Time is not on my side

I’m rarely alone.

It’s tough to keep up a secret life when there’s always someone around or I have to be ready to account for my time and whereabouts. Even at home there is always someone there so it’s difficult to even keep up with my porn viewing. When I do get a little time to myself it’s usually only for a half-hour or so. I barely have time to skim through the headers on alt.binaries.pictures.erotica.facials or alt.binaries.pictures.erotica.voyeurism using my dial-up connection before I have to change the screen to cnn or redhotjazz.com.

But every now and then circumstances come together where I can plan a little something as I wander around running errands or working on some project that’s not part of my normal routine.

For example, I managed a quick strip club trip a couple months ago when I took a vacation day to do some freelance work for a friend. We finished about noon and I wasn’t expected home until much later so I had some time I didn’t have to account for. I headed downtown to one of my 'hangouts.' I was sitting at the bar for only a couple of minutes and a short, thin but nicely shaped dark-skinned girl sidled up close to me and struck up a real friendly conversation. She said she remembered me from another strip club, but I couldn't picture her right away. Her name was A and she asked me if I had ever made it with an Indian girl (not native American but from India). Of course I hadn't.

I know she's just out for the money, but it was nice to have such a nice looking young girl cuddling and tastefully groping a little. She handed me a line about being interested in dating older white guys. I laughed but she said she was serious. (She's in it for the money.) At one point she kissed me on the cheek and made a joke about lipstick stains. That made me a little nervous for the rest of my visit, but I still took her to the private dance area anyway because I had the makings of a raging hard on.

Her grinding had a nice touch - not forceful and heavy like a lot of dancers. Even when she faced away from me her ass lightly rubbed my cock through my clothes with just the right amount of friction. She was generous about letting me fondle her small firm tits, but she preferred me to grab her ass (probably because of the 'rules' about touching which are rarely enforced there). With my hands on her very shapely hips and ass it was not hard to imagine her riding me for real. She also had a nice habit of kissing my neck and unbuttoning my shirt to lick my chest and tweak my nipples. I checked later for lipstick. She had a large mouth and watery lips and I can only imagine how good she was at giving head. Needless to say I shot my load.

As we cuddled afterward, she offered me her phone number. Then I remembered that I probably did see her at the other club - she came on really strong there when she got on stage and wanted to give me her phone number then also. I politely declined (like last time). I assumed she was just trying to build a customer base 'off-campus' but it crossed my mind that she might have been serious about dating older white men.

Yeah, right.

An old story

A few years ago I started a new job - new career really - where I travel to conferences a few times a year. I decided to visit the local strip clubs in the cities I visit. My first trip was to a left coast city that's pretty open about its sex business. I did my homework before I left, reading through the strip club groups on Yahoo, so I had a pretty good idea of what to expect. I knew they would be brothels disguised as strip club. Also, there was supposed to be a meeting of the members of one group at 6 pm Saturday. They were going to go on a club crawl.

I planned out my conference schedule and made some room during early evening Saturday to make my pilgrimage. After a day of workshops and meetings I rushed back to my room and changed into my dark, loose-fitting strip club clothes. I was half expecting to get a call from some colleagues about dinner later, but I just had to get my priorities straight. I made it back downtown around 6 and checked out the bar in where the meeting was supposed to be. There were only two guys there wondering where the others were. They got to talking to the female bartender about dancers they know like they were talking about movie stars or tennis players. I had a beer at the other end of the bar and decided to go it alone. I wondered if the other members of the group were playing a trick on these guys – the real meeting was the next day I read later.

I left, crossed the street, deftly avoided several panhandlers and walked into the club whic used to be a cinema. The lobby had plush red carpets, velvet line control ‘ropes’ on brass stands and a glass ticket booth where I got my hand stamped. Everything was red, black and gold including the rather voluptuous and desperate-looking women in string bikinis and heavy makeup hanging out (so to speak) on the ramp leading to the theatre itself. The whole scene looked like Ted Turner colorized one of those Brassai photographs of Paris whorehouses in the ‘30’s. And cranked up the saturation.

I guess I walked fast enough past the vultures so they didn’t approach me before I got to the main part of the theatre. From the back it looked like an old urban cinema. Down on the stage a dancer was listlessly performing and occasionally spreading her legs on the edge so a PL (pathetic loser - sc parlance) could stuff a bill or two through the strip of cloth covering her pussy or stuffing them between her tits. On the left side of the stage was the entrance to the booths for private sessions. The chairs had been replaced with rows of connected benches each separated by wooden partitions for privacy.

It took a few minutes for my eyes to get adjusted to the darkness. It seemed like the dancers outnumbered the patrons so I knew it wouldn’t be long before I was approached. I walked down a few rows and sat on one of the benches. About a half minute later a dancer came over and sat down next to me. Her name was M & I tried to remember her rating on the yahoo group’s dancer database. I seemed to recall she was a ROB. I don’t remember what the letters stand for, but it’s pretty obvious. Even so, she talked me into a lap dance on the bench. In other states this would be considered a cabaret dance where you stuff a few dollars in a thong, but here it’s much more for a couple of minutes of fondling and dry humping. She was blonde, probably mid-30s and had soft, fleshy tits and a nice ass. She scratched my back and stroked me through my pants, but she seemed to be just going through the motions for some quick cash. She tried to talk me into a private session, but I begged off saying I had just arrived & wanted to check out the place. She left.

Next came T, whom I remember to be rated a ‘good provider.’ Mid 20’s, long thin brown hair, kind of tall and thin – girl next door. We had a friendly little chat and a very nice lap dance. Maybe it’s chemistry or her personality or her technique, but I was hard immediately. We nibbled on each other’s neck as I caressed her smallish firm tits and she rubbed me the right way. I asked about her menu – HJ, BJ and FS. I was interested in the low-cost HJ and she took be by the hand back through the lobby and up the stairs to the balcony where there are video viewing booths. It’s cheaper this way she told me.

T bought a condom from an attendant (we both thought it was best) and I bought a token for the booth which began playing a porn flick on a monitor in one wall of the tiny cubicle designed for one guy to do his thing. She closed the curtain behind us and took my money before she began to nuzzle under my ear and unbuckle my pants. I dropped my drawers and ran my hands from her ass, along the curve of he hips and up to her tits which were being liberated from her top. She had me sit down on the bench as she dropped her bottom and unwrapped the rubber. She took charge.

Bending over, she used her mouth to cover me and sucked me off a little, lubing me up with her saliva. Then she stroked, starting off slowly and picking up speed while she leaned over and stuck her tits in my face. My hands were free to explore and fondle. She had no objection to my finger fucking her while she concentrated on my dick. Tits in my face, fingers in her cunt, fingers on my cock, moaning and gasping from the video, moaning and gasping from my throat, hidden away from everything in a black booth atop scarlet plush stairs with scarlet women, soft golden flesh, bristled black cunt hair, warm wet pussy, uhhh

T offered me some tissue. A good provider. We pecked each other on the cheek and she left. I cleaned myself up and headed back to the dorm. A message – I missed dinner with my young attractive female colleagues. I could have gotten into real trouble if I were that kind of guy.

Restart

I have to get used to this journal writing thing. I was never one for keeping a diary or journal, writing down reactions, giving opinions. The toughest part of writing book reviews in grade school was always the last part – ‘give your opinion of the book.’ I always hid behind the smart guys in college seminars so they could do the talking. So this is a bit of a strain for me, but with a little practice, I could get used to it.

So what am I doing here? Good question. In fact I almost gave up writing this blog, but with a little encouragement, and some spell check advice, I decided to restart my efforts. (My secret life isn’t a total secret after all.) But back to the question.

I’ve come across several blogs written by other married men. Many describe a dismal home life – no sex for months or even years, wives who have lost all interest in their partners, defeated deflated egos. I can see why they want to get things off their chest or to justify infidelities. I don’t have that excuse. My married sex life is pretty stable with, according to all those surveys, above average frequency. I more than fulfill my responsibilities at home (one reason I don't post much) and I am a stabilizing influence on an otherwise chaotic family situation.
 
So that's no answer.

I saw a TV documentary on sex addiction. While I don’t seriously believe I’m sex addicted, there were some things I could relate to. A guy who was a minister/counselor described the physical feeling in anticipation of feeding his needs – the hyperventilating, body shaking, sweaty palms – which were eerily similar to my feelings as I turn the corner and walk the 30 yards to the strip club doorway. Even just planning the trip hours before I would shake with nervous energy. He had started by masturbating to porn when his wife was asleep, then began to frequent massage parlors and finally seducing his clients before one of them complained. I’m almost at the spa stage, but at the rate I can step out, I’m in no danger of escalating up to seducing my ‘clients.’

A psychologist on the same program, in discussing causes of sex addiction, said that one reason could be getting married at a young age and missing out on experiencing many partners. That rang true. It’s something I’ve believed all along when I try to justify my behavior.
 
Or maybe the answer is that I'm just a normal heterosexual male with ample testosterone and a little head that sometimes calls the shots (so to speak).