delightful package. An exotic combination of Goth and Burlesque, though she bristled at "Goth". Not goth, but gothic in it's most romantic and elegant sense. Beautiful dark black hair with a tinge of red in the stage lights. Deep black lined eyes. Deep deep red lipstick. Elaborately fitted into a red and black corset with red satin ribbon stitched up the back. Black lace stockings reaching to mid thigh. Finished off with serious black boots to the tops of her calves. Raven had taken care with her outfit. Care to entertain. And care to make a connection with me, both at the stage and in the private dance. Half erotic and passionate. Half laughing and knowing and sharing. The beautiful Raven, a stripper in the old burlesque sense.

Marlena - a college girl pretty brunette. Slim and sexy in a tank top and white cotton panties. Enticing. Convincing. Sexy as hell. One of a kind. Wow.

All of them dancing with me. A little stripping. A little grinding. A little delicious friction. A little naughtiness. A lot of cheek nuzzling. Memorable.

And that was my wonderful evening in the club with the Quintet of Beautiful and Sexy Women.

Thank you, ladies. You're the best. And thank you Raven, for the connection.

I'll be back, I'm sure.

Buying a Limited Reality

2005-06-06T19:51:00.000-05:00

I have to say that I'm intrigued this week by others commenting on the "fantasy" element of this blog. It's always interesting to see how other people see you.

Peter Throckmorton of Jane's Guide.com, in his review of this blog (rating: "Quality Original")which I greatly appreciated, said this:

"Throughout the entries he honors the dancers by putting them on unrealistic pedastals, and discusses at length the fantasy "GFE" [girl friend equivalent] one-sided experience that he creates for himself, for the price he pays for a dance. On the other hand, despite how much of what is here is pure fantasy, he does clearly speak the voice of the strip club customer, which is more thousands and thousands of men across the world than anyone would admit. It is easy to read the blog and sense his world as he sees it. There are a lot of blogs out there where current or former dancers speak their minds about their experiences - here's one from the guys' side."

Two uses of the word "fantasy" in that paragraph.

Joe Bloggs, in a recent comment answering a question from Michael Portnoy about whether or not a dancer may be selling me an illusion of friendship, said:

"Yes, but it doesn't matter does it? She's selling a fantasy, DanceFan is buying a fantasy, part of that fantasy is that he has a sexy friend. Good enough for me!"

Thanks for commenting, guys.

Interesting. Is the dancer selling a fantasy? Am I buying a fantasy?

I thought about those comments this week and I realized that I see it slightly differently.

I agree that the dancer is selling a fantasy. Customer after customer. Song after song. Night after night. She is selling. It's a transaction, absolutely.

I agree that some customers might be buying a fantasy.

I think, however, that I'm not. It's not a fantasy experience for me. Fantasy involves an illusion. In this case, the illusion would be that dancer is my girlfriend in some sense or is really "with" me in some sense. I don't have that illusion. I know exactly what the situation is.

I would say that what I'm buying in the strip club experience is a limited reality.

I have no illusions after 20 plus years of visiting strip clubs. I don't imagine that dancer is my girlfriend. I don't imagine that she has feelings for me, with rare exceptions with dancers that I have spent a lot of time with. I don't imagine a relationship at all.

I do believe that the two of us can have a real connection in this context, however, on ocassion. We can break through the routine for a moment and have a moment of experience together. When I talk about the GFE, girlfriend experience, I'm not focused on the girlfriend part but the experience part. A moment of real connection. A limited reality.

And I know exactly what I'm buying in the club all night: time, conversation, visual memories, and - most importantly - safe physical contact with a lovely young nude or semi-nude girl. Sensous contact in close quarters. Limited, of course, within the confines of the transaction, the rules, and my gentlemanly contact. A limited reality.

That's my view of what I'm buying.

Let's explore this further in my next post with a recent club experience....

Yeah Honey, It's For Me

2005-06-05T02:22:00.000-05:00

You never know when life is going to jump up and remind you that you're getting old.

Like I need that.

So, I was out late on a Saturday night. I decide to slide into my local Walmart, out in a Midwestern cornfield. I don't need much. Some munchies and a new CD.

Mainly the CD.

I know what I want. Nelly. "Country Grammer". Pseudo rap, with a little smoother rhyme.

I find it. I find the munchies. I find a checkout stand. The line moves slower than I want and I notice an open lane next to me manned by a cute young girl in a pony tail. Nineteen or thereabouts. Definitely cute.

So, I put my items on the conveyor. The munchies. The CD.

Of course, the CD catches her eye.

She picks it up. She looks at the CD. She looks at me. She looks at the CD again. Then she cocks up an eyebrow and she asks me the question:

"This for you?".

"Yeah, it's for me", I answer. "I need some driving music."

"You got a fast car?", she asks.

"Yeah, but mostly I just drive a lot."

"Uh huh", she says skeptically as she bags my munchies.

What, I'm the only middle-aged white guy in the midwest that she's seen buying a Nelly CD?

I felt old.

Until I got in my car and cranked up the CD. Now, that's what I came for!

At least she was cute.

Two and One Fantasy

2005-06-02T21:19:00.000-05:00

As I guy, I have the requisite number of threesome fantasies of the male-female-female (MFF) variety. A lot of situations that occur in a strip club play to those fantasies, as many of my posts here have attested.

I also tend to gravitate to those scenarios in my porn viewing, in the extremely rare situations when I'm viewing porn. (Wink, wink. Okay, not so rare.) As luck would have it, MFF threesomes are featured quite regularly in porn.

However, lately I've realized that is not quite true - at least in my rendition of porn watching. I realized that I don't view them as threesomes, but as two and one situations.

Not three.

Two and One.

I realized that unconsciously I rearrange the MFF fantasy in my head. I can do this because I always watch porn with the sound off, so I'm not encumbered by any actual "plot" details - if there are any. I rewrite at will.

I immediately pair up the guy with one of the girls - as "the couple".

Who is the second girl, in my rendition of MFF porn viewing?

The stripper that they brought home with them.

Works for me.

Thanks to Jane's Guide

2005-06-01T09:58:00.000-05:00

Thank you to Jane's Guide (www.janesguide.com), for the "Quality Original" rating for this blog in their "New Reviews" section.

And hello to all the visitors from there.

Take time to read from the beginning. Join me as the ladies ask "Would you like a dance?"

A Link in Her Chain

2005-05-31T20:25:00.000-05:00

I have a friend. A dancer. A stripper.

A beautiful young lady.

We've shared time together. Talk time at a table. Tip time at the tiprail. Passionate time in the private dance.

And I'm on her list. We email each other outside of the club on ocassion. I send her some thoughts now and then. And I'm on her list.

My friend, the dancer, has a penchant for chain emails. The kind with touching poems or stories about friendship. The kind that end with an admonition to send the email on to ten other people. And I'm on her list.

I think it's very endearing. I know it's sincere, that it's a sign of her friendship, and I'm always touched.

I'm glad to be a link in her chain.

Thank you, Dancer. You are a beautiful soul.

Hardware

2005-05-27T20:48:00.000-05:00

I had been in the club less than 10 minutes. I had enjoyed the warm, friendly full body hug. Very nice. Dancer and I were enjoying a re-acquainting talk at a table. And she asked me a question:

"So, do you want to see the new hardware?".

Hardware? Ah, piercings of course. But where?

Dancer leans back in her chair, pushes her panties aside, and there it is. Hardware. Clitoral hood style. Sparkly. Yeow!

I state the obvious: "So, are you enjoying it?". Dancer clearly is, and she me stories of it's pleasurable enhancement of her life.

Only one thing to do. Try it out. So we dance.

Into the VIP, a two dance special, no touch. I'm a gentleman - so it's hands to the side. I let Dancer enjoy these two songs and her new toy. The hardware. She moves over me. Glides in her own space. Gentle friction. On the hardware. Very nice and arousing for me as well.

I extend the dance one more song. Now the touch time kicks in and Dancer and I fall into our familiar rhythyms. Cheek nuzzling. Fingertip stroking. Deep breathing. And erotic friction of arousal against hardware. Very nice.

"So, does that make it better for you?", I ask. "The hardware?"

"Oh Yeah", she says with a smile as she's putting herself back together. "Oh, yeah".

The Perfect No-Touch Lapdance

2005-05-24T23:02:00.000-05:00

I wasn't expecting much from the night. A quick impromptu pop-in to a local club during some midnight errands. Some stage tipping. Some relaxation at a quiet table in the back at the end of a very long day. Maybe a beer. At the most a couple of $10 table dances. Low expectations.

And then I met Dancer.

Dancer came up to greet me at my table and I offered for her to sit. "Okay, but I'm going to smoke. Is that all right". Of course, I said. Dancers smoke. They just do. It was an offer to sit, not necessarily more. We'll see how it goes. So, I order a beer.

After a lengthy silence, I spoke.

"Usually, I'm more talkative", I said. "I'm just tired tonight."

"Believe me", she said. "It's okay for us just to sit here. We don't have to talk. It's okay. A lot of guys just want to jump in and start pounding on me right away with personal questions that I don't necessarily want to answer." I understand that. I only need to know one thing to carry this further, her stage name. I can improvise the rest.

We talked. Small talk. Unhurried talk. Club talk. Observations about other customers, including the strange table of three unaccompanied girls. What's up with them? And business stuff about this club's habits as opposed to others. About peep shows. And about strip club literature, including this blog.

We were in a holding pattern. Waiting for a pending special, 2 dances in the VIP for $25. "Would you dance the special for me", I asked. "I'd love to", she smiled back. And we waited. Unhurried. Eventually she wandered off to prepare. On cue, all of the dancers disappeared offstage and then paraded down the middle of the main stage to the sales pitch of the DJ. My girl came 3rd, introduced as Dancer - "Couch dancer of the year!". Really? If true, it was my fortune that she had sat down with me.

"Come on, DanceFan", she said taking my hand. And off to the VIP we went. Where Dancer lived up to her accolades. And then some. She pulled me in to a booth in the corner - "My favorite booth", she said delightedly. The room was filled for the special, with a visual orgy of dancers grinding on anonymous guys all around me.

The music was already playing and we didn't waste any time getting into the dance. Dancer stood before me and stripped quickly out of her small top and miniskirt. She was beautiful, of course. Young. Tall. Lithe and toned with long brown hair. Shapely, with long legs, slim hips, and a perfect. A very lovely young stripper. Here with me for two songs.

Dancer was practiced and skillful. Honestly, one of the very best I've ever been with. The highlight, appart from close contact with a very lovely young naked girl, was the connection. She didn't dance for me. She didn't dance on me. She danced with me, and was very present with me in our time together. I love that.

Dancer's skill came from her constant motion. Not frenetic. Not grinding. Not aggressive. It was like she was massaging my clothed body with her naked body. She went through various moves or poses, practiced and repeated, but very honest and very effective. And very arousing.

Straddling me, yes. But constantly moving. Continuous contact, even as she shifted positions on me. Soft. Rubbing. Continuous motion.

Body parts presented to me.

Tits rubbed against me.

Naked cookie presented to me in various acrobatic poses. Legs spread and pushed just short of my face. Look. Smell. Fantasize. Enjoy.

And friction. Sweet, continuous, friction. Straddling me sideways to fit herself against my arousal. Sliding down my body with a feet massage of my lap on the way down. Awesome friction.

Connection. Headspace. And humor.

Against my lap, warm naked kitty pressed and fitted to my package. Layed out along the length of my lap, with her arms on the floor behind her supporting her. Fitted to me. Gentle fucking motions into me. And looking at me. Smiling, friendly, knowing eye contact between us. We both are veterans and understand this moment. We can appreciate it and be separate from it.

"You remind me of Susan Sarandon's husband". She said. Fucking motions gently against me. "What's his name"?

Eye contact back. Enjoying the delicious warm friction. "Tim Robbins", I say - looking her right in the eye.

"Has anyone ever told you that?" Unhurried. Delicious friction.

"Not really. Must be the haircut."

"No, I think it's your lips. You really look like him".

"Is that a good thing?", I ask. She's very pretty, I'm thinking. Very pretty. And warm. And her weight feels wonderful on my lap. Moving. Slowly, but constantly.

"That's a good thing", she says - smiling an unhurried smile at me.

The song ends with her on my lap facing me. "Would you do one more for me?", I ask. "I'd love to", she says with with a sincere smile. I believe her.

We dance one more as the room empties. More motion. More motion. Heavy breathing and purring from me. Dancer poses for me, very frank body part presentations for my enjoyment. And I enjoy it indeed.

She's unhurried as the song ends, staying on my lap an extra moment or two. Connected on my lap. Rhythmic wiggles into my lap. I'm not complaining.

"Hey, I'm next", says the only dancer still remaining in the room. "She's hot!"

She is hot, indeed. Beautiful. Sexy. And extremely skilled.

I'll find a way to see Dancer again. Thank you Dancer, for an unexpected pleasure that night.

Natalie's Other Role

2005-05-22T22:40:00.000-05:00

Yes, I joined the hordes this weekend to see Star Wars Episode 3 with younguns in tow. And yes, I ogled Natalie Portman - the only noticeable female in the movie - in her various costumes and hairstyles. And closeups of her lips.

But I prefer her in her other role in "Closer", out on DVD in your local video store. It's a forgettable movie, but she days take a turn in this flick as a stripper. On stage, dancing over her customer, and in private striking various poses for him. I'd have to say that she does a pretty authentic job, which is rare for a hollywood movie. I'd have bought a lapdance from her.

Bipedal Cinematic Lust

2005-05-22T10:13:00.000-05:00

I saw her, of course, as we entered the theater. But not as I would see her when the lights went down.

Long, strokable, dark hair. Dark top filled out nicely and exposing a tantalizing midriff. Dark Jeans. And flip flops. A pretty girl in a theater suprisingly filled with pretty girls given the nature of the violent film we were about to share. (Jet Li, Unleashed). What made her stand out? Line of sight. She was in the seat in front of me. And as the lights went down so did my vision of her. Dark clothes, dark hair, all fading into darkness.

Except. A glow.

As the lights went down, her flip flops came off. And her lovely, bare naked feet went up on the seat in front of her, right in my line of sight. And they glowed in the reflected light of the screen. Two, beautiful glowing female feet.

Do I have a foot fetish? No, I have a girl fetish. Which includes all of their body parts variously at different times. Whatever strikes me in the moment. Hair, curves, exposed bellies, feet. It's all good.

And there they were. Legs crossed. Feet together. Beautiful sole pressed into a sexy arch. Moving constantly. Rubbing together, like a cricket. A sexy cricket. Slow circles. Rubbing. Rubbing. Rubbing. A delightful friction of skin on skin.

A profile view of a long slim delicate female foot. Distracting. Entertaining. Arousing.

I wanted to trace that arch gently with my fingertips. I wanted to lick that instep slowly with my tongue. I wanted to suck on those toes, each in turn, deeply into my mouth.

Movement. She shifts and her legs drape across her boyfriends lap. Her feet extended sideways into the open seat next to them. Glowing. Rubbing. Distracting. Arousing.

All in all, an enhanced movie-going experience.

Tantric Lapdance

2005-05-19T17:29:00.000-05:00

Sometimes you just need a hug.

A naked hug.

Naked therapy.

It was one of those nights. I was wanting to drink heavily as I walked in, and $2 domestics were tempting me to do just that. But I that wasn't a possibility I allowed myself that night. So, I chose a different means of a cure. The lapdance.

It was favorites night. Many of my favorite dancers, all in one music thumping room. One that I didn't recognize or acknowledge as I transitioned from the blinding sunlight to the dimly lit main area. One who's full body hug got my energy stirring. One who I've missed out on for too long. And one who stirred remembrances of naughty times past.

Each would have been terrific to spend my hours and time with. So, again the decision. Do I get a dance from each and spread the love around? Or do I huddle with one, missing out on the rest and alienating one a little.

Naked hug therapy. That's what I needed. Not laughing, or shouting, or random relentless grinding. Extended time. With one.

My mind debated the merits of each lovely dancer. How could one choose? My eyes, however, settled it for me. On this night there was one. On others maybe another. But tonight there was one.

Table time. Talking and catching up.

Stage time. Lingering to enjoy the beautiful cherub, angular and taught but nicely filled out and matured. Appreciating the total package - the look, the attitude, the confidence. That truly squeezable perfect derriere teasing me as she slowly works her way around the pole with a little hip waggle.

And dancetime. Extended version privately in the VIP. For the first time actually with her, although we have spent time before - and you've met her here before. Spirit, the sex pixie.

Dancer, was lovely that night - as always. Cute, with lively eyes and blonde hair pulled back into a tantalizing ponytail. It struck me as I looked at her that she reminds me in her face of a porn starlet - ubiquitous in men's magazines, but not really well known by the name of Sylvia Saint. Ah, but Sylvia is 2D and Spirit is fully alive and with me. She's a lovely petite girl, with all the right curves and toned places and tastefully placed ink.

I'm picturing her that night, familiar but with a twist. A new outfit - or uniform if you will - that I've not seen in a club before. A hocky jersey, almost completely covering her petite form with just her pony tail and heels sticking out the ends. Sexy. Very Sexy.

It was cold in the VIP. Blowers creating a draft on the couches. So I told Dancer to keep the jersey on. That small request set the tone for the 1/2 hour. Dancer settled in on my lap, straddling me. Cuddling me. A little cheek nuzzling. A lot of cuddling. Very little movement. Almost tantric.

And we stayed that way, almost throughout our time.

I enjoyed her. I enjoyed her weight on me. I enjoyed her heat against me. I enjoyed her cheek pressed against mine and her hair grazing me. I enjoyed her breath and her voice as we made almost silent small talk.

No dancing. No grinding. No simulated stimulation.

Touching, though. There was touching. Halfway through our time, the jersey came off. And as dancer settled back in to a hug - straddling me - against me. I touched. Fingertips only. Gentlemanly. Stroking. Caressing. Memorizing. Relaxing her. Healing me.

A hug. A half hour naked hug. Naked therapy.

My first tantric lapdance.

Thank you Spirit. It was just what I needed that night.

It's Her Smile

2005-05-16T07:55:00.000-05:00

Does anyone else think that the woman - not a girl, but a sexy mature woman - in the Levitra TV commercials is hot?

Okay, I'm watching too much TV again.

I think it's her smile, as she talks suggestively about her husband's newly revitalized boner, that gets me. Oh yeah. She would work for me, without the use of the product that she's pitching.

Girls Not Kissing

2005-05-14T19:14:00.000-05:00

So, I picked up a video this week at the local video store that looked promising. "Girls Kissing", a film by Barbara K. Lee. The cover promises to be a "documentary exploring the politics of 'girl on girl' action. More importantly, it has a cover photo of two cute girls kissing. Sold. Up to the register I go.

I should have read the back cover.

Not the back cover photos, of porn stars like Alisha Klass and Cassidey (one of my favorites!). Oh no. The text, where it says:

"Consideration is given to the medias (sic) representation of sexuality, pop cultures (sic) effect on social change, women's roles, and society in general".

Being a visually oriented guy, I missed all the warning signs. "Documentary". "Politics". The fact that it's directed by a woman. :)

Translation: it's all talk.

What it's missing: Girls Kissing.

Let a guy, like myself - and I am volunteering - direct the video and all 68 minutes of it would have been wall-to-wall girls kissing.

Cute girls. Femme girls. Butch girls. All shapes and sizes of girls.

Kissing. Non-stop.

Oh, yeah. I could have had the same porn stars and "sex experts" blabbing on about the topic in general. But, they would be on split screen. On half of the screen, for the whole 68 minutes, would be - girls kissing.

On beds.

On couches.

Standing up.

Laying down.

In the shower.

In a park.

Fully dressed.

In lingerie.

Lips.

Tongues.

Girls Kissing.

And I'd win the "Best Documentary" award, hands down.

I want my $3.95 back.

Secret Lives of Men

2005-05-09T11:53:00.000-05:00

I was in a barbershop last week, cooling my heels, waiting for my turn to get snipped. It wasn't my usual barbershop. It wasn't even a real barbershop. It was one of those strip mall family hair cutting chains. They had a distinctly more upscale set of magazines laying around than I'm used to, so I rifled through the numerous copies of Cosmo Girl and Teen People to find this month's issue of GQ for men.

The cover story caught my eye immediately: The Secret Lives of Men. It purported to answer the question of "Why do men have to have double lives?".

Obviously, the article was pertinent to this blog. I would say that a high degree of my fellow club goers are there without the knowledge or approval of their significant other. So, strip clubbing fits into the secret double life category.

So, do men have secret lives in general? And why?

The author had some good insights on it that had me chuckling in the waiting room. For example, to paraphrase, he gave an example of the cost of a sweater. A wife will lie and tell her guy that the $299 sweater cost $200. The guy, on the other hand, will accurately report that the sweater cost $299 - but will neglect to say that it was a gift from his mistress in appreciation for the SAAB that he bought for her.

Funny. (props to the article author, who's name I didn't catch.)

The author had a similarly humorous take on the origination of the secret life phenomenon when it comes to men. Why do men lie to women about sex? He traced it to the first time he was caught jerking off to porn in his room by mom. He pretended that the Penthouse scattered on the floor was really Newsweek, and she pretended to believe it. Thus was born the pattern of the secret life.

So, what about it reader's. You've read my take here on this blog about my issues with the dual nature, the secret life. What's your take? Guys, does this describe you? Ladies, does your man have a secret life?

Four of the Best

2005-05-04T01:26:00.000-05:00

30 girls. 30 beautiful girls. The spectacle of 30 beautiful semi-naked girls simulating having fun in a high energy club greeted me as I walked in. A delightful menu of dance partners.

And I chose, or allowed myself to be chosen by, and got dances from four of the best.

Best is clearly a relative term in a strip club. All of these women, well most of them girls, are spectacular women in their own right. They are pretty. Quite pretty in fact. They are shapely. They are dressed in alluring attire. They are sexualized in every aspect of their behavior and manner at all times in the club. They project confidence and an ease and grace with sex and a comfort with their ubiquitous nakedness. And they are all worth it. Worth my time. Worth their pay for their moments of pretend intimacy with me. Worth it.

Having said that, and meaning it, there is still meaning in the phrase “the best”. The best intrinsically, in and of themselves. The total package of looks, skills, confidence, technique, moves, sales pitch, table talk, etc. And the best in terms of “fit” with me, the customer. Fit with my likes and dislikes and with generally being “there” with me – present in the encounter.

I’m a club veteran. I can evaluate a room fairly quickly as I enter and know with a reasonable certainty who among them is the best, although granted that with 30 gorgeous dancers the task can be daunting. But I evaluate and I know quickly how I will focus my attention and what will maximize my opportunity of being with the best any given night. I know how to say no to even the most tempting offers if it’s not what I want that night. And I know how to make it work if it is.

And so it was on a memorable night with four of the best.

The first, a lovely young dancer who was the first to find her way to my out of the way table. An Angelina Jolie type, tall and pretty in pink with a double ruffled skirt and long flowing dark hair. Ample assets and a megawatt smile. Quickly I was in the game. Some small talk, a shared drink, and a comfort level established – we danced. A table dance on the edge of the main floor, turning into two dances. A visual treat as she danced – out away from me and back – teasing me with that luxurious hair as I watched and enjoyed and memorized. Succulent full breasts. Amazing toned stomach. Well proportioned hips.

The second, a diva. Petite. Sparkling jewels and pearly white teeth set against deeply tanned and soft skin. A mix of Gina Gershon and Nicole Ritchie. Aloof, yes. But coiled sexuality and playfulness there too. Contact – safe, but with a hint of promise of naughtiness. Horizontal barbell piercings in each breast teased and displayed. Very naughty, this one.

The third, the jewel of my night. Elegant and hookerish at the same time, emphasis on the elegant. Dancer was long and lean with an absolutely perfectly slim derriere on display in a bright green neon spandex cutout chaps with a matching green G-string showing through. Table talk and a table dance as an appetizer, with a special 2-song private dance as the main course. And in the blue-lit booth, wedged in to capacity with other grinding duos, Dancer showed me what “the best” can mean. I’ve had many pleasurable “no touch” private dances, but Dancer was the best. Starting, as many have, facing away from me with with that exquisite derriere buffing my lap – the lightest of friction. But continuing that long after others would have moved on, and returning to it often. Not neglecting the cheek nuzzling and other delightful frictions. But excelling in the slow circles. Incredible.

And finally, the fourth. A pixie. Suntanned and petite with short black hair and an elegant tattoo between her shoulders. A last minute pleasure, born of persistence as she returned again to forestall my departure with her very reasonable question: “are you going to buy a dance from me?”. My gain, that she came back and that I did.

Four of the best. Thank you ladies. I will remember you.

Sweet Southern Charm

2005-04-29T02:06:00.000-05:00

I found her again. A beautiful girl with a sweet Southern charm. Playful and sexy. Athletic and graceful. And this was the night to spend time with her.

It was an easy path to the club now, found almost automatically by my car in the dark. A good size crowd greeted me as I settled into the rhythm of the club. Apart from the frenetic DJ, I could relax in here.

Some preliminaries, to be sure. A tip here and there. A table dance here, then there. All preliminaries. When I saw Dancer come out on stage, I knew where the night was headed.

She came out first on the back stage, waiting her turn for the runway, and I approached her there. There was that smile, as she knelt to receive the tip. That beautiful smile on a beautiful girl. Long gorgeous hair that flowed down past her waist, sun-kissed blonde. A tight white top with long flowing sleeves. A white skirt, tight to feature her delicious derriere, with a white thong panty peek at eye level to me. A black garter on her thigh for accentuation and tattoos, artistry on a pale canvas, discreetly placed. And that smile. Beautiful.

I loved her energy as she danced. Upright, with her arms high above her head and her shapely hips cocked just so. Horizontal, doing push-ups on the stage with her toned arms flexing. Graceful on the pole. Smiling all the while, with energy and vitality.

If Kate Hudson, the perky actress and daughter of Goldie, were a toned stripper and gymnast, she would be this dancer. Same spirit. Same vitality. Similar look.

So, we danced, she and I – on cue. After she attended to her fan club, but on cue.

Table dances first on the main floor. Gliding and sensual. A visual treat. Two songs, slow and paced. Leaning into me, but not touching. Just out of reach. Teasing. Her back to me, with her hair flowing down to her heart shaped, white thong covered, derriere making slow circles just above my lab. Leaned back on me, head rested deliciously on my shoulder, with a view down her breasts and that soft flat belly. Cheek rested against me. Her breasts, beautiful small natural breasts, gathered with one hand with a finger from her other teasing down between them. A show, just for me. Very nice.

A break. Off to do a promotional dance for her fans – 3 businessmen enjoying their evening and showing their appreciation. I watched the club, and the exotic spectacle of 15 hot dancers doing table dances simultaneously in the main room. And Dancer, her shapely toned back to me, dancing for her men. Hovering over them, her shapely back arched and her hips swishing slowly. Graceful. Appreciated.

And back to me. Dancer and I moved to a private booth. Where we talked, mostly.

We had some time before the first song started, a break for everyone to restart after the promotion. So we chatted, seated on the bench next to her. Small talk, about this club and others. About the rules. Any talk was okay, just to be near this beautiful girl.

And we danced, sort of. I was in a good mood. A talkative mood. An appreciative mood. Not necessarily a grind mood, or a touch mood. Talking was okay.

Dancer moved, as we talked, and kept up the essentials of a dance. Some stripping. Some slow circles. And I appreciated her efforts. She was very good at this type of dance – no touch, almost platonic.

So I talked. And I laughed. And I appreciated her beauty and her physique and her essence. And her vitality.

Some moments, as the dance progressed, of GFE. She sensed me. Sensed that I enjoyed the close contact of her. Not her body parts. Her. Some nuzzling, cheek to cheek. Grazing me with her luxurious hair. Pressing that delightful mane into my chest and rubbing into me. Appreciating that feeling of contact with her. Not horny. Not salacious. Very sensuous. Back up to me, cheek to cheek with her hair between us. Feeling the heat of her on the other side against my cheek. Delicious.

Three songs, and we’re out.

Thank you Dancer. A beautiful and vital Southern lady. I’ll remember you.

Life Outside the Blog

2005-04-28T11:57:00.000-05:00

I've had some interesting contact with readers outside of the blog this week.

Thank you to one new friend and a couple of longer friends. You were all good for me this week.

And to the new friend, thanks for lunch. I owe you one.

Spent

2005-04-24T12:46:00.000-05:00

Last week was a difficult and exhausting week, and I'm spent. I posted a lot, and long posts at that. I'm going to let everyone catch up for a few days and recharge my batteries.

So, take some time and read back through my recent long posts. You're likely to catch some details that you missed the first time.

Or, better yet - if you are a new reader - scroll down to the bottom and read my beginnings to find out why I write this blog. There's some good stuff early on that you may have missed or not caught yet.

Enjoy.

And go visit the links on my sidebar. My virtual friends.

Just a few days, Yawn...., I promise. Must sleep.....

Dating Myself in Paradise

2005-04-21T23:36:00.000-05:00

I’m alone. Extended traveling on business away from my family. In my favorite city on the planet, so far.

So, I took myself on a two day date.

To a play. Live musical theater, to be accurate, which I love. Nicely dressed. On the aisle. A toe-tapping, sing along good time.

To dinner. In a charming restaurant with Old South ambience. At a windowside table to watch the passing late evening party-ers. A delicious well-cooked filet mignon and a tasty dessert.

Clubbing – which you’ve read about in great detail.

Chasing the light. Photography, in the early morning sun. Exploring the heart of a newly familiar city. Seeing it my way, with my lens. My creativity bursting in the beautiful glow of morning. Chasing color.

To the ocean. Walking the surf’s edge for miles with the crashing surf and the cool breeze as my backdrop. Enjoying a frozen margarita on a colorful rooftop bar beachside, watching the tall ships disappear over the horizon, listening to tropical ballads by a lone guitarist.

Seeing Paradise my way. Perfectly. Except…

I was alone. In a sea of people. At the theater, the restaurant, the club, the city, the beach. Alone.

In Paradise.

And it was the most crushingly lonely weekend of my life.

Oh well, could be worse.

Porn Star Orgy at Center Stage, Part 4: On Stage

2005-04-21T01:19:00.000-05:00

…so, when we left off I had enjoyed a Porn Star Feature Dancer night at the strip club. A lot to see and experience. After leaving the club in the early AM I went back to my hotel, enjoyed the hot breakfast - still reeking of the club – and crashed into bed.

Where I stayed for a while the next morning. It was a weekend, and I had indulged in the experience, so I slept in. I had quite a hangover when I woke up. Not a beer hangover, because I didn’t have anything to drink all night. Not a beer. Not a drink. Not even a Diet Pepsi. Nothing. More like a club hangover from staying up too late on a high state of excitement and arousal for too long, and from being drenched in cigarette smoke and pounding music. So, it felt like a hangover.

And the cure for the hangover was to go back.

I eventually got up and moving, although very slowly, and made my way back out on the town. I went out for the evening and had a nice late dinner by myself. Around midnight I realized that the Ms. Kim Chambers was still in town for her last show night. So I found my way back to the club for a couple of her last performances.

I wasn’t in to the crowd this time. I looked around and it seemed like a much different group, and not a lot of fun. I wasn’t likely to linger around and just hang out, but I wanted to see her show.

“Two songs from our Feature Dancer”, the DJ announced. So I positioned myself near the stage and waited. By myself. No one else came up until she came out. As she came out, the crowd quickly filled up the standing space around the stage. Standing, beer in hand, no money out.

I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted out of the experience that night. I had seen 3 stage shows already the night before. Played booby ball. Watched others get pulled up on stage. Watched pretty girls get fondled. Bought the merchandise. (And watched the DVD, which was very hot!) Met Kim briefly twice. What did I want tonight? What had I missed? Getting pulled up on stage for a “ride for $5” was it, but I wasn’t sure that I wanted to. As Kim came around the front of the stage I helped her out by starting the tipping – but I didn’t put out $5. I pulled my punch. I wimped out. In a moment of indecision I put $2 down on the stage. More than the dollar others would offer, less than the $5 that would get me pulled on stage, and less than the $20 she was worth. Kim saw my tip and stopped at me first. I got a nice little show, still clothed, including the knee hooked around my neck pulling me in for a closeup view of her beautiful anatomy. Very nice. Certainly worth $2 for the personal contact. And it worked in getting the tipping started for that round, as guys started digging in their pockets for money to get their turn. She did a nice show for a few songs and brought up some guys and a couple of girls, but not me. And then she was off stage.

I moved back from the stage after she left, a little disappointed in myself. The stage tip was nice but I had stopped short. Unfulfilled.

I wanted to see another show but I didn’t necessarily want to hang out here. The crowd looked pretty dull. Just a lot of dudes standing around over their coolers drinking. Not many pretty girls that night. So I left, knowing that my hand stamp would get me back in.

I walked across the street to an adjacent club, the Land of the Towering Blondes. They were all there and they did not disappoint. Dancer after dancer – young, slender, tall, blonde. All very, very pretty. Wow.

(Sidenote: a reader asked me if this is my type, since I talk about blondes a lot on DanceFan. The answer is no. It just happens to be the physical type of dancer that predominates in some clubs. Stacked blondes kind of fit the employee profile – so to speak. But no, I don’t have a type. I have a fetish for “women”, period. I visit with and choose a variety of dancers over time. There are a lot of sexy brunettes and girls “of color” out there, and I’ve spent time with all of them.)

I had a nice time there, stageside, tipping each dancer as she came out on stage. Watching the two pretty brunettes across the stage from me doing the same. They were clearly enjoying the attention.

And I finally bought a dance that night. The last special of the evening, at last call near 2am, with one of the loveliest of the towering blondes, who I caught as she walked by me. Two nice tableside dances, polite with no contact and no conversation, plus a souvenier shirt – all for $20. A shirt without a club logo, making it the first shirt I’ve gotten during a promotional dance that I could actually take home and wear.

Back across the street, back into the club with a wave of the handstamp, just in time to see Dancer, the very sexy Ms. Chambers, who was already out on stage. Hell with it, I thought. There’s one more thing to do. And I held my $5 up high.

Dancer saw me and pulled me up on stage. “Lay down here”, she instructed and I did so as she mounted up for the cowgirl ride. Very nice. Very visual. And I enjoyed the feel of her weight on me. It was my moment. The highlight being when Dancer leaned over on me and put her cheek next to mine, completely covering my head with her luxurious mane of hair, and blocking out the club. For a moment, a split second really, it was just her and I in that space. A split second of headspace, of GFE. “Thank you, baby”, I said as I got a nice buss on the cheek. And it was over.

After a short stint of appreciating the house dancers, I decided to call it a night. As I passed thru the club, I saw Kim - finished with an autograph session - sitting alone in her lighted booth. So I stopped, said hi, and told her that I appreciated her shows. She was very nice and gracious in taking a few moments to chat with me. And once again, I was struck with her - dancer, yes, pornstar, yes, bombshell, yes - as a very pretty girl. And nice as well.

I was out, back to the hotel at a more reasonable hour. Ready for some personal time for myself the next day.

It was quite a weekend.

Thank you, Dancer. I’ll remember you.

Small Screen Strippers

2005-04-21T00:12:00.000-05:00

I'm up late, and I see that "G-String Divas" is on HBO at 3am or so. I don't know if I'll make it that long, but I've enjoyed that show before.

Most Hollywood fictional portrayals of strippers seem ridiculous to me. I'm thinking "Showgirls" and "Striptease", of course, among others. Their portrayals of dancing onstage are way too frenetic and don't strike a realistic chord with me.

I prefer the documentary portrayals, like HBO's G-String divas, which I thought was very authentic. And therefore, hot.

Maybe I'll stay up.

License to Lust

2005-04-19T18:21:00.000-05:00

I'm off to dinner. A certain sit down restaurant with an owl mascot where I have a free pass to ogle the wait staff.

Beautiful girls with orange clad bottoms.

Not strippers, but cute in their own right. And I mean that in a good way.

I enjoy a more expensive restaurant as much as any, but I have my days where a delightfully tacky yet unrefined experience is just what I need.

Porn Star Orgy at Center Stage, Part 3: Rolling, and the Bustier Comes Off!

2005-04-19T13:25:00.000-05:00

…so, Porn Star Feature Dancer night at the strip club continued. I had seen two of Ms. Kim Chambers’ exciting stage shows. I had played “Booby Ball”, tossing wadded up dollar bills at a shot glass held between Kim’s breasts onstage. And I had purchased autographed souveniers from Kim at her booth – a DVD and a Polaroid of her naked on my lap.

Plus, I witnessed a bachelor party girl-on-girl show onstage and tipped some dancers on the satellite stage. No private dances, but that’s okay on Feature Dance nights. I’m there to watch the show.

I also saw a fight break out in a group of young turks fueled up by their BYOB stash right after Pammy was stripped. It was in the area where she was dressing, and it momentarily scared her – so she grabbed her clothes and moved back. The bouncers rushed in to break it up, stranding the parade of house dancers ready to come down for a special.

That’s a lot for one night. But I wasn’t ready to leave yet. And Kim’s next show wouldn’t start for a while.

It was moving past 3am now, and with other clubs in town closed the crowd began to swell up towards 250. There are some tables, and some chairs, and some couches in the room. But mainly it looks like a lot of people hovering over coolers.

I passed the time by moving around and observing the crowd. Not neglecting the house dancers on stage, of course.

The trio of college girls were surrounded now, getting hit on by some of the brave few. They weren’t responding. In fact, they had been emptying their coolers for a while and looked sleepy.

Buddy Girl was still hanging out in the couches above the stage with her friends, some of whom were getting more and more rowdy and aggressive.

The Attractive Couple was moving around the club, sampling the wares of various dancers on the satellites stages, him tipping and her encouraging him. I spoke up as we passed.

Me: “So, did you end up getting the Polaroid?”

Couple-Guy: “No, I passed.”

Couple-Girl, of the black bustier: “Well, let’s see yours.”

Me: “It was fun. I’m glad I did it.”

Couple-Girl: “Fun is back there”, pointing to the private dance booths and smiling big.

Me: “So, have you been back there.”

CG: “Once. It was really fun. But you should ask him.” I’m guessing couple-guy has been there more than once.

And there were new players joining the cast. Mostly female. There were girls flooding the club at this late hour. Many very pretty. And a few worth noting.

There were two Dawson Creek girls. Dressed preppy, lace shawl and all. A Katie Holmes clone and her pale blonde twin. They moved around with a shocked-by-naughtiness O forming on their mouths for a while, watching from a few feet away as a fully nude spectacular dancer slid down a pole upside down. Priceless. They’re not that innocent now.

And the two party girls, who passed by me on their way to the Ladies Room, one dragging the other by her hand. They came out together later, conspicuously mussed, with the Paulina Porizkova clone’ jeans still unbuttoned. Hmmmm. Hot or sloppy? I couldn’t tell. But they were in their own world. Both hands raised and dancing to their own internal soundtrack. Oblivious to their surroundings. Rolling, I’m guessing – if that’s the right term. Ecstasy? Probably.

Still waiting for Kim.

Two more bachelor parties. Two more increasingly lurid girl-on-girl shows for the groom’s erectional benefit. Ritualized kitty-licking by beautiful and very flexible! girls, inches from me.

And the stadium jam music told me she was coming.

Ecstasy Girl pushed her way up to the side of the stage with her girlfriend, still dancing to her own music, and spun girlfriend around to grind on her. Interesting.

Out came Kim for her next show in a hot sequined chaps outfit. Very professional. Very sexy. Very entertaining. The large crowd swelled up against the stage, and it was time for a show.

It was the ladies turn again, and Kim surveyed the crowd and chose. Buddy Girl had made her way stage side, and was chosen – pulled on stage, but not alone. Couple Girl was pulled up as well!

Kim laid them out side by side on the stage and had her way with them for our enjoyment. One at a time. Stalking them. Fondling them. Down came Buddy Girl’s jeans, panties displayed and fondled. Up came Couple-Girl’s bustier and out came her delectable tits. Kim got two hands full to massage and fondle, and as Couple-Guy stood stageside smiling, the crowd roared their approval. They seemed to enjoy it. I know I did.

Booby Ball was next, but the newly arriving crowd was too drunk to get it. Kim moved around the stage trying to give away some merchandise, but they just weren’t figuring out the wadded dollar bill toss into the shot glass. I already had my merchandise, but I tried to help her out. I got Kim’s attention and she stopped in front of me. To educate my drunken stageside peers, in an exaggerated fashion, I rolled up a bill and tossed it at the shot glass she held strategically. Ohhhh, now they get it. And the game was on. You’re welcome.

Unexpectedly, instead of ending her show there as before, Kim gave us one more voyeuristic gift. She had noticed Ecstasy Girl gesturing wildly at the side of the stage and she pulled her onstage. Kim attempted the fondle show, but EG wasn’t playing along. She was rolling. Dancing dreamily around the stage, like a toked up hippie girl at a Grateful Dead concert, just out of Kim’s reach. Spinning around the pole. Moving just as Kim caught her. She paused just long enough to strip completely naked, and then resumed her dance. Rolling. Kim caught her at the pole and moved in behind her, catching a fistful of hair and humping into her. But EG was gone again. Rolling. Finally, Kim just sat down on the stage and watched EG dancing around in her own little world. “She’s hot”, Kim said to the crowd. And she was. Hot. And rolling.

Finally, Kim was done and I was too. I wanted to wind down as the night headed somewhere toward 5 am.

I checked out the crowd as I exited the room. I swear there were men sitting on high chairs in the middle of the room completely passed out drunk. One guy crashed his whole cooler on the ground as I passed by. Must be hell to clean up that place every night.

I made it back to my hotel and noticed, unbelievably, that it would soon be breakfast time in the lobby! Reeking of strip club, I went down and had a nice meal of eggs and biscuits and gravy with the geriatric early riser set. Delicious. Then I went back to my room and crashed.

To pick up the next day where I had left off...

Stripper Fantasy Dies a Cushioned Death

2005-04-18T22:45:00.000-05:00

I enjoy Ken and Ariel's witty and sexy website, linked on my sidebar. Go check out Ken's post today ("Perpetual Immaturity") about the fantasy he has when women tell him they are "going out with the ladies for the night". Here's a hint: it involves four scantily clad vixens, jumping on a bed, and badmitton rackets!

Here's the comment that I left for them on the post:

"I can relate.

I used to fantasize about what strippers do in the daytime. Do they all live together and have girl loving sessions all day? In my dreams, yes.

Reality intruded this week as I watched a pretty blonde girl bitch at her boyfriend in a Super Walmart as she picked out Dr. Sholl gel insoles. "Get your ass over here and help me choose", she told him loud enough for the whole aisle to hear. "I've got to dance in these tonight!".

Do they fit in the clear heels?"

Did I Have a Hall Pass? at the Strip Club

2005-04-17T20:40:00.000-05:00

So, I had a question. And the nearest club employee in sight was the mountain of bald humanity overwhelming a barstool next to the stage. A bouncer.

"Yeah, four eyes? What do you want?"

Four eyes? Are you fucking kidding me?

I'm 45 years old. No one has called me "four eyes" in more than 3 decades, if ever.

When I was fifteen that would have bothered me.

That night, surrounded by beautiful semi-naked strippers, I just laughed.

And gave the next stripper a bigger tip.

Revenge, my style.

Porn Star Orgy at Center Stage, Part 2: Stripping the Cute Civilian

2005-04-17T02:40:00.000-05:00

…so, it was the wild night at the strip club with the Feature Dancer. You’ve already met the players from part one:

Kim Chambers: Feature Dancer, porn star, sex bomb, and a very pretty girl indeed.

Buddy Girl, hanging out with her guy friends and hiding unobtrusively in the back on a couch above the stage. Cute, as far as I can tell with short blonde hair, jeans, and a green tanktop.

Attractive Couple with couple-girl in a black bustier and a good attitude.

College girls, a trio, hanging out stage center sitting on their BYOB coolers.

And “Pammy”, the show stopping cutie standing next to the stage offering herself up to be fondled by each dancer in turn. She was dazzingly cute, and everyone in the club was acutely aware of her presence. Every time a dancer would come on stage and get to her at the tiprail, all eyes would swivel to the moment – watching each dancer caress and fondle her in their own way. I’m calling her Pammy because she looked to me like she could be Pamela Anderson’s little sister. Not in the gargantuan tits department, because she hadn’t developed there or been to the surgeon. But in her big curly hair, pulled back in a pony tail and in her very cute face. Button cute. And, I know this will sound strange, she had Pam Anderson’s eyebrows. Exactly. Plus, she was hot.

I had been to my car to drop off my signed DVD from Ms. Chambers and was anticipating her next show. But before we got to that, it was bachelor party time.

There were starting to be more people filtering into the club around 1:30 or so and there seemed to be a few parties. Parties fueled by the BYOB coolers that were getting a little more boisterous as the night moved on. And at least one of the parties was a bachelor party. As the DJ beckoned the tipsy groom to be onstage his buddies lined up to cheer him on.

Now, each club has their own particular culture and habits when it comes to celebrating and / or humiliating grooms and birthday boys. I’ve written about this before in “Babes Wielding Belts”. I was about to learn the habits of this club, and it went like this: First, four of the lovely house dancers came out on stage with a chair, which they positioned on center stage. The hapless male in question was surrounded by the ladies who swarmed him while one of them knelt to get his pants down around his ankles and his belt off. Once he was seated, the ritual began. Two of the girls stayed with him and, holding his arms back, looped the belt around his neck to hold him still. The other two hot dancers straddled each leg simultaneously for a sensous double grind, and then moved out about 6 feet away to the front of the stage directly in front of him. There they proceeded to put on a girl-on-girl show in an attempt to give the groom a boner. Facing each other, the dancers embraced and made a show of rubbing their tits together. Then, one at a time, they knelt in front of the other to go down on each other in a standing position. Enthusiastically, but briefly. Yeow! Then they stood and traded places with the two detainers holding the neck-belt. These two bounced on his lap while making yelping kitten noises and then proceeded 6 ft out and did the same. The blonde with short hair and the cutoff sports jersey knelt in front of the brunette, cupping her cheek skillfully in the way of a knowing lover, pulled her in to feast. When it was her turn the brunette spun the blonde around, bent her over at the waist, pulled her cheeks apart, and buried her face in between. Again, enthusiastically. I don’t know if the groom had a boner, but I did. Proceeding with the ritual, they turned away from him and spanked themselves for his viewing pleasure. Then all four gathered to surround him in a four-way boob hug before pushing him to the floor on all fours for his spanking with his own belt. All in all, quite an elaborate ritual.

And then it was time again for Ms Chambers, and her feature dancer stage show. In her earlier show, Kim had dragged several guys on stage for a ride-for-five experience, cowgirl style. This set was for the ladies. Two beautiful ladies.

First up was a house dancer. Raven black hair with matching black chaps with strategic cutouts. She was giddy and giggling as Kim pulled her up on stage and laid her out on her back. For our benefit and viewing pleasure, Kim gave us quite a show. Fondling her before spreading her legs wide and moving in to feast on raven’s panty covered pussy. Wow!

And then, the inevitable happened and Kim pulled Pammy up on stage. I said earlier that she was either the cutest civilian girl I’d ever seen in a club or a stripper herself, and we were about to find out which. Pammy came willingly onto the stage with a “who,me?” look on her face. Kim could see the quality of this girl and took her time to play it for all it was worth. Gently she laid Pammy back on her stage just a few feet from my standing position at the edge of the stage. Pammy’s head was near me, and I had a perfect view down her body as Kim crawled up over her, stalking like a jungle cat. A perfect position to look down Kim’s back to see a perfect heart-shaped ass framed by a black leather studded thong. A perfect view to see Kim nuzzle her neck before pulling Pammy’s red/white top up to show us all her small, sexy tits before she fondled them.

“If you want to see two girls get completely naked, I better hear some fucking noise!” the DJ bellowed, and the crowd – numbering more than 100 – roared back our approval. And the stripping began.

Kim came quickly out of her thong. Pammy sat partially up and peeled off her tops with an ear-to-ear grin, and then laid back on the stage. Kim unbuttoned her, unzipped her, and then slowly drew Pammy’s pants down her legs to the applause and mad cheering of the crowd, revealing her small pink panties. Kim lowered her head to those panties and, looking straight ahead at me, licked them. It was brain melting hot. The panties were soon gone and the poses changed. And my suspicions were, to me at least confirmed. Pammy had to be a stripper herself. She was perfect: that pretty face and big hair, that toned body with a spectacular tailbone tattoo, that tanned body and shaved kitty. Perfect. And totally comfortable nude onstage. She had to be a stripper herself. And Kim was making the most of their show together. She turned Pammy around on all fours and snuggled in behind her, doggy style. Very hot. She pulled her upright, still on their knees, and licked her fingers before reaching around to run them across Pammy’s pussy lips. Smoking hot. And all the time, Pammy maintained that pleased and startled “Who, me?” lucky girl smile. It was priceless, that show, and I’ll never forget it.

After some more “Booby ball” with the shot glass between her breasts and merchandise giveaways, Kim’s second show was over and she was off the stage and back to the merchandise booth for a spell. “Oh, hell”, I thought. “I’m going to get the Polaroid with her.” I went to wait in line to speak with Kim Chambers – porn star and showstopping dancer - for the second time that night.

”How much is the Polaroid?”, I heard from my left. It was the attractive couple, pondering a purchase. “$20 bucks”, I answered – still marveling at them both enjoying the club experience. She was pretty, and I wanted to spend some time talking to them. But it was my turn with Kim, and I found myself sitting in the booth with a fully nude Kim.

“Okay”, she said, “You have to hold my knees. Here we go. One, two, three!”. And with that she swung her legs up for me to catch behind her knees. And the flash went off, and I had another souvenier. Now, where will I keep that?

I excused myself, went out to the car to deposit my risqué Polaroid, and came back in past the doorman for the 3rd – but not final – chapter……

Porn Star Orgy at Center Stage, Part 1

2005-04-16T04:41:00.000-05:00

There are a lot of beautiful, sexy, and dynamic house dancers at strip clubs all around the country. I love them, I really do. They are very good at what they do and they make my night whenever I see them. But when a Porn Actress Feature Dancer comes out on stage you know that you are in the presence of a star. Beautiful beyond compare. Sexy in every definition of the word. And fearlessly confident. When it’s time for her stage show everything in the club stops. All eyes are on her. And she owns the club.

This was one of those nights. And for me it was an incredible night of voyeuristic sensory overload.

I made it into the club later than usual for me, just before midnight, and found my way to a seat near the stage. I was wondering when her show would begin when the stadium jam music from the DJ booth told me I was just in time. “Are you ready to rummmmble?” And, in the midst of flashing lights and the ritual recitation of the bio (films, TV, magazines) out came Dancer to start the show.

Wow. Ms. Kim Chambers – Porn Star – Dancer – in the flesh just a few feet from me. And what beautiful flesh it was. She had a rocking porn star body of course. An ample endowment. A big beautiful booty with a tasteful tattoo on her left cheek. Shaved for the stage with a natural blonde landing strip. All very, very sexy. But what really captivated me was how pretty she was. Her photos that I’ve seen don’t do her justice. This is a really beautiful woman. One of the prettiest women I’ve ever talked to in person. A pretty face. A gorgeous mane of layered blonde hair down to her shoulder blades. And eyes that light up and penetrate you. I know it sounds strange and silly, but when she looked at me several times throughout the night, I felt like she really was looking at me, not just at another anonymous crowd. And she had a vitality that said she was alive and confident and was going to enjoy this night of being therewith us.

Dancer‘s stage show was unique and entertaining for her 3 or 4 song set. She made her rounds at the tiprail of the elevated stage, first clad in her gold sequined flowing robe and eventually fully nude in a personal film preview. Acrobatic variations of hooking a customer’s head with her leg and bringing his head in for an up close and personal view of the goodies brought the crowd into play. Several lucky gentlemen got this treatment. And a few more got pulled on stage for a personal mini-porn riding, sans trousers, by Ms. Kim herself. After she de-pants’d them, she climbed on board for some simulated porn star cowgirl action. Lucky guys!

After she had her way with the hapless few, we moved on to the traditional merchandise giveaway songs, with a twist – the twist being a spirited game of “Booby Ball”. Carefully squeezing a shot glass between her sizeable breasts, and with said merchandise tucked conspicuously against her nether regions for extra seasoning, Dancer moved around the tiprail as a roving backboard. Wadded up singles were then tossed by the crowd at the shot glass, with the eventual winner awarded the merchandise – but not before getting the pulled-on-stage-pants-pulled-down cowgirl ride on stage. Lucky guys!

All in all, a fabulous stage show by a truly beautiful and sexy star.

I wanted to meet her, of course. If only for a moment of small talk at the merchandise booth after her show. I wanted to meet her. So I waited while she was off doing some private dances, and took some time to explore the club.

I sampled the house dancers in their stage sets. One main stage, clothed, and two satellite stages fully nude made up their rotation. As I said at the start, there are some very sexy house dancers at these clubs. Both naturally cute girls and bombshell exotic girls. A cute bleached blonde in hotpants and a cutoff sports jersey. A sexy sorority girl in a rope like dress that framed her tits in a bondage look. A hardbody blonde in the rubber nurses outfit. Wow, again. Spectacular. Quite a selection, about twenty dancers in all. I took some time to enjoy some of their work and to tip them as well. No touching at the tip rail, I observed, in this club. No breasts in your face. Just dancer dancing and an appreciative tip left in a pail on the edge of the stage.

I also took some time to observe the club scene and the crowd. Lots of guys standing around, a beer in hand. “No alcohol sold” the sign had said. BYOB. No waitresses on the floor, just lots of guys lugging in coolers. Some looking like they were on their way to drunk, and in a hurry. Lots of testosterone and military haircuts.

And girls. Not many, but a few civilian girls were in the club. I always notice civilian girls in a club, and I watched these girls and how they were enjoying the club.

There was a cute Buddy Girl, with a short blonde haircut and jeans and a midriff, sitting with her group of guy friends unobtrusively up in the corner. Almost hidden.

There were three college girl types, all with hair and hooded sweaters huddled at a table near stage center and sitting on their coolers.

There was an attractive couple, my age, enjoying the show. Couple-girl was an attractive girl, dressed sexily in a black lace bustier and black pants to set off her blonde hair, with an attractive smile and an attractive attitude about being in the club. She was enjoying the club and she was enjoying letting her guy enjoy the club. That’s rare, and I was envious, but I had fun watching them have fun.

And, most noticeably of all, there was the cutie standing by the stage. This girl was either the cutest civilian girl I’ve ever seen in a club, or was an off-duty dancer herself. I was guessing the latter. And everybody in the club new she was there. She was like a radiant sun, drawing everyone’s eyes. Why? Three reasons. First, she was cute. A very cute face, a summer tan, and big blonde curls pulled back in a pony tail with soft strands pulled down to frame her face. Very cute. She reminded me of Pamela Anderson’s little sister. In fact, I’ll call her Pammy. Second, she was hot. She wore form fitting Capri pants, with her tanned and toned belly exposed at the midriff and two tops - red over white - tied up at her breasts. She oozed sexy as she stood by the stage for the entire night with a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other and a clutch purse held under her arm. And finally, she was offering herself up by the stage to get molested in turn by each dancer that came out on stage. She didn’t move much from her spot and she didn’t shy away from the attention. Each dancer took their pass at Pammy. Kissing her neck, feeling her up, licking her belly, dropping their head to her crotch, or pulling up her braless top to lick her nipples. Pammy got the full treatment each and every dancer, and she was enjoying it to the fullest. As were all of us guys, watching her enjoy it. I spent a considerable amount of time just watching Pammy, the civilian girl.

Until Dancer, the porn star, made it to the merchandise booth.

“This guy’s been waiting a while”, the bouncer / helper told her as he pointed to me. Kim looked at me with those penetrating eyes, and smiled that beautiful smile and asked me my name. Small talk ensued as I decided quickly on a DVD purchase over a signed Polaroid photo.

“I’d like the picture”, I said, “but where would I keep it?”

She recommended a DVD choice and pulled out the picture to sign it. As always, I was marveling at the situation. I’m standing in a semi-dark corner of a strip club with a semi-naked beautiful woman, and a star at that, standing next to me and signing a DVD for me. Unbelievable.

“Would you sign it to DanceFan”, I asked. Without missing a beat, she did.

“Are you staying for the next show?”

“Of course”, I said. “I’m here to see you.”

“Are you going to come up on stage with me next time?”, she asked.

“Hmmm. That sounds fun, but I’m here commando, and I wouldn’t want to get de-pants’d.”, I said laughing.

I left the booth, with my signed DVD. I took it out to my car, and returned to the club for two more of Dancer’s shows.

And the night just got better…

What are the Odds?

2005-04-15T11:39:00.000-05:00

I'm traveling on business for a while.

There is a strip club within 10 miles of me.

There is a porn star Feature Dancer appearing there this week.

What are the odds that I'll find myself there by the end of the weekend?

If I were a betting man.....

Rock on Strippers

2005-04-14T23:05:00.000-05:00

One of the benefits of traveling constantly is rental cars. I'm in a different car every week. Fun cars. Big cars. Always new cars.

This week I'm in a Pontiac G6. That's right. The Oprah car. I always love driving Pontiacs because I just think they are fun cars that fit me well. Grand Prix's are my favorites. But this G6 is right up there. Fun. Sporty. Comfortable. Okay, enough of the commercial.

The best part of the G6 from a rental perspective, by far, is the XM radio in the car. I love it. I go out driving at night just to listen to all of the channels available on XM. Probably heading for a strip club too, but you already knew that :)

I went through all of the music channels. Enjoyed that.

I made it through all of the talk channels. I especially like AmeriRight and AmeriLeft talk radio. Nonstop politics. I'm there. And I listen to both. As I sidenote, I find it hysterically funny that you have to press the right seek key to go from AmeriRight to AmeriLeft. The leftwing channel is to the right of the rightwing channel. I guess you have to be a political junkie to think that's funny.

Speaking of funny, I just found two comedy channels yesterday. Standup comedy and TV / radio comedy bits 24 hours a day. I've been driving down the road laughing my ass off since I found them.

Which brings me to tonight and Chris Rock. I was driving down the road when Rock came on with a bit about Strip Clubs and Strippers. It was the funniest thing I've heard in a long time. The man is a genius. I even arrived at my destination and stayed in my car laughing until the end of the routine.

I can't quote him exactly, but I'll try on a couple of his riffs:

On Strippers: " I'm not getting down on strippers. Somebody's got to do it. Somebody has to do the job that they do - entertaining married men. You're wife will do you, but she won't entertain you."

On the Stripper Myth: "You know the myth - 'I'm dancing to pay my college tuition'. No, you're not. What, is there a college in town that only accepts tuition in singles?"

On addicted buddies: "Every guy has a friend that is ADDICTED to strip clubs. Totally addicted. They even go in the daytime. Buddy, if you're in a strip club and the sun is out, you've got a problem."

There was more, and I was rolling. The man is a stone cold observational prodigy.

By the way, I'm guessing that I'm covering a lot of my friends as their addicted buddy.

Airborne Stripper Scent

2005-04-14T00:32:00.000-05:00

As I’ve said here before, I love Stripper Scent. That ubiquitous and distinctive smell that I mentally associate with strippers on contact in the club and that immediately puts me in the strip club state of mind. That close-up smell of shimmery body powder that is ever present in the lapdance. I love it. And I experienced it again this week in an unexpected place – in flight.

It was another business trip. Another airport. Another round of the routine: arrival gates, food courts, departure gates.

People watching:

- the Silly Cute Girl in her fashionable Capri pants playing relentlessly with a Slinky in the food court
- the Pretentious Boy with his baggy pants and 3 hats: a beat up baseball cap, with a sweatshirthood pulled up over that, and a bright red cowboy hat perched on top of it all
- the Gadget Boys and their high tech toys. Laptops and Blackberrys and Bluetooth wireless headsets looking like crazy people talking to themselves as they pace relentlessly solving the pressing business issues of the world.

And one wildly inappropriately dressed hoochie-mama waiting at my gate for our flight. It was as if she was flying somewhere to dance and didn’t want to wait until she got to the club to dress. Big hair. Florescent top barely holding her in. Deliciously sexy midriff. Tantalizing lowrider pants. All of it screaming “sex!”. And her scent, that distinctive stripper scent, washing over me as she walked by.

Oh, my. She had my attention, as no one has had my attention in an airport in a long time. She was beautiful. Sexy. Exotic. And extremely desirable. And I desired her, big time. She was pacing, worried about the flight, and she passed by me each way. There it was each time. That scent! I was immediately transported back to the strip club. To the dimness. To the pounding music. To the erotic scene of several beautiful young girls moving through the room – prowling and flirting and working. And mostly, to the intimacy of the private dance and the closeness and the contact with a beautiful girl.

All from a scent. And a sexy girl.

I wanted to be with her, but had to settle for sitting 4 rows behind her and letting the blowing of the overhead air nozzles bring that scent back to me. Which it did, for the duration of the flight. It was pleasing. Reassuring. And arousing. Not that a hard-on on an airplane is particularly useful, but it broke the monotony of the flight. Forget the laptops and spreadsheets. I was lost in the sense memory of the club, courtesy of that scent, and in impure thoughts….

Thank you, my airborne dancer.

Transaction between Two Troubled Souls

2005-04-12T22:20:00.000-05:00

There was an interesting post on Brighton's excellent blog ("A Day in the Night of a Stripper", link on my sidebar, or click here to see Kristin's post) this week - guest written by Brighton's friend Kristin. The post was about the emotional toll that stripping takes on a dancer.

Kristin's post was directed at us male customers. Not vindictively, just pleadingly. She wanted us to know that stripping wasn't a glamorous life and if they thought the dancer was having fun, they were mistaken. She had some interesting and insightful comments, which I'll excerpt in part here.

For example, Kristin's thoughts on drugging up to go on stage:

"What you don’t know is that a lot of strippers have to get HIGH before getting up on stage. Yeah, HIGH AS A KITE so they can mask the pain, shame and stigma stripping imparts. I’m pretty sure Brighton can back me up on this. The women might look like they are having fun up there but they aren’t. They aren’t sluts looking for a good time. A lot of them feel like whores and it’s just one step up for being a hooker. Most are stripping to pay for diapers, formula and let’s not forget the overdue electric bill. They aren’t there because they want to be famous or enjoy showing off their bodies to strangers. It’s about money, plain and simple. You are a means to an end and some women don’t have any other way to make good money and keep the bills paid. Don’t forget, having a drug habit costs money too. How sad to have to get high so you can have strange men fondle your body so you can pay the cable bill and pay for your drug habit. It disgusts me. It saddens me. It’s a vicious cycle. Those are the women in the upscale clubs. The women in the seedy clubs already come in with a habit and strip to make money to maintain that habit."

And her interview with a friend who had stripped to confirm that:

"K: Is substance abuse pervasive in the industry?
B: Yep. There are some nights that I had wished to God I was stoned.
K: Because of how you were treated?
B: Partly and partly because I was so disgusted with myself. I knew what I needed to do to get through school. A private university education don’t come cheap, let me tell you. Not to mention several year of grad school. I had a future. Most of those girls were dead end. No life, bad choices, shitty men in their lives, little or no family. *she trailed off and looked away*
K: I’m so sorry.
B: It’s ok, I made the choice to strip.
K: What choice? Quit school and get a half assed job to support yourself and never realize your dreams because of a horrible twist of fate? That’s not a choice in my book. You did what you had to do. I don’t condemn you for that."

Finally, her friend's thoughts on paying her way through college by stripping:

"K: Was it worth it? *I asked as we returned to her office*
B: Stripping? *she looked around her office* Yeah, it was. It made my dream come true. I was one of the lucky ones."

All interesting, no doubt.

Being that I am a regular strip club patron, and thus one of the guys that Kristin is talking to, let me add my observations.

1. I have obviously seen the toll that stripping can take on a dancer. In person, in the flesh. I say "can", because I think she's painting with too broad a brush and there are girls with their head on straight out there like Brighton. Most of the dancers that I've written about here on DanceFan fit that category. But there are those it takes a toll on clearly. I remember specific conversations at tables with girls who told me that they just can't take the soul-killing nature of their job anymore. And if that's spilling over to me, as a customer, then it's serious and real.

2. I know that the majority of dance encounters that they have can be negative experiences. A lot of guys in the club are either outright jerks or are abusive. Dancers have to fend off inappropriate behavior a lot. I know that. I try to be the customer that they can feel safe with and look forward to seeing come in. But I know from comments that these lovely young girls have to deal with a lot that they shouldn't have to in order to do their job. It's a tough job.

3. I know that girls get drawn into fortifying themselves with various forms of chemical bravery to get through the night. I've seen my share of tipsy and high girls. And they didn't start that way on the first night they walked into the club. It's part of the club life that they adopt.

All in all, it's not ideal.

However, here's what I also think:

- I may be wrong, but it seems to me that some of the girls, some of the time, are having fun.

- It is a job. Kristin bemoans, understandably, the fact the some girls have no other options to pay the bills or get an education to get a good job.

So, my observation is that it's important to not overlook the fact that it is an option. What's the alternative? That they have no option at all? Isn't it, in some sense, a good thing that men willing to pay for this experience provide an entire industry that provides women an option?

And guess what? People make choices all the times to do jobs that don't fulfill them or that are a hardship on them. I'm a businessman that travels every week away from my family. Do you think that doesn't take a toll? Do you think that the guy who's operating a machine in a factory every day is having a lot of fun or doesn't want to drink his way through the day. It's a fact of life. You find the best job that you have options to get and you make do with the toll it takes on you. That's life.

- It takes a toll, but not just on the dancer. Many lapdances, if not most and my own included, are in my opinion a transaction between two troubled souls, not just one.

Interesting post, Kristin. Food for thought. You hopefully started a good dialogue on the topic. Thanks for writing it.

Anyone else have thoughts on this?

Simple Pleasures

2005-04-10T16:28:00.000-05:00

I love....

the swish, swish, swish of a pretty girl's hips

and sun dresses, which I'm starting to see pop out again. Thank goodness.

Toy Man

2005-04-10T00:21:00.000-05:00

I was conversing with a dear virtual friend tonight when the topic of sex toys came up. I'll just say that she is a woman dearly in need of some sex toy pleasure. Not suprisingly, she doesn't own any and asked for some enlightment.

Now, I'm a guy but I've spent many hours shopping for sex toys. Many hours. I shop with the intention of pleasing my partner and I am a man of variety. I've bought them all. (Someday we'll have to talk about the backpack I have tucked away that contains a variety of high quality red leather restraints and lenths of cotton rope. Someday.) So I was able to offer some basic, beginner, advice. Here's what I told her:

Two things come to mind:

1. Where to buy them - I can't see you walking into an adult book store, where they sell all varieties of toys, by yourself. And I'm not there to give you a guided tour, which would be very much fun.

So, either you have to buy something off the internet or find a different type of store that sells them.

I'd start with the yellow pages under either "Lingerie" or "Novelties". Some lingerie stores, not the Victoria's Secret kind, have a back area with toys. And the sales staff is very helpful. Usually ladies working in there who will get you through any embarrassment. Just make a joke out of it and they'll joke back and help you. Other type of stores sell them as novelties. We have a store in my town that sells birthday supplies in the front and "Adult toys and oils" in the back.

2. What to buy: two types -

Vibrator style. There are three basic types you should think about:

- small pocket rocket or mini vibe. Looks like a tube of lipstick, with a vibrating head. More powerful than they look.

- Basic penis shaped. You can get them in solid, gel feel, or even natural skin feel. With or without vibration.

- Rabbit. the ultimate vibrator. It has a gel penis shaped tip, with rotating beads in the shaft for motion, and a clit stimulator extension. Probably takes some practice, but it's the ultimate machine.

Massager style. I recommend the Conair Toch and Tone style massager. It has a handgrip and a 90 degree extension with accessory heads. Easy to hold. Way powerful. It works. You can get one at any Walgreen's drugstore for $10, no questions asked. (Click here for picture.)

You asked! :)

Enjoy, my dear friend. I'll be waiting for a progress report.

Anybody else want to jump in with advice for my friend?

Land of the Towering Blondes

2005-04-06T00:48:00.000-05:00

It was her eyes that surprised me. Or, more precisely, her eye level. It's not often that I'm standing next to a beautiful stripper that's at eye level with me. Not often.

Okay, it was her eyes as well. Beautiful and sexily made up behind her narrow school teacher glasses. Hot. Dancer was impressive. A Towering Blonde with a pony tail and a rail thin body. Young and pretty. Think a 6'1" Jessic* Simps*n. And she was a surprise that night.

It was a new city and I was in need of a new club.

Research, that was the answer. The yellow pages had failed to turn up any promising prospects, so it was off to the web for some sleuthing. Soon I had not only found a selection of clubs but also reviews of the clubs by customers. That should be helpful I thought. After trolling through the information, I had settled on two possible clubs. The reviews for one indicated that it was absolutely the place to go in town for the beautiful girls. The other was dicier. The reviews were not good and indicated that the club was falling apart. I'm going with the first one. So with a little bit of skillful navigation on unfamiliar roads in some bad parts of town, I found it. And guess what? The second club was right across the street. Nice, maybe I'll check them both out.

I pay a steep cover charge at the "good" club and I was in. Promising, I thought, on first glance. But looks can be deceiving and this time I was deceived. It didn't take long to figure out that the club was both lame and dead. A scattering of customers. A scattering of dancers. Pretty, but not really grabbing me. Ten minutes later I cut my losses at just the cover charge and headed out the door.

It was still fairly early, so I decided to poke my head into the club with the bad reviews and just to rule it out and get it off the map. A lighter cover at this club, and I'm in.

Goldmine!

Beautiful dancers everywhere, including Dancer who was doing her stage set. I found a table, but quickly moved up to stand next to the stage to tip her. Dancer smiled, came over to me, and put on quite a show. A pole dance with her back and small firm derriere in my face. Up against me, facing away, with her head leaned back on my shoulder. And then upon me, towering over me, with a long lingering embrace - rubbing each nipple lovingly on my nose.

"My private dances are awesome", she breathed into my ear with a hot sexy voice.

"Come find me", I answer back and move back to my table.

Next dancer. Awesome! Another towering blonde, pony tail, and rail thin. Twin barbies. Back to back. Another round at the tiprail. A beautiful girl in tight black leather hotpants, high cut on the hip, that ride deliciously up molded to the cheeks of her delicious ass. Sexy.

Where was Dancer?

Back on stage, another towering blonde. Another pony tail. Another delectable ass. A perfect ass in fact, displayed for me on all fours at close range. Where are they getting these girls?

Where was Dancer?

Across the club I observe 3 other dancers hitting on a group of men for table dances. All tall. All blonde. All pony tails. Amazing.

Ahhhh, here's Dancer. She finds me and plops on my lap for a talk. She's chatty - about her age, 21, and her schooling at the local college. She's flirty. She's tipsy, too, it becomes apparent. Charmingly tipsy. Let's go dance.

It was a nice private dance. Not awesome, but completely acceptable and memorable. Dancer towered over me as I settled in on the couch. A few rules, including touch, are exchanged. "I'm a gentleman", I explain to ease her worries. Dancer does a slow strip tease in front of me as the song begins, in our very private little booth. Very sexy. She settles in on her knees in between my legs and does a slow circle over me with her hair grazing my crotch. Very nice. "That belt is hot", she says as she looks up at me. Hearing that, and looking back at this lovely girl in a sexy pose in front of me I'm reminded of P*ris Hilton. And then she straddles me for some close contact. Light contact by her. Light touching by me. Her skin amazing to the touch, my fingertips alive. Delighting in the smooth taut skin on her hips at the small of her back. Amazing.

We pause to chat outside of our little booth about her schedule for the week. That's when I notice her eye level. And her eyes. Beautiful.

Thank you, Dancer. And thank you to the rest of the Towering Blondes.

Man, I Love Morning Sex

2005-04-03T11:43:00.000-05:00

And, to quote Tom Hanks in the movie "Bachelor Party":

"If she can still walk then I don't know my business".

Jumped

2005-04-02T12:04:00.000-06:00

The Mrs. is jumping my bones on a regular basis now. Not that I'm complaining :) It's a good way to start a Saturday.

No details, other than to say that it included a humor break when a certain rugrat decided to ring the doorbell to get Mom and Dad's attention. He is so grounded.

"Bombshell" Defined

2005-04-01T13:17:00.000-06:00

In my last post about a pornstar Feature Dancer I mentioned that she was "cute, but not a bombshell". Reader JeN left me a comment to ask:

"She's cute but not a bombshell. For you, what makes a woman a "bombshell"?

Good question. Let me try to answer that.

First let me say that my comment was not intended to express a preference of "cute" over "bombshell" or vice versa. It is a descriptive comment only. As I tell my stories here of my time spent in the clubs I try to be descriptive to help set the scene. To paint a word picture, as such, to help you relate to my experience. In fact, I've had nice time in the strip clubs with "cute" girls and "bombshell" girls alike.

Since the post that the "bombshell" reference was in was about a porn star who was a Feature Dancer that night, let me start my definition of the word "bombshell" within the porn context. If you've watched a fair amount of porn, you can probably follow me here. Most of the high profile porn girls are what I would put in the "bombshell" category. Jenna Jameson. Brianna Banks. Tera Patrick. Kobe Tai. We're talking dolled-up wonder girls who have had significant plastic surgery to enhance their natural attributes. Which is fine by me. They're very hot. Again, I'm only being descriptive - not expressing a preference.

There is an equally talented, but probably less well known, category of porn girls who go with what nature gave them and rely on cuteness and talent alone. All three of the porn star Feature Dancers that I've written about here fall into that category: Felecial, Inari Vachs, Stephanie Swift. Again, fine by me. They are very cute and very talented and very hot as well.

I could illustrate the difference if you could see some of the very first magazine photos of Jenna Jameson, before she became the "bombshell"'d up mega star that she is today. The early version "cute". The current version "bombshell". Both hot.

The same dichotomy applies in stripper world, at least by my observation. There are strippers that are "cute" and natural and talented. There are strippers that are all "strippered up" and in the bombshell category. Also talented. Plastic surgery. Great outfits. Mega tans. All of that. Again, I'm just being descriptive - not expressing a preference.

I will make two observations though:

1. I'm would guess that there is some difference in the ability to make good bank in the "bombshell" category than in the "cute" category. It's why the "cute" girls are saving their money for some surgery in a lot of cases. However, I could easily be wrong on that. I'm sure there are some "cute" girls in the "unobtainable" category who make good bank as well.

2. Most of the dancers that I've written about here are in the "cute" category. So, maybe I do have a personal preference.

That's my thoughts.

Anyone else have a thought on this topic? Dancers - speak up.

Feature Dancers: Worth Fighting Over

2005-03-28T00:47:00.000-06:00

I remember the night, a few years ago, when I saw a porn star Feature Dancer by accident.

I was working in an unfamiliar area of Ohio and had caught a hotel room for the night in one of the major cities. As is my habit, I quickly located a nice strip club to enjoy a few of my evening hours in. As I entered and paid my cover charge I was pleasantly suprised to see a poster advertising a Feature with that day's date on it.

"She's here?", I asked. "Tonight? Stephanie Swift is here tonight?" Yippee!

You may not know Stephanie by name, but she's been around the business for quite a while and I've seen her in several films. I certainly knew who she was. Stephanie is a cute little brunette. She's not a bombshell, but she is cute and she is talented and she was there in the flesh that night.

I remember three things.

First, that I enjoyed her stage set a great deal. She really worked the tiprail as well as the brass pole, and I got to tip her up close and personal and I got a poster from her as well.

Second, that I met her and talked to her up close and personal as she signed my poster off to the side of the stage by a pool table. I was struck by two things: that she is a very small girl and that it's very strange to be talking to a naked girl about whom you've read an article in a porn mag about the only position that she can achieve orgasm in. Very weird. But fun.

Third, that her next stage set was exciting and memorable but for the wrong reasons. As she came out and starting working the tiprail - a fight broke out. A bachelor party was in full alcohol-stoked swing in a private area above and to the side of the stage. For some reason, the party turned in to a full out brawl. Fists flew. Tables crashed. Glass broke. As a matter of fact, broken glass came flying over my shoulder to spill out all over the stage where Ms. Swift was working. Bouncers came out of everywhere. More bouncers than I have ever seen in a club. Ms. Stephanie Swift was quickly scooped up and hustled off the stage into the back. Bouncers physically grabbed several of the bachelor party brawlers and bum-rushed them out of the front door. Meanwhile, I was sitting at my table realizing how narrowly I had escaped getting caught up in a brawl and knowing that would be a bad thing to be arrested for or in the newspaper for while I was on the road. I quickly made my exit as well.

But not before meeting my memorable Feature Dancer, Ms. Stephanie Swift. Very nice. Thank you, Ms. Swift.

Rx for the Club

2005-03-25T09:27:00.000-06:00

Well, you all got to see a different side of DanceFan in that last post. One time only. I'm going to keep that separate for my political blog from here on out.

I was just extra bummed out this week by the news.

I need to spend some time talking and laughing and private dancing with some delightful young ladies to get me out of my funk.

I'm writing myself a prescription for a lapdance (or two, or three...) as therapy!

Time Out for a Political Rant

2005-03-23T07:01:00.000-06:00

Politics. I try to keep it out of this blog, and have succeeded until today. I suspect that several of you and I would disagree on politics, and my purpose here is to write a fun and positive blog recounting my appreciation of strip clubs and dancers. Why poke my finger in your eye on other topics, if you come here to read those stories.

Besides, I would rather that you would be reading the previous post, which I wrote late last night, about a Feature Dancer porn star that I enjoyed seeing. Really.

So I write a completely separate blog on politics, that's every bit as long and as invested as this one is. Let's just say I pay close attention to the news and have to express myself often on those topics as well.

But I have to speak up today. I'm bummed this week by the news. By the murder of that precious little girl, Jessica Lunsford, in Florida by that drug addled pedophile. By the senseless slaughter in a school in Minnesota by a Nazi obsessed wastoid teenager. And by the murder of Terri Schiavo in Florida by her husband Michael. Bummed. This is the type of week when I wonder what kind of society we have become?

Several sites that I enjoy that are linked on my sidebar have commented on Terri Schiavo, mostly on the right-to-die side. I appreciate that people have honest and strongly held opinions on this topic, and I respect that. Here is mine.

Let me say 3 brief things.

1. Michael Schiavo is a bad guy, who is out to murder his wife. He does not have his wife's best interest at heart, and as a husband I'm appalled at his behavior. He wants his wife to die, and for nefarious purposes - not noble ones.

2. Terri's family - not just her parents, but her brother and sister, are long suffering saints who I admire deeply. Michael should step aside and let these fine people care for Terri. She's not dying, or at least wasn't until last week. Let them care for her.

3. If we allow Terri Schiavo to be starved to death in front of our eyes, court sanctioned or not, we have completely cheapened our culture.

I had to speak up. It won't help. I'll still be bummed and Terri will be dead. But I had to speak up.

Let Terri Schiavo live.

O.K. I'm outed now, politically. Flame away, and then go read my previous post, which is what I really wanted to talk about here.

Feature Dancers: Poodle Skirts and Anal Scenes

2005-03-22T23:26:00.000-06:00

I started reminiscing back in January about Feature Dancers in general (here), and about some Features that I've seen and met in specific. Starting with Felecia, the Queen of Lesbian Porn.

Tonight, for some reason, I was remembering one of my favorite Feature Dance performers:

Inari Vachs (photo gallery here)

I first heard of Inari Vachs from reading about her winning an AVN award, I believe for "best blowjob" scene of whatever year. What a strange name for a porn star, I thought. I'll have to find one of her videos. Since then I've seen several of her scenes, although I would be hard pressed to tell you what the titles were. I'm thinking that some of them were from Vivid Video - that she may have been or is a Vivid Girl. Inari is certainly talented in the particular category that she won her award for. In the scenes that I have seen her in, she is an expert at the long, slobbery, eye-contact, blowjob. An expert. But then again, she is talented at all aspects of porn. I've seen her in girl-guy, girl-girl, gang bang, and anal scenes. She's a porn trooper.

Inari is a beautiful girl. All natural. Petite, but solid. Small perky breats. Beautiful blonde hair. A shapely ass. An all around girl-next-door beauty. She seems to be present and enjoying every scene, not just posing for the camera. And most importantly, she smiles a lot during sex - a beautiful smile. Her most identifying trait is her O-face, which is very distinct, in which she draws up her upper lip and starts a giving birth breathing pattern with little yelps and then rolls her eyes up into her head as she comes. I've seen it many times on video. It's cute. Although I'm not entirely sure what it sounds like, because I usually watch porn with the sound down!

So, imagine my excitement when I saw Inari Vach's name on a marquee at a chain strip club as a coming attraction. I was there at the appointed hour, taking my place at the tiprail front and center of the stage. I don't recall if I had any lapdances that night, although it's very likely that I did. Mainly, I was there for Inari.

Finally, the time came. The lights went down. The tiprail filled up. And the DJ went into his full stadium-jam porn star introduction with lights and smoke. And without further ado, Inari came down the middle aisle to the vibrant guitar riffs of Dick Dale. (I know it was Dick Dale because I talked later with her assistant / light man / sound man / poster hander outer / etc.)

Dick Dale music and a Poodle Skirt. I kid you not. Inari was decked out in full 1950's regalia. She was beautiful and the outfit was very sexy. Especially as it came off of her over the course of the next three songs. Inari knows how to work a stage and a tiprail and was very smooth and professional. As I recall, the third song involved a towel and lotion dripped off her body - quickly accompanied by the handing out of her posters to the more vocal of the tiprail drooling monkeys (yours truly included).

It was a great show. Hot. And unique with the Poodle Skirt.

Freshened up after her stage show, Inari went to a booth in the back that was set up for merchandising. You could buy a video or DVD from her or have your poster signed by her. While she was standing there naked. Yeow! Given that she was what I was there for, I took my place in line with my poster to have it signed.

Eventually, it was my turn. There I found myself, face to face in a tight space with a very beautiful and very sexy and very naked Inari Vachs. And there was that smile! Beautiful.

Some small talk was necessary as she signed my poster, so I babbled out the only thing that I could think to say, which was "I enjoy your movies". She looked me right in the eye and asked the impossible question. "Oh really. Which movie did you like the best?"

As I said before, I usually see disjointed scenes without particularly paying attention to the title of the movie. I've seen more since that night and have paid attention to them. For example, the "Backseat Driver" series from Toxxxic Video is pretty good and she is always good in them. "Girls night Out" with porn star Chandler is pretty good too. But on that night, that was a tough question.

Thinking quickly on my feet was difficult, because all of the blood had already left my brain and gone elsewhere. (I was standing toe to toe with a naked porn star, after all!)

"Cry Babies", I said quickly. "I liked Cry Babies". For some reason I could remember that title. Inari's scene in "Cry Babies" essentially involved a 20 minute anal pounding by some guy with minimal dialogue other than her pretending to be crying the whole time. It wasn't violent or extreme, just campy. She was role-playing the crying. At least I think she was crying. I had the sound down. But visually, it was a great scene.

Inari smiled a big beautiful smile at me as she signed my poster. "No one has ever answered that one to me before", she said. She seemed pleased.

Time was up and I moved out of the booth for the next mook to step up. And that was my encounter with the beautiful, natural, and sexy Ms. Inari Vachs. A unique professional in a plastic business.

As a postscript: I went out the next day and bought a Dick Dale CD. I listen to it now and then and remember her and her Poodle Skirt.

I'll never forget her smile. Thank you, Inari.

All Skate

2005-03-19T15:58:00.000-06:00

There are 3 great things about being a helper at a large kid's party in a public setting:

1. I get a lot out of working with kids. They're great and they always give more back to you than you give to them.

2. Excercise. Lots of it. In this case, go fast and turn left. Over and over.

3. Hot moms! In tight jeans! Say no more, nudge nudge, wink wink.

Now, where's that heating pad again?

Vice Indulgence at 35,000 feet

2005-03-15T23:38:00.000-06:00

I'll take a little detour here and describe for you one of my other vices.

I indulged in this particular vice today. Transcontinentally. Voyeuristically. At 35,000 feet.

I knew it was going to be a long flight, so I popped a DVD in my bag on the way out the door. Once the announcement was made that it was safe to use approved electronic devices - out came the laptop, on went the headphones, and in went the DVD. And for 2 hours I indulged in my vice, which is.....

Musicals. I love musicals.

A movie musical in this case. One of my favorites.

"Moulin Rouge" starring Nicole Kidman and Ewan McGregor.

Come on, tell me you've ever seen better screen chemistry between two stars. Tell me you've seen a better love story. (Ok, "Shakespeare in Love" - one of my other favorites - is pretty good too, but MR wins because it's a musical!) Tell me you've seen a more gorgeously photographed and directed love story. Just tell me.

I love the scene when Ewan and Nicole are singing to each other on top of the elephant early on. That's where the chemistry is most noticeable to me.

And I really love the musical number where they do the combination: a Spanish flavor dance to "Roxanne" with all of the dancers and a version of "Come What May" that Ewan is singing to Nicole while she's having dinner with the Duke in the tower. Now that's a sexy scene.

It was all I could do to not break out in song on the plane.

Ok, that's my other vice. I love musicals. Don't even get me started on Les Miserables.

By the way, I have a theory on how this movie played a role in the breakup of Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman's marriage. Think of it this way - a lot of Hollywood marriages break up when one of the actors falls in love with a costar. I think that's what happened with Nicole and Ewan. They were two fellow Aussies starring together on a movie set who fell in love. It broke up her marriage to Tom. The timing fits, as I recall. Tom and Nicole were happy for ten years. Then she does this movie. Then she comes back and has a miscarriage. Then Tom files for divorce and moves out suddenly. It makes sense, to me anyway.

What's ironic about that is how it fits the plot of Moulin Rouge. If you know the story - the courtesan (Nicole) falls in love with the penniless writer (Ewan) but they can't be together because she has to be with the Duke. They sing to each other about their love that they can't bring to complete fruition, because she's spoken for. Just like Nicole couldn't be with Ewan, because she was spoken for by Tom. That's what I see in the chemistry between them, visible on their faces and in their teary bloodshoot eyes, when they sing "Come What May" at the end.

But that's just my theory.

Okay, enough on this topic. Back to strippers....

Going Upscale, Part 4 - Voyuerism

2005-03-13T10:35:00.000-06:00

It was the last stop on my "Going Upscale" binge weekend and I was in full stripper saturation mode. I really didn't need or want anymore time at the tiprail, but I did want to check out one last club that someone had recommended to me. On another night, when I was less stripper saturated, I would have been focused on the awesome strippers and the stage or private dancers. Not that night though. I decided just to sit back and relax and take in the club scene. Sorry ladies, I wasn't spending money by that point. I was just there.

It was actually two clubs in one and I had to choose: full nude but BYOB, or topless with alcohol.

I wasn't drinking, so I chose full nude. It was hefty cover charge, but there was the promise of breakfast from 2 am to 6 am. Breakfast? 2 am? Would I still be there then?

I entered the club at about 11pm and was smacked in the face with a gonzo scene. Bright lights. Neon. Maximum sound. Girls dancing naked in cages. It was like the Xtreme Games version of a strip club. Gonzo. Customers wall to wall including standing room around the fringes. I'd never seen anything like it. Honestly, it wasn't for me. I usually cut my losses early when I've made the wrong choice, so I exited within two songs and wrote off the cover charge. I slid over to the other entrance to try the other half of the club.

Now this was my style. Upscale. Elegant. Tasteful. Probably expensive, but that's okay. I won't be spending much.

Another choice: upstairs in the VIP area, or downstairs. The attractive couple ahead of me in line that were already groping each other chose upstairs. I chose down. And I entered the scene.

Entering the club area was like entering the Roman Colliseum. The main room was two stories tall, bordered by elaborate Roman columns. Plush seating filled the main downstairs area surrounding three stages. A large elevated main stage and two piano shaped satellite stages. The upstairs was essentially a U-shaped balcony, supported by the columns, that overlooked the stages and had a stage of their own. Two long staircases descended from the back of the balcony on each side down to the back of the main stage.

I settled in to a seat in the middle of the downstairs seating area, triangulated between the main stage and the satellites with a panoramic view of the whole club, depending on how I swiveled my seat. I settled in to voyeur mode and decided just to soak in the club scene for a couple of hours. I had one cola all night and no private dancers. I think I tipped 3 dancers total all evening. (Sorry ladies - I was just saturated). And I watched the following 5 scenes play out:

1. Bubbly Blonde: a nubile young waif - platinum blonde, tan, gorgeous, with designer jeans and a short cleavage bearing top. Kind of a younger, prettier Tara Reid look. She was at the table next to me with 3 guys. I noticed her right away when she stood up and gave a Woo-hoo kind of a cheer that strippers usually give each other to keep going through the night. A little unusual for a pretty civlian girl, but sexy. She's got spirit, I thought.

2. Two strippers hitting on two college type guys next to me.

3. A couples party a few tables over with about 4 couples, all of the women very pretty.

4. Blonde twins with their hubbies/boyfriends.

5. The attractive couple that had gone upstairs.

All night long I had a rotating voyeur show with one or all of those groups.

Bubbly Blonde was the show of all shows. I was intrigued by her table mates: preppy guy (her date?), nerdy guy, and old guy. But she was the show. Her, and the stripper that was milking that table for all it was worth. Dancer got passed around between the 4 of them, song after song. Mostly, she was with BB, who was enjoying the attention. Literally in the chair right next to me was a full on girl-on-girl show for a while. Dancer sat on BB's lab for a while, snuggling and cuddling and laughing. Then she got up and gave her a couple of very raunchy lapdances - including grinding herself on BB's knee while they were deeply locked in some very hot French kisses. Very Hot! Boners all around.

The couples party started very high energy with the couples sitting together and drinking heavily. Everyone, girls included were ogling the dancers. Not much tipping, just partying. Eventually, it segregated - and got more interesting - when all of the girls sat together, for a while all in one seat.

Soon the two college guys bought dances in side by side seats from the two hot brunette strippers that were sitting with them for a while. That turned into rolling double dances as the strippers played with each other as they writhed on top of the guys. Very Hot!

The blonde twins were tippers - and they would go up one at a time to the main stage. One in particular was shy/sexy as she would drag her boyfriend up with her. Boyfriend would stand behind her with his arms around her while the stage stripper made a sandwich out of her. Each time the blonde would blush and act shy. Cute!

The attractive couple upstairs sat facing each other, legs entertwined, at their table along the balcony rail. They never moved. As the night progressed, they got closer and closer until they were making out at their table. Then she crawled over on his lap and gave him some discreet lapdances as they made out more. Then they disappeared.

Bubbly blonde, was still the main show. After getting some more hot dances, including a standing butt-grabbing dance, she and Dancer went off down the hall to the bathroom together. They were gone for quite a while. What was going on in there? My imagination when into full fantasy mode. Eventually, they came back and it was on with the show. Back and forth BB shared Dancer with preppy guy. Dancer on BB's lap wiht preppy guy playing with Dancer's ass, and vice versa. Then nerdy guy got in on it and kept throwing out 20's to keep it going. Then old guy was throwing in 20's for Dancer and BB to keep at it. And Dancer and Bubbly Blonde were certainly enjoying each other. It looked personal and real. And very hot.

Eventually Dancer had to go onstage. BB followed and, with some more Woo-hoo's, went up to tip her. Very Hot!

BB went back to the table and sat down while Dancer moved on. Then, strangely, all of the guys including preppy guy got up to say extended goodbyes to BB and leave. That left Bubbly Blonde sitting by herself right next to me. What? Preppy guy wasn't her date? What did I miss?

Two songs later Dancer came back around, stood BB up and hugged her, and took her by the hand out throuh an employee only door next to the bar.

Oh. Now I get it. How did I miss it? BB wasn't the prettiest civilian girl I had ever seen in a club by herself. Oh no. She was a dancer, too. She had probably worked the day shift and was waiting for her friend / lover? to get off to. And they played the guys at the table for a lot of 20's in the process. Clever, really. It's probably been done before. I didn't mind, of course. They weren't my 20's. And I had a really great and hot girl-on-girl show right next to me.

Now it was my turn to exit and I looked at my watch. 5 minutes until 2 am. Guess what I did?

Back to the other club, where my handstamp got me back in, for the breakfast buffet. Strippers and scrambled eggs, oh my.

And I was out, to conclude my upscale weekend.

Thank you ladies - and fellow customers - for a great weekend.

Passion on my Mind

2005-03-10T17:31:00.000-06:00

Does she know....that I love to be with her?

To gaze at her?

To feel her delicious weight on me, to smell her intoxicating scent, to rest my fingertips lightly on her hips.

To shelter in enveloping embrace of her silky hair on my face?

To nuzzle my lips ever so slightly in the hollow of her neck?

To feel her hot moist breath on my ear?

Does she know....that the thought of her brings a flush to my cheek and an urgent needy hardened steel bulge to my jeans? Unseen to the crowd around me - but all consuming to me?

Does she know?

Marked

2005-03-04T06:33:00.000-06:00

We dispensed with the routine, Dancer and I. We went straight for the headspace.

It had been a while since we were together and we were physically hungry for the dance. She as much as I.

"Let's talk you off of the schedule", I offered, and we departed for a 1/2 hour in the VIP. Alone. In private. And horny.

An extended lapdance, in it's most literal sense. Our laps locked together in a slow, intense, over-the-zipper contact. Fucking, but not.

Embrace. Stroking, fingertips only. Breathing, mine heavy - hers shallow and ragged.

"God, I am so wet. You're pants are going to be one giant puddle!", she said - frustrated - as I paused to adjust.

"Oh...that's better", she said. And we resumed. Me nuzzling her ner neck as her silky hair enveloped me. Contact. Slow, sensual, intense contact. Private pleasure. And it's working for dancer.

"You're the only one that I feel safe enough or horny enough to do this with", Dancer whispers in my ear. And I allow her to feel safe. To have time for her. Rocking. Connected. Fucking, but not.

Dancer is distracted. The VIP is private, but not private enough and anyone might walk in. She's almost there, but not quite, and we pause.

"God, I just want to fuck you. I want to rip your clothes off and fuck the shit out of you. I am so goddamned horny, I just want to fuck right here, right now. Fuck!"

"We're not in a hurry, baby", I tell Dancer. "Make it good for you". I scoot down on the couch a little so that we're more laying out. I pull her against me, into an embrace, and I hold her as we resume. Holding her to me, holding her head in both of my hands on my shoulder, tenderly, as we resume. Rocking. Contact, perfect pleasing contact. Fucking, but not.

Her hot breath against my ear. My purring against hers. Deep ragged breathing. She's almost there.

"One more song", interrupts the bouncer as he sticks his head in the VIP.

"Damn", says dancer - and the mood is interrupted. We embrace again and ride out that last song.

"I am so horny", Dancer says as I pay and we embrace to part. "What am I going to do about that?"

"Hey, look at me. I can point North", I say to lighten the mood, with my arousal still evident through the front of my slacks.

My wet slacks.

My very wet slacks.

My very wet, shiny silvery glazed slacks.

Marked.

Thank you, baby. You are very special to me.

In and Out

2005-02-26T23:17:00.000-06:00

New city, new clubs. But I don't have much time so it will have to be in and out.

I started with the biggest and best, a chain club that I've always wanted to visit. It's literally a palace on the outside. This has to be good. A reasonable cover and I'm in to a luxury pit with a huge main stage, plush tables, and big screens everywhere. Wow! It's everything I would have expected and more. I bet this place must be jumping on a weekend night. Unfortunately, this is a midweek afternoon and the place is dead. 3 zombie girls, 5 patrons, and a DJ that's threatening what feeble customer base he has with endless playing of "break songs" until someone starts tipping. "My girls don't dance for free!". Nothing happening here, and I'm gone in ten minutes. In and out.

I'll try one more before I give up and sack out in the hotel. It's a little hard to find, and I pass it up on the highway. Cirlcing back, I pull into the back parking lot with 50 other cars. That's a good sign.

Walking in I can see that the place is jumping, full of energy. A huge room, two stories tall, with 4 stages and neon lit side areas including a "Champagne VIP". Semi-naked girls everywhere. Everywhere! A quick scan of the room and I can see more than twenty dancers in all kinds of wild stripper outfits, including a wild girl walking by me with bare-ass chaps on. Hello. How will I choose? I grabbed a beer and a table on the main aisle to figure that out.

I see Dancer walk by and immediately my search is over. She's clearly the top talent in my field of view and she's out on the floor working the room. I quickly catch her eye and she joins me for a drink. Dancer is a beauty, way out of my league, and I'm entranced by her as we talk. I'm holding my own, though, as we talk about the dynamics of the club, her travels as a dancer, and the bruise on her slim and lovely knee. "Are you ready for a dance", she soon asks. This is an easy decision and I follow her to the VIP private area for what I know will be only one $40 dance.

What are the rules in here? I forgot to ask. I'm captivated by this early twenties sex goddess before me. After clearing my person of sharp or protruding objects, we dance. Not knowing the rules, I lay back with my arms out to the sides and go into my gentlemanly "no-touch" posture and let Dancer dance her routine for me. It works - for half a song. Dancer goes through the poses - straddle, grind, reverse, back to straddle facing me. Nothing's happening with the wood. I'm amazed, not necessarily aroused, which is okay. It's only going to be one song. That's not going to get me there. I'm content to just enjoy this beautiful girl being here with me, against me, on me. Dancer seems suddenly perplexed by my reserve and I become a challenge to her. Leaning into me, and draping her long thin silky hair over me, she takes both of my hands firmly into hers and clasps them directly on her tits. Small, soft, real, sexy tits. Wow. And I join her in touch. My hands quickly caressing her in my usual touch mode. Fingertips only. Moving. Stroking. Memorizing her slim sexy toned body. Incredible. She grinds quicker on my lap, moans deeper into my ear, and starts planting wet sloppy kisses on my cheek. Oh my. I could spend an hour here and be in love. The wood is responding. Too late, and the song is over.

I regained my composure and thanked Dancer. "You made my night", I tell her and I'm gone.

In and Out.

Girl Watching in Layover Hell

2005-02-25T19:43:00.000-06:00

6 hours in the prison known as a concourse of one of the World’s busiest airports.

People watching. Well half-of-the-people watching. The amazing capacity of the brain to filter out half of the population from my vision. The wrong chromosome pair not even on my radar screen.

If you’re a people watcher and you’ve had a long layover in an airport then you know that there are strategic chair placements in certain gate areas that are perfect. Not the cattle herding areas where the chair clusters are cramped and facing each other. Oh no. The rare few seats that line the concourse facing out. Perfect for people watching.

Ok, let’s be honest. Perfect for butt watching. Beautiful butts. Jean clad butts. Bouncing butts. Swishing butts. Barely there butts. Vivacious teenage butts. Slim Asian butts. Shy girls hiding their butts behind sweaters. Juicy girls flaunting their butts in low riders. Oh man, are there some delicious butts to enjoy tonight.

And hair. All lengths, shapes and colors. Short bleached blonde hair. Long silky brunette hair. Flaming red hair. Elegant styled hair.

And lips. Luscious juicy pillow-ish lips like those on the two beautiful exotic Indian teens sitting next to me waiting their flight to Canada. Yeow! Would it be wrong to jump them and kiss them for the next hour?

And shoes. Heels and boots and stilettos and flip-flops. Plain shoes and fashionable shoes with beautiful ladies attached.

I don’t normally have a thing for shoes. But the beautiful blonde seated in front of my for a late lunch had on the most interesting shoes today. She was interesting as well. Shoulder length blonde streaked hair. A perfect tan and makeup. Elegant silk blouse and form fitting slacks. Expensive but tasteful jewelry – not trophy wife bling, but expensive. And those boots. Black polished leather with a high thin heel. And long, sharp, impossibly angled, wickedly pointed toes. Very exotic. Very erotic. Looking at the whole package, I’m thinking traveling feature dancer for high end gentleman’s clubs. (I saw her later in the concourse after we’d both been rebuffed on standby. I walked up beside her and said “I meant to compliment you earlier in the restaurant – you have very interesting shoes.” She smiled and thanked me and we walked together for a while. I wished her a good flight and went on my way. She’s probably wondering about the traveling businessman with the shoe fetish! J Actually, I was more smitten by that slim delicious butt in the elegantly tailored slacks.

It’s hard to be horny in layover hell.

Erotic Echo

2005-02-24T00:55:00.000-06:00

...to my last post, "Passionate Kisses", from an anonymous wonderful female who was compelled to leave her computer in a good way:

She likes to be taken.

Words have pulled her here. Into the space where words fall away, after they have finished their work and now echo insistently inside her.

The echo vibrates and pulses and demands. Now it is the pleasure-pain of strong need for her. Pulling her willingly to an even deeper place.

She realizes she is following the rhythm and cadence of the words in her self pleasure. Slowly, slowly. Is this to soothe or excite more..the warmth moves and moves and grows.

A kaleidoscope of images swirls before her. The ceiling above her bed becomes a screen for the slide show that doesn't stop playing before her open eyes.. Oh God, now she hears his voice. Oh God...

The wave picks her up .Legs draw up involuntarily. Shudders run through her shoulders and the pleasure becomes audible. The orgasm is deep and wide and long and hard.

The wave drops her there. Drained of need temporarily. But only temporarily, because...

She likes to be taken.

Very nice. Thank you, my friend, for sharing.

Passionate Kisses

2005-02-22T13:08:00.000-06:00

She likes to be taken. And this week, on a break from the clubs and in the midst of discord, I took her.

She was hurried. Pent up passion unleashed and frenzied. Wanting to make it all up in an instant. Frantic desire. Hunger. Devouring hunger.

The first time, yes - I took her. Hard. Rough. Pounding. Intense heat between us, as it was when we were younger. Missionary. From behind with her head pushed down into the mattress. Ankles gripped. Release - for her, not me. That's ok. My turns coming.

The second time, on my terms. Slowing it down. Denying her, in a sense. Pleasing her in the end.

R&B on the CD player to set the mood. Rich, sexy beats and smooth velvet voices. Freshly showered with a new scent to entice her. She starts again, with urgent and busy hands. I stop her hands. Hold her. Still her. And wait. And then I create the headspace.

Kissing first. Soft kisses. Very soft. She kisses back - hard, urgent. I stop her. "Soft kisses, baby. Soft kisses". One song. Two. Soft kisses. Passionate kisses. Slowly, on my terms.

Caresses. Fingertips only. The side of her face. The hollow of her neck. Kisses following. Her back, her sides, her thighs. One song on the CD. Two. The swell of her pendulous breasts. Fingertips only. High on her breasts, just below her collar bones. Working down. I roll her on top of me so that I can explore her with both hands. Caressing. Memorizing. Fingertips only. Her back, the swell of her ass right where it meets her thighs.

The heat of my erection between us. But no penetration. Not yet.

I hold her face in my hands and kiss her as she hovers over me. Only lips. Soft kisses.

On my terms I turn her and settle in between her legs, my hips pressing into her and spreading her legs with their pressure. She reaches for me, as I kiss her, to guide me into her. I deny her, hold back just short. The engorged head of my cock poised at her entrance. Wet, slippery, deliciously hot. And the heat guides me. But I hold short at the entrance.

Small movements. No penetration. Teasing the entrance of her pussy. Sliding against it, but stopping short. Pushing and stopping. And kissing her. Soft, continuous kisses. All lips - no tongue. One song. Holding short.

She's urging me with her calves. Trying to push me in. But I hold short.

Reaching for me with her hands. But I pin them against the bed and hold short. She whimpers into my kiss. Pleading with her moans.

Penetration. One inch. Only one inch. Then out. Penetration. One inch. Then out. And kisses. My lips on hers, soft but unrelenting. Penetration, foreskin deep only.

Two contact points. My lips. The engorged head of my cock. Slow circles at the opening. In. Very slight. Out. Very slight. And kisses. And she whimpers and writhes, but I don't give in. Grooving with the R&B. Nuzzling her neck with my lips as I move, ever so slightly. It feels amazing for me and it's driving her wild.

Contact. Grazing her clit with the engorged head. Wet. Slick. Rhythmic. Sliding. Rubbing the length of her slit and back to her clit. Hands still pinned. And kisses. Unrelenting. Three songs. Four songs. Incoherent mutterings. And kisses, my lips caressing hers. Soft nibbles.

Two points of contact. Her lips. Her clit.

Penetration. One inch only. In and out. Shallow. Wet. Slippery. Volcano hot. Denying my length.

Forty minutes. One Hour. Repeat on the CD. Penetration denied. And passionate kisses.

And when she was completely melted, completely incoherent, completely in the headspace, I took her. Deeply. Long slow strokes. Deep, deep penetration. Hands tightly gripped. And deep, deep kisses. One finger stuffed into her mouth as I stroked, her sucking deeply on it. Two fingers stuffed into her mouth, feeling her tongue grip my fingers. Deep, filling strokes as I pulled her against me.

Release, to the smooth sounds of deep bass vocals, as an orgasm ripped through me from the soles of my feet to the shivering top of my head. My thighs trembling and shaking as I emptied into her.

We stayed entangled for some moments, collecting ourselves. And kissing. Passionate kisses.

Frustration and Discovery

2005-02-16T16:09:00.000-06:00

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.

Stripper Love

2005-02-14T08:16:00.000-06:00

Happy Valentine's Day to all the beautiful, talented, and sexy dancers that I've spent time with in the dark!

Special hugs and kisses to Passion and Spirit, My Lovely Dancer, Sassy Girl, and The Light in Her Eyes. You girls have added a lot to my life. See you in the clubs!

Gdiva Chc*late

2005-02-13T13:08:00.000-06:00

Back in town. I had a nice time at a club here the last time I was in town. (I wrote about it here then - called "Where do you want to put it?") And half hour after I land, ten minutes after I a rental car, before I go find my hotel, I'm there again.

I love this little club. It's small and cozy, but it's fun and the girls are consistently pretty across the board. My plan is to have a beer, tip a few dancers, and then go find my hotel and crash. It works for a while, a short while. I tip a few beautiful blondes and I swear the first one says it again. I folded up a bill and she approaches and asks "Where do you want to put it?" What are my choices? "Top or bottom". I try both, of course. Top is a bill tucked in my mouth and deposited between cushiony breasts. Nice. Bottom is the G-string pulled out and I place the bill directly in front with my teeth. Nicer.

And then Dancer unravels my plan. She's black and tall and an imposing presence on the stage. Incredible long dreadlocks. And she's working it. No one else approaches the stage, so I do.

"You're working hard up here", I say.

"Good answer", she says smiling. Where do I want to put it? Top, indeed.

"Where's the party at", she says, looking over at my empty table.

"Over there, after you get there", I offer.

"Another good answer", she smiles. And I know I'm in for a treat.

Dancer joins me on the couch, and quickly learn four things about her. First, she's Jamaican and very, very beautiful. Second, she's a proud and very sexy black woman. "I should call myself G*diva, for the chocolates, but I'm so fine", she says confidently. Third, she's extremely tipsy, buzzing as she calls it. And fourth, being very tipsy, she's very touchy. And I'm not complaining. This beautiful girl cannot keep her hand off my crotch. And I'm not complaining. A glass of wine and we're off to the couches.

Dancer was an erotic delight, all contact in a full out grope session in the privacy of the back couches. She's way into it and totally okay with my touch. More than okay. She reaches behind her, grabs both of my hands, and slaps! them on her ass. "That's more like it", she says as she resumes molesting me. Oh baby. She rips my shirt tails out of my pants and begins roaming her hands up my chest and pinching my nipples. Yeow! I've got a wildcat on my hands. She joins me in the headspace for a while as she finds my hardness and rides it, pausing the routine to grind for herself. My hands exploring, and my body throbbing. Two songs of all out kiss-less, zipless makeout. Very hot! And I'm out.

So, thank you my gorgeous Jamaican G*diva Ch*c*late. I'll remember you.

on Tipping

2005-02-10T09:31:00.000-06:00

A note: about the $1 tipping, mentioned and commented on in my last post. I'm not, as a rule, a big spender in the last year or so. I was in 2003 and I went through thousands of dollars. I scaled back in 2004 and visit the clubs on a manageable budget. I may be a bigger spender again in 2005, we'll see.

Generally, I maximize both my time and my money in the club and spend what I have to spend on high value opportunity. I spend time at the tiprail when I'm ready to tip, usually a $1 a song, more if it's one of my regular dancers. I never sit at the rail if I'm not going to tip and waste a dancer's time or insult her. I also don't make a habit of sitting "for free" at a table and watching all night without tipping. I appreciate that the girls are working. I also don't waste a dancer's time talking at a table if I'm not going to buy a lapdance. If they ask if they can sit down with me, and I'm not ready to or planning to buy a lapdance, I politely decline. Again so that they can move on and work. Somewhere in the night, I will know who I want some dances from and I buy a few (at $20 or $30 per dance) or a 1/2 hour (at $150 per), enjoy myself, and move on. But that's just me. Everyone has their habits.

Just so you can gage me: on the two-night upscale cicuit that I'm writing posts about, I visited 4 clubs in two nights, spent 9 hours in the clubs total, had 5 lapdances total, had no alcohol, and spent about $280 total. Not extravagant, not cheap - just on a budget. What do you think?

Also...what are everyone else's habit on tipping at the tiprail? Let's have a class on that here this week. Click on the word "comment" and add your two cents - or $1.

Going Upscale, Part 3 - "Are you not Drinking?"

2005-02-06T01:27:00.000-06:00

Inscrutable. Isn’t that the sterotype of the Asian culture? Dancer was inscrutable, unreadable indeed. What was going on in her mind, behind that passive face and that 1000 yard stare off into the distance of the club?

I met Dancer at one of the satellite stages in one of the opulent upscale clubs on my weekend tour. As is my habit, and my ability being alone in the club, I had rotated through a number of different seats in the club looking for the best view of all of the stages. On this particular move I found an open seat at a table pulled up along the stage and waited. I had not yet figured out the tipping custom in this club at the stages. There was no tiprail, per se. Just a small, flat, elevated surface for dancers to gyrate on amidst a group of tables. I clicked into my routine when I’m unsure of the local customs and I waited and watched. Someone will teach me the custom. Ahh, there it is. Apparently, when you want to tip, you stand up in any opening between chairs and dancer will approach to perform a mini-table dance against your standing body and then deftly do a sideways turn with a thumb hooked under her G-string at the hip for a concluding bill insertion. I can do that. And my Inscrutable Dancer gave me my first opportunity to try.

Dancer glided onto the stage silently and began her slow motion routine. Small, undulating moves. No eye contact with anyone around the stage, just an expressionless gaze out over the crowd. Was she appraising the crowd? Making her grocery list? Humming tunes in her head? Thinking about a fight she had with her boyfriend/girlfriend? Having erotic fantasies? Wondering if the lighting hid her flaws? It was unknowable, but she was in essence saying go ahead and ogle me – appraise me. Make your selection or not, it’s of no concern. And so I did what I do, which is to appreciate her beauty.

Dancer was, as I’ve noted, a classically beautiful young Asian woman. Tall and slender with a boyish figure, although a boy she definitely was not. Long silky hair black hair cascading down onto her tattooed shoulder. Not the average stripper tattoo, but intricately done art in black and white. Tasteful and sexy. And as she continued her gentle swaying on the stage, I decided – time to stand by my table and tip her.

Dancer acknowledged my movement, not with a smile but with a scan. Was I worthy of approach? Frozen and impassive. Glaring and appraising. Whatever judgement she processed, whatever calculus she arrived at, I passed and she approached me on all fours. Dancer sidled up beside me and began her close up ritual. First, head down – allowing that gorgeous shiny black hair to drape luxuriously out over her, covering her in a peek-a-boo. Minimal touch, no expression. Soft slow motions as close as she could get to me without touching. She looked wonderful and smelled wonderful, but she remained inscrutable. One brief exchange of names – no more. And quickly the hip was offered to receive the bill I had in my hand. A neatly folded $1 bill. Customary in most clubs that I frequent at the tiprail. Not so, apparently in the upscale world. And Dancer broke her silence with a soft spoken icy rebuke. “Not enough, baby. More.” Diffident and demanding in four words. Confident and expecting – of course you will comply. And I complied, supplementing my lonely single with four brothers. Sufficient apparently, and having chastised me she moved away back to the slow movements. Back to the stare.

Was that an anomaly? Was this the custom or just dancer’s going rate? I determined to find out and rose to tip the next dancer as well. She was feisty and petite and very, very animated. Our tableside tip was all motion and contact. She was all over me, up against me, in contact with me. Facing me, she leaned down and bit each nipple through my shirt to say hello. Facing away from me she snaked a hand down the front of my slacks and fondled my package directly and enthusiastically. Wow. Facing me, she leaned over and bit into my zipper. Facing away again, grinding back into me. Finally, finally, she offered the hip. Again disdain at my lowly single.

“What’s your name, honey”, she asked me as she continued to fondle and grip.

“DanceFan”

“Well, DanceFan. I’m working awfully hard here for just a buck, don’t you think.”

“You are indeed. I can’t argue with that”, I said as I upped the ante. Satisfied, she moved on to more frenetic shaking and fondling.

Sometime later, after moving again to a neutral table away from the stages!, I saw Inscrutable Dancer emerge from the back in full table dance battle gear. Tight top, bright pink form-hugging sheer “Hustler” panties. And silky knee stockings into high stripper heels. A knockout. And sometime later she found her way into my lap. “You moved”, she noted with her usual brevity. We shared a silence as I enjoyed her weight on my lap. And finally, the question – “Would you like a dance?” Of course, I would, who could say no. And we shared a languid and slow lapdance. Nice. Not hardcore, but erotic enough for one song. I paid and she dressed.

And finally, Inscrutable Dancer awoke from her passivity. The mask broke. Something startled her. It was me.

Dancer looked at the table. Confused. And then she looked at me. Confused. And then she looked at the table again, and spoke.

“Are you not drinking?”, she asked with a startled expression.

“No, I’m not drinking.”

“Nothing? No alcohol?”

“No, I’m not drinking”, I answered again.

“How are you not drinking?”, she asked as if it was the most amazing thing she had seen or heard in a while.

“Is that unusual?”, I queried.

“Yes”, she answered emphatically”. “Everyone drinks here. Everyone, all the time.”

“Well, I’m not here to drink. I’m here for you”.

She stared at me for a long moment, appraising me as she had done before. Dancer shook her head, unbelieving, and moved on – back into the routine.

And that’s pretty much true. I don’t drink more than one beer a night in a club. It’s diet Pepsi the rest of the night. Why? Three reasons:

- I don’t have to drink to have fun. I have fun, my way. And since I’m alone when I go to the club it’s not a social event. It’s a pleasure event.
- And being a pleasure event, I want to have all of my senses fully alive to enjoy the delightful offerings of these hard-working entertainers all night long. Not like the drunken zombies that I often see groping dancers inappropriately and making fools of themselves. Or the couples groups that I saw last night who all started outlively and fun and sexy and ended up, after hours of the drinking – smoking – and relentless pounding music, beaten into submission and slinking quietly out of the club. I’m alive and alert the whole time.
- Finally, I manage my money better when I’m sober. And you can go through a lot of money in a hurry if you’re not making good decisions in a strip club! Been there, done that.

So thank you, Inscrutable Dancer. You were memorable.

Passion and Spirit

2005-02-03T22:13:00.000-06:00

I know these two, these living breathing beauties sitting with me. And to know them is to desire them. A desire lived, however briefly, in the lapdance.

Young ladies, both. Dancers. Friends. Partners in the dance. Strippers, yes, desiring to please. Pleasing indeed.

You know them, too, if you've read here before. Red and White, skilled in the double-dance. ("The Double Dance, Pt II - in Four Acts", "Red and White Reunited". Click on those titles and read them again. They're worth revisiting.)

Rechristened here, tonight, as Passion and Spirit.

Passion - a voluptuous and radiant beauty. Smoldering Passion, desiring to please. A poet's heart and a lover's body. Enchanting and familiar- both at once, with a welcoming smile and a bone deep lingering embrace. All consuming passion coiled within her. Un-handleable - she had challenged me before. Handle-able, I think. She knows me and yet she does not. Handle-able, I know. And I would risk the fire of her passion to find out.

Spirit - a wickedly delightful sex pixie. A girly-girl in innocent pig-tails and white silk stockings with ruffles mid-thigh. A porn-loving wild girl, at ease with impropriety. Pure fun in a boner-inducing let's-get-it-started package.

A taste tonight, just a taste. A preview, in tandem.

A tiprail double-dance, with Passion and I tipping Spirit. First the girls - lingering and connecting. Then me, toyed with by Spirit's teasing bump-and-grind. Nice.

A dance, with Passion and I on the couch. One song, one heavy-breathing, body rubbing, song. Intoxicating perfume invading my senses. Smoldering eroticism. Not enough. A taste.

A dance, passing me off to Spirit. A visual, energetic treat. Reconnecting, she and I, with the promise of wild times to come inferred. Very nice, but not enough. A taste.

A tiprail double-dance to end the short evening. Spirit and I tipping Passion. Spirit stashing my dollars in strategic creases for a game of find the dollar. Two girls as one, a sexual moment that's as real as it gets. Nice. A taste.

And I'm out.

But I will be back. And the clock won't bind me on my return. Our time will come again, Passion and Spirit and me.

Thank you, ladies. My friends.

Stripper Saturation

2005-02-02T01:23:00.000-06:00

Just hours from another club. From the erotic embrace of a Jamaican goddess.

So much to write about. Upscale clubs. Feature dancers. Tonight's ebony softness. So much in the past few days.

Airplanes and clubs and home and girls and work and dancers and hotels and tiprails. And I remember them all.

It's so much. It's too much. Can it be too much?

Going Upscale, Part 2 - South American Treasure

2005-02-02T01:15:00.000-06:00

Opulence and taste. They are evident from the moment you pull into the parking lot and spy the grandeur of the edifice. The architecture, landscaping, lighting, and columns all tell you that this place was built for elegant pleasure.

The sophisticated blonde at the register is a foretelling of the quality of the entertainers inside. The doorman, dressed in a suit, is a friendly and professional gentleman who answers my questions on club etiquette, and then introduces me to a waitress to guide me to a main area table. As I settle into my expensive and comfortable high-back chair, I take in the ambiance of the club. Wow! The place exudes an aura of money and elegance. An incredible bar runs the length of the center of the club. A main stage and 3 satellite stages sprinkled throughout. And in the center, above me, red satin draped on the center and gathered in the center into an elaborate chandelier. A strip club among all strip clubs.

Scanning the room I see the VIP area off in the corner, behind closed doors. Very, very private this VIP, with it’s own bar and stage and a pool table to shoot stick with the lovely ladies. I had asked the doorman on the way in about the VIP on the way in. $750 for a year’s membership, $450 for tonight. Or maybe I could get in if I bought a bottle of champagne for a dancer for $200. Too rich for my blood. The main floor would do.

My plan for the evening is simple: enjoy this club as much as I can, given that I’m not going to be a high-roller tonight. I can see the high-rollers. They are here in number. In suits. Smoking cigars. Drinking brandy. Peeling the $20’s off a roll. Surrounded by dancers. I observed one gentleman in particular getting at least an hour of continuous dances from the star of the club – a platinum blonde Brianna Banks lookalike with gigantic tits. One hour. I’m going to guess 20 straight songs at $20 each - $400 like it was nothing. High rollers. Were I one of them, I would be smothered in flesh all night – one, two, or three lovely ladies at a time. I’m not one of them but I can certainly enjoy myself here on my scale. At least I think I can.

This was my second club of the evening and I still have a few hours to enjoy. If my resolve holds firm, and my money holds out, I’ll be here for 3 or 4 hours I guess. So I watch the stage show for a while. Beautiful women doing very passive dances with very little tipping going on. So little, in fact, that I’m having a hard time determining what the tipping custom is here. Beautiful dancers, striking in fact. But none that are grabbing me. I enjoy my beverage and fend off one or two low key approaches from dancers seeking private dances. I decline politely, they move on gracefully. It will come, I tell myself.

And then Dancer captivates me. A South American treasure. Beauty beyond imagination.

She’s there silently, stealthily kneeling beside my chair, engaging me in greetings. And she captivates me. I’ve heard that women from Dancer’s country are famous for being beauty pageant queens, and Dancer is no exception. She’s stunningly exotic and beautiful, and she’s here talking with me.

Dancer is visibly cold, being semi-naked, from the drafts in the vent. I jokingly offer that she can sit with me and warm up and in an instant she’s in my lap with her arms around me. Her delicious weight pressing into me. Her delightful smile captivating me. And we chat – small talk about weekend plans and about Dancer’s plans to leave in a while to go partying with her girlfriends. Small, inconsequential, talk with a contact transaction as the subtext.

And we dance. One table dance to get acquainted. Very nice. Very sensual. Very brief. And we part – for now. I still want to get to know the room.

An hour later, after some time tipping dancers at the satellite stages (more on that in part 3), I realize that my South American Dancer is the treasure of the bunch and that I want more dances with her. I tipped a waitress extra to find her and ask her to rejoin me. After a while she does and I find out that I’m a lucky man. Dancer had decided to leave and go party and was in the dressing room mid-dress when the waitress found her.

So Dancer rejoins me. She has warmed up by now, floating on liquid courage, and I offer to buy her a drink to keep her going. She downs a Buttery Nipple, and we resume the dance. Dancer has a nice buzz going and is in a friendly mood. By which I mean a touchy mood. Her touching me, which is always a good thing. As I don’t know the touch rules in the club, I restrain myself and maintain gentlemanly conduct. Frankly, it’s enough to be cheek nuzzling close to this amazingly beautiful girl, with her long brown silky hair caressing my face. But being a gentleman is growing more difficult. Speaking of growing, my arousal was evident and had not escaped Dancer’s notice. Her hands find their way to my lap for some welcome attention to the wood. Nice, but within bounds.

Dancer is enjoying herself as well, and she wants to move the party to the back, away from the main area and the prying eyes of the our neighbors. So we walk to the back, me with a visible erection protruding through my pants and pointing the way.

And we continue the dance. Dancer feels safe with me and explores me at will. She seems genuine as she says repeatedly “Wow, it’s getting hot in here.” And we move together – cuddling and nuzzling and grinding in a dance of intimacy and growing passion. Dancer is all grace and fluid motion as she straddles me, cheek to cheek, and then reverses – splayed out across my lap with one hand pinching her beautiful small brown nipples and the other sliding through the crease in the tiny patch in her G-string, through the wetness of her lips. Dancer is puzzled by my control, and at one point takes my hand and places it directly on her breast with a pleading touch. I sample, but I remain controlled and return to the headspace experience.

Three songs we shared in the dark of the back area, Dancer and I. Sublimely enjoyable for me. Hot and apparently frustrating for her. After the songs, she lingers – playing on my lap. “You have a nice dick”, she whispers to me as her hand returns again and again to play, finding iron hardness each time. “I’m just a person”, she sighs. “I get horny too.” Stroking still. Unfortunately, there’s nothing either of us can do about our state here. And soon we disentangle and go our separate ways. Dancer has opted to stay and work some more and she makes her way to sit with a group of men as I retake my place in the main area.

So, thank you Dancer. I will remember you.

Going Upscale - A Gentleman's Club binge

2005-01-30T13:07:00.000-06:00

Trust me here – everyone owes it to themselves to go to a truly upscale Gentleman’s Club at least once in your lifetime. They’re not just a strip club. More than that. Find your way to one of the few clubs, mostly in metropolitan cities, that are truly the high end of the gentleman’s entertainment industry.

I’m just coming off of long travel grind which included a two night binge sampling some of these clubs. Wow. It was strip club heaven, and a magnificently decadent safe pleasure extravaganza. I’ll tell you all of my stories in a series of posts. And I do have stories.

Whether you spend a fortune at the upscale club, or you do it on a budget, you have to do it. They are the ultimate fantasy playground. And they are all about money, or the appearance of money. From the elaborate architecture, to the services offered in cigars or champagnes or high end menus, to the opulent décor – the upscale clubs overload your senses and indulge your fantasies.

I remember all of the little moments, hours and hours of them, from the last two days.

Contact - Glamorous and exotic strippers. And one very special Venezualan beauty.

And voyeurism. Watching the gorgeous Brad and Jennifer yuppie couples out for a night of wild fantasy. Girls abandoning their inhibitions at the tiprail. I remember all the stories, and I will play them out here – just for you.

But first some homework. Go visit these links and take the virtual tour and see for yourself, if you’ve never been, what an upscale club looks like. Then come back here for the next few posts as I relive the experiences.

The Men’s Club
Spearmint Rhino

As for me, I need some time to decompress. To savor. To remember. To express. The experience is still too fresh, having ended just a few short hours ago. I’ll just leave you with the thought that the first leg of my flight back to reality, which I’m midjourney on now as I write this, and it’s two hour flight of twighlight half-sleep was made more interesting by the continuous and urgent erection that these memories evoked.

To be continued…..

Anticipation....

2005-01-28T15:34:00.000-06:00

Tonight is strip club night. And I'm already starting to anticipate....

On the road. A new city, a new opportunity to explore the vitality of this big city with it's variety of choices of gentleman's clubs. A new chance to meet the beautiful and sexy entertainers in this part of the country. New memories to create. A brief respite from the grind, and a reward for the road warrior life.

I've done the scouting, finished in fact shortly after check-in. And the yellow pages tell me that, by chance alone, there are several fine clubs within reasonable distance of my hotel. The thrill of the selection awaits. I'm anticipating the details: the layout of the club, the stages, the lighting, the thumping music. And the ladies - most of all the ladies. Young and younger. Jaded and fresh. Dolled up and girl-next door. Luxurious hair and long legs. Friendly and sexy. Tantalizing skin. Mesmerizing smells. Inviting chatter. Arousing contact. The dancers most of all.

So the preparation begins. It's too early to go. But I must prepare for my night out.

First, some rest for the long night ahead. A pleasant dream, perhaps, of the ladies.

Then, grooming. A long, unhurried, shower. Cleansing lather. Invigorating shampoo. A shave as I shower - immaculately smooth jaw and chin, and a porn star trim below. Clean and refreshed top to bottom.

Finally, dressing. Business casual, I think. No jeans or T-shirts. I owe it to the dancers who are working so hard to make an effort to be presentable. Casual, clean shoes. Button down shirt with some style. Slacks, clean and pressed. Commando underneath, for maximum enjoyment of the experience. TMI, probably, but true and important. Fresh breath. Light cologne. not Brad Pitt, but presentable.

And it will soon be time to enjoy my night, my way. DanceFan's way. Meeting the lovely entertainers of the night in this far off town. So ladies, let's meet and share and enjoy. Let the show begin!

Feature Dancers: the Queen of Lesbian Porn

2005-01-26T16:54:00.000-06:00

Feature dances from porn starlets. They are a treat. The ultimate stripper experience.

And one of my favorites was a night that I spent in the company of the Queen of Lesbian Porn - Felecia. (Photo gallery here)

If you are an afficionado of lesbian porn, you have seen Felecia. You may not know her by name, but you have seen her. I read somewhere that she has performed in over 600 porn films to date. And every one of her scenes is girl-girl. She does not work with men. She's married to a man, but does not work with them on film. You can find her on any all girl compilation film, and on quite a few Vivid Video films. She is the ultimate ubiquitous lesbian porn star.

Felecia is a unique beauty in the adult film world. She's a sexy, petite, latina girl with beautiful bronze skin and long, luxurious brown hair. She's pretty, no doubt, and has an electric and lovely smile in all of her scenes. Felecia has small, natural, breasts with tiny brown nipples that harden visibly with passion when pinched. She has a sexy slim waist and a deleciously firm and well shaped derriere. A delightful girl-next-door look in a world of silicone blondes. Felecia reminds me of a petitie and slim version of Salma Hayek. A triple-X version of her as well.

Felecia's scenes in porn movies are always hot and believable. This is a girl who clearly loves to have sex with women. She's a giver who will put in the effort to please her partner without looking like it's a chore. And she's a receiver who releases herself to the passion of another woman's touch. She glows in the throes of passion. Felecia also has a kinky side and can be found in some recent fetish lesbian films as well. Not that I would know...I've just heard. :)

I happened to see an advertisement for a club in my state that was hosting Felecia as a feature dancer. I made sure that I was there for her performances. And seeing her in person absolutely lived up to my expectations.

I met Felecia at the tiprail, where I found a seat front and center for her first show of the night. This particular club has a fairly small stage and the dancer is literally two feet away from you as she works the pole or grinds on all fours across the stage, so I was looking forward to seeing her up close and personal. One of the house dancers sat down next to me to enjoy the show as well.

"Have you heard of her before?" house dancer asked me.

"Of course, she's a legend." I replied.

"Are you going to try to hit on her?" she asked me.

"Baby, you clearly don't know Felecia. You have a chance of going home with her. I don't. I'm just here for the stage show, which should be quite a treat."

Felecia did a marvellous show. Very professional and polished. Costumes and lights and very sexy dancing.

As I recall, she started her set in a slinky form fitting sun dress that showed off her tan, flawless skin well. All smiles as she worked herself out of the dress and made her way around the tiprail for her first round of tips. And then, magically, she was right in front of me. Those perfect little brown nipples against me. That perfect ass passing by me. Wow. Beautiful and very real.

House dancer next to me was smiling ear to ear and tipping for all she was worth.

The second song brought out the towels and tarps and it was time for Felecia to get wet. With great fanfare, she oiled herself up with a lotion bottle and rubbed it all in for our viewing pleasure.

The third song was a merchandising song, with Felecia dispensing out posters and tapes to vocal fans with higher tips.

The highpoint was after her set, in the autograph booth. I waited my turn in line and had a couple of minutes to meet her, still naked, still wet, still radiant. I bought one her DVD's which she autographed for me. And, as an impulse, I decided to pay for an autographed polaroid photo of her and I. I sat down in the booth expecting her to sit down demurely on my lap. Nope. Better. The next thing I knew, Felecia plopped her petite frame down on me, pulled her knees up to her chest, and placed my hands behind her knees - holding her open in effect for the open shaved kitty photo that I have locked deeply away, never to be seen by another human being. Incredible.

So thank you, Felecia - the Queen of Lesbian Porn and a sexy and talented stripper as well. You were more beautiful in person than you are on film, if that's possible. And you made my year. It was an excellent and unforgettable strip club experience.