Speaking of red states...

I was reminded of my trip to a southern state long before this last election season, and since I was in a city and not travelling the rural countryside, I suspect the 'moral values' I experienced were not the ones on display on pundit TV recently. I was able to find to find safe haven to exercise my secular values that gave my northern sensibilities some comfort.

At the conference I was attending there was a lot of propaganda about the New South - a south that has come to grips with its slave-owning past and has created a competitive economic environment. After this election, I'm not so sure about that, at least about the slavery part. I did see signs of modernism in the city, but I couldn't figure why the skyscraper-lined streets were deserted at 5pm on a weekday. Maybe the whole place is just a Disney movie set.

Anyway, I did my homework beforehand to find out about the strip club scene there. I didn't expect much because it is the south, but then again, it's also NASCAR country. Sources on the Internet said most clubs were pretty lame, but a couple got good reviews and sounded promising. I was staying in the downtown area, called Uptown, that's bounded by 4 highways. It turns out that one of the clubs that got a good review was right across the highway and just a ten-minute walk from my hotel. So on a late Thursday afternoon I walked to the club in the pouring rain (they got about 7 inches that week) just to check it out. I had only a short time so I figured I'd see what it was like and go back if it seemed promising.

Interesting club - dark with lots of mirrors and purple neon lights around the top of the stage which snaked itself down the center of the room. There were booths in the dark corners around the room and tables near the stage. There were almost no customers in the place (the rain). I sat in a booth with a drink and within a few minutes L came over and introduced herself. She was a short Phillipina with very long thin hair and was very friendly. We talked for a bit and she gave me the lowdown on dances - either there at the table (air dance) or upstairs for more privacy (and more money). I figured I'd try one 'private' dance and come back the next day if I liked it.

We cuddled and talked a little dirty in a very dark corner upstairs for a while before the next song started. She joked about my big package (how would she know?) and said she had a big package too. That I could tell because there was quite a bulge in her tight little thong. I don't know if it's a trend but she was the first of several dancers in the next couple of months who asked me if I was married. I told the truth since I was far from home. She didn't mind.

The dance started and things were very promising. She was very sexy and knew how to bring things up. Time was short and I stopped at one dance. I assured her I would be back the next day before her shift was over. I don't think she believed me.

Friday I was back but I didn't see her at first. I talked for a bit with B, a typical southern girl with a heavy drawl and heavy tits and got a table (air) dance with D, a tiny girl-next-door type with nipple rings. Then Lisa came out and was surprised that I actually showed up. I bought her a vodka tonic and we retired upstairs.

More cuddling and talking. When the song started she slowly stripped off her bra and provocatively came closer, nibbling on my neck, stroking my shoulders, back and chest and breathing heavily in my ear. She used her knee very effectively to straighten my package out and knelt down pretending to blow me. Her head discretely rubbed up and down my shaft.

She straddled me with her long sweet-smelling hair covering my face and I naturally grabbed her ass and positioned her in just the right spot when the bouncer came over and said something to her. Apparently this city's rules say that only the dancer can initiate contact - I had to keep my hands to myself. Damn. I forgot I wasn't up north. She turned around with her pear-shaped ass wiggling and pushing my cock to near eruption. She leaned back with her head next to mine and I looked down over her two perfect tits with the nipples standing at attention. It was all I could do to keep from running my hands up her side to fondle and squeeze her or to reach down for a fistful of her pussy like I could have in my home town. Southern rules suck.

She repeated her moves until I couldn't take it any longer and I blew my load. It was a memorable dance and I still think back on it when I have a little time to myself. We cuddled a little more and I agreed to buy her another drink downstairs. As she sat on my lap she said she was meeting a friend, another dancer, & they were going out drinking after her shift. I really wanted to invite myself (what a fantasy generator - partying with two strippers; who knows where that could lead) but she said earlier she never accepts invitations from customers. Her shift was about over but she got me to buy her yet another drink. Maybe that was the time to invite myself out with her. Oh well - another city, another strip joint, another fantasy for my memory files.

Path of least resistance

I had some stuff to finish for work & since it's usually too chaotic at my house I had a good excuse on Saturday to use one of the college libraries downtown. Besides, I also wanted to go to the public library to look up some song lyrics. How convenient - in between the two libraries, about two blocks from each, is my favorite bikini bar.

I broke my own rules about wearing dark, loose-fitting clothes, but I didn't want to provoke any questions about why I was wearing what I was. So I left in faded jeans and a green shirt. Once I got under the black light of the club, I was glowing like Homer Simpson's chunk of plutonium.

I wasn't as bright as some of the men who wore white oversized T-shirts. It was a strange crowd, many more people than I usually see on a Saturday afternoon - a weird mix of jocks (football-types) and Mafiosi. Of course, there were a few dirty old men like myself. One guy was in a dark corner working out his OCD by rocking himself back and forth.

The first dancer I saw on stage asked me right off if I wanted a private dance. I told her I just arrived & might look her up after a while. I saw her after she got offstage rubbing herself up and down a customer outside the private dance room apparently trying to entice him in there too. She wasn't successful and she went to sit on the lap of one of the mafia types who were all sitting at one table. I might have asked her for a dance but I wouldn't want to interrupt that scene.

The next dancer was G, a dark-skinned Mediterranean, probably Italian, with long black hair and a tiny black bikini. She had a very easy, sensual way about her. She didn't hustle me at all at the stage but she did give me plenty of encouragement by offering her tits to my mouth and breathing heavy in my ear and down my neck. She certainly passed the hard-on test. What really made me decide was the sight of her womb from across the stage, beautifully oval with that dark triangular patch of thong bordering the bottom. I asked her for a dance.

We went into the private dance room and I saw that it was all changed. Gone were the couches. In their place were individual 3-sided booths. You couldn't see what's happening on either side of the booth but you could look across the room at the other booths. They also started charging an extra fee for the 'house' and a bouncer sat at the door to monitor how many dances were really taking place. I'm not sure I like the changes, especially the bouncer being around. Before, I would never see anyone in authority checking out the room.

We sat in the booth waiting for the next song to begin. G said she was a bartender at the club for several years and started dancing a couple years ago. We stroked each other's legs and chatted a little bit. One good thing - the dancer on stage liked techno music so the songs were long. When the next one began, G did her thing.

She straightened me right out by smothering my face in her lovely, natural tits with the stand-up nipples punching through her top, and slowly sliding down my body, lining my cock up between her arms and teasing it with her fingers. She paid close attention to my cock with her knees, her pussy and her ass while she kept breathing down my neck.

She broke up her full body assault periodically by dropping her head into my lap and rubbing the 'sweet spot' on my cock with her chin. She didn't object when I grabbed the hair on the back of her head and added a little pressure of my own. It didn't seem to matter what kind of pants I had on; she knew just what it took. The last time her head went down, she started chewing on the bone. I lost it then and there. I must have been breathing and moaning loudly enough for her to tell it was my time, or maybe she could just feel the eruption beginning; she backed off a little and let me shoot.

With the time left in the song she caressed me lightly with various body parts and I got in a few last caresses of my own. The song ended and I muttered, "I'm all set." She laughed and said, "That's because I'm good!"

Couldn't argue with that.