Field trip, day 1

I try to patronize strip clubs whenever I travel since I don’t have to worry too much about being recognized, except maybe by the colleagues I travel with or by those attending the same event. It’s always interesting to compare the club culture of different cities to my own. Last week I had an opportunity to do just that.

I had an extra hour or so during my first full day attending a conference in a large midwestern city. So of course I pulled out the Mapquest page I printed before I left and picked the closest strip club to visit. There were several within walking distance to pick from, but I chose the one that patrons described as a local dive bar.

And so it was. Just around the corner from my hotel, it was a hole in the wall on a busy street. I just slowed my pace a little behind a fellow conference-goer (we all had been given identifiable tote bags and she was carrying one) and dashed in the door. The club was long and not too narrow with a bar taking up half the room on the right with a stage, complete with mirror ball, behind it. Along the left wall there were small tables and in the back were a few couches and coffee tables with small lamps on them. The place was pretty dark and there were about 3 or 4 customers sitting at the bar and two dancers chatting with the bartender. A slow day to be sure.

I got a beer and walked over to the stage to talk to the dancers. One was a white 30ish woman named B with bleach blonde hair and just a few extra pounds – looked a little like a biker chick – and the other a slender black woman named M who was relatively new to dancing. Since no one was on stage I asked them whether it was a traditional strip club with tipping at the stage and ‘private’ dances. I was correct but since it was so slow there was no need to put on a show. In fact, B’s shift was ending and the bartender had mixed her a drink bought by one of the guys at the bar. That didn’t stop her from asking me if I wanted a couch dance. It was 2 for 1 since there was hardly anyone there so I agreed. She just had to go have her drink at the bar.

I sat at one of the tables and watched her gulp down her drink and thank the guy. She rounded me up and took me back to the couches. I asked if it was a problem leaving her patron and she said no – she wasn’t too crazy about ‘that crowd’ of semi-regulars who sometimes cause trouble. We sat and waited for the next song to begin. She sat close and let my hand wander over her thigh even as she explained the rules. I didn’t let on that I had read about the rules already, but I waited to see if there was any wiggle room (so to speak). But no, the only contact between patron and dancer is initiated by the dancer – I had to keep my hands down by my side. The dancer can’t use her hands either.

She started the dance and went through the usual lapdance moves – straddling my lap facing me, turning around to line my cock up in her butt crack and grinding, pushing her tits almost in my face (God, I was dying to mush my face into them and lick her nipples to erection) and sliding down and squeezing my crotch between them. She did lean back a couple of times to nuzzle around my neck showing off her tits as they fell to the sides right under my nose. I really wanted to run my hands up her side to fondle and caress her like I would have in my hometown clubs. She discreetly blocked my hand even as I began to lay it on her calf or hip.

After the two songs I was hard enough but I knew it would take a while for the dance to reach a real conclusion so I figured I would cut my losses. Maybe it was nostalgia for hometown rules or perhaps I had other clubs on my mind, but I figured I would save my money to sample another club in the neighborhood – like the one that offered ‘bed dances.’ I thanked B and tipped her (she was surprised) and walked back out into the sunshine and thought about how to arrange my schedule to fit in another disappearing act. (To be continued.)