Oh, the profanity

Traveling again and doing my homework gave me an opportunity to plan a little extracurricular activity during my trip. Somehow when I made my reservations I ended up with almost 24 hours to spend by myself before all my colleagues showed up for the conference we were all attending. I guess I had gotten used to long travel days to midwest and west coast venues, so this short trip down the east coast gave me an unexpected and welcomed break from my normal reality.

In doing my research I found that the city had a notorious red light district concentrated in a few blocks not far from the tourist areas. How convenient. But my reading also told me that most of the strip clubs there were very sleazy and most had a high rip-off reputation. I really wasn't sure I wanted to visit any of the clubs there. Besides, I had an appointment the next morning for a massage from a certified therapist who advertises on craigslist. But that's a story for another day.

The first few hours after checking into my hotel I spent doing normal touristy things and kept my urge for sleaze under wraps. By early evening my curiosity was getting the better of me. I told myself that I should at least walk through the district to see what the online sex community was talking about. It was still light out when I made a pass down Sleaze Street.

As I walked down the three or four blocks there was a strip club, adult toy store, strip club, Subway sandwich shop; strip club, strip club, toy store, coffee shop, strip club. I thought about getting a sandwich, but there were hustlers/pimps and otherwise pretty shady characters in all the shops. Down a side street and up the next one, it was pretty much the same. Some of the clubs had what could only be called barkers encouraging me to come in just for a look. I just laughed and passed on.

I left the area to get food and do a little work in my hotel. A few hours later I was ready for a drink and found an Irish pub not too far up on a main street. I told myself I would have a couple of drinks and go to sleep. When I was ready to leave I thought I would just take a walk past the clubs again just to see how the atmosphere changed after dark. But I wouldn't go into any of them.

It was more crowded and the same barkers were singing the same tunes. There were a couple of traditional streetwalkers making their rounds and there seemed to be every kind of hustler hanging on the corners. The names of the clubs sounded familiar - I had read about most of them in an online forum - but most were rated as rip-offs. I walked down one quieter side street and saw a club that was considered the lowest of the low. Stories of dancers shooting up in the lap dance area intrigued me and I almost walked in to see how bad it was, but I was spooked by a couple of sketchy characters sitting in a car in front of the place.

I walked around the corner and down another street where a couple of bouncers talking on cell phones sat outside their respective clubs. No hustle, minding their own business. One of the places had a pretty good rating so I figured I would just ask the bouncer what the cover charge was - if it was too high I would have an excuse to leave. I wasn't expecting him to say, no cover, so what the hell, I opened the mirrored door and walked in.

The room was long and narrow and filled up with an oval bar that ran most of the length of the room. The light from above cast a decidedly blue tint to everything and was scattered around by the cigarette smoke hanging in the so-called air. Women in bikinis and a few men sat at the bar near the door and I made my way down one of the walls to an empty seat most of the way down. A dancer inside the circle of the bar was on her back with her legs straight up showing off her pussy bulge to no one in particular. Even her red thong looked muted and gray in the purple haze. I felt like an extra in a Fellini film.

I decided I already had too much whiskey so I ordered a tonic and no sooner than the white-haired curmudgeon of a bartender plopped it in front of me, a heavy set black woman (I might as well say it, she was fat) introduced herself to me. H cut to the chase and asked me what I wanted. I asked what was available as the bartender took her order. I had to buy her a high-priced drink just to talk with her. She quoted a pretty high price to go 'in the back' for whatever I wanted, or for less cash she could do something at the bar. I'm not much of an exhibitionist but it was so dark and chaotic in there, I seriously thought about it. I told her I was interested in a hand job and she quoted a reasonable price. I would spend about as much as I would for a couple of friction lap dances at my local club.

She started groping me but I got a little nervous about the couples sitting on our side of the bar. We moved to the opposite side where there were no customers but the wall behing me was one big mirror. Not a whole lot more privacy, but there we were. We faced each other and behind me the cash register was hard at work and so was the dancer not more that a few feet away in the middle of the oval bar. H lowered my zipper but had trouble getting my cock out. I gave up all hope of discretion and pulled it out. She leaned in and started a steady stroke, cooing about how hard I was.

I stuck my hand inside her bra stuffed with big tits and felt her surprisingly pointy and erect nipple. We huddled together with the pretense of hiding what we were doing and her warm head against mine and her hot breath down my neck provided some sense of intimacy in this public arena.

She kept up a steady stroke but sensed a little too much friction so she broke her pace for a minute and opened up her purse on the bar, leaving me to point up at the ceiling. Opening a small jar of lotion, H scooped out a blob into her hand, spread it around a little, and went back to work. What a difference. The bar, the patrons, the smoke, the thumping of bass shaking the walls - all receded into the background as I started on the road to nirvana.

Until the bartender showed up out of nowhere and asked if I wanted to buy H another drink. I knew I would have to do it in order for her to stay there. We pretended to be innocently talking while he got the drink and I did my best not to let myself show.

Now, where were we? I leaned in again and tried to get my fingers under her bikini bottom but the material was too tight. While one hand kept stroking, her other loosened up the material as she shifted a little in her seat. My fingers went in and found what they were looking for. With her weight and size working against me, I was only able to bury one finger up to the first knuckle into her pussy. I settled for rubbing her clit as my spunk began to rise. I leaned my head into her neck again to disguise my breathing which was starting to sound like a long distance runner's. She did her part by cooing some more and breathing in my ear as I let go into her hand.

After I caught my breath and tucked myself away, I slipped H the cash. She grabbed some napkins from the bar and excused herself to go to the ladies (I use that term loosely) room to wash her hands. I watched her ample backside dissappear into the shadows and then turned to leave. I bumped into the dancer in the red bikini who was in front of us at the bar and she asked me for a tip. I shoved a couple of bucks down her front and rushed towards the door feeling excited and disgusted at the same time. The fresh air outside was refreshing and cleansing until I smelled my fingers. There was a distinct armpit odor rather than the pussy smell I expected. I walked back to my hotel to take a shower and wash away everything but the memory.