my secret life

Field trip

2011-04-25T20:13:00.002-04:00

A weekday holiday, everyone off on a field trip, all day with a car to use; what's the first thing to do? It was an easy answer - take my own field trip - a pilgrimage to the benchmark rub & tug place across town. It's an AMP known for good massages, younger women (look 20, are really 30), happy endings, but never any hands inside their clothes. You can't have everything. At any rate, I had been looking forward to my free time for a while.

I parked around the corner and the place looked busy with lots of cars in the lot. A greeted me and brought me into the room by the entrance. Mamasan must have been escorting or choreographing other customers so nobody saw each other. During my hour I heard at least 4 customers leave and just as many come in.

They've gotten sexier here - instead of the typical tight short shorts, tank top and padded bra, A wore a black teddy that showed off her best assets. In the shower my towel came off and she said hello to Mr. Ding-dong. I waved Mr. DD back at her in greeting. It was a good thorough shower & A made sure Mr. DD and his two pals were nice and clean. He rose to the occasion so she could reach well enough underneath.

A was very friendly with good English skills; her body looked young but her true age showed around her face. She said she used to run her own AMP in another state for 10 years but it got too tough - she just wanted to work in another shop & save up money.

It was a good massage but it was not very relaxing with all the action going on outside the room. She was on the table a lot using more than her hands to rub me down. She straddled me while working on my back, grinding her mound into my ass with the rhythm of her strokes. It felt like she was trying to get herself off on my tail bone. She made sure her tits encased my head when she worked on my shoulders. She almost humped my leg as she kneaded my ass cheeks.

Eventually came the light touch massage, the one where her fingertips circle closer and closer to my ass and balls. The kind that tingles the skin and gives rise to Mr. DD who is already forcing my ass to stick up in the air. The kind that makes my erection feel like it has its roots in my throat.

We both know when it's time. I have to turn over to give Mr. DD his freedom. A turned down the light and brought over supplies. After getting me all prepared with a handful of lotion, she got back on the table in a 69 position, her teddy-clad crotch in my face and her hands working away at the other end. She smelled sweet and there was a wet spot probably from rubbing her cooch on me earlier. It was a sexy way for a happy ending, but it preserved the house rules about roaming - I couldn't get near her tits with my hands, nor could I get into the bottom of her teddy for that matter. I had to settle for the sweet smell of pussy and my hands following the line of her lower back and perfect ass.

I got as much face time with her crotch as I could until I couldn't hold out any longer. It was a hot, tingly and very happy ending capped off by the outside door slamming.

I couldn't move during the time A went out to get stuff for cleanup. A quick head massage helped me recover to the point where I could dress myself - with A's help. We hugged and she checked the hallway before I went to the door, said goodbye to Mamasan and left. I did my perv walk to the car and picked up my day where I left off.

Decision

2011-01-31T20:31:00.001-05:00

I knew I had a decision to make as I made my way by bus from a meeting north of the city. I wasn't sure I wanted to patronize a spa I had been visiting regularly after a not-so-much-fun experience the last time I went there. But knowing my own indecisive personality, I had a feeling I would not decide until the last minute. And so it was - I was riding down the road weighing the pros and cons of the same-old and the sort-of-new when I approached a viable alternative. Decision time. It wasn't exactly a boycott (yet) but I thought I should try something new. Besides, this bus route had a stop right across the street from a spa I had been to several years ago. Not bad memories, so that weighed in on my decision. Also, I'd have to walk a half mile to get to the other and it was pretty chilly out.

My alternative spa is in a refurbished factory with other businesses on either side and an adult bookstore next door. That side of the building faces the street, although recessed a little. Off the bus I headed toward the motorcycle shop on the right corner and took a quick left - I hoped I didn't look like I was slinking; I always fell like the proverbial pervert - and walked quickly to the door and rang the bell.

A middle-aged Asian woman opened for me and invited me in with a big smile. S was a little shorter than I am and wore a loose sundress kind of thing that hid a little extra weight. I followed her down a corridor and into a small dark room where I went through the normal routine of paying the house fee and got undressed as she left for a few minutes to prepare the shower.

I love table showers even when they are not done in a teasing way. This one was pretty straight forward although as usual in places like this, she really made sure my cock, balls and asshole were so thoroughly clean.

As I dropped the towel and lay down on the table back in the room, S ran her hands over my back and said in her limited English, "You so t'in!" Again with the weight observation. "I'm so fat..." I couldn't really argue with her but to be polite I said "No no no," and added, "Very pretty." And she was.

I was relieved when she started to work without oil so I wouldn't worry about getting rid of residual evidence when I got home. The massage wasn't bad; I asked for medium pressure and that's what I got. I was starting to fall asleep by the time she was finishing up with my calves and feet but then she started a soft touch massage, running her fingers over my legs and ass, barely touching my skin. I ran my own fingers up and down her smoothly shaved legs up under her dress and around the elastic keeping her panties on her thighs. For me, all this works just like rubbing a dog's stomach until his legs start scratching the air; her soft touch got my cock rising under me & I had to lift my ass to relieve the pressure. She knew I was ready for the next step.

I turned over and S teased my skin a little more to bring me up to full mast. She left me for an agonizing minute to get her supplies and turned the lights way down low when she came back in. I was hoping she would drop her top and that's just what she did to reveal rather full-sized tits for me to fondle. After drizzling on the oil she began a slow stroking toward a finish that I knew couldn't last long since I felt like popping from the first oily but soft grip. She lifted one leg up on the table to give me access to her pussy and I got as far as cupping it in my hand, feeling the wiry bush through the outside of her panties, and running my middle finger along her crack before I came all over her hand.

She slowed down and squeezed every last drop out as I started deflating into mush on the table. I know she cleaned me up, that I got dressed and left because I found myself at the burger joint across the street watching out the window for the next bus.

Breakout session

2010-11-30T20:10:00.002-05:00

Finally an opportunity arose for a discreet trip to a spa during a weekend conference in the big city. It was close enough for me to make day trips so I didn't have my evenings free to roam, but I thought I could make a getaway during the Sunday lunch time. I planned ahead and carried three phone numbers (in priority order) of 'offices' in Chinatown that I would try when I got there. I wanted to try someone new so the first was an experienced woman who specialized in two pops, the second a small storefront that was said to be consistently good, and a third place I had been to before (as a backup).

On Sunday I sat through the keynote speakers itching to get away. I figured it was a 2 & a half hour trip - walking to the subway, the ride across town, another short walk to the neighborhood, the hour-long massage and the return trip. I would miss a short panel discussion but should get back for a breakout session I wanted to attend. When everyone broke for lunch I rushed out the door and headed tot he subway. One thing I didn't count on was the massive street festival going on between the conference center and the train station. The streets were packed with tourists, vendors of all kinds, street musicians, all packed together like a Thai chicken strip.

Finally down to the subway which of course was running on a Sunday schedule and then back up the the street for the 10 minutes' walk to Chinatown. I broke my own rule and used my cell phone to make my calls instead of a pay phone. Priority call 1 said she would be available in 20 minutes. Sorry, I said (and I was), I can't make it. Second on the list is known by the color of its store front, a florescent orange entry way into a brick brownstone tucked away in the overlap of the ethnic neighborhood and university medical buildings. She said 10 minutes was fine and I arrived to find a tall 30ish and quite handsome Asian man and his apparent young daughter eating lunch in the sparse entry room. I just called, I started to say just as the door to the back opened and a short older woman (mother/grandmother?) beckoned me in. She had a bobbed haircut and makeup that made her look like a porcelain doll.

I followed her down a narrow twisting hallway to the very back room next to the rear exit door which was open on the back alley. I paid her and she said in her very limited English, Wah wah? It took me a minute to realize she meant shower. Yes, shower. I didn't think I had time so I politely declined. She left me to undress and came back to laugh, You so t'in! I get that a lot - these women must see a lot of overweight men. I asked her name; F-F she answered. OK... One thing about these little entrepreneurial shops, the massage is usually great, & this was no exception. The stress and strain of rushing to get there was melting away. I'm sure she's had lots of experience; and it showed at the end when she began a nice long light-touch tease, up and down my inner thighs, along my butt crack, brushing my balls and growing cock. It was enough for me to forget about how old she is.

I turned over onto my back at full attention and F-F asked, could she take care of that? Oh yes please, by hand; I made the universal handjob motion. She seemed relieved that I wasn't asking for more. She globbed on the oil and started a nice slow stroke as i ran my hands up and down her nicely toned legs, albeit outside her pants. She adjusted herself so I could reach inside her bra. She apologetically indicated she is pretty small, and I'd have to agree. Lots of padding in the bra but it didn't have to hold up much flesh. It was OK with me - I was never a big tit man.

But just being inside the bra of a woman that was playing with my pecker was enough for me to lose it big time. She cooed and giggled a little before she left for hot towels for cleaning me up. Shower now? I took her up on it this time given the amount of oil I could still feel even after a she wiped me down. She gave me a robe and flip flops - I tried not to think about who wore them last - and led me back down the hall to a little nook with a basic shower with black and white checked tiles on the floor. I felt much felt better to have washed off the oil. I dressed and hurried back to he subway, the street fest and the conference center where I was 20 minutes late for a session I wanted to see.

I ate an apple and a cookie for lunch (actually the afternoon break) and then grabbed some chicken delight at the street festival, enjoying a little girl-watching before heading for home. I was early for my bus out of town so I reflected a little over a whiskey at a nearby bar, taking notes about my trip on a cocktail napkin.

If my memory serves me well

2010-09-30T21:12:00.001-04:00

Due to a lack of opportunities, I've had quite a dry spell lately. Between work and home schedules I haven't had much time to play at anything, let alone having time to 'play.' I couldn't squeeze out more than an hour by myself in a long time; if I weren't so busy I'd feel like I was wearing What's-her-name Lohan's ankle bracelet.

So I have been trying to remember details of a spa visit I made a few months ago that was generally pretty forgettable. Actually, it was memorable for one thing as explained below.

I had the use of a car for a whole morning when everyone else was at a picnic and I ostensibly needed it to buy some paint & supplies for a house project. Of course that didn't take long and since I was in the neighborhood, I beelined it to the place I've been to many times. I go there mainly for the out-of-the-way location when I take a bus and the discreet parking when I drive. The service is uneven and I was hoping to see S, the proprietor, who gives a great massage, is very friendly, and is generous with her happy ending techniques. However, I was greeted by C, who just doesn't measure up to her boss. But what the hell, I'd go with the flow.

It was still early and when she asked if I wanted a table shower I said yes, but she asked me why - didn't I take a shower at home? I said I got up early but I found it odd that she seemed to argue with me. I thought the customer was always right. She washed me down anyway and didn't show any annoyance even though I figured she just wasn't into working so early (it was probably 10am).

The massage was pretty standard - at least they do a pretty good job of loosening muscles up. C is not the stereotypical svelte long-haired Asian woman, but one with a little heft to her & her own muscles could use a little toning, but who am I to judge. She still has all the right female parts which I was able to caress as the rub progressed. She knew what I was after and after she was done with my back I turned over & she got the lotion ready, turned down the lights amd without much teasing, started stroking. She seemed still like she wanted to get things over with.

In spite of her perceived attitude, I had a stiffy after roaming under her dress and into her blouse. She unbuttoned and pulled down her bra for my viewing and tactile pleasure. I was also gently pulling on her panties to get my fingers into the her crevice when she surprised me by putting one foot up on the table and pulling aside her underpants to allow me access to her pussy. I got a couple fingers inside her surprisingly wet hole just as I was coming. She let me rut around in there until I stopped pumping out my jism and then put herself back together to go out for a hot towel while I caught my breath and zoned out for a minute.

But I had to do it. I brought my fingers up to my face for a sniff and the smell kind of grossed me out. It smelled like C could have used a good douche or at least a shower of her own. I'm glad this isn't a full service shop - I wouldn't want to put any other body part in there; who knows what's lurking in those folds of flesh. I think C knew about her little problem because the first thing she did when she came back with the towel was to wipe off my fingers, even before getting rid of the spunk on my stomach.

Well, I vowed to avoid this place for a while & I have, but not by choice. But looking to the future I can see an opportunity coming up in a couple of months when I will be traveling right by there with a couple of hours I won't have to account for. Knowing myself like I do, I'll probably make the decision to go or not jist as the bus approaches that stop.

Go west, old man

2010-07-31T15:29:00.000-04:00

I couldn't wait to leave for my four days of house sitting for a relative in another state. Four days of being by myself with only cats to feed and plants to water. What an opportunity to get down to business without having to look over my shoulder wondering who would see me skulk into a strip club or into a massage parlor. I could even go outside of my comfort zone to try something a little more daring than I'm used to. It could be a few days of total decadence.

Even before I left on my trip I started looking for escorts, amps, casual encounters and other online opportunities. Of course, online sex searching is isn't always all it's cracked up to be. I tried searching escort sites for someone who would catch my fancy, but in a state with a lot of CL busts, I knew I couldn't really trust the ads. Even on my favorite internet forum, escorts want referrals from members - they don't trust us either.

I know that craigslist casual encounters has a lot of scam artists, although in the past I have corresponded with real people, but nothing ever came of it. I tried one ad after I arrived. It sounded great, didn't care about age, seemed legitimate, even mentioned a local cafe to meet in. Received a response tight away, but of course it was a link to her webcam business.

Even that web site for married people having affairs - I looked for women that had anything goes or one-night stands listed in their preferences. I sent messages to two who lived nearby but never heard back - one probably hadn't logged in in months and the other had to have seen my message, but decided not to respond.

I knew the local strip clubs are pretty lame so I didn't even try, but I knew a little about the local AMP scene. I had been to one south of where i was staying a couple of years ago but I wanted something different. Besides they had been busted at least once after I had been there. The one west of where I was staying sounded promising, although it was a full service joint (like the southern one). The R&T scene is too spread out for me & they mostly are suspicious of new customers according to all reports.

So I figured I would go west. On the map the place looked easy to find - right off Main Street in the small city. My stay coincided with a holiday - a parade holiday (not a candy, drinking, or Hallmark card kind of holiday) and I figured I could be discreet and pay a visit on parade day when the police are occupied by marching or providing security. I'd go mid morning when the place is just opening and everything (& everyone) is getting a fresh start for the day. Luckily, I checked the local online newspaper; the parade was scheduled to proceed down Main Street just as I would have been drive through town. I was only a little disappointed to postpone my trip for a day. I had to make due with porn and Wesson oil.

I found the place easily the next day. It's a small city, with more than one exit off the highway; Main Street is old school - small businesses, government offices, a library, and churches galore. I found the side street and the parking lot behind the building, an old converted clapboard house across from a big white church. The door next to the rear entrance was open and I said hello to mamasan as she was drying dishes in the kitchen. She ran around to let me in the official entrance and led me through a maze into a small room, the smell of burned garlic morphing onto sandalwood scent from somewhere..

A minute later in walked C, short with natural tits in a blue bikini top and black hair in a pony tail. With a hint of shyness and submissiveness she asked me the standard question, have you been here before, in squeaky, broken English. I told the truth, No, but I've been to [the AMP south of us}. She dropped her guard and said in a conspiratorial way, 'Then you know...' 'Yes,. I know.' No more pretense - we both knew why I was there. I paid the house fee and while C left me to get undressed, I left her tip on a small end table.

C took my hand and led me to the table shower where she made sure I was clean all over. Back to the room and I lay down on the massage table. Actually it was just a bed with a hard mattress stuck up against a wall-length mirror. This is definitely not a legitimate massage facility. She began a rather perfunctory massage, or really just the beginning of a massage, rubbing generally around my back and shoulders. After about only five or ten minutes of this she began the light touch teasing that was surely the signal for the main event.

Lowering the lights and removing her bikini, C continued to tease me with her fingertips up and down my back and legs, making sure she paid attention to my inner thighs. I was getting hard and starting to raise my ass up to give myself a little room underneath. In fact I thought it might be time to flip over, but after attempting to move, C put me back in my place. She had her own routine and I was going to follow it. I'm glad I did. With my ass still elevated, she began kissing me all over, up and down my back and legs and finally ending up at my ass. Actually, in my ass. She licked my asshole and balls until I couldn't stop squirming. I just had to release my hard on. she let me flip over and I finally got a good look at her naked body. What a beautiful woman. And she knew it. Throughout the rest of the session she watched herself in the mirror as much as I did.

After some cuddling and caressing, a little exploration of her inner self with my fingers, she knelt between my legs and gently began stroking and leaning in to kiss all around my shaft and balls. I closed my eyes and reveled in the pleasurable sensations but I was called back to reality when I felt her mouth start to cover the tip of my cock I was concerned she wasn't using protection but when I reached my hand down to stop her I realized she was putting the condom on with her mouth. It felt so real. I relaxed and went with the rhythm of her mouth and hands as she slowly worked on me. I peaked at the mirror and got a three quarter shot of C with her face in my lap, her tits swaying gently, and the curve of her back and ass undulating with with every slurp.

Between the tactile and the visual, I didn't want to climax too soon but before I went to stop her, she knelt up, clearly on her own timetable, straddled me and slowly guided my cock into her wet (lubed, I assume) pussy. She started riding me, arching her back and starting to gasp and moan in that high squeaky voice that Asian porn girls make (I heard enough of that in the last couple of days), while I got my hands full of her natural Bs. The mirror images were particularly memorable - my own porn movie on a really big screen in real time not only with sound but also smell and touch. If only video could do that.

She got off me and seemed to wait for me to decide what to do next. I had her bend over the bed with her face close to the mirror and her ass facing me entering her doggy style. I began pumping as I enjoyed the show, gazing from her apple ass rocking right below me to her contorted sex (fake?) face in the mirror, and listening to the squishing below and the exclamations (also fake, I'm sure) in front. I also saw my own sex face (not fake) and took in the whole scene as if I were starring in my own porn clip. (I don't think it would sell very well in spite of how cute and sexy C looked in this position.)

Needless to say, we never made it to the missionary part of the program. I came long and hard as I reached around to fondle her tits. She did her best to fake an orgasm. We cuddled a bit and she went to get hot towels for the clean up. As I was dressing she posed in front of the mirror checking out different angles of her breasts. 'At [the AMP south of us} they like big tits,' she said, 'but I don't want mine bigger.' I told her please leave them alone, they're beautiful the way they are. You may think men like to look at big tits, but we like to feel them more and natural is better than hardened lumps. She agreed. I hope no one talks her into enhancements.

With more hugs, she led me to the back door and back to reality. I hope my relatives need a house sitter again soon.

Unscheduled workshop

2010-05-31T21:15:00.003-04:00

It's been a while since I had a meeting or a conference in the big city so it was about time that I finally had the opportunity. I wanted to try something sort of new; I had been reading about a woman I visited several years ago but who moved to a new location in Chinatown. It was easy to find her business - second story in an office building on a busy side street. It's called a beauty spa but I doubt any women go there. One guy on the Internet said waxing was offered to him - waxing his back. ewww.

I called ahead and was buzzed in Seinfeld-style in a discreet doorway.

No stairway in sight in the small foyer so I had to take the elevator which led to a twisting bright hallway of identical hollow core doors with discount brass numbers hanging in different anglesled to one with rooms on either side. I was counting down the numbers when the door at the end opened and I was greeted by M who was looking her age as probably late 40s. The owner is A whom I saw several years ago. I made sure M knew I was 'there before She said A would be in later thinking, i guess, that I was asking for A.She took me to a small room with just a curtain for a door. I hoped no one else came in.

The bad thing about these entrepreneurial shops is the lack of a table shower. Oh well. I paid the house fee and got undressed & when M came back she complimented me on my 'nice legs,' soft skin, thin body. (That makes up for the TS.) She started a medium massage but felt pretty hard. She did work out the knots in my shoulder and back because of my back pack. She was doing amazing work with such small hands; she used some oil but I wouldn't be home for many hours so I knew my clothes would wear it off. Every now and then she would ask how I was doing - always answered Thank You to what ever I said.

Standing at my head she gave my back some long strokes, ending in my ass crack with ever so deepening penetration. The first hint of a hard-on. M put a towel over my ass but moved it to get to my thighs. A little brushing on my balls here and there stirred my juices. I shifted for the rising tide, but her massage kept up so I ebbed and flowed, depending on how close she got to the boys. More compliments on my legs. No complaint when I ran my hands over her Jeans shorts and up her back to the side of her bra.

Asked me to flip. I thought there would not be any tease which usually happens right be fore turning over. I was half hard and about ready to be stroked. She saw me adjust myself to give my cock some room and she laughed, taped it a little and said Later. She worked on my hands, arms and legs some more. This time there was more sensual stroking at the top of my inner thighs with some unmistaken contact with my balls. She moved my growing cock aside with a giggle so she could get to my other thigh. She gave me a nice foot massage while I wondered if we would ever get to the main event.

Finally, her fingertips ran all over my legs and torso, slowly concentrating on my genitals. She whispered something I didn't quite understand but I took it to be a question whether I wanted a happy ending. I started to say Please do, but she said, No talking, Shhh. I knew someone else was in the office (A?) so I just nodded. She brought me to full attention and let it go to squish some more oil on her hands and came back to apply it for my hand job pleasure. Oiled up hand jobs would bring me to my knees if I were standing up. I could only bring my knees up and spread them out while I arched my back. M, very discreetly at first, put some pressure to bear with one finger of her other hand at the base of my cock and slowly inserted it into my asshole. I'm not usually a big fan of prostate massages, but I thought I would let her go until I got uncomfortable.

I got my hands under her shirt and into her bra to discover very small tits swimming in a padded bra. I could grab both of them with one hand. She stroked me steadily, whispering, almost with a giggle, my first name with a 'y' at the end over and over (If my name were Dave, she would have called me Davey) alternating with, Nice guy, and Soft skin. I know her cooing doesn't sound very sexy, and I'm not crazy about the infantile variation of my name, but her efforts brought me to the inevitable conclusion. I exploded with my legs wide apart and my ass off the table. I didn't realize how deep her finger was in my ass until she took it out. I suppose it added to the final shot.

She ran out to flush the Kleenex she caught my spunk with and came back with hot towels to get the oil off.. While I was zoning out she finished with a little head massage and surprised me by putting on my socks while I was still lying down. Then my underwear.

I finished my own dressing and M led me out to their lobby to meet A again. She looked different from what I remember, thinner and longer hair, and she probably didn't recognize me. Then again, how many men has she seen in the last 3-4 years since I went to her other shop? She either assumed she had met me or pretended to as we hugged like old classmates.

They had to point me in the direction of the elevator as I lost my way at the other end of the hallway. I went down and out into the sunshine and headed for my conference, picking up my life after my lost hour in Chinatown.

Things change

2010-03-31T17:22:00.000-04:00

I found myself downtown with some time on my hands (unusual these days) on a sunny Saturday afternoon. I poked around until after 2 pm when lunch time is really over and I would have less of a chance to run into people I know who work around there when I head to my old favorite strip club.

I approached from the back of the building and saw that the popular restaurant across the street from the club was packing in supplies from a huge delivery truck that blocked the view of anyone sitting at their front windows. The privacy stars were lining up as I hooked a right around the corner of the building and made a bee line for the door.

I hadn't been there in months - long before the crackdown on adult services - but things didn't seem very much different. It was still dark and thumping with dance music with an overlay of perfume and beer in the air. (Luckily the no-smoking law keeps that layer of give-away scent out of the air.) I ordered a tonic & lime at the bar as my eyes adjusted to the dark.There were a couple of dancers shooting the shit with their regulars at the bar.

I took my drink to a table near the stage just as the last notes of music played for a cute white girl who smiled at me as she picked up her tips and walked off the stage. I assumed she had a Regular but she sat by herself in a cushy chair near the bar. I was surprised she didn't come over to hustle a drink or a private dance. I might have gone to her but I didn't have an idea of how 'nasty' she would be in the private dance area, Besides, my attention was drawn to the next dancer, another white woman with a few extra pounds on her.

I sat at the stage and she came over to do her thing in front of me. She seemed kind of sweet, had a great smile and showed off her legs, but kept her distance.I politely rubbed her leg and ass as she rolled around but there was no offer of exposing tits, let alone pulling her top down, for me to stuff dollar bills in. No leaning over to rub then in my face. She did show off her clean-shaven pussy lips, tightening her g-string up the middle so they bulged out. But again, no hint of a labia grabia.

That's about as hot as it got. No request for a private dance, no pressure, no twitching on the hard on meter. I sat back down at the table and looked over by the bar to see the first dancer still sitting there. Granted, it was dark and I could only see part of her, but she seemed to be sitting alone. I was beginning to realize that things have changed.

The next dancer on stage was a skinny black girl wearing the tiniest patch of a thong and a top to match. She had a very nice smile but there was more air dancing when I sat back down at the stage. Again, no hustle, nothing x-rated, not even a suggestion of a private dance. She didn't even pull her thong aside for a second dollar bill and waltzed away to slide around the pole and sidle over to other customers for more G-rated dances.

Meanwhile girl # 1 still sat in her chair, #2 wasnowhere to be found and #3 was in her own world. I was starting to pack it in to leave when I caught a glimpse of another larger white girl with an even smaller thong leading a customer, a regular I'm sure, to the privatre booths. The sight of her with those three tiny patches of fabric became of those images.that has burned itself into my memory.

One last look for #1 but she disappeared. I decided to cut my losses and go out to shop. I guess the new rules have really affected things at strip clubs, at least at this one. Maybe if I came here more often and got to know a couple of dancers and become a regular customer, I would be the one following a nearly naked woman into a booth for a little adult entertainment.

Oh well, you can't win 'em all.

Living dangerously

2010-01-31T22:52:00.002-05:00

Living dangerously

With the so-called crackdown on prostitution still hanging over the monger community but with no real consequences yet, I decided to see if I could get in and out of a spa without any trouble. One weekday morning I was alone at home and made a spur of the moment decision to take the short walk to my neighborhood massage parlor at about the most opportune time - after work begins for the businesses on the street but before coffee break time. That way I could spend an hour there and be out before the lunch crowd starts moving about.

There was more traffic than I thought and I wandered around a little bit trying not to look too suspicious as I tried to time my entrance. I walked around the building next door and turned the corner to see only a few cars coming and a woman in a minivan inching out from a side street. I adjusted my gait so that I quickly opened the door as the soccer mom was still looking at the oncoming cars whose drivers were watching her.

Safely inside, I met S, a short Asian woman who looked vaguely familiar. When she mis-pronounced her own name, I realized it was the same woman who stretched me into a Gumby doll. I had residual good feelings about that trip so I told her I had seen here before. With the new crackdown I knew there would be less suspicion if they really knew I had been there before. Language was a bit of a barrier so I wasn't sure if she understood what I was saying, but it turns out it didn't matter.

The table shower was not very memorable but I could tell it was business as usual; S made sure my privates were nice and clean. Back to the room and to her energetic massage, once again using wrestling holds to taffy-pull all my muscles.

Pausing for a few seconds to turn down the light, S began a long tease, running her fingertips up and down my back and legs always centering he touches on my ass. She began to tease me with the rest of her body, snuggling her face into my neck, rubbing her tits against my side, reaching under for my balls. She had me raising my ass up like I was some cartoon mouse trap with my body propped up on my cock waiting to fall when the mouse reaches under for the goods.

All the teasing had me feeling my hard-on all the way up my spine and into my throat. I could hardly stand it and finally I flipped over. There was more cuddling and nibbling (her garlic & oyster sauce breath a slight distraction) gently stroking and teasing my body which was reaching some kind of nirvana.

S took a moment to oil up and came back to the task at hand, gently covering my cock and slow-stroking its length. She began an unusual technique that was very much like her stretching - gently pinching my taint where my hard-on begins with one hand while squeezing the sweet spot under the head with her other, stretching my cock from one end to the other.

With a little more cuddling (I knew enough about this place not to try groping flesh - clothes always stayed on the provider) and a little more stretching my muscle, she aimed my canon and I let go a rare shot to my chest. When my breathing calmed down, she let me go and went for hot towels.

We cuddled some more and she ran over my neck and head one more time before I reluctantly stood up to get dressed. S dressed me from head to toe - I haven't seen that in a while - and she made sure I remembered her name. She knows how to keep customers coming back.

She escorted me to the door and I caught a glimpse of a bus coming down the street. I had to jaywalk across light traffic to catch it, only a couple of homeless types within sight; business as usual in the new capitol of morality. And one more unaccounted, invisible hour in my secret life.

Leglislating morality

2009-11-14T17:48:00.003-05:00

Circumstances usually determine my voyages to adventure. A meeting across town put me on the path to the same old, same old spa - up the back stairs behind the trailer and stockade fence in the quiet neighborhood. I figured I deserved a belated birthday present to myself. This may be the last time i can do this with impunity. A new legal crackdown was in the works and I was climbing the stairs at the same moment the legislature was debating changes in the law. But for now...

J answered the door wearing red baby doll lingerie with a thong, I presume, underneath. She's tall with tons of make-up, probably in an attempt to cover her age, and looked more American that Asian. However, her English was a little broken and she giggled at everything including their possible closure because of the crackdown. She is only here for a couple of weeks so she didn't care what happened.

She took my fee and led me to the shower when I was undressed. I kept checking out her ass as it kept flashing from under the baby doll when she was stretching to wash me. Nice shape at the top of some really long legs.In spite of the padding I could tell she had pretty big tits as she knelt dot dry my legs, my half hard cock nearly grazing her nose. Tall and big-titted - not the usual petite cute women I usually see at the spas.

The massage was surprisingly good for a woman in heavy make-up and sexy lingerie. It's hit or miss at this place. J had no objection to running my hands up to her ass - I had to stretch to reach the top of her legs, but she had no objections that was being so obvious about what I expected.

At the end of the massage I was disappointed there was no tease; she just asked me to flip over and then asked the inevitable question, "You want handjob?" Why, of course.

She was off to a nice start, dropping her thickly-padded top to let her heavy, full tits with long hard nipples fall out. I went for her thong, outside first, feeling her mound through the little triangle of cloth. I just had to pull down the front, I ran my fingers over grizzly hair with loose lips - some wet and sticky vagi-flesh was hanging down. I went past it to penetrate but she backed off and so did I.

Meanwhile, I felt like I was going to come too soon and I wanted to prolong the experience so I held her hand and tried to stop the eruption. I thought I had but I could feel liquid seeping up and out. I figured it was pre-come. She resumed but I was going limp. Did you came? she asked (and almost giggled). I wasn't sure - but I was sure that I wasn't getting hard again. J didn't help by just lightly stroking rather than picking up speed.

Oh well, can't win them all.

We both shrugged and she cleaned off what there was of my seed and I got dressed. She joked about whether they would stay open in face of a crackdown. I suggested they use a password for regulars. She thought that was funny (like everything else) and She suggested the password be 'handjob' and laughed again. I told her that was too easy to figure out. I walked the 45-minute route home to let my clothes rub off some of the oil and to get the sandalwood soap smell off of my neck and shoulders. I wondered if I would be able to make any more of these little getaways.

The crackdown passed and on the six o'clock news the next night, there was the local investigative reporter doing a stand-up on the sidewalk by the front door of the spa I had been to the day before. November sweeps. I'm glad I didn't become part of the story.

A lesson learned

2009-09-30T13:53:00.000-04:00

On a weekday morning off I take a slight detour from my errands and jump on a bus heading in a different direction and head to the spa with the most discreet entrance - a back stairway in a stockade-fenced parking lot. I get off the bus a stop early and walk down the side streets and around into the lot and there is an out-of-state car there. Another customer come this far for a massage? Doesn't seem likely.

S meets me at the top of the stairs. She has been at this place since they opened and could be the mamasan, but she does the massages herself. It's the typical routine - paying the fee, getting undressed and being led to the table shower.

Her shower technique seems a little perfunctory like something is on her mind. Back to the room and after I was lying face down she runs her hands lightly over my back and legs for preliminaries when I hear the door open and someone else comes in the room. I have my face in the massage table's hole so I can't see but I sense that it's a woman.

S leans over and whispers that it's my lucky day - she'll be training a new recruit and I'll have a four-handed massage. (Explains the car in the lot.) Sounds great, but the new woman seems very new at massages so it isn't the intense experience it could be.

S starts normally with sweeping strokes on the large muscles, all the while explaining, in Korean, her technique to her student. They keep talking in hushed tones and it's only slightly distracting - I'm just wondering if the four handed experience will extend to the happy ending.

In explaining a certain move, S would turn my body over to her student who would try the same technique only more tentatively like she is afraid of hurting me. I want to say, Harder, but I don't want to interrupt the lesson. As so it goes over my back, legs and arms, each woman standing on either side of the table and using my body like a CPR dummy.

None of this is especially erotic and if I understood the language I could have benefited from the lesson. The new recruit holds on to my hand for a few seconds too long as she finishes with my right arm and I feel a little twitching in my nether regions in anticipation of where that could lead. But everything seems very educational and business-like in spite of the low light, soft music, murmuring voices and female hands all over me.

No room for a slow teasing fingertip massage around my ass and thighs in this lesson as S asks me to turn over on my back. I see her student for the first time - a thin Asian woman in a conservative blouse and knee-length skirt with stylish glasses and her hair piled on top of her head - for a minute I'm thinking I'm in a library. She politely says hello and smiles as they start to concentrate on my legs, ignoring my growing cock.

They finish up with some last instruction and a few knowing giggles and the student leaves the room. I have to ask...She's not staying around to learn about the happy ending? S laughs and says she is already an expert at that. Intriguing. I would like to be the judge of that. S proceeds to turn down the light even more and concentrates on the task at hand. A little teasing - it doesn't take much - and I am at full attention. S oils up her hands and goes at it. I think she may recognize me from past visits so there is no hesitation about my fondling her while she starts slowly and builds up momentum.

What a rush. It never fails to amaze me how intense a handjob can be. S cleans me up and encourages me to visit again soon. She may feel that I wasn't spoiled as much as I should have been or that her lesson was too much of a distraction. I truthfully agree to return as soon as I can. I would really like to find out how much of an expert her new employee really is.

Relaxing in the big city

2009-07-31T13:46:00.000-04:00

I haven't had a meeting in the big city for a while so when I found myself wrapping things up just after lunch I calculated I had a couple of hours to spend on my own. I begged off a couple of offers for a ride to my home town saying I had some shopping to do in Chinatown. On the subway I checked out the adults ads in the local free paper and picked out a couple of possibilities for recreational massages.

I could have visited other places I had been in the neighborhood - the nail salons, the apartment - but I was itching for something new. I recognized some of the places advertised and I decided on a business that just offered relaxing massages. It's run by a business woman and it got pretty good reviews in the whoremonger Internet literature except for reports of a visiting assistant masseuse who was not all that friendly. I knew it would be hit or miss, but I decided to give it a try.

I called from a block away and L, the owner, gave me directions to a corner office building on one of the bordering streets of Chinatown - 4th floor of an old brick building. In the foyer was an ancient looking elevator that has seen better days. I decided to take the stairs which didn't look much better. The building was full of small businesses. First floor, hair stylists; second floor, insurance and real estate; third floor, psychic readings and yoga studios; fourth floor, a therapist and down a winding hallway, my destination.

The door was open to reveal a comfortable living room with couches, an oriental rug and a coffee table with issues of Self and People piled up. L, a short middle-aged Chinese woman greeted me and turned briefly to finish up showing a much younger woman how to use the CD player. She ushered me into one of two small rooms with a massage table while the younger woman followed me in holding the radio. She introduced herself as C and said she was a friend of L's just helping out for a couple of days. I was relieved to hear she wasn't the woman who got such bad reviews - maybe she was there because of too many complaints about her predecessor.

The usual routine - taking my massage fee and asking me to get undressed. No table shower in any of the places I have been in this neighborhood. The room was small with a small table in the corner for supplies. C came in when I was naked and asked me to lie down on the massage table. She was dressed all in black - jeans and a pullover - which matched her long black hair. Probably in her late 20s, C had a cute smile and strong hands. She was obviously a professional. She asked if she could use oil & I agreed figuring most of it would wear off on my clothes by the time I got home.

The massage was good and strong but relaxing. After some small talk (concerning mostly about the other similar places I had been - sizing me up for a potential happy ending, I'm sure) I was going into into a swooning reverie when she left and came back with some hot towels to wipe off a lot of the oil. Discarding the towels, she began the light touches. A few minutes of this teasing with her hands and hair running up and down my spine, ass and legs, C whispered that I should turn over. With my cock almost at full mast, she pointed and smiled at me without saying anything. I took that as the question I was waiting for. I nodded in silence and she went to the table and pumped out a fistful of oil.

Since it was my first time there and she was so nice, I hadn't been groping her too much - only accidental brushes against her legs. When she slathered on the oil I started running my hands up her legs and back but the jeans weren't providing a very sexy feel. I went up to her tits and fondled her over her top but she was wearing the typical padded chastity bra. I could feel the mounds and cleavage when I reached the top which then began to finally get my blood coursing with the right intensity.

As C was slowly working my cock, she smiled sweetly at me, something many providers do not do. It's one of those fantasy images burned into my memory - a cute Chinese girl servicing me with a smile. I couldn't help but raising my knees and arching my back as her stroking became more robust until finally I shot my load all over my stomach with my eyes rolled back and Easy Rider hallucinogenic stars bursting in my psyche.

She left the room to clean up and I slowly came back to earth. More hot towels when she returned and a facial massage to finish up. I sat up in a daze and I vaguely remember getting dressed. She helped me with my socks and shoes and buttoned my shirt for me. I gave her a tip, hugged her and dreamily made it back down the stairs. The noise of the city finished waking me up and I floated down the street towards the train station and reality.

Five years

2009-06-12T11:18:00.001-04:00

I can't believe it's been five years since I started this blog. I never really thought about how long I would or could keep this up.

This blog has filled my need for confession. It feels so much better to get things off my chest whether or not anyone reads it. I throw my stories out there knowing that maybe a couple of regulars check in (or not) and maybe someone will stumble across them and read without judgment. I hope I have titillated, educated, and fascinated a few people in the process.

This has been a cathartic experience. Since this is my secret life I have no one IRL to share my experiences with - no friends, colleagues, family, and certainly not my wife, would be open to hearing about my clandestine experiences. I have to tell someone, so why not you?

But I wonder if sometimes I continue my adventures only to have something to write about here. Nah, I'd probably look to play and find some other outlet for catharsis.

So I'll continue for now in the same vein hoping that my veins will still be working in the right places for a while so I can sow some oats outside of the fertile plot I have been tending for so long. (And I hope that no one judges badly my mixture of metaphors.)

Thanks for reading and I'll still be living one post at a time.

Time for a change

2009-05-31T21:28:00.000-04:00

It was starting to get monotonous, one spa after another. I did try to get to a strip club a couple of times in the last few months but it never worked out. Mostly just a scheduling problem but also the spa experience is so addicting. It's more of a ritual and a sure thing compared to the fantasy seduction at the strip club stage, picking the woman who will do things.

I ended up at my old usual club one Saturday afternoon and waited at the bar for a drink. Thumping music, low light, perfume and beer fumes, nothing's changed. There were a couple of old guys like me at the bar chatting up a dancer, or maybe the other way around, and the bartender was busy at the other end. A skinny dancer lazed around he pole on stage and waited for some action.

Just as the bartender noticed me a dancer sat down next to me & introduced herself as S. Of course I offered to buy her a beverage and she surprised me by ordering an energy drink. [No placement ads here.] I knew if I had gotten my drink a minute sooner I'd be at the stage sampling the charms of a few women; I was too polite to walk away from the young woman next to me. I broke my own routine but chances were that this might work out.

Not only was she young but she had a pretty face and was in good shape with long brown hair, perky tits and a sly smile. We chatted a bit about were we lived and the warming weather, and after a few minutes I cut to the chase. I knew why she was so anxious to talk to me, so as she was offering her legs to my view and touch, I asked her if she was good at private dances. Duh, she said yes. How did she feel about fondling; no problem. Without much time for a hard-on test (although there was definitely some movement in that department) we got up from the bar and walked toward the private dance booths.

I followed her pear-shaped ass swinging like a pendulum, encased in short shorts with her cheeks peeking out and a tramp stamp gracing her pelvis. The image is still burned in my mind. She picked out the darkest booth. The booths with curtains cost more so we opted for darkness. There were other couples in there but we all try to ignore each other and the loud music muffles intimate noises. She took off her fishnet shawl and slipped out of her shorts to reveal the tiniest bikini I think I've seen. Little triangles of cloth barely covered her nipples and another triangle constrained her puffy pussy. This was gonna be good.

Or so I thought. I adjusted my cock to point north and the first song got us nice and cozy but S didn't provide much friction. She sat on my legs frontwards and backwards and slithered down my chest a couple of times with barely a brush against my bulge. She did let me caress her natural mid-sized tits when they were within reach and allowed an occasional stroke across her crotch, moving away if I pressed too hard. I was hoping that, like some dancers, she would get a little more personal if I went with another song. So instead of cutting my loses and going out to test drive some of the other dancers on stage, I nodded when she asked if I wanted another dance.

Things went a little better during the second song although I had to pull her down by her hips as she girated to put some pressure on my cock. With a little more fondling, and a little more friction I was almost there. Just a couple more strokes with her ass crack and...

"You want another dance, baby?" she whispered, teasing me a little with her hand. I was that close. I thought for a second of giving myself a few strokes - that's all it would have taken, but my modesty and frugality took over. I declined her offer and stuck to my self-imposed limit of two songs. I straightened myself out, paid her, and walked out into the blinding sunlight. Oh well. It's been a while since I failed to get off in a strip club. As I walked through the surrounding alleys and parking lots I thought back and stored a few images of S in my mind - her ass swinging, her lovely soft tits with the tiny bikini covering them, her breeder pelvis in my lap. She will still get me off - she just won't be there when she does.

In the hood

2009-04-28T21:42:00.000-04:00

Finally a Saturday to work a little downtown, a very little, leaving some time for play on the way home. I had until 1-ish or so before my absence would arouse suspicion so around 11 I headed out to the spa I had been to early on another morning. Things didn't go so well then, but it was worth a try because it is in a convenient location and the streets were kind of deserted.

I could see the door from a distance & someone was parked there and seemed to go in, but I realized he was loading stuff into what I assumed was his business next door to the spa. I came up to the door and gave a tug. Locked. Another tug. Still locked. No use hanging around so I walked toward the bus stop devising Plan B. I could head toward home and either go to one I had never been to which is further down the bus route or I could go to a familiar, closer place. The bus schedule helped me decide.

I must have just missed one so I had to wait a while (Saturday schedule) for the next bus. then there was a crowd getting on & off and a wheelchair to load in the back so in the interest of time, I got off on the nearer spa. I got off one stop ahead to case the street to see any friends or neighbors who might see me. A group of down-and-outers got off the bus with me but luckily they crossed the street after a block & headed to a liquor store. Breakfast of champions. A woman in front of me started up a side street and I was cleared for landing. I ducked in during a lull in traffic and disappeared out of the bright sunlight into the dim, quiet, sultry atmosphere of my neighborhood massage parlor.

A short, well-endowed Asian woman in a tight top and white jeans met me with a giggle and a smile and lead me down the dark-paneled hallway to one of the rooms, took my fee and left me to undress. She came back to introduce herself as S and to give me a towel to wrap myself in for the trip to the shower. Before tightening the towel, she opened it up, looked down and said hello to my genitals too. Goofy, but fun. The table shower was nice and relaxing except for the growing tension in my nether regions as she gave me a thorough wash, greeting my not-so-private parts again with a giggle.

Back for the massage. S helped keep up the reputation of this place as one with great massages, but modest providers - they stay fully clothed the whole time. The massage was a little harder than I like & she did some almost painful stretches of my whole body, pulling me from corner to corner and side to side. It may have hurt for a few minutes, but I haven't been that loosely wrapped since my last bender. More stretching and a little pounding, some kneading with her knees and stroking with her elbows and I felt a little beat up. But in a good way.

Not much teasing. Just a little light touch up and down the strips of mush that used to be my muscles. I turned over and S politely asked if I wanted her friend massaged pointing to my crotch. Yes, please. She turned the light down and brought out the oil. As she started I ran my hands over her pants but she said 'No inside' when I tried to go under her shirt. I knew the culture of this place but I had to try...and be polite about it. She had no problem with my fondling her tits that were covered up to her neck in a T shirt and tucked away in a padded bra. It took me a little longer than usual as she pumped away. I went over the edge when she jumped up on the table and straddled me, stroking like mad and leaning into my hands as they groped her chest.

Hot towels and a head massage to finish up. She returned to her giggly, self and we hugged goodbye. I passed another customer in the doorway and we both instinctively pulled our hats down and ducked past each other. I took a couple quick turns outside and started walking home loose as a goose. All's quiet there asI start to assimilate back into real life.

Creature of habit

2009-03-07T17:32:00.002-05:00

It was a rare day off with the use of a car. I had some errands to run in a neighborhood where several spas are located; a couple I'd been to, ones I'd never visited and a few new ones. I debated about going someplace I had never been but since I had the car, I worried about parking on a very visible street or parking lot. I checked out a couple of them on my way across town.

One had a very small parking lot near a busy intersection near the highway. Too busy. Another was down a couple of side streets but there were several cars already in the lot. Too popular. I had to drive by another on my way to my official business but I was stuck in traffic right in front of their front door and highly visible parking lot. All I need is for a friend or relative passing by and seeing my car in front of a notorious spa (right next door to a dirty bookstore). I had wanted to visit this spa based on Internet reports but I might be better off going there when I was traveling by bus and would only have to worry about the few seconds it would take me to get in and out of the building.

OK, so I'm paranoid about visiting a legal health-related establishment. But it is my secret life and I intend to keep it a secret. After my errand I went past that last place and again I was stuck in traffic right in front. I drove a few blocks to the places I had been, knowing I could be more discreet. The parking lot of the nearest had a few cars in it and I could have blended mine in with the others but it was still pretty visible - the lot is on a corner of an intersection that was not quite as busy as the last. I drove around the corner to the spa I knew would be the most hidden, but it was the one I had been to last.

Oh well, at least I will be able to get a better sense of what I can expect there. Two points determine a straight line. I remember that the tease was so nice there that I would try again to see if the massage would improve. It's rare to find a combination of a good massage, tease and release.

Down one side street and into an alley behind a row of houses on one side and a deserted park on the other. There was the spa sign and a parking lot walled off with a six-foot high stockade fence. I pulled in and parked in a corner that was pretty much impossible to see unless you were pulling into the lot yourself. There was another car there but it had out of state plates so I figured it was one of the owners.

Up the wooden stairs tacked onto the outside of the building; rang the bell and was met by C who ushered me into the kitchen and down the hall to a massage room. At first glance C looked pretty young with her brownish hair (dyed?) down to her shoulders and a loose top and dungaree shorts. Low to mid 30s maybe. The usual formalities and soon I had a towel wrapped around my waist and was led to the shower room. She did a good job washing down my back and legs with her bare hands and when she asked me to flip over, she made sure my privates were nice and clean. In fact, she kept coming back to my growing hard on, stroking a few times with each return. (Think about baseball, Barbara Bush, the failing economy - anything to keep me from popping right there. Mmmm, maybe she would go for two pops, one in the shower and one in the room. Maybe next time.) She dried me off and the weight of the towel (and Bar) brought me down to almost normal.

She didn't speak much, didn't ask how hard a massage I wanted. She just started in what I would consider a hard massage. She used oil and soon was putting heavy pressure on my muscles, stretching them out and working out the kinks. She used her forearms on each side of my back, always starting at the spine and working outwards. At one point she knelt on my back and did the same thing with with her legs, digging her knees into my spine and moving outwards. This was definitely not the simple body rub/tease I had here last time.

C made no objection when I ran my hands up and down her very thin, but smoothly shaved calves when she got back on the floor. She asked me to turn over and without any tease asked me, You wanna fuckie? I said No and made the universal handjob sign. She said Good, a little too quickly I thought. I was surprised; I thought this was a hand-release only place. She oiled me up and started in. I began feeling her up and she took her top and bra off to give me access to her tits. She leaned over to breathe heavy on my neck while I explored her body. She had put her hair up during the massage and it made her look ten years older, probably closer to her real age. But that didn't stop me from bursting forth all over her hand and my stomach.

So now I know about this place - either/or a good massage or a good tease but probably not both. I suppose all things in life balance out. I just wish they would balance at the same time and place. The quest will continue...

Three out of four ain't bad

2009-01-24T12:44:00.001-05:00

Because of some scheduling changes at work I have some time to myself lately during the day so I can plan excursions quite easily. Tired of the routines, I feel a real urge for a different experience at one of the new spas that have sprung up in my area. A little reading and filtering out the full service places from the hand job joints (and some in between) I pick one that has pretty good reviews & is easy to get to on the bus.

I am always looking for a combination of a discreet location, a great massage, lots of teasing and a very happy ending. This combination is not always achievable - usually one or more of my 'requirements' is missing. Maybe this new place will satisfy my needs.

Google maps shows me that the building is a small house right on a busy street just past the bus stop. Not very good for discretion. However, the internet postings say there is a parking lot in back and stairs to up to an entrance. Sounds promising. I can't quite go around the corner on street view, but I see there is an alley that runs parallel to the main street behind the buildings.

When the time comes I jump on the cross-town bus and get off at the stop I saw on the map. I walk around the corner and sure enough, there is the alley. It's pretty quiet and there are no neighbors around as I find the parking lot that is half obscured by a tractor trailer parked along the fence on one side; a big empty park sits across from the parking lot entrance. And there are the stairs, a long flight of wooden steps stuck onto the outside of the house leading to the back door which must be at the level of the main street. As I approach, the door opens and an Asian woman greets me with a big smile. Must be a security camera somewhere. I walk into a kitchen that smells strongly of some kind of fried food and run into another woman with a can of air freshener in her hand. I can't tell if the smell is from cooking or spraying.

Both women are very friendly and my greeter leads me to a room down the hall. Since they have only been open for a while, there is no "Have you been here before?" She collects the house fee and I undress. I ask her name when she comes back and S then leads me to the shower - a converted bedroom with a boarded up window in the front of the house. S is wearing a short summer dress and I watch her lovely ass sway as I follow her through the house. She washes me with her hands as I lay on the table and hits every crevice. I flip and she does the same, giving more than a passing rub to my rising cock.

S dries me off and leads me back to the room. So far so good - a discreet location, a pretty good table shower. Now the massage. Actually I can't really call it a massage; it is more of a body rub. No deep tissue kneading, no working out knots in my shoulder. However, as a tease it goes way beyond the usual 2-minute finger touches on my ass and reach under to my balls.

S stands at the head of the table with her midsection rhythmically pressing against my head as she rubs both palms up and down my back, sometimes with heavy pressure and sometimes lightly with her fingernails. My hands are draped over the table within easy reach of her ass. What the hell, I tentatively run one hand up her very smooth leg (every AMP woman I have met has very smooth skin) and under her dress. It looks like she's OK with it. I get my other hand going and pretty soon I'm caressing her nice little ass over her panties and then under them to her bare ass cheeks. I cant reach the front because she is leaning against the table but my senses are going wild.

This goes on for what seems like hours, but realistically, it's a good twenty minutes of the same back rubbing over and over and my hands going in and out of her panties. My cock is dying to straighten out and I can fell the horniness spread like a hardon throughout the center of my body right up to my throat. It's getting difficult to stay like this for much longer.

Finally S breaks away and spends a little time on my legs. I keep grabbing her ass when she is within reach at the side of the table and catch my breath when she moves away. She asks me to flip onto my back and my cock springs free and makes itself known. She asks what I want and I give her the universal handjob sign. She gets the pump bottle and oils me up. Of course I reach under her dress again and this time I can get to her pussy, slipping under the leg of her panties. I try for her tits but the dress has a tight band around her stomach and there is a ton of padding in the cups - typically tiny tits.

She knows what I like and pulls her dress up and her panties down for direct access. A trimmed landing strip under a supple womb - a memory burned in for future fantasy sessions. I rummage through her folds feeling for her clit. She sees I'm having a little trouble and takes my hand, pumps a little oil on my fingers and directs me back. We both resume our exploration. My body-long hardon is reaching its limit with the oily stroking and my oily penetration. A full body orgasm sends me somewhere I haven't been before. In spite of not having a deep tissue massage, I'm left in the same tingly, toxics-releasing stupor I would get with an LMT.

Hot towels on the table and cold air at the bus stop. I guess I'll have to try this place again & start a new routine even if the massage quotient isn't there.

Best laid plans

2008-12-22T22:34:00.001-05:00

Even though I find each trip to a massage parlor to be exciting, writing (and maybe reading) about them has been getting to be monotonous to me. So I decided for variety's sake I would plan a trip to a strip club.

I had a weekday off and an excuse to go to the mall (to spend my 2-month old birthday gift card) and I started making plans. I wanted to go to the club after 2pm when the people I know who work in the area would be finished with lunch and back in their offices - I would have to go shopping first so I wouldn't be too late getting home. I didn't want to carry a bag with a big department store logo all over it into the club so I emptied out my backpack to bring in order to be more discreet. I dug out my vice savings which in this case included a lot of dollar bills for stuffing g-strings; I wore a dark shirt so I could blend into the background; I put on my old jeans which were thin enough for easy friction.

I ran out the door to catch the bus and realized halfway downtown that I forgot the backpack. Bummer. Maybe I would be able to get a plain bag somewhere that I could use to hide any logo'd ones. I guess I made the mistake of going to the department store first since every store I went to just put the Christmas presents I bought into the original bag. My last chance was a bookstore a few blocks away; the clerk said they only had ones that were smaller than the one I had so I gave up. Everything else was in place. Just one small senior moment and it's delayed gratification for me.

My next chance for extracurricular activity was the following Sunday morning on my way to work. Since I only had an hour and it was so early, a strip club was out of the question, but the spa I had previously been to downtown opened at 10. I arrived at about 10:15 and walked up the firetrap steps with the year-round Christmas tree, finally in season, at the top. Before I could ring the bell I heard an alarm bell inside that was obviously triggered by my movement. I rang the doorbell anyway and waited. It was really quiet inside. Too quiet. I looked around for the motion detector and found it on the wall behind me. Since there was such silence inside, I moved around a lot just to set off the alarm and I rang the bell again. I felt a little guilty about trying to wake them up, but they advertise that they open at 10. I wasn't going to be frustrated again.

Finally I heard some movement inside. A woman coughing, water running, some bumping around and more coughing. Finally a slightly disheveled mid-40ish Asian woman in a sun dress opened the door. I apologized for ringing so much and asked if they were really open. She said yes and led me to a room. I paid her and got undressed as she left to get the shower, and herself, ready.

I had pretty low expectations given the shape of my masseuse but she put up a brave front, smiling and trying to be as enthusiastic as she could. The shower was nice as she scrubbed me down and rinsed me off before bringing me back to the room. She left for a few minutes and I could hear a little more coughing and water running. She came back with apologies saying she had to splash water on her face. I know I shouldn't have felt guilty - it is a business after all - but I wouldn't want to jump right into work after just waking up.

I knew she was cutting a few corners as she worked on my back and butt, making it to my feet in record time. She began the teasing ritual with a light touch all over my backside giving special attention to my ass, and I did my part by running my hand up and down her remarkably smooth legs. It was easy access into her panties under her silky dress, a voyeur's dream. At last, she asked me to turn over and broke the spell by asking what I wanted. I'm sure she was relieved that I only wanted a hand job and she wouldn't have to take a pounding so early in the morning. As she oiled me up and began stroking I had my hands all over her tits and private parts under her dress.

It didn't take me long; after all, it was still early in the day when my testosterone was enslaving my blood and justifying the term morning wood. She (I didn't even catch her name) did yeoman work and I let go with a force that only a post-massage hand release will give. As I lay in a near catatonic state, she left for some hot towels after cleaning me up a little. I mentioned something about the time since I couldn't see the clock very well and she thought I was in a hurry. There was a language problem and I gave up trying to explain that I still had time to catch my bus; she was ready to let me go. I decided I wouldn't force the issue about the remaining 15 minutes and started to get dressed.

I will think twice about going to a spa, at least this one, so early in the morning. Maybe because it was a Sunday. Even sex workers need to sleep in once in a while. It's all relative, though - strip clubs open at noon, but many dancers are just barely awake when I have met them in the early afternoon. That won't stop me from making my vice trips whenever my schedule permits.

Morning walk

2008-11-20T14:20:00.000-05:00

Sometimes hiding in plain sight works out. But of course, timing is everything. The two cliches butted heads one morning when I had the day off & everyone I know was, I assume, busy with their own affairs. I decided to visit a spa that's in walking distance of my house. It's on a busy street with a popular convenience store and a highway entrance road within shouting distance.

The spa has been there for years; a very unassuming place even with the huge lighted sign in front. It's just a storefront with other businesses and parking lots on either side. I timed my visit for mid-morning when most people would have arrived at work but before they would venture out for coffee. Walking down the side street I could see that the convenience store parking lot had only a couple of cars in it and that traffic was pretty light. Of course, it would only take one acquaintance breaking their routine to spot me from the street.

I turned the corner and had a half a block to cover. There was some unusual activity right near the entrance so I figured I would have to make a split second decision whether or not to go in. A cable guy with his white van gleaming in the sun on the side of the building was working with a long yellow ladder against the telephone pole right across from the entrance. Another guy, an Asian man was pacing in front of the building talking on a cell phone. It was a 50-50 decision - go or no go.

I slowed my pace and saw that the cable guy was maneuvering the ladder over to his truck. If I timed it right, he would be on the side of the building by the time I passed and wouldn't see me go in. I figured the Asian guy was connected to the spa, so I'm sure he would be glad to see me enter even if I distracted him from his conversation. Up to 70-30.

I walked past the distracted worker and caller and glanced down the street; traffic was still light although I could see a bus approaching in the distance. Hmmm, 40-60. One more step & I was out of the sun and in the shade of the building. 50-50. Another couple of steps & I figured that the activity behind me would attract more attention from passers by than my discreet figure hurrying along the sidewalk. I came to the door and literally made my decision then and there; I opened the door and walked into the entry way to the sound of bells hanging on the door. Safe inside, I breathed a sigh of relief.

The only problem going this early is that the masseuses were still eating breakfast or just starting their morning routines. The mamasan let me in and led me to a room still chewing her coffee bun. I didn't have to lie and said I had been there before and I paid the house fee. It was a little chilly in the room (another disadvantage of arriving early) but I undressed and met C, a tall, thin Asian woman with long straight black hair, as she came in to escort me to the shower.

I really like getting soaped up and scrubbed down by a young woman. She made extra sure I was clean down there, on both sides. She dried me off and we went back to the room, skipping the sauna (it was probably not up to temperature yet). I lay naked on my stomach and relaxed for a wonderful massage. This is one of the HJ only spas (rub & tug, jack shack) so I knew not to expect full service. In fact, this is one of the places where the masseuses do not remove any clothing but usually allow customers to grope a little when the time comes. However, the massage is usually much better than places that offer all out sex.

And this was the case. A very relaxing, stress-relieving session. When she finished with my back, legs and feet she started her light touch all over but concentrated on my ass and inner thighs. Occasionally she brushed her fingers against my growing member as I arched my pelvis up to relieve some pressure. As if on cue, C bent over and let the tips of her hair follow her fingers across my tingling skin. Then she started gently blowing all around my asshole and balls. I could barely stand it. Blow in my rear, I'll follow you anywhere.

She told me to turn over and asked permission to take care of my way-too obvious muscle tension. Of course I said yes and the lotion came out and the stroking began. I ran my hand up along her white jeans over her legs and ass but when I started caressing her back under her shirt she giggled and tensed up because my hand was too cold for her. I tried warming my hand between her legs and on top of her shirt but it wasn't enough to stop her from cringing again when I went under. She leaned over for some more hair teasing as she stroked and I tried to approach from the top. I managed to get between her tits and almost into her bra but she giggled again and lost some of her concentration. I gave up and just squeezed gently atop her top.

In spite of all that it was a very nice finish. She cleaned me up with a hot towel and finished the massage with a nice head and scalp rub. I dressed and we hugged and I stood in the entry way for a minute hoping I could just walk away invisibly. I pulled down my cap, pulled up my collar and went out onto the sidewalk at full walking speed as if I had been marching up the street for blocks. Another hour lost to the sensual stimulation of muscle and blood.

Annual visit

2008-09-30T13:26:00.000-04:00

Another trip to visit relatives in a neighboring state with access to a car and an opportunity to be off on my own fir a few hours. I finished my homework before I left. There's an art gallery at a college that's about 40 minutes away and the route takes me past the spa I visited last year. Good excuse, good time frame.

It's like deja vu; same street, same time of day. same beautiful weather. Knowing no one would recognize me, I boldly walked up to the entry in a building behind a busy doughnut shop. Same routine as mamasan takes me into a room and smiles when I say I have been there before. She takes my money and leaves me to undress. Knowing the culture of this massage parlor, I leave the tip visible on the table where a small lamp with its shade covered with a red cloth gave the room an earie brothel glow. There were full-sized mirrors mounted sideways on either side of the massage table. Asian string nusic on the boom box.

In walks a short and very cute asin woman with ovesized tits. Artificial, I know. She's wearing a red bikini and introduces herself as C. She thanks me for the tip and leads me to the table shower, giggling all the way. Good thing she is wearing the bikini, I can grope around a lot as she scrubs me down making sure I'm squeaky clean. We are getting along well. I can tell by her squeaky giggles.

This spa is definitely on the whorehouse end of the massage parlor scale. The massage was little more than stimulating my skin and getting my blood running in the right derection. She takes her bikini off and rubs herself all over my back. I must admit, for fake tits, hers feel pretty natural. Naturally, It doesn't take me long to approach full length. She asks me to turn over and and teases me into throbbing mode. She pulls a condom out of nowhere and puts it on with her mouth starting a slow blowjob.

It's a blur after that. She climbs on top of me for a while. The mirrors are great - a live porn show right there on the wall. You can even feel it! I offer to massage her and she giggles her approval. Of course I don't know shit about massaging, but I give it a try just to get my hands all over her slim little body. It's aso a way to get her ass up in the air for more live porn. By the time we try missionary, I am ready to blow. She makes it easier by doing a thing with her legs that I am all too familiar with.

She takes good care of me, cleaning me with a hot towel and laying another across my back. I could iie here forever. C helps me dress and I make my way for another cultural experience at the art gallery.

Woke up, it was an Asian morning

2008-08-22T10:53:00.000-04:00

And the first thing on my mind...

A Saturday morning and I bus it downtown for a few hours of work in the local library. Well, actually a couple hours of work and one for fun. Of course, fun comes first (so to speak) so I take a short detour through the outskirts of downtown where large office buildings converted from factories, night clubs, and parking lots border on the more active areas of theaters and restaurants. I had read only one mixed review about a new spa that opened near there almost a year before so I figure since I am in the neighborhood and it's too early for my favorite strip club to be open, I would give it a try.

It's on a second floor of a two-story building with a real estate company on the first and a multi-story office building directly across a narrow street. I planned my trip for a weekend because I just had a feeling I would know somebody working up there and watching the spa door for us perverts who seek a little relief from anonymous women. The real estate company is closed too and the street is deserted so I don't feel so paranoid opening the heavy door with the large SPA sign right above it.

It's a long narrow wooden staircase reminding me of the spa/brothel staircase I encountered in one of my travels. A real fire trap. It's early summer but a lighted artificial Christmas tree sits on a stand outside the interior entrance. I ring the bell and a cute Asian woman greets me with a smile and says I'm her first customer. Inside it's softly lit with candles and indirect lighting with flowers in vases on stands in front of lavender walls.

Standard procedure - she shows me to a massage room, takes my fee and leaves me to undress. She returns to lead me to the shower. I ask her name; in broken English it sounds like Candy, so I go with it. The table shower comes close to being a massage in itself. As I lay on my stomach Candy uses a soaped-up loofah to give me a good scrub and then her bare hands to give a nice firm rub, gliding over my back and leg muscles and making sure my asshole gets the same treatment. I turn over for more scrubbing of my chest and legs. She asks, "OK wash there?" pointing to my half-erect cock. A cop check. "Oh yes, please." She makes sure I am very clean there. My cock makes way for cleaning underneath by rising higher to involuntarily get itself out of the way so she can clean my balls. A couple quick soapy strokes to really tease me and it's time to rinse and dry off.

Back to the massage room which is really hot and steamy. No problem drying off completely. I am impressed by the massage. I ask for medium pressure and she is very thorough, spending lots of time on my backpack shoulder and on my neck and head muscles. Her foot massage is really a turn-on although her toe popping added too much levity to stay too focused on the bulging dick underneath me.

She turns the lights down and asks my permission to give me a light massage. Time for the tease. The soft music makes things very relaxing but I'm a little distracted trying to figure out where it's from. In fact, I've been wondering what nationality Candy is - she looks Chinese to me but I know most massage parlors in the area are Korean. I'm afraid to ask directly not wanting to appear to be an ugly American insensitive to the rest of the world.

The tease is wonderful. She runs her fingertips ever so lightly across my back, my ass, and my legs. That's my cue to begin some fingertip roaming of my own. She is wearing a tank top and a jeans skirt with pantyhose under it. I run my hand up her legs and reaching her pussy. I can feel her lips bulging through the hose and she makes no move to discourage me. By now she is concentrating on my ass and brushing against my balls and the tip of my cock which is getting wonderfully uncomfortable as it bulges under my own weight. I have to raise up my ass to relieve some pressure giving her more access to my private parts.

Time to flip over and she continues the light touch on my chest. I move my hand over her ass and under her top and feel the sweat on her back. She seems embarrassed and says apologetically, "Hot in here." Of course I jokingly suggest she take her shirt off, figuring that like most of the rub & tug establishments, masseuse nakedness is frowned upon. To my surprise she asks, "You give good tip?" Oh yes. Off comes the top and bra to reveal nicely shaped, smallish tits offered to my hands and to my face for a little sucking and smooshing.

"You want hand job, blow job..." I should have waited for more options just to see what services she provides but I tell her I'd like it by hand. I try to be safe, and covered blow jobs just don't do it for me like bare back. Besides, a well-oiled hand in the, well, hands of a professional can be quite exquisite. And this is no exception. She takes her time to build up the excitement as I wander off into the tactile fantasy of soft skin, perky tits, erect nipples, nylon-covered pussy lips, and the other sensual enhancements of soft music, dim lights and the scent of a woman as she focuses on my pleasure.

I explode all over. Candy brings me down with lighter stroking and squeezing and a last brush of her breasts against my face with its mouth agape and a question whispered in my ear, 'You OK?" I manage to smile and she does a minor clean-up before going out to get a hot towel to make sure all traces of my come are gone. While I am immovable, she finishes up with a facial and head massage; just enough time for me to drift back to reality and to gather my forces to stand up.

She announces that she is done and I stand groggily and look around for my clothes. She doesn't help me get dressed as some others do, but sits smiling on the massage table. I get up the nerve to ask what king of music is playing and she says Chinese realizing that I really cannot tell the difference among Asian nationalities. She laughs about it in a friendly way but underneath she is probably writing me off as a typical racially myopic American white man. As promised, I tip her well and she escorts me to the door and we hug goodbye. "Come again!" "I definitely will." At the bottom of the stairs sunlight is shining under the door and I wait as a couple of foot shadows pass by. Out into the sunlight and I resume my life; another hour lost to pampering, pleasuring and sensual delights.

Day off

2008-05-31T22:43:00.000-04:00

There are times in my old age that I still feel like a teenager. And I don't just mean that I am as randy as a teenager.I should say a teenager on curfew. It's like I go to school all day and come home for homework and family chores. Always have to account for my time. Never a deviation from the schedule without a good excuse. The longer the time away, the better the explanation has to be. And with the number of people living in my house, time alone is almost non-existent.

So when there is a good chunk of time when I can be alone with no one to wonder what I'm doing with my time, I tend to go a little wild (for me). Like the Tuesday I took off to work at home. By an act of fate I had most of the day to myself and actually only a little bit of work to do. After everyone left, I waited a reasonable amount of time and then walked off to my neighborhood massage parlor.

No one was around on a weekday morning before coffee break. I ducked in and mamasan introduced me to C who was finishing up her breakfast and lead me to the nearest room. The sauna was very hot for that time of day, but the table shower brought me to my normal body temperature. C giggled when I flipped over and showed myself at full attention. She made sure I was nice and clean.

Her massage was a little hard for me, really getting her thumbs under my shoulder blades. On the flip began the tease. It was an arch my back, throat-constricting kind of tease brought to a head by my caressing her ass and digging into her bra and rolling her nipples around. Finally the oil and the stroking and the shooting stars. She did this little trick of gently squeezing my tip making me shoot a lot farther than I usually do. The clean-up and a cuddly walk to the door and I was on my way home.

Lunch and a little work, but the empty house is too much of a temptation. Open up another screen and then yuvutu. Porn clip after porn clip. I can still work when everyone starts returning. Facials, cowgirl, car sex, voyeur clips. I can jerk off sitting right there at the computer. What a concept. Another clean-up and back to work as my time runs out.

Got a lot of work done, ran a few errands, had a little lunch, be finished soon. I'll be ready for my husbandly duty later.

Shelter from the storm

2008-04-30T16:42:00.000-04:00

A full Saturday morning all to myself, and my car was available to boot (not the Denver kind). I knew about my windfall of time for a couple of weeks so I did some thinking about where I wanted to go but since I am a creature of habit, I went with the massage parlor I've been to a few times. It does seem to be the local benchmark establishment for the Rub & Tug crowd, including me, so I knew I would not be wasting my time. The good news is that it is predictable; the bad news is that it is predictable.

It was a stormy morning, very windy and rainy. I did have to make an excuse to some of my family, but they shrugged off my announcement that I was going shopping. I'm surprised they were not suspicious since I almost never just go shopping. I went close to their opening time thinking it would not be too crowded but I decided not to park in their parking lot in case someone I knew would recognize my car (I know people who live in the area). There were no cars parked there when I drove by, but it took me a while to find an inconspicuous parking spot and by the time I walked up to the door, there were a couple of cars in the lot. So much for being the first customer.

Mamasan let me in and quickly brought me to a room so I would avoid any contact with other men (I could hear someone in the shower room). She took the house fee and left me to undress and a few minutes later T walked in. I recognized her from a previous trip - a tall and thin Korean woman with long (artificially-colored) thin hair, and of course looking much younger than she probably is. I'm sure she didn't recognize me with so many patrons she sees, but she was friendly enough as she took me by the hand and lead me to the table shower where she warmed the table with hot water, asked me to lie face down, and soaped me up, smiling all the while.

It must have been early - T suppressed a cough as she was working on my ass - a unusual break in the routine. She asked me to flip over and made really sure my balls and cock were as clean as my well-scrubbed ass. Nothing like being so pampered - having a beautiful Asian woman giving her full attention to my body, cleaning, rinsing and drying me off as I stood there admiring her figure under her tank top and short-shorts.

Back to the room and a great massage. I don't think she missed a muscle as she worked extra on a few tight areas and stood on by back using the soles of her feet to give broad, strong strokes to really straighten me out. Another cough or two brought me back from the harem fantasy to the reality of flu season but by the time she was done with my backside, you could have poured me off the table.

She segued into the light touch massage, running her fingers over all of my body and somehow always ending near my ass and the back of my thighs. Each pass of her fingertips would graze my balls and my rising cock. Unconsciously, almost by reflex, I raised my ass to allow for more growth - I must have looked like I was presenting like a cat in heat. I certainly was in heat; I was getting to be in dire need of a release, so much so i could feel the tension in my throat.

Finally she asked me to flip over, just in the nick of time. My cock burst loose and pointed at the ceiling, throbbing its purple head and looking like I might pop a vein. T knew very well what ailed me and came up with a handful of oil from under the table and went right to it. She didn't object to my stroking her tight little ass and thighs, and reaching into her tank top and even into her bra to caress her size A tits. The whole hour was a one-way trip to nirvana and except for the minor distraction of a few coughs, I reached it on schedule and came all over her hands and my loins.

The pampering continued. She cleaned me off with a hot towel and left me in reverie while she left for a few minutes. She came back to cuddle and to slowly bring me back to reality. As a final bit of customer service, she helped me put my clothes on. At that point I needed help because I was so totally relaxed I wasn't sure I could use my legs to stand and walk. I tipped her and she took me by the hand again, checking quickly for other patrons, and lead me to the door. I told mamasan that everything was wonderful and headed out into the storm. A quick stop at a store to say I went shopping and home to resume real life.

Bad timing

2008-02-28T15:22:00.000-05:00

A lazy, quiet Saturday afternoon and an opportunity to check out the weekend scene in my 'home' club

It was more crowded than I expected but it still had a lazy atmosphere - except for the guys at the bar. While I was waiting for my drink, a gray-haired old blowhard was trying to impress his younger friend by introducing him to one of the dancers. I couldn't hear every word but it sounded like she was selling something that the unimpressed guy was buying. A tall black woman in a bikini with a sheepish grin came over, rather reluctantly I thought, to see what the old guy had in mind. I took my drink and left before I could get roped into the conversation because it didn't sound like the deal was going to go down, whatever it was.

On my way past the tiny stage in front of the bar a dancer in a skin-tight white body suit was entertaining a few men with a slow gyrating slink up and down the brass pole. She wasn't exactly fat, but she had enough flesh to appear really ripe for the picking. Maybe if I see her on stage, I'll ask her for a dance since I was starting to twitch a little just watching her for a distance.

On stage was a woman in a tiny schoolgirl skirt which would have normally turned me on except she had a really big ass. I'm not one to make fun of body types, but she looked like the dancing hippopotami in the movie, Fantasia. She had a much smaller top with stringy shoulder-length hair and a big space between her front teeth. What the hell, I'll give her a try. She came over when I sat at the stage and went through the motions. She pulled down her bra and shoved her tits in my face; she sat and leaned back, stroking her pussy. But when she turned around and shook her ass in my face, I was hit with a pretty foul smell. A real turnoff.

I sat back at my table and nursed my drink while I waited for her set to end. In the meantime, I noticed a very nice looking dancer across the room waiting for the ladies room. She was wearing a black bikini with stripper short-shorts that she had pulled halfway down with her thumbs, kind of cowboy-style. She was thin with just the right amount of bulge around her womb. I hoped that she was scheduled next on stage. Either she or the woman in white. After she left the ladies room, the cowgirl went to sit back down with her apparent regular in the back of the club. Oh well.

I hoped Big Ass wasn't insulted that I didn't sidle up to the stage again, but I was too put off by her smell. I tried to avoid her by going back to the stage when she finished so she wouldn't invite herself to sit with me. The next dancer was a sassy, wholesome looking woman who looked like the girl next door. In fact, she looked too much like a girl. She had long straight brown hair and rectangular glasses. When she came over to me she started with some gymnastic moves - sticking her foot behind her head - which added to the little girl image. Her pussy bulged in her bikini bottom but I felt like I was looking at jail bait.

As I went back to my table the girl in white walked past me and into the private dance area with some guy. The cowgirl was still hanging with her friend in the back. The old guy was noisily trying to scam someone else. I figured it would be at least two more 3-song sets before I found someone I'd want to ask for a dance. I decided to cut my losses and continue my quest on another day. Too bad I had to waste my time. And yours.

Did she or didn't she?

2008-01-31T16:00:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I've had a weekday all to myself so when the opportunity arose I tried to make the most of it. I did have some work to do (good excuse) and some shopping to do (good for padding the time) so I could indulge in a little decadence in between. I rolled a thin one before I left home in case I got the chance. It was a rare day to spend on myself.

I worked until mid-afternoon when I knew the lunch crowds would thin out and headed over to the nearby strip club, picking a route that would minimize my exposure to the local popular restaurants. I waited at the bar for my soft drink and was happy there were no pushy dancers sidling up and asking for a private dance before my eyes even got adjusted to the dark. I brought my drink over to a table at the side of the stage and saw a guy in the shadows who looked about my age. He looked vaguely familiar, but in the dark I couldn't place him. If we knew each other, I was hoping that he wouldn't be able to recognize me either.

The shift changed on stage and M, a black woman in tight stripper shorts and matching bra, started her set. I sat at the stage putting a pillar between me and guy I thought I knew, but with some lounge chairs (where other dancers were sitting) and the bar behind me. I don't like to have an audience when there is a woman all over me, but I tried to ignore them.

M came over and pushed her tits in my face, pulling down her bra to give me full access. She really wanted me to suck on her nipples and I was only too happy to oblige. They were erect and the size of pencil erasers, only like the ones you see on those over-sized pencils you win at amusement parks or in those vending machines where you try to grab prizes. I was hoping no guys had cum on her tits recently, but this isn't really that kind of club.

Since there were so few customers M spent some time with me, showing off in several positions. She sat with her back to me and leaned back with her head on my shoulders, breathing in my ear and nibbling on my neck, all the while encouraging me to feel her tits which were heaving right under my nose, nipples at 10 and 2. She was certainly passing my hard on test. She knelt and, pulling down her shorts, wiggled her ass in my face, showing off her pussy which was bulging out of her thong. I was trying to balance being discreet and feeling her up as much as I could and figured it was time to ask for a dance so I could roam a lot more in private.

She asked me to wait until her set was done and wandered off. I took my seat as two guys came in, one of whom stopped to chat with M. They had an intimate conversation and I was hoping it wasn't her boyfriend. The last thing I needed was trouble with a jealous thug. But things were cool when we left for the private dance area.

We settled into a booth in a dark corner - no curtain but still plenty of privacy. I sat and made my usual adjustment, loosening my cock and setting it to 12 o'clock. She sat on my lap and started to get me up to speed by grinding her pussy in my lap and once more offering her tits. This time I had no reservations about caressing, squeezing and sucking on those big, hard nipples. We even exchanged a few kisses on the mouth as things started heating up.

By then I was fully extended and breathing hard. M stood for a minute and slipped off her shorts leaving only her bulging thong. She straddled me and pulled down the top of her thong apparently inviting me to play. I reached down and found her clit among the extended petals. No wonder her panties were bulging - she's an outie. I needed a little lube so I gently fished for her hole and just penetrated enough to get some moisture since she seemed to be a little shy about my going too far in.

She got up on her knees to give me more room for my fingers to work, leaning in for more tit play and kissing. This time real French kissing - tonguing and licking each other just like real lovers - a first for me with a sex worker. She didn't forget me. She grabbed my cock and started squeezing and stroking me through my pants. We started a coital rhythm as she stroked my cock and I stroked her now-swollen clit, kissing and caressing all the while.

She found my sweet spot and I groaned in her ear as I came letting her know she had earned her money. Instead of backing off, she surprised me by saying, "Don't stop with my pussy." Could it be that she might actually get off? I matched the rhythm of her hips as she seem to be using my finger as much as I was using her pussy. In a couple of minutes she shuddered, stifled a moan, let out a big breath, stiffened up a bit and finally fell forward burying her head on my shoulder. I ran my finger back a little to feel a lot of wetness all around her lips and vagina. I ran my wet finger back over her clit and she jumped like it was really sensitive. I would have tried for multiples but she seemed to be finished.

Another first for me. Or did she really come? I asked her. She said she did - "I can't fake that. Now I'll have to change my panties 'cause of you." She asked me if I got what I needed. I answered with only a smile. We hugged goodbye and kissed one last time. I walked to my special place, hiding in plain sight, and lit up the joint. Did she or didn't she? My male ego says yes. The evidence seemed to say yes also - the breathing, the shuddering, the wetness, the sensitivity. On the other hand (so to speak), it didn't take that long, and after all, she is a stripper making her living on fantasy. I'll never really know for sure. I stuck the roach in a matchbook and headed to the mall hoping by the time I got there I wouldn't smell too much of cum and sweat, perfume and marijuana, pussy fingers and peppermint LifeSavers.

It's a beautiful night in the neighborhood

2007-12-31T12:33:00.000-05:00

I know a lot of people in the neighborhood so I pass by the spa all the time. It has a huge sign displayed on a busy street and I always wondered if it were legitimate or not. The internet postings about the place were not very illuminating until one day I rode by and saw the police swarming in and out and the discussion livened up. Apparently, they found only a masseuse working without a license and the spa was not shut down for sex. Which seemed ironic since some said they used this place as their benchmark on good massages.

So after a quiet couple of months with things apparently back to normal I figured I would find out for myself what kind of services I could find there. I had some time to myself one Saturday evening and since I was in the neighborhood, I figured I would stop by. I knew that people who expected me home were distracted by other events and I was hoping my friends in the area were too. I drove by at dusk on pretty deserted streets. Even the main street had light traffic. I parked around the corner and hugged the shadows as I made it to the front entrance.

There was a small foyer right inside and I said hello to a face in a sliding wooden window. The mamasan welcomed me into the spa and led me to a room at the end of a dark corridor. She collected my fee and left me to undress. The lighting was low in the room already but I was able to read a hand-written sign that said, "Tips appreciated, but do not ask for sex." Must be a concession (or a notice) to the police department.

N came in to lead me to the shower room - she's short, late 30s probably, wearing black pants and a low-cut white blouse with bulging tits, maybe from a push-up bra. Have I been here before? Well, no But I have been to others like this. Maybe she'll buy it. I don't look at all like I could be a cop.

We went back through the corridors and through what looked like a kitchen area complete with under-cabinet lighting and into the shower room. I knew the routine from other AMPs so I waited for her to wet down the table and then lay down on my stomach, there's nothing like being soaped up and scrubbed down by a lovely woman. After I flipped over she made sure she cleaned off my half-hard cock by jerking it off a few times, giggling as she did so. We didn't say much to each other - her English was not so good - but somehow I knew I would have a happy ending.

A few minutes in the sauna and back to the massage room. I lay down as N turned down the lights and adjusted the mood music and draped me with a towel. Good, no oil. I asked for medium and she did a good job over the towel, even doing handstands on my back. There was no opportunity for accidental touch for me to send a certain signal. When she was done with my back but before he flip, she asked if I were OK while caressing my ass. I grunted agreement and she left for a minute or two leaving me wondering.

I didn't have to wonder much longer. N came back and began a light touch tease all over my back paying special attention to my ass. She eventually concentrated all her teasing on my balls, inner thigh and ass with the occasional brush against the tip of my cock which was making its presence known as I adjusted myself to give it some room. She reached under the table and came up with a small bottle and dribbled oil on my balls and cock and with very gentle hands, caressed everything down there until my throat was closing up and my breathing became heavier in anticipation of a great release.

I had to flip over and offer the next muscle that needed massaging which was making no bones about it (so to speak). Oiling her hands and my cock, N began a slow stroking that made the world stop then and there. I watched her and took a mental picture of the scene of this Asian woman seemingly enjoying herself as she pleasures me. She was close enough now for me to politely run my hands over her ass and down her blouse and she offered no objection.

She built up her intensity and I had to let out some very appreciative moans as I climaxed. She had just the right touch after I came, leaving my very sensitive head to itself as she stroked my shaft to drain me completely. I would have followed her anywhere except I'm not sure I could have stood up at the moment.

N had a wet hot towel to clean me up and to my surprise, she lay down next to me and nuzzled up to me. We cuddled for a few minutes while I regained my wits. It was a nice finish to the nice finish.

The streets were dark and still pretty deserted as I left. No one at hope noticed the extra hour I was gone. I'll have to wait to see if any of my neighborhood friends will say they saw me.

Placeholder

2007-11-30T23:59:00.000-05:00

Just a few words so I won't lose a month on the listings. More stories in the works but productus interruptus. Patience is a virtue.

First time for everything

2007-10-31T13:45:00.000-04:00

It's unusually warm and I'm glad I decided to wear shorts. Not only because of the heat, but I'm hoping to have some stripper's hand glide up along my thigh and do a little stroking. I'm expecting the usual discreet session with all my clothes on. I don't recognize anyone sitting at the outdoor tables at the restaurant across from my 'home' club, so I duck into the door instead of passing by pretending to be just cutting down the side street.

I sit at the bar and barely get my drink when a black dancer sidles up to me and introduces herself as P. She says she used to work at another strip club in the city, one that's known for its full service in closed off booths, so I assume she's giving me a signal that more than just a friction dance could be on the menu.

We retire to a table near the stage and she gets right to the point. "Wanna have fun?" What else could I say but, "That's why I came here." We move to the familiar private dance area and she leads me into the booth that directly faces the entry way. Before I object, I realize there's an opaque curtain that she draws across the entrance so we have pretty much complete privacy. This is great - I hate the thought of other dancers and patrons seeing me in the throes of excitement. But it's too bad I can't see others in the same position to feed my voyeuristic tendencies.

With the curtain closed I figure there will be much more contact, but I'm not prepared for what comes next. "How about a blow job for a hundred?" she asks. I'm at a loss for words for a minute. With the addition of curtains the fantasy has become reality. I put off the decision by saying, "I don't have a condom." Of course, she has one. Her price is a little steep for me and I say I was thinking more along the lines of a hand job, and she agrees to do that for the price of a dance. She takes off her top but says no fingers in her pussy.

P stands in front of me, unzips my pants and pulls out my cock. No need for the pretense of discreetly reaching up through the legs of my shorts. She has to coax me to my full size - business discussions are never a turn-on for me. She begins stroking mechanically while I get my hands full of her tits. Her attitude kind of turns me off, but what the hell, a young black woman is jerking me off.

I usually take a while to get off. In other circumstances that's a real plus, but in a strip club where time is money, the longer I take, the more it costs. But now there's another, unanticipated consequence. The song stops playing and she stops stroking. "You didn't come during one song and that's what we agreed on." Poor negotiations on my part, I guess. "What a ripoff" I blurt out, surprising myself with my uncharacteristically aggressive epithet. She says, "I'll stay for another song, but you'll have to do it yourself."

Another first for me. I have never jerked off in front of a stranger before. To help me with my decision she offers to show her pussy. I swallow whatever self-respect I have left and agree. She pulls down her bikini bottom and puts one foot up on the bench next to me as I start to go to town. She seems to be a little exasperated with me and my shyness and she grabs my other hand and shoves it between her legs.

I finger her as I finish, spreading come over my bare flesh and avoiding hitting any of my clothes. It's a pretty hollow experience with none of the rush I usually get from the fantasy of having a woman complete the task. She looks around for something to clean up with but I am way ahead of her, grabbing the napkins I brought into the booth with my drink. I get dressed and give P the money for the dances with a much smaller tip than usual. Once she has the money she leaves without much of a goodbye, let alone a hug or peck on the cheek.

It's only been about twenty minutes since I arrived. Usually I pride myself on being so efficient but somehow I leave with kind of an empty feeling. I can't tell if it's elation or disgust. Maybe they cancel each other out.

At least I don't have to worry about showing a wet spot on my pants.

It was escalation, I know

2007-09-30T18:57:00.000-04:00

I was visiting relatives in another state for a few days and of course I read up on the pleasures afforded there. Stories of streetwalkers were abundant but out of the question for me, and the massage parlor scene suffered a severe blow not long ago as a legal crackdown closed most of the ones nearby. However there are two still open within a half hour drive and I was hoping for a block of time I could just disappear for a while.

For me, the trouble with reading the forums is that a lot of the postings describe full services from the providers, not just oiled-up hand jobs. All out sex in multiple positions with a young Asian woman is a great fantasy and it doesn't take much (other than the right amount of money) to make that happen. I generally settle for the happy endings by hand but I just had to try something different after reading all the detailed accounts of FS encounters. It may be an escalation in my mongering, but my little head did my thinking for me on this trip.

My chance came the first morning there. I had a three hour window but I wanted to use some of that time to stop at a state park to set up my alibi - to give myself something to talk about when I returned. I borrowed a relative's car hoping no one would recognize it parked in an unusual place, but since it was about a half hour's drive away, I thought it would be safe. With the help of the internet forum and Google maps I found the place pretty easily and parked on a shady side street. Luckily there weren't many customers at the donut shop as I walked by and rang the bell on the small white building that sat between the shop and an auto repair business.

An older mamasan let me into a small room, took my massage fee, left me to undress, and a minute later K walked in - a tall thin Asian woman all smiles and giggles with a-cups and wide hips in a blue bikini. She led me to the shower room. There's nothing like lying on a table and getting soaped up and scrubbed down by a young woman aiming to please. K gave extra special attention to my asshole when I was on my stomach and even more to my cock and balls after I turned over. I was definitely clean.

K left me alone for a few minutes bask in the massage room and according to local custom, I left her tip in advance on a small table. It was enough to tell her I was interested in full service. I'm sure she got the message as she slipped out of her bikini when she came back to begin the massage. I thought I saw a little glistening below her neatly trimmed mons. The massage was pretty good; she found and worked on a few tight places on my back while she maneuvered herself on the table with me.

Sooner than I expected K began the tease. I suppose she wanted to save time for sex. She ran her fingers very lightly over my back and along my legs, again giving some attention to my ass. Soon her long thin hair ran along the same tracks as her fingers followed by a few passes with her lips. By now I was raising my hips to give my cock some room to grow, in effect presenting my ass to K's caresses. With her hair draping over my cheeks, she leaned in, spread them and began licking, darting her tongue in my asshole every few licks. I usually don't like any intrusion up my butt, but this was pretty exhilarating I have to admit. My hard on pushed my ass up even further into K's face.

By the time K asked me to flip over, I was ready for the main event. She pulled out a condom from somewhere and put it on me with her mouth, beginning a soft and slow blow job. She paused to lie next to me and cuddled, complete with (fake) cooing and nibbling around my neck. Her tits were so small I had to push all the flesh I could find together to feel as though I had a handful of mammary even though her nipples seemed to be full sized and fully erect.

She climbed on top, straddling me and lowering herself on my unit. I was right - she had pre-lubed herself so we began a slow and juicy fuck. Cooing turned to moaning and caressing her breasts became a two-handed affair. I was off on a coital reverie.

After a bit K climbed off and invited me to get on top. We got into missionary position and rocked in rhythm with more fake moaning and girlfriend-like cuddling and nibbling. I can usually go a long time but the novelty of a liaison with a young Asian, the excitement of anal rimming, and the overall teasing combined to pull the trigger as I pumped away. I had hoped for a little doggie style but i was too late (too early).

I know K is basically a prostitute, but I think I kept myself from being too rough on her or perhaps not as hard as she's used to experiencing. How many stories have I read about men who treat anonymous massage girls, strippers and streetwalkers like dirt? Maybe it's because I didn't know her that I gave her more respect than a lot of mongers would. I wonder if I'm missing something.

K cleaned me up and dressed me. She was giggling and cuddling as she led me out to the back door. On the way back I stopped at the park for a map with hiking trails and had a story ready. All was quiet. No one was the wiser, perhaps not even I.

Images that linger

2007-07-31T23:40:00.000-04:00

[An experiment in poor poetry]

Brick column, blackened
showing rusty where the bar light fell
on two sides
stayed out of my way this time
sparing me another cut on the forehead.

Long and lazy bar
yellow overhead spotlights
revealing bikini girl's behind
fat man's goatee
hands on legs, on drinks.

Barmaid counting cash
a couple in shadows with the
shadow of a dancer, decapitated,
reflected in bottled mirror
overseeing summer seduction.

One dancer, one customer
sizing each other
one for money, one for flesh
meeting at the edge
staging a fantasy

White girl, white bikini
black hair, black fishnets
heels to kill or to spill
but soft voice and eager smile
reveals her inexperience.

Posing and presenting
bare tits on unshaven jaw
all natural flesh
squeezing out the scent
of perfume and pheromones.

Legs spread wide, heels in the air
bulging middle mound offered
for closer inspection
and manual evaluation
ready for the raging rod

Where are her admirers?
In a corner, after her set
she sits alone gazing
at nothing in particular
as everyone minds their business.

In a berth in the back
disoriented until the compass
points north heading for
foamy bliss with the help of
a first rate first mate.

Top off and lining up
one mound on the other
begining a rhythm without stoping
risking denim burns
and swollen lips.

Leaning back hands on knees
weight of melon breasts
proudly separating and dropping
them to the sides with nipples erect
inviting caresses and squeezes.

A single mole, a satellite
between two orbs
focusing attention on the undulating flesh
but not distracting from
the steady rhythm of the hips below.

white puffy triangle
expanding, contracting as
pelvis pits pussy against prick
and layers of cloth soak
in the mist of fantasy.

Bright sunlight and outdoor diners
at the relocated restaurant
never see the wet spot
covered by shirt tails
flattened by the damp city air.

Entrepreneur in a back room

2007-06-27T11:18:00.000-04:00

I was on business in the big city and as usual I had a couple of hours to kill before my train left for home. Of course I had done my homework online and in the local free paper that has all the sex ads and I was interested in a couple of massage places in Chinatown. Both had pretty good and plentiful reviews as the usual forum group was looking for a replacement for the locally famous 2-pop S who apparently retired and left the country. So I narrowed my decision down to the two and their phone numbers burned a hole in my pocket all morning.

I made the calls while walking to the train. One number was busy and a woman with a thick Chinese accent answered the second. She gave me the address as said she was in the back of a hair and nail salon, so typical in this area. I estimated my time of arrival and made an appointment. I discreetly pulled out my pocket map of the city, trying not to look too much like a tourist and saw it was a side street in an area I was sort of familiar with. But not so familiar that I wouldn't get lost. I ran late and I rushed through the neighborhood in the general direction passing by restaurants, open sidewalk markets, clothing stores, and plenty of nail salons, all with gaudy neon signs in Chinese characters. I wondered how many offered back room massages.

I went up the stairs and into the salon. I intuitively knew the massage room was in the back so I walked by the hair dryers, manicure tables and cubicles with everyone too busy to notice me, and I saw my masseuse waiting by the door to her room. She introduced herself as A. She's probably in her forties and was wearing a red pullover with brown corduroy pants - not very sexy, but very friendly in her greeting. Her room was dimly lit and very small, with enough space for the table and a chair, and a small alcove in a corner to keep her supplies. She took my money and left me to get undressed. Soft Chinese plucked string music came from a small CD player and my eyes finally adjusted to the soft, warm light as I piled my clothes on the chair.

A came back and asked me to lie face down. It was a real massage table with a hole to put my face in. She began a friendly conversation that ran through most of my visit. Of course she asked if I had had massages before and I told her I had seen S several times and luckily she knew her (S is apparently famous and well-respected). I knew I had passed the 'Are you a cop' test. As she dribbled a little oil on my back she exclaimed that I was so skinny - she even thought I might be a little cold and spread a towel over my ass.

I learned a lot about A and about China, She said she has been in the country about four years and loves being here and loves working on her own. According to her, in China people are forced to retire at age 50 to make way for younger workers. She asked about my job and my retirement and I said in spite of my age, I don't see retirement in my near future.

The conversation got a little more personal as A moved down to my legs and feet. We talked about local restaurants and whether I liked Chinese food. (Duh...) Picking up on the skinny theme she worried that I get enough to eat. "Who cooks for you, your wife?" came out of nowhere and I answered Yes without thinking. She showed no reaction and talked some more about food and health. I guess women in this business don't talk about any moral dilemma they may have about providing sexual relief for married men.

By now I realized that I was relaxing more and more under her expert hands - I was getting a great massage. Unlike the massage parlors that promote their sensual services, there was only the briefest tease, if you could call it that, as she brushed my private parts incidentally when she worked my upper thighs. No hot breath, no light fingertips on my ass, no reach under for a cock-raising massage.

A did not talk as much when I flipped over and her massage of my chest was a little more like caresses than kneading. I took the opportunity to test the waters by gently and politely copping a feel or two on her legs and ass, and up along her waist toward her tits. The corduroy pants were kind of a turn off but I knew that they and her shirt would not come off. She reacted to my exploring by loading up her hand with oil and bringing my half cocked cock up to full attention. My moan apparently told her it was alright with me and she began a steady slow stroking. I grew a little bolder and really caressed her tits, albeit through her shirt and bra. Some of her earlier massage may have been done in vain as I arched my back when she began to pump a little faster.

The release was wonderful. I wanted to ask her if hand job training was included in whatever courses she took in Shiatsu massage. Her technique was pretty straight forward, but some masseuses know how to bring a man to the brink and down again a few times before the final blow. Maybe that's part of the advanced course.

A cleaned me up and finished with a gentle head massage (my big head). She continued her polite client/masseuse conversation as she helped me get dressed. I gave her a generous tip and we hugged goodbye. As I was walking back through the salon I got a 'look' from a blonde Anglo hairdresser who I suspected did not approve too much of the back room. Maybe she felt her tips were not as big as they could be.

I tried one of the nearby Chinese restaurants recommended by A and headed back to reality aboard the 3:45.

The sanctity of massage

2007-05-31T17:04:00.000-04:00

To resume the story of my recent trip, and to try to balance the profane with something more sacred, I saved the morning before my colleagues arrived in town for a therapeutic massage. I had scoped out the online ads and sex forums and decided to visit J, a licensed massage therapist who had gotten good reviews and seemed to know what her male clients expected.

Luckily, the mass transit system was pretty easy to figure out. One of the bus routes had a stop about a block away from my destination. I got on the bus early just to be sure, and left downtown with its offices and restaurants, rolled through the college district with academic-looking buildings and coeds with musical instruments, and dieseled into a mixed neighborhood of brick and wooden row houses, dry cleaners, and convenience stores.

It turns out I was too early so I stopped for a coffee at a local greasy spoon and then walked around a little. It seemed like a pretty safe working class neighborhood. What stood out, in addition to the blocks and blocks of row houses, were all of the churches. There was every denomination and just about every kind of architecture - cathedrals built of stone, modest cement structures, ostentatious steeples, storefronts with hand painted signs. The streets were so quiet and solemn on this weekday morning and I imagined the stained glass windows rattling from massive organ pipes or painted-over display windows shaking from the Sunday night gospel singing and dancing.

J's place was in what looked like a former brick mansion once owned by a sea captain or a captain of industry that was now divided into offices. Insurance agents, a barber shop, financial services. I met her outside after some confusion about the time. A thirty-ish black woman, she was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, not what you might expect from someone about to give a sensual massage.

I followed her into what used to be a formal greeting area but now holds an empty reception desk piled with papers. On the left a former sitting room, now filled with several more desks and piles of paper. Next to the missing receptionist the grand staircase, finely appointed in dark mahogany, was still grand, and I followed J up the creaky, musty stairs that bore several generations of families and businesses.

The stairs wound around in a full circle and on the second floor landing, next to a full length mirror, tucked into a corner, was the door to J's room. A tiny space - there was just enough room for the massage table, a chair, a huge steam radiator, and space for her supplies - it was probably once a servant's room. We were both glad the radiator was working and J turned the lights down low and left the room while I undressed. The so-called closet was so small, the hangars could only fit in at an angle so I stuffed my clothes in as best I could.

J came in as I was lying face down on the table, covered my ass and legs with a towel, and put some new age guitar music on her CD player. I wondered about the towel, but she advertised not only on the legitimate therapeutic forums, but also in the erotic. I also read reviews of her services that really left no doubt about a happy ending.

The massage was very thorough - she left no muscle tense. We chatted a little. She sees 3-4 clients a day and sets her own hours. After more that four massages her hands and arms get fatigued. She talked about the neighborhood which is quite safe, but like other cities, one block can make the difference between affluence and desolation row.

After finishing my back and arms she moved the towel over one leg and worked on the other. Her brushes against my balls every now and then gave me hope and some hardening around the arteries down there. A strange sensation - almost lulled to sleep by the relaxing hand work yet stirred by anticipation of orgasm.

J asked me to flip over and she again covered one leg while she worked on the other. However, when she was at the top of my thigh, she had to move the towel a bit and it became obvious that my anticipation had overcome my sleepiness and was making itself known in no uncertain terms.

She finished with my toes, slathered more oil on her hands and carefully and sweetly wrapped her fingers around my cock and began a slow stroke. I must have sighed a little and she hesitated, then asked, Do you want me to stop? Oh, no please continue. And she did. And it was good. There's something about an oiled-up hand job, especially after being rubbed down so expertly everywhere else, that draws something primal out of me - my whole sense of being focused on those few square inches of skin and muscle engorged with blood, sending a feeling through my core and out of my throat as guttural moans.

I was able to run my hands over her ass and up to her tits, but I didn't really need the extra fantasizing since she had my attention focused so well. It didn't take too long for me to release and I couldn't move a muscle. I don't know where she got it but J produced a steaming hot towel to clean me off and I thought I was going to come a second time then and there with the sensation I got. If someone asked me what year it was right then, I'd be hard pressed to answer.

She finished up my other leg, worked my chest and head a little and we were done. She left the room and I dressed myself (no subservient Asian girl help with my clothes). We hugged on my way out and she seemed genuinely grateful for my tip. I walked out of the building feeling tingly all over. I felt like I had been through a religious experience. I think I saw God in the second floor storage room of an converted mansion in an old east coast city with the help of God's angel of mercy and a bottle of oil.

Ten things

2007-05-12T13:09:00.000-04:00

Regularly scheduled programming is temporarily interrupted to bring this special post. Finally in response to lola and her friends' social tagging experiment, I have a list of ten things about myself.

I usually don't think fast on my feet which is why it took me so long to post this.
Sixteen years of Catholic education made me what I am today - a secular humanist.
I have too many academic degrees.
I'm not OCD but I sometimes catch myself counting the stairs I climb.
I watch way too much TV.
But only the good stuff.
I don't think much about how old I am.
But sometimes I really feel my age.
When the Beatles were all over the airwaves, I was more interested in Leadbelly and Woody Guthrie.
I never make absolute statements

Oh, the profanity

2007-04-14T13:39:00.000-04:00

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.

Feeding the addiction

2007-02-28T12:59:00.000-05:00

I knew I couldn't live long without another massage by a cute young Asian woman. So I jumped at the opportunity to visit the same massage parlor when I was at a meeting at the same place across town. It was a cold, windy day, and as I walked the half mile or so through a residential neighborhood I was really looking forward to a nice warm table shower and nice warm hands heating up my blood.

Everything looked quiet as I approached the building - no police cruisers, no prying neighbors, not many cars in the parking lot. I quickly walked up to the back door and rang the bell. I expected to see the same older mamasan greet me with exaggerated enthusiasm, but instead one of the younger women let me in and led me to a small room off the main hallway.

She introduced herself as L and asked if I had been there before. It felt good not to have to lie and I said yes with a knowing smile. She smiled back, asked for the massage fee and told me to get undressed. She left long enough for me to get naked and returned to bring me to the shower room.

L was very friendly but not very talkative. She poured a bucket of hot (but not too hot) water over my back as I lay face down on the vinyl covered table. She scrubbed me down with a sponge and did a very thorough job getting every nook and cranny. I got on my back and L repeated the scrub down giving some extra attention to my private parts. Which weren't very private anymore. I stood up and she rinsed all the soap off and dried me off with a white fluffy towel.

I expected her to bring me to the sauna to finish drying off, but not this time. We went right into the massage room where she made a ring out of a hand towel for my head and asked me to lie face down. Of course the massage was great. They really do it right at this place, and it's consistently good. In fact, everthing (except the lack of sauna time) was the same as my last trip - low lights and soft music, not much conversation, extreme pampering, making sure I was comfortable. I don't know if there is a dress code, but L had the same kind of black tank top and bra, and short jeans shorts as J did on my last visit. She even looked the same - small facial features, tiny tits, long, straight jet black hair. The only other differences were that L used no oil or powder and she draped a towel over places she wasn't working on. That didn't faze me since I assumed the ending would be the same in spite of the seeming modesty.

L found some tight muscles and worked on them for a while, eventually moving from my upper body down to my legs and feet. Before I knew it, she subtly started the teasing phase of the massage. I knew it was coming as she changed the force of her touch to a light, fingertip-over-the-skin movement, concentrating on my lower back, ass and thighs, and stimulating my cock with each pass. But what really drove me to distraction was her hair. She leaned over and followed her fingertips up and down with the ends of her hair. It sounds like it should tickle, but it got me hard as a rock and I had to give my cock some room.

She took that as a signal and asked me to flip over. Just like J last time, she reached under the table and came up with a handful of oil and went to work on my shaft. She really got into it, letting her hair down again to get my nerves tingling on my front side. I roamed a little with my hand, running it up under her top but only over her bra this time. (Even though she had very young looking features, the little fleshy bulge around the bottom of her bra beneath her shoulder blades made me think she was older.) I couldn't resist caressing the side of her face, it was so pretty. She leaned into the palm of my hand seeming to appreciate the more intimate touch. As I came close to coming, she started cooing in almost a whispered chant, "Oh yes, oh yes." that put me over the edge and another muscle released its tension.

L cleaned me up and helped me get dressed (something I'm still not used to). I left my tip on the table and neither of us said a word about it. We hugged and she escorted me to the exit. A cold blast of wind greeted me on the way out. I zipped up my coat and hunched my shoulders against the cold. I could feel the muscles in my shoulder and neck tighten up - I guess I will just have to carve out another visit to work the kinks out.

A regular visit

2007-01-31T16:48:00.000-05:00

I never thought of myself as a 'regular' of any dancer at a strip club, but since I mostly go to the same one for various reasons, I often look forward to seeing certain women. Like G. I know it's pretty much assured that I will get off when I get a private dance with her while it might be a crap shoot with dancers I never met. It doesn't always work out that she's available when I'm there, but that wasn't the case the last time I went.

It was a very slow weekday afternoon in the club; there were not even any patrons at the bar. A dancer in a flourescent pink bikini danced slowly on stage trying to entice whomever was hiding in the shadows of the main room. Down at the end of the bar the blonde bartender was working out some cash register business with a manager while a dark haired dancer looked on. As they all joked together I thought I recognized the dancer's nasal voice. I looked more closely and that pelvis seemed really familiar. Even in the low light I knew it was G.

It took a couple of minutes for the bartender to see me waiting and when she did she tried to draw me into their conversation. I couldn't really hear what they were talking about with the bass pounding in the background but after I ordered a drink I heard G laugh and ask me, "Wanna get raped?"

Now, I know rape is no laughing matter but I played along and said I'd have to think about it. They were having a good old time as I took my drink and sat at a table near the stage. A fat man sat at the stage and the pink bikini girl went over and started doing her thing. I was getting hard just watching her get on her knees in front of him with her ass sticking up in my direction and her tits rolling around on the guy's face. Her hands seemed to be roaming out of sight below the stage level and he was getting some quality time with her, running his hands up and down her back and sides.

I kept glancing over at the bar and it looked like G was getting a drink. I was hoping she would come over and sit with me. She seemed to recognize me when we joked but she's quite popular and may have planned to go to one of her regulars (if any were there). Of course the woman onstage was really hot and would probably be a good bet in the back room.

I saw G leave the bar just as the pink lady was finishing up with the frazzled fat man and started her her way toward me. The perfect storm. Had G passed me I would have gone to the stage, but timing is everything and G sat down as said, "How's it goin'?" The pink lady looked dissappointed and wandered off to slink around on a pole.

I reminded her we had been in the private room a few times and she did remember. Or at least she was very good at pretending. I figured I would cut to the chase and ask for a dance. She was more than happy to oblige. We made our way to the back dark corner of the private dace area and I sat down in one of the cubicles. G took off her bikini top and short shorts, pulling her thong straps up to create a bulge around her pussy. She asked me to sit on the edge of the seat and I took the opportunity to make an adjustment myself. I reached in and got my cock to point north for some growing room.

G looked down at my jeans and said "Let's move it to the side." She reached into my pants and moved my cock out from under the fly seam and into the space between the fly and the pocket where it wouldn't be so rough on her body parts. Since she was so forward with my body part I unzipped my fly hoping for some more hand action. In my online research I knew she was a favorite of the management and probably did her thing in the back with impunity so I wasn't too worried about any bouncers looking in on us.

The song began and G moved in closer. She offered her tits to me and I was all over them, caressing and kissing as she used her knee to finish straightening out my cock. She leaned in with her head close to mine and nibbled at my neck and made little sex sounds in my ears. If I weren't sitting down I'd say I was getting weak in the knees. She slid down and started her patented fake blow job, rubbing the underside of my cock through my pants with her chin and biting the fabric just enough so that it started to feel like the real thing.

G repeated the routine several times and I was at her mercy. My hands were free to roam everywhere and I did make a few passes at her pussy. I try to be polite and not force myself anywhere a dancer doesn't want me to go. There was no explicit move to keep me out of her thong but I felt like I shouldn't go sticking my finger somewhere it wasn't wanted.

The last couple of slides down my body she spent more time chinning my cock, and instead of going through my open fly, she reached down my pants and underwear to hold my shaft while she worked the outside with her mouth. She was all over me and soon enough it was all over. Even though I knew her grunts and moans and her hot breath on my neck were just an act, she made me feel like she really wanted to fuck me.

We chatted during the cool down and I said I would love to return the favor. She laughed and said it would take about 13 songs to get her off. I was thinking more like a meeting off-campus, so to speak, but I didn't want to get carried away. I did almost ask her if she did 'dates' outside the club, but I didn't want to imply she was a prostitute. Of course there was just a layer or two of clothing between being a dancer and being a whore, but again, I was being polite.

We both straightend ourselves out and she kissed me on the lips, asking me to come back soon. Maybe I am becoming a regular. I don't want to get obsessed so I try not to think about it. Besides, lack of time and money keeps me from going there very often. Maybe I'll hit the lottery...

This could be addictive

2006-12-31T12:42:00.000-05:00

I had a meeting scheduled across town & it would be a perfect opportunity to disappear for an hour when no one would miss me. The meeting was to end at noon, and then lunch - too late to go back to my office but too early to show up at home. I figured I would try a local Asian massage parlor. I had been to ones in other states but I hadn’t had a chance since an aborted try a year ago to go local.

In that neighborhood there are two possibilities; two massage parlors within walking distance of each other. All morning I debated where to go. Of course I had done my online homework. One place provided full service with a superficial massage. The other was a traditional 'Rub and Tug' joint that offered a great massage with a happy ending by hand. I knew I would debate with myself all morning and decide on a whim which way to go when I left.

It was a boring meeting but a nice lunch, and at the crossroads I decided to go for the R&T. I was really only looking for a hand job so I decided against the full service AMP where the massage would probably be a waste of time anyway.

The building is on the corner of a big intersection but it wasn't too busy at that time of day. The entrance is at the back of the building and the one or two cars in the parking lot blocked me from being seen from the street. I rang the bell and a 50ish mamasan answered with a big smile, took my hand and held it above our heads, and walked me down the main hallway exclaiming about how cold my hands were. It's a wide hallway, very bright and clean with doors on either side. She lead me to a room on the left and closed the door.

After taking off my coat the mamasan asked me the question I was expecting: "Have you been here before?" The first test to see if I was a cop. I didn't lie and said, "No, but I've been to other places like this." She smiled and asked for the massage fee. She asked if I wanted a shower (of course) and told me to undress and then left. The second cop test - I got naked and waited a minute on a chair next to the door. Most of the room was filled up with the massage table in the middle. Shelves filled up with white towels filled up one wall and a small night table sat in a corner with a Clock/CD player.

A very cute and petite Asian woman walked in and introduced herself in broken English as J. She had long straight black hair, a black tank top with bra straps showing, and short jeans shorts. She had that ageless look - could be 20, could be 40. I knew from my research she would not get nude or even topless; too bad she had a very nice ass and small perky tits.

I wrapped a towel around me and she led me into the hallway, checking the traffic out there first. We skipped across to the shower room. J took off her flip-flops and put on long cow boots. She ran hot water from a long hose over the large vinyl-covered table in the middle of the room and asked me to lie face down. I'm not used to being pampered but that's what I'm paying for and I let myself relax and go with the flow.

And the flow of the hot water was very relaxing and the scrub down with a soapy loufa was very thorough as J made sure she got into every crack and crevice. She didn't dwell on it but she made sure my ass crack was very clean and after I flipped over she got every inch of my cock and balls. So far it was all very neutral with no sexual innuendo or hints of happy endings. Just small talk, and very little of that.

She finished rinsing me off standing up and, after changing back into her flip-flops, led me next door to a dry sauna for a couple of minutes. Short attention span reading material: People, Entertainment Weekly, some other TV magazines.

Back to the massage room and J adjusted a towel for my head to rest on and asked me to lie face down. She lowered the lights and turned up some soothing Asian music. I knew from my research that the massage would be great; and it was. It rivaled those by the back room entrepreneurs in the big city I had been to. After dribbling a tiny amount of oil on my back she stood at the head of the table and spent some time on my shoulders, neck and head. My hands were hanging over the edge and her leg would brush one every now and then. I couldn’t tell if that was an invitation or not but I decided to be bold and caress the back of her thigh. No objection; she just kept working my shoulders. Her legs were smooth with muscles tightened as she leaned over.

She spread a towel over my ass and sat on it and worked my back all the while grinding her crotch with the rhythm of the massage. There was minimal conversation, just a little friendly chit-chat and still no suggestive remarks but I hoped my hand roaming would let her know I was interested in a happy ending. She then worked on my arms and legs as she stood on either side of the table. I took any opportunity I could to politely stroke her legs as ass.

She finished every part and I expected her to ask me to flip over. Instead, she began a teasing, very light touch stroking over my whole body going from head to toe and back again. By this time I was going into my massage swoon and my mind wandered as her fingers were working their magic. I finally realized that on each pass she would give some extra attention to my ass crack and the very inside of my thighs, brushing my balls and the head of my cock ever so lightly, but very deliberately. Eventually I had to stick my ass up in the air a little to relieve the pressure of my growing cock, and she took advantage of the extra room to tease a little more.

I was getting so horny that I could feel it in my throat and I found I was starting to groan with each teasing touch. It was time to flip over and there was no doubt there was one other muscle that needed work. J reached under the table and came up with a handful of oil that she spread over my cock and started stroking without asking anything. Of course I had no objection - I was reaching nirvana. As J stroked and cooed, “Ooo, ooo,” I ran my hands over her legs and ass, up under her top and all over her small tits through the top of her bra. I caressed her pretty face and ran my fingers through her hair. I came as I had my hand on her inner thigh with my index finger lightly rubbing her pussy through the jeans.

J did a little clean up and left the room. I was pretty much a puddle, lying there just existing, lost to the rest of the world. She came back with a hot towel to do a better cleaning and she finished up the massage (remember the massage?) with a little more work on my shoulders and thighs. I still can’t get used to a woman dressing me so I helped J get put on my socks and tie my shoes. I left my tip money on the table and asked to go to the bathroom. She checked the hallway first and led me across. I finished and was about to leave the bathroom but J stopped me and asked me to wait. A few seconds later she led me down the hallway to the exit as another client and masseuse were getting into the shower. Interesting choreography to keep patrons from seeing each other.

J and I hugged at the doorway and I was back in reality. I decided to walk home from there. I would take about an hour, just long enough for the fresh air to blow away any unfamiliar odors.

Routine trip

2006-11-30T16:11:00.000-05:00

A rare shopping trip for me brought me downtown with some free time that I could build into my excursion to be able to slip into my "home" club. It was Saturday, a day I often see G working and I was hoping to see her again. I know that with her I will surely get off. Not that there's a chance I wouldn't with another dancer - I seem to have broken the silent code about what a guy really wants in the private booth - But some women there are just not my cup of tea.

I walked in, bought a soft drink at the bar and sat at a table near the stage. It was pretty crowded and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness I saw dancers scattered about sitting with their regulars. The dancer on stage was catering to several men seated at the stage. I did not see G but she could have been in another part of the club.

I sat at the stage and eventually B came over to me. She is a rather tall black woman with large tits and long, curly black hair, maybe a wig. She spent some time with me rubbing her tits in my face, running her fingers over her mound and pouting in that fake porn star kind of way. She initiated enough contact and seemed attentive enough that she passed my hard-on test - I had the stirrings of quite an erection.

Her set was over not long after that and a short white dancer replaced her on stage. The woman spent a lot of time across the stage with a guy who came up to the stage seemingly just for her while the rest of us cooled our jets. I didn't want to waste a lot of time waiting for her so I sat back down at my table hoping to see G or maybe to see if B was available for a private dance.

As I was deciding what to do, B came out of the dressing room behind me and stood chatting with another dancer. I caught her eye. She finished her conversation and sat next to me. I cut to the chase; are you available for a private dance? Of Course.

We retired to the private area and sat in one of the open ended booths. Even there it was crowded. Across the way a blonde was slowly slithering down a fat man's body ending up kneeling between his knees, caressing his ample middle and squishing her tits in his crotch. He had his head back and his forehead seemed to be glistening with sweat. They had probably been at it for a couple of songs because he looked like he was on the edge, or just over it.

That scene was so distracting (my timing was off - why wasn't I there to meet the blonde?) that I had to remind myself about B who was removing her bra and short skirt to do her job in a little black thong. Unfortunately it was not a memorable dance. I did get off but she seemed to be going through the motions; tits in my face, knees getting me hard, ass crack riding my cock. She was generous in letting me feel her up except when I tried to rub her clit. Off limits. I can respect that but, hey, I had to try.

Eventually I came and we straightened ourselves out and hugged goodbye. I did my shopping allowing my clothes to take on a department store smell to replace any barroom scent by the time I got home. However, my SO pointed out that I had a tiny piece of gold glitter stuck to the side of my nose. Luckily, glitter is not an unusual substance in my house, so I was able to shrug it off.

On the road again

2006-10-31T23:54:00.000-05:00

Another trip to the midwest - to a city that doesn't exactly fit the midwestern stereotype of conservitve farmers living lives of quiet and desparate family values. I had been there on business before so I was looking forward to another trip to the massage parlor (disguised brothel) right in the downtown area among upscale restaurants, government buildings and trendy shops.

This trip I was able to get away from work early one afternoon, and since I was traveling alone I didn't have to worry about running into a colleague on the street. I went to my hotel room to dress down - shorts, sandals and a tee shirt. Leaving my wallet but bringing just enough cash to pay for services, I took the short walk to the MP. It was too late for lunch and too early for dinner so there weren't a lot of outdoor diners at the reataurants on the block, and the drinking class had not quite started gathering at the Irish bar and the black bar that bookended the entrance with the almost unnoticable sign over the door.

I walked up quickly, opened the door and started climbing the steep steps to the second floor. Gone was the duct taped stair covering, replaced with new vinyl runners. The rest of the stairwell looked like the same old firetrap but with the same wrought iron gate at the top and the same sitting room where guests are greeted.

I walked in and M introduced herself to me asking if I had been there before. I didn't have to lie saying it had been a couple of years. She said she was the only one available but if I would like to wait... I said I would love to have a massage with you and I went to pay the college-aged guy sitting at the desk. (I wish I had a job at a brothel when I was in college. I wonder if he gets an employee discount.)

M led me down a corridor to the first room on the left - the same room I was in last time with the same low red light and velvet paintings on the wall. The air conditioner was covered with a blanket because it got too cold for naked people when it was running.

M is a rather large black woman probably in her 40s, very friendly with a big smile, average natural tits, wide hips and plenty of flesh to go around. She asked me to get undressed and gave me a towel to bring to the shower across the hall. They keep it pretty clean so I wasn't too grossed out by using in effect a public shower in such a place. I returned to the room just as M was coming back - no wasted time.

It's hard to call the place a massage parlor when the 'massage table' is really a mattress on the floor. There's no pretense about legitimate massages and it's really up to the customer and the provider to decide how much massage time and how much play time there will be during the session. We settled on the tip which is a flat rate for whatever sexual game a person wants to play. We both decided to start with a massage anyway.

I lay on my stomach while M peeled off her one piece outfit that just about covered the naughty bits and sat next to me on the mattress - a little oil and some small talk and she set to work. We talked about the city and the weather, her schedule and her children. They're grown & they know what their mother does for a living. They're cool with it. She works three 15-hour days a week. Not for me, but differenct strokes...

Speaking of strokes, she found a knot under one of my shoulder blades and worked out the kinks like a professional (masseuse, that is). I felt so much better; I almost forgot the reason I was there.

Time for the flip and she did some light touching around my chest & asked what I wanted. I usually go for a hand job in a place like this but since there was a flat rate for anything, I decided to escalate my sexual 'perversion' and asked for a blow job. She got me good and hard with her hand and realized she didn't have a condom. She apologized and ran out to get one. Even though it was just oral, I didn't complain about being covered because you just don't know...

It must have been a very thin rubber because I hardly felt it go on and her licking and sucking felt like real skin-to-skin contact. Of course she probably knows just how much pressure to use to achieve that goal. I must say whe was quite expert at the art of the blow job, working the shaft at all the sweet points with her lips and tongue and painlessly caressing my balls.

My hands went roaming and she adjusted herself so I sould reach her pussy. I worked her clit and finger-fucked her as she really got into her work. She sensed me coming close a couple of times and backed off a little to prolong the ecstacy. I couldn't last forever and finally blew my load. The only thing about a covered BJ is you don't get to shoot all over her face and in her mouth just like a money shot in a porn movie. Oh well, I'll take it anyway.

It took a few minutes to come down from the sex high and M started to clean me up. She struggled to get her one-piece back on, finally succeeding as I finished getting dressed myself. We hugged and said goodbye and she escorted me through the waiting room.

The sun outside nearly blinded me after the darkness of the rooms upstairs. I walked back to my hotel for a nap and a dream. It's the end of my travel season so I'll have to choose other avenues for my secret life until spring when I'm off again.

Home turf

2006-09-25T16:46:00.000-04:00

I was in between business trips - I had returned from New Orleans and was preparing for a trip to the midwest - and with a day off, I arranged my time to squeeze in a visit to my local bikini bar. Things were pretty quiet downtown. The dog days of summer were in full pant and it seemed like everyone was on vacation. I felt confident that no one who knows me would see me duck into the club.

From bright sunlight and hot, humid air to the dark, air-conditioned atmosphere of the bar was a bit of a shock to my system but it only took a few minutes to get used to it and find my way to a table near the stage.

As it happens T was on stage. She's a tall black woman whose skin is really black, ebony black, and whom I had seen in the dance booth before. It's been a while since then so she didn't recognize me when we greeted each other but I remembered that she got the mission accomplished back then.

She was wearing a black fishnet full body suit with only a thong on. I wondered how she got away with violating the cover-up rules when her pointy nipples were poking through holes in the netting. I wasn't complaining, especially when she sat in front of me and rubbed her tits in my face. I wasn't about to waste time evaluating the other dancers - I asked T for a private dance.

She finished her set and went to the ladies room. When she came out she asked rather shyly, "Do I look pretty?" I was surprised how insecure she seemed asking the kind of question an innocent young woman would ask, but of course I answered an enthusiastic "Yes!" or something to that effect. I don't remember exactly how I replied because her tone through me off. I'm used to strippers who are always in control, confident. I glanced to see if she gained a lot of weight which might have prompted a need for validation, but she seemed the same tall, big-boned, but not fat, woman I knew from a year or two before.

Anyway, we retired to the private dance area. I had to drop off my backpack in a cloak room next to the bouncer. He said they wanted to make sure no one brought any toys into the back. Apparently that had been a problem in the past. Not this time.

We retired to one of the booths in the back. No one else was there. It wasn't long before she was running her hands up the legs of my shorts and I was running my hands all over her tits. Those pointy nipples were just too much and I took the opportunity when she got close to suck on them. I made an adjustment go get my cock pointed in the right direction and it didn't take long for me to start poking at the waistband of my pants.

T was going though her moves, alternately stroking me using her ass cheeks with her back to me, and facing me while she worked her knee up and down the front of my pants. She ooh'd and aah'd a little trying to sound sexy but I knew it was fake.

It was turning into a mechanical, so-so lap dance until she started using her arms and then her hands on the front of my pants. Now we're talking. She finally started trying to unzip my pants. Here, let me help you with that. She kept looking over her shoulder as she discreetly reached in and stroked my with her fingers every now and then.

I've never seen a bouncer wander through the dance area & I didn't expect one then, but we still had to be careful. I would cover the open fly with my shirt and when she felt like no one was coming in she reached in to jerk me off. It didn't take long after that and I finished as she rolled her ass around my crotch one last time.

She knew she was successful and backed off to give me a little breathing room. She smiled and asked me again, "Do you think I'm pretty?" almost in a little girl's voice. Of course I agreed again, just like I would with a child. I think she has some self-esteem issues to work out.

One more business trip before my travel season ends. After that I might be seeing the inside of this club more often until my spring/summer trips are scheduled. In the meantime I plan to make the most of my upcoming trip to the midwest.

NOLA

2006-07-31T23:55:00.000-04:00

Believe it or not I was in New Orleans for business recently. I had never been there so I can't do a before-and-after-Katrina description but I'm sure the city is still a ghost of what it once was.

Checking the Internet forums I found out that there were a couple of Asian massage parlors open & one was in walking distance of where I was staying. The number was allegedly on craigslist. I had some time to myself the first afternoon I was there & tried the number but it wouldn't go through. Figures. I tried a few more times over the next day or two, both on my cell and public phones. No luck.

I was feeling disappointed and on my last night there I decided to try around Bourbon Street. There are several strip clubs and other sex places along the street along with the daiquiri bars and souvenir shops but I'm sure they were rip-offs. There were a few promising clubs along a couple of the side streets and I nearly went into one but I was afraid of running into my colleagues who were out and about.

I decided to wait a little while & went back to my room. Around midnight I went out and walked down a street, kind of an alley of sorts, and noticed a big window on a two-story brick building with shear curtains lit up by lavender-colored lamp. On the wall next to the window, in big letters:

Asian Spa
Body Rubs

Hmmmm. My body could use a rub. I took a casual walk by. It's on a narrow street with huge dumpster next to it and a small Asian bodega (sorry for the lingual mixup) next to that. There's a parking garage across the street and not many people around. As I walked by the big steel door opened and an Asian woman, probably Korean, in a skimpy black bikini was escorting a smiling client, a guy about thirty, out to the street.

I walked nonchalantly past the dumpster, past a guy rolling a joint with his girlfriend in a dark doorway, around the corner onto Bourbon Street; stepping over the horseshit from the mounted police and the unidentifiable liquid on the sidewalks, finishing my way around the block full of restaurants and high-end antique stores, I found myself in the doorway of the spa on the now-deserted street.

I know New Orleans is an open city where no one cares what you do, but I still feel better if no one sees me enter or leave a place like this. I tried to stay out of the light from the overhead lamp as I rang the bell. The door I saw open earlier had an exit sign on the inside so I figured the other door was the entrance. It was a steel and glass door with steel mesh covering the glass part. The glass was painted black. All I needed a trench coat and hat pulled down over my eyes to complete the scene.

The exit door opened behind me and there stood a woman in a sheer dress showing lots of cleavage and a big smile. She introduced herself as M and asked me to sign in and pay the initial massage fee. I scribbled something on the clipboard that looked like all the rest if the illegible 'signatures.' M walked me up the stairs past the lavender curtains and into a small dark room lit up with soft reddish light.

She was quite enthusiastic as she kept exclaiming in broken English how handsome and sexy I was. I knew it was only a line but it set up the atmosphere for the whole visit. She asked me to get undressed and went away for a few minutes.

The massage was not too bad. It was not anywhere as thorough as those I get at the Chinese apartment and salon AMPs, and M used baby powder instead of oil. Chatting all the while about life in New Orleans since the hurricane, she worked over my back occasionally brushing her tits on me or putting her ass or pussy near enough for me to caress a little. At one point she sat on my lower spine, rubbing her pussy bone on my spine as she worked. When she got to my legs she started a stroking routine that ran from my ass and down my inner thigh and just grazing the tip of my head each time. We hadn't talked about extras yet but it was becoming obvious this was not just about a massage.

She asked me to flip over, still complimenting me on how handsome I am. What a joke, but I guess it's part of her job to make the customer happy. After working a little on my head, chest and legs, she came to the last muscle. "You want massage?" she asked. But of course.

We negotiated the tip for a hand job and she reached over for some oil in a spray bottle. Her top came down as she oiled me up and got things started. After a few stroked she knelt between my knees and offered her tits for a little Russian. I squeezed them around my cock and we both got into a rhythm that came close to getting me off. We backed off a little and she started by hand again, still cooing about how sexy I was. It didn't take long t finish.

After getting stuff to clean me off, M cuddled a little and did a little light touch massage just to bring me down. I got dressed after a while and as I was standing there, M kept hugging me and grabbing my cock joking that she didn't want to fall in love with me so I'd better leave. Only she wouldn't stop stroking me and offering her ass and pussy to my roving hands. As we were embracing like that I asked her if she ever got off. Sometimes, she said.

She asked me if I was married and I couldn't lie. I asked if that was a problem. Not for her - she sees lots of married men. One of her regulars is married and she asked him why he comes to her. "My wife won't give it," she quoted. "Sometimes your body just needs," she said in her own English. "Fall in love, no good. But sometimes your body needs."

M joked a little more about being afraid to fall in love with me and stopped stroking me just as I was getting hard again. She took me down stairs and we hugged one last time before I went out the steel door into the street. I saw no colleagues, but right outside the door was NOPD squad car idling with what looked like a streetwalker hanging inside the passenger window. I walked quickly in the opposite direction. I guess in some ways, New Orleans is still living up to its old reputation.

What a difference a club makes

2006-06-30T23:59:00.000-04:00

A few weeks after my excursion into Mundo Bizarro, I had an opportunity to visit my usual haunt on a Saturday, my usual day to haunt. In spite of the loud dance music, the atmosphere was so much more mellow and calm than the craziness of the other club. There were a few patrons scattered throughout the room and a few dancers were casually drinking at the bar, some with their regulars.

I got my drink and sat at a table near the stage waiting for my eyes to get adjusted to the dark. A blonde dancer with a few extra pounds on her (but nothing like the women hustling their flesh at the palace) was moving around slowly on stage. You couldn't really call it dancing. I went to the stage and she came over slowly and lay on her side in front of me and went through her moves, raising a leg, running her hand down to her thong, pulling the waistband out inviting me to stick my dollar in.

She kept her distance and didn't attempt any kind of contact, nor did she encourage it. For a second I thought there might have been some crackdown on the rules or some other change in policy because I'm used to a more up-close-and-personal situation from the dancers here. She half-heartedly asked if I wanted a private dance, but I begged off saying I just arrived and wanted to get settled. I went back to my table hoping for something or someone to liven things up.

The next dancer, a tall black woman, went through the same slow motion kind of moves on stage. Maybe there was something in the air that made everyone lethargic. I went up to the stage but she pretty much ignored me. She went over to a couple of other men at the stage but she didn't seem very enthusiastic to anyone. After sitting there for about five or six minutes with no indication she would come over for a tip, I went back to my table to wait for the next dancer. At least I wasn't spending much money.

I watched the blonde chat with a couple of men and then sit by herself a few tables away. At one point she was kneeling on a chair with her elbows on the table, swinging her ass around slowly in the direction of the bar. I was thinking of asking her for a dance in spite of her indifference earlier. That could have been a waste of money since she gave no indication she would do what I expected dancers at this club to do. She got up and went into the dressing room.

Since my time was running short, I had to decide what to do - either wait for the blonde to come back & ask her for a dance, wait for the next dancer onstage to see if she would be more enthusiastic, or leave. There was a fourth possibility that I hadn't counted on.

The blonde came out followed by a long-haired brunette who sat down next to me and said a cheery hello. Things were looking up. She introduced herself as G, a woman who gave me a very memorable dance a while ago. I told her so and I could see her ego inflate visibly as she got more friendly, cuddling and stroking my leg. I did the same. It wasn't long before we agreed to head to the private booths.

G is a rather thin, but nicely shaped woman who is probably pushing 40. As I followed her and watched her bikini ass sway back and forth, I remembered some of the slander about her on an Internet strip club forum. She has worked there since the club opened, starting as a bartender and moving into dancing, and she has outlasted other women who have reportedly been in fights with her. Nasty remarks about her doing the club manager were cited for her longevity there.

She did seem to move around with a sense of impunity. They expanded the private dance area, adding a short row of booths in the back of the original room with a dogleg turn in between. In the middle of the turn there was a booth in the dark corner where G led me. I knew then I was in for a good time. I sat down and she took off her top (violating the bikini bar's rules) and her short shorts and sat next to me in her thong waiting for the next song to start and making me feel very comfortable.

The next song started and I adjusted my cock so it would point to my chest and not to my knees as she went into her routine. Using her knee and her ass she brought me to full attention. She gave me full access to her nicely-shaped natural tits - just like Goldilocks, not too big, not too small. When she rode me I had her pencil eraser nipples in my mouth and when she switched around I softly pinched them with both hands. Luckily there was no sign of any bouncer.

A couple of times she would start with her tits in my face and slowly slide down making sure there was enough friction to keep me up. As she finished the slide she would discreetly use her hands to jerk me off over my pants. When she had a chance she would bury her face in my neck and breathe heavily all the while keeping contact somehow with my cock. I was able to rub her clit through her thong but I was too polite to try to get a finger inside her.

Finally, I realized why I remembered why my last dance with her was so memorable. At the end of one of her slides she spent time using her chin and forehead on my cock like she had done before, even biting it. It drove me nuts then & it was doing it now. I grabbed her head and guided it as if it were a real blow job. She backed off once or twice, letting me catch my breath before she went down again. It was just too much and I let go. She knew it and relieved her pressure a little giving me a chance to fill my pants.

We cuddled a little more before I collected myself, combed my hair, tucked in my shirt, paid G for the wonderful time and walked into the bright sunlight. I think next time, now that she may recognize me and that she may be racier than the club allows, I may ask her for something more explicit like a hand job or maybe letting my hands explore a little further. She may be able to get away with stuff the other less connected dancers couldn't. My kind of girl.

Mundo bizarro

2006-05-03T16:55:00.000-04:00

I decided to go for down and dirty rather than squeaky clean. In hindsight I probably should have gone for the massage, but it was interesting to see how bizarre things have gotten at the Stench Palace.

I hadn't been there in a few years and not much has changed except that its sordid reputation has only gotten worse. It's topless unlike the bikini bar I usually go to and it is really more of a bordello than a strip club. Stories abound about the infamous private booths which you can rent for 15 minutes and negotiate with a dancer for services. Depending on the dancer, they run the gamut from hand jobs to anal and everything in between.

I was just there for the traditional lap dance, but I wanted to see if the women there have gotten as scary and as loose as the posting on internet sites have indicated.

I walked into the pitch black entry way and stumbled up the stairs. Luckily, I remembered the layout since they kept the lights way down low. I went to the bar and got a drink and waited a little for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. It was a little after 5pm and the place was hopping. There seemed to be a lot of women and almost an equal amount of men. The bar is a rather large rectangle at one end of the room with several dancers sitting with their regular customers.

I grabbed my drink and walked toward the middle section of the room past a few stools between a railing and the wall where several mostly naked women in colorful costumes and heavy makeup lurked. It was beginning to look like I walked into the middle of a Fellini film.

The music was pounding louder and louder as I made my way down two short sets of stairs into the pit where the stage is. The black light seemed to be the only illumination and it highlighted certain parts of the dancers' costumes making it look like floating body parts moving about. Of course my light shirt was glowing, along with a few of the customers, denying me the cover of darkness I like to have in strip clubs.

I went to sit at the stage where two rather large and squishy women were doing their thing. One came over and did the normal stripper moves - lying on her side & raising her leg to show off her mound; sitting on the edge of the stage and rubbing her boobs in my face; pulling her g-string aside for my dollar bills. She said something in my ear which I assume was a proposition for a lap dance or a booth session. All I could hear was 'private' but I declined, saying I just arrived.

The second, equally large dancer performed pretty much the same rooutine. Neither one did anything to get a rise out of me.

I left the stage and went up one short flight of stairs to the cabaret area where dancers who were just on stage give short test runs of their lap dance skills and try to entice patrons to more private areas. It's an area that circles two sides of the stage with benches and bolted down small round tables.

A couple more overweight dancers came over and sat on my lap and rubbed their tits in my face. More whispered propositions; at least I assumed that's what they were since the loud music made it nearly impossible to hear anything else.

I looked around at the patrons there. There were a few home boys and some construction types and several very overweight men. I also saw several older, professional types like myself trying to blend in. I was hoping no one I knew was lurking in the shadows.

Finally, a normal sized woman in a red teddy adjusted me on the bench so she could really get my attention. She leaned over to give my face a titty rubdown and rather indiscreetly grabbed and rubbed my crotch. Then came the proposition. I could hear her better but had a hard time translating her Spanish accent; the message was clear though. I said, Maybe in a little while, but I was really tempted because I had the makings of my first hard on since I arrived.

When she left I went to explore the upstairs bar which was a lot quieter with fewer customers. On the small stage an rather petit dancer was all over a customer at the stage with her legs wrapped around his middle and her hands (& his) running everywhere. A guy at the other end of the stage was staring and maybe even drooling.

I wasn't there more than 10 seconds when a very tall, probably Brazilian, dancer with bleached blonde hair and whiskey breath embraced me like I was her long lost relative. She was chattering in broken English trying to get me to talk to her or buy her a drink or probably just give her money. I muttered something and tried to leave. Luckily, she was distracted by some other stiff at the bar and I made my escape. I would have waited to see more of the woman on stage, but I figured It was my chance to make a getaway.

At the bottom of the stairs I saw the woman in the red teddy. I figured it was time to bust my nut and get the hell out of there so I asked her if she was still interested in a dance. Of course whe was and we both made it clear that we were going to the lap dance room and not the full service booths.

She led me to the room which has hard wooden benches along the walls and some with high backs in the middle. We sat just insde the doorway behind the bouncer and partially visible to the people at the stage. I wasn't very comfortable, but it was too crowded to go anywhere else. I had to ask her name several times before I understood it to be R. she took her teddy off and then her g-string. The bouncer saw her and reminded her she was not in the nude room, so she laughed and put her bottom back on.

That was about the only glimpse of her personality that I saw. From there it was a pretty perfunctory lap dance, alternating between rubbing her ass on my crotch or using her knee to get the job done with an occassional hand grab. There were no smiles, no reactions, just pumping away. I did manage to rub her clit through her g-string a little and certainly did my share of tit massage and licking, but it was an uninspired performance. She even took a call on her cell phone while working her ass in my lap.

It took all my concentration guiding her hips with my hands and watching another dancer working over another guy across from us to finally bring me over the brink. She took her money and walked off with hardly an acknowledgement.

I split with an empty wallet and a wet spot on my pants. Next time I'll go back to my bikini bar where the women at least pretend to be interested, and at best make their customers feel like they're wanted.

What to do...

2006-04-10T14:18:00.000-04:00

I have a day later this week when I have the use of a car and a little money, I can leave work early, and I don't have to answer to anyone when I get home. A perfect time to indulge.

But I just can't decide what to do. Among my options are a visit to the sleaziest strip club in the state, maybe in the region; a trip to a local Asian massage parlor; scheduling an appointment with a private masseuse who advertises on craigslist; or an attempt to connect with someone on CL Casual Encounters.

Connecting with someone 'real' from CL is tough to begin with and the craziness factor is just too dangerous. I'd hate to come home to a boiling rabbit.

The private masseuse is tempting but she makes it clear on her site that no sex is involved, probably to throw off any law enforcement visitors. She advertises a sensual massage so I assume that means a happy ending with a hand job, but it's too uncertain for me to spend the money. Besides, she's located in my neighborhood so there's a danger of someone I know seeing the car in an unusal place. (It's happened to me before with disastrous results.)

That leaves my two top choices. It's so hard to decide. I haven't been to the strip club in a couple of years and I've been reading a lot about how it has turned into an open bordello. There are private booths to rent for 15 minutes where dancers offer everthing and anything - for a price. Unless my little head takes over and makes the decision for me, I would avoid the booths because of wet spots and creepy crawly things and gerneral dirtiness described in the online postings. Of course there still is the traditional tip the dancers at the stage and wallow in tits and ass and crotches as women try to seduce the money out of me. A lap dance with the right stripper will yield the same results with a lot of fantasy fodder thrown in.

I haven't been to any of the local AMPs yet, but one has consistently gotten good reviews. It's an R&T (rub & tug) joint where an Asian woman washes you in a table shower, works you over with a strong massage and finishes with a hand release. It's very tempting after the wonderful experiences I've had similar places in the big city.

So, a down and dirty visit to a club with several sleazy women rubbing themselves all over me or a relaxing visit with one woman tending to my personal needs. I'll probably decide in the car as I approach the exit closest to one of my options.

The medium is the massage

2006-03-21T16:42:00.000-05:00

Another meeting in the big city and another afternoon with a couple of hours to kill. I am such a creature of habit that I figured I would contact J in Chinatown again since I had such a nice experience the last time I went. I arrived early enough at my meeting’s location to make an appointment for that afternoon.

There must be some law enforcement heat in town because the woman who answered seemed kind of suspicious. I asked for J, but she didn’t seem to know whom I was talking about. (The first time I went there I asked for K, the name I had from the Internet group, but ended up with J. Confusing, no?) The language barrier could have had something to do with it. I was able to explain that I had been there before and even gave her the address. She agreed on a 2 pm appointment.

I arrived on time and K met me at the door. She bore a striking resemblance to J - late 30's, shoulder-length hair, big smile, crew neck blouse, polyester pants. In fact she said people often think she and J are twins. I guess I passed the 'have you been here before?' test.

She led me down the narrow twisting hallway and into the first room on the right, identical to J's which was the second room down. I paid her for the massage and got undressed while she went out to put the money away.

She came back and asked if I wanted a soft or hard massage. I said in between, and lay face down on the massage table. K is the third masseuse I've met in the big city and they all must be trained at the same place or in the same technique because she followed a very similar routine as the others.

As she worked on my back and shoulders she chatted in broken English. She asked about my job and where I lived and about my children. She didn't ask directly if I was married. She said she was trained in China and she has a 10-year old son living there. She kept a towel over my ass and moved it over one leg whien she worked on the other. (I had walked a lot that morning & her kneeding was what I needed.)

Every now and then she would ask a question that seemed like she was still unsure about me. How often do I come to the city? Do I just travel there for a massage? She asked who else I had been to see for a massage & when I said I had seen S a couple of times, she lightened up considerably. It turns out the she had worked with S in another city & knew her pretty well. What a relief. I knew she knew I had no problem with the sensual part of the full body sensual massage.

Before asking me to turn over K did another once-over on my back, placing one knee between my legs and letting her leg rub against my balls ever so gently as she worked some long strokes ablong my torso. I started to twitch a little down there and began to really relax. She got more playful when she asked me to turn over onto my back.

She did a scalp and facial massage & so pretty much handled every part of my body up to that point. She shook loose my arms and did a little finger-popping trick on my fingers. She pulled her oiled fngers over each one of mine making a snapping noise that sounded like my knuckles were popping. She thought it was pretty funny. She remarked that I had smooth hands. I told her it was because of my job & that I had much rougher hands when I worked with wood as a hobby. Then I bought a computer...

As she started on the front of my legs she placed the towel so it covered my cock but she made sure she reached the inner part of my thigh glancing against my balls. She did the same for the other leg but I still wasn't sure she would offer to take care of that last muscle.

She worked my chest a little and played with my nipples, making a few jokes and laughing in low tones. I was hoping this was leading up to something. Finally she leaned in and whispered something I couldn't quite understand but she made a universal hand signal that gave me no doubt about what she was asking. I said, Yes please.

K is the woman I read about in an Internet group posting who kept bringing the writer to the brink many times before the climax. I was hoping for the same treatment. In fact my on my last visit there, J did just that, asking me to let ther know when to slow down. However, that was not the case this time.

K oiled up her hands and brought me to full erection almost immediately. She started off slowly using various strokes and twists and turns. My breathing got heavier as she worked and I was beginning to swoon. I reached for her arm to slow her down as I did with J, but she didn't really get the message. It felt so great, I just said fuck it to my self and let go.

I'm not normally a big shooter, but this time I felt my cum hit my chest.

She cleaned us both up and asked if she could work on anything in the tem minutes we had left. My shoulders were still knotted up, maybe because of my hunching over in the cold weather or maybe from carrying too much stuff in my backpack. I asked he if she liked her job & sadly, she said, Not really. It's hard work and there are long hours with no real time off. On the plus side, the money is good. SHe said she planned to do this for another year or so and hoped to open up a clothing store in town. She knew a person on the west coast who would help her with supplying the merchandise.

We finished and continued chatting as I got dressed. Fridays are a little slow for her so she wasn't in a rush to send me away. There was something in the tone of her voice and in the way she stayed close to me when she talked that was much different than her playful mood during the massage. After I left it dawned on me - she seemed a little lonely. I've been married too long to pick up on the signs right away. I should have asked her about a boyfriend or husband or some other personal questions and see where it led. In my fantasy life I would have made a move and offered to give her as happy an ending to our session as I had.

Maybe next time I see her I'll pick up where we left off.

Something to chew on

2006-01-29T21:55:00.000-05:00

It was my last Saturday working in my temporary city office and my last chance to conveniently visit my usual haunt, just a few blocks away. It was just before Christmas so I had a good excuse to disappear for a while - I was going to get 'malled.' The mall would be crowded so I could pad my time away from home with a short trip down the street.

The streets are usually pretty deserted on late Saturday afternoons, but as I headed towards the club, the theatre across from the side street I was to turn down was emptying out after the matinee. It was a family show so lots of kids and parents filed down the opposite side of the street. I scanned the crowd for familiar faces and picked up my pace. I did my trenchcoat thing and hunched my shoulders, looked down and scurried down the side street.

It was a typically slow afternoon in the club. A few patrons, a lone dancer with no one at the stage, everything seemingly moving in slow motion. I got my soda at the bar (an alcoholic drink would put me to sleep before the afternoon is over) and sat down near the stage. P was on stage. I seem to remember her from a few years ago; a 20-something Hispanic girl with a few extra pounds here and there. They were not unpleasant memories. I went up to the stage and settled in.

P came over and welcomed me by offering her tits for me to rub my face in. It's a bikini bar and they have been hassled lately for violating the no-nude rule so she tried to be discreet. She made a few other typical stripper moves - kneeling backwards & and leaning her ass towards me so her pussy was outlined in her stretched-thin G-string; resting on her side and raising her leg so her bulging lips started to escape the fabric; sitting on the edge of the stage with her feet on my chair, pulling down her waistband and showing off her neatly trimmed mons. Needless to say, I was getting interested.

Her set was over and she turned over the stage to a rather disinterested dancer who went through the motions when she noticed I was there. I expected P to go sit at the bar or chat with a regular customer, but I saw her sit by herself across the room. I walked over and asked her for a private dance. She took me by the hand and led me to the 'private' booths.

The private dance area used to just be an open room with couches around the wall. A while ago they set up partitions along two sides of the room so two rows of love seats face each other with walls between each seat. We sat down in a corner booth. Across the way a blonde in a black bikini slithered up and down a guy who seemed lost to the world.

P took off her chiffon robe just as the next song started. I reached down my pants and made an adjustment so everthing was pointing in the right direction. I usually try not to wear jeans to a strip club because the fabric is a little too thick for good dry humping, especially around the zipper, but I didn't want to arouse suspicion at home by wearing something I wouldn't ordinarily wear to work.

I got comfortable and P pulled her top down and offered me her tits. I was surprised to find them to be fake because they were soft to the touch and not overly large. But you could still tell. While whe rubbed her tits in my face she got me to full attention with her knees and a little soft moaning in my ear. From there she alternated her stripper moves - sliding her tits down my body and working them over my crotch, turning away from me and clutching my cock in her ass crack, kneeling and rubbing her head on my bulge. Near the end of the first song she started rubbing her chin on my cock discreetly, looking up at me & smiling.

She asked if I wanted another dance. How could I say no? The couple across the way finished up, leaving us alone. I guess she figured I was serious if I wanted another dance so she got serious. She spent a little more time with her tits in my face and breathy moaning in my ear while brushing her hands along my shaft. She slid down and knelt between my legs. I grabbed her head when she started with her chin again and helped her get the right pressure through the denim. Her black curls were stiff with hair spray as I ran my fingers through them grabbing and hinting at some rougher play. We guided each other up and down, around and around. I could feel myself building up to quite a climax when she found my sweet spot and started chewing. That did it.

Often dancers will not know that I've finished and continue grinding or rubbing. But P knew exactly what happened, she was so close to it. She rubbed a little more and looked up with a wicked smirk. I said something lame about betting she was good at that for real thinking she might be available outside the club, but she just laughed. In fact she hardly spoke the whole time. We straightened ourselves out, hugged and went our separate ways.

Getting away from it all

2005-12-03T15:05:00.000-05:00

November sweeps and predictably the local TV stations turn to sex. One station went undercover (again) to two of the massage parlors in town – one near my office and the one from my aborted birthday trip. I only saw the promos for it but apparently the story left no doubt about what goes on there. A day or two later came the raids. Managers for both places were busted for immigration and health violations. A loophole in local statutes does not make sex for money illegal indoors; only streetwalkers get busted for prostitution. Needless to say, I’m glad I couldn’t find that massage parlor – the station could have been in production on that piece and I might have been a TV star. Gulp.

So not knowing any of this at the time, I went with Plan B and waited for my scheduled trip to the big city where there is a different culture of massage ‘therapists.’ There are several entrepreneurial women who work out of their apartments or the back of salons who give legitimate massages with happy endings. Most only provide hand relief which is just fine with me.

I decided to try a new provider and chose from several options based on reviews in the online monger (john) sites. I had been to ‘two-pop S’ a couple of times & decided to choose between a woman who worked in her lingerie but rushed through the hand job, or one who worked fully clothed but prolonged the pleasure. Before my morning meeting I called J (the latter) and made an appointment for that afternoon.

J gave me the address in an area that overlaps Chinatown and the theatre district, an odd mix of oriental markets and junk shops and nationally-renowned theatres and clubs. It was so nondescript that I had to call from my new cell phone from the street to find the door. She came to meet me and led me through a couple of narrow but brightly lit hallways to a small room off a kitchen area. There was a massage table and a bed with a nightstand and not much else. She asked me to get undressed took my money for the massage and left. She came back and turned down the lights, turned up some lovely Asian vocal music on a portable CD player on the nightstand and asked me to lie face down on the table.

J is probably late 30s, early 40s with longish black hair and a nice smile. She was wearing polyester pants and a striped boat shirt. The massage rivaled S’s - medium strength and seasoned technique. No towel covering anything, a good sign. She was very friendly and playful, making small talk as she worked my back with her hands, elbows and knees. She used pretty good English but didn’t recognize the bordering state I lived in. Must lead a sheltered life. She asked about my job and other niceties and commented on how thin I am. She must see her share of overweight men. Are you married? Yes, I blurted out. Oh well, maybe I blew my chance for something extra. Asked about children and was surprised to hear how old they are. You seem so young. I guess flattery is part of her routine.

She was very thorough with my back and legs & I thought there might not be enough time for the fun part. She asked me to flip over and began to get even more playful. Another good sign. She played very lightly with my nipples and gave a little tug to the few hairs growing there. She ran her fingers lightly over my chest and giggled some more. My cock was starting to grow against my leg. She brushed her hand a few times against my thigh and finally, Do you want a hand massage? Yes, Please.

J dribbled a good amount of oil on her hands and began to go to work. I was fully erect in an instant under her expert maneuvering. Ooo, big sex! Flattery will get you everywhere. She used a variety of hand movements - straight stroking, corkscrewing down, corkscrewing up, putting my cock between two fingers and alternating her hands up and down, and so on. I ran my hand up he legs and felt around her ass. Her bra seemed to be as stiff as cardboard but must have been open at the top because I found soft mounds of flesh rising under her blouse.

I was brought to the edge several times, to the point of pulsing without actually coming. I could feel the cum rising up but not quite triggering. She said Just say, J stop now. And she did. After each near-ejaculation I would die down a little but she brought me to the brink again. After a bit I just needed the release. It got to the point where I was thrusting myself into her hand and finally left my deposit as she stroked out every last drop being careful not to irritate my glowing throbbing head.

As I swooned in in post orgasm reverie, she cleaned me up and went out to wash her hands. I had ten minutes left so she finished massaging my legs. I got dressed and paid her a tip and went out. She said she lived there - that was her bedroom (the bed in there was hers). I hugged her and went back down the corridors and out into reality.

As I headed for the train I was reminded of a local radio commercial for a legitimate massage therapist with the tag line, We give a whole new meaning to 'getting away from it all.' My new motto.

Birthday wish

2005-10-31T21:04:00.000-05:00

My birthday wish was thwarted by poor preparation. I was scheduled to work late on my birthday so I had the morning off - a perfect opportunity to give myself a present of a nice massage and happy ending. After seeing a review of one of the many massage parlors in the city (one that was not near my temporary office) I decided to hop on a bus and get there about the time they opened.

The directions in the local free alternative newspaper seemed pretty clear but they were for drivers getting off the highway. I figured I knew the neighborhood pretty well so I went on instinct. My instinct failed me.

I took a bus to an intersection where I thought I should take the first right. It looked good - an industrial area near one of the air dance strip clubs I never patronize, probably a mob-protected area. However none of the streets matched the ones in the newpaper. I walked around the auto salvage yard and the graphic house and the taxi company before I decided to go back to the main street and maybe catch the next bus to the MP about a mile up the road.

As I got out to the bus stop a beat up Chevy van with some contractor's name on the side went by and the passenger yelled to me. I panicked a little, thinking it was someone I knew. I started creating excuses to explain why I was where I was in the middle of a weekday morning. I don't know too many construction workers so I figured if he ever remembered, I decided to just deny it was me.

I must have been between busses so I decided I would just walk back downtown and save my trip (and my money) for another day. When I got to my office I did a mapquest search and found I was just a few blocks off. Oh well. I will have a couple of opportunities in the upcoming weeks including a trip to the big city where I can just disappear for an hour without anyone being the wiser.

Memory lane

2005-09-30T16:22:00.000-04:00

As September closes I wanted to post at least once so there would be something there under the September link in the archives. I will have to rely on my memory since I’ve had quite a dry spell as far as extracurricular activity goes.

I went to a conference a couple of years ago in a southern city – a cosmopolitan city, but definitely southern as far as strip clubs go. After a bit of research I found there was a club about a block away from my hotel. I scoped it out in the afternoon of my arrival and saw that they opened at 8 pm. It looked a little sleazy but the location was right and it probably couldn’t be all that bad since the neighborhood had many tourist hotels and government buildings.

I wandered over about 8:30 or 9 and the place was open but you would hardly know it. I went in and there were only a few employees there; the manager and a couple of female bartenders. They were involved in ordering stuff for the club and they seemed surprised to see me. I asked if they were open & they politely said they were but nothing really happens there until after 11 pm. Oh Well. I said I would be back.

Sometime between 11 and midnight I returned & things were not much different except they had rap music blaring from the sound system. It was very dark with the bar right inside the entrance, a dance stage along the right wall and small cabaret-style tables along the left wall. There were two other customers there, a couple who seemed to be friends of the manager or possibly waiting for an audition (the girl was very attractive).

I bought a bottle of water and talked to the bartender a little. She seemed pretty apologetic about how quiet it was, not literally since the music was very loud, but because there were no dancers on stage or anywhere to be seen for that matter. I figured I would wait a little while for something to happen & sat down with my drink.

I tried not to feel too uncomfortable when the speakers were shaking the walls with “fuck whitey, fuck whitey” and the manager and bouncers were getting a little rowdy by the door. The bartender wandered by and she seemed to feel bad for me since she apologized for the music. The club surely catered to black customers and I figured it was going to get very crowded with drunken patrons after some of the other bars closed. Gulp.

Finally there was a commotion at the door and four or five women stumbled in, obviously the dancers and obviously very wasted. They were loud and obnoxious and were herded up a flight of stairs between the bar and the stage apparently to the dressing room. There was also a sign up there pointing to the VIP room.

I was about ready to leave but the music changed and a couple of women climbed up on stage including the bartender I had talked to and one of the new arrivals who must have shown up in her costume or had come from another club. I couldn’t leave without at least sitting at the stage for a few minutes.

There were maybe one or two more patrons in the place but I was alone at the stage which was pretty tall so that I had to strain my neck to look at the dancers. The bartender must have felt bad for me since I waited all that time and came over for her air dance. Since it was the south, there was no contact between customers and dancers so I just got an eyeful as she shook her tits near my face and turned to jiggle the flesh on her ample ass. I half-heartedly shoved a dollar in her g-string and she peeled it down to reveal her hairy pussy. It was pretty dark but when she spread her pussy lips the bright pink inside really shined.

It was quite disappointed that there was no contact. I assumed that the good stuff would happen in the VIP room upstairs but I wasn’t about venture up there. I quietly slipped past the growing crowd of thugs at the door and made my way back to the hotel.

Creature of habit

2005-08-31T16:33:00.000-04:00

I had another meeting in the big city and I thought about visiting S who gave me a great massage and release in the half hour appointment I had. This time I thought I would go for the full hour and enjoy her two pop special.

I went back to the online forum and re-read her reviews and a few comparisons to other women in the same area. Hmmm…I began to have second thoughts since there were a couple of negative reviews of S. To each his own, of course, but there were kernels of truth in the criticisms. Mostly they complained about the clinical nature of the visit, One didn’t like the roughness of the massage and another thought the hand release was not erotic at all. For better or for worse I’m the kind of person who tries to see all sides of an issue so I could see how someone might feel that way about S’s technique.

There were reviews of others in the area so I made a list and figured I would decide what to do that morning. Should I stick with the known quantity where I know what to expect or try something different and maybe be disappointed? It’s so hard for a Libra to decide these things.

One of the other women reviewed is T who gives massages in an apartment on the same street as S. One guy said she performed a perfunctory massage and a quick, almost bruising hand job at the end. He said she was attractive and worked in her lingerie allowing some hand roaming. Another woman, J, worked several blocks away, was older than the others and was positively reviewed. The thing about her was that she brought the guy to the edge several times and let him decide the pacing of the HJ. Then there was the four hand massage at the other end of the neighborhood, but it seemed a little too expensive for me (but intriguing).

I made a list of their phone numbers and figured I would start with S and if she had no appointments, I would move on to one of the others. At least I knew what to expect with her and I knew she tried for two releases.

I called when I got off the train and S had an hour for me later that afternoon.

I arrived at the hair and nail salon where S rented a back room. This time there were customers getting their hair styled – a man and a woman. No one except the manager seemed to notice me waiting at one of the ‘barber’ chairs.

S motioned me in and we went through the same routine – she undressed me and asked me to lie face down on the table in the dimly lit room with soft string and flute music playing. She set an egg timer for the hour and began her ‘medium’ massage using her hands, elbows, knees to stretch out every muscle I had. She asked if she could work on my head and I worried about her loosening a blood clot as she rubbed down my temples. I joked that I needed a haircut (it was approaching the length I wore as a hippie in the late ‘60s) and she said I could get one there when I was done. I declined.

After my back and head she worked on my right leg right down to pulling on each of my toes just as she had done to my fingers. One thing about the hour massage, she spent more time on the details. All the while I was thinking that the reviewers who said everything was too clinical may have had a point although the massage was well worth my time there.

I knew what was coming as she kept running her hand through my ass crack as she worked on my buttocks. A little extra oil and she lubed up my cock and twirled it until it became as hard as it could while I was still lying on my stomach. She seemed to remember that I wasn’t into a prostate massage so she mainly kept her fingers out of my asshole. A little more oil and more stroking and I came in her fingers as she murmured something soothing and I groaned into the towel I had my face buried in.

She rubbed down my other leg as I caught my breath and I anticipated the flip and second try at an orgasm. I rolled over and she rubbed down my chest and shoulders. More oil and she brought me to attention again. I have to admit I was distracted by thought of the bad reviews and by her clinical appearance so I had a feeling I wouldn’t come again. I tried thinking of all the beautiful Asian women I had seen on the streets, the young pretty women in the salon outside the door, S’s ass that I had in my hand; but nothing I thought of triggered another shot. (Excuses, excuses.) After a few minutes of tugging and stroking she moved on to finish the massage. It was probably all the time she had budgeted because the timer rang as she wiped me down with the steaming towel. Neither of us spoke about the missed opportunity.

She helped me get dressed and we wished each other well. I walked back to the train station trying not to stare at the cute women on the streets.

The massage was very therapeutic but I couldn’t help being disappointed in myself for not coming twice. I guess it’s a macho thing. I had only time enough for a slice of greasy pizza before the train came, but plenty of time to contemplate my adventure. Next time I’ll break the habit and try something different.

Truth in advertising

2005-08-05T15:31:00.000-04:00

I had a good excuse to go to my new office on Saturday when only the security guards are in the building. I had some work to do, but my real intention was to take a break and walk two blocks to my usual bikini bar for a little time away from reality.

(During my daily routine in my new office I walk by three massage parlors. From the public space where I work now I can see out the window and directly across a narrow street to the entrance to one of them. It’s an office building so it’s hard to tell who the massage parlor’s customers are but I try to guess as men, mostly young, ring the buzzer and wait for a response from inside. Just a little distraction during the workday.)

I knew A would be working on Saturday – her postings on an Internet strip club forum always gave the hours she would be working each week. She must have some experience in marketing because she promotes herself in a very flirtatious way, interacting with regular posters who often give positive testimonials. Part of the discussion had to do with thin vs. ‘Rubenesque’ dancers so I knew she’s a big girl.

After I got my drink and sat at the stage the DJ announced that A and B were leaving the stage and D was on her way up. I caught a glimpse of the woman I assumed to be A as she got off stage and sat in a corner. I stayed at the stage long enough for D to come over, rub her tits in my face and then offer me her pussy to rub my nose in. I should have stayed with D, but A’s marketing worked. I walked over to the corner and introduced myself to her.

She said I was the first person who read the forum to actually visit her there, or at least I was the first to admit it. She is a large woman – big tits, large thighs but not too big an ass, and long straight dark brown hair. She wore a teddy which showed lots of cleavage and fishnet stockings stretched to the limit. I had to ask her about her comment online that the champagne room rates are negotiable. She said she offers half price but you have to commit to 2 fifteen minute time slots (for the price of one). The house still gets its money for both slots. Her rules were that all of my clothes should stay on and buttoned up. I asked about her using her hands. She said only with my clothes on. I asked about letting my hands roam; she said she encouraged it. She said the club only allows one couple at a time in the room and the bouncer only shows up when the time runs out.

I had some hesitation but I figured it would be a good way to see what the club’s new champagne room was all about. We went into the room which was originally where the pool table was. It was really a large alcove with paneled walls and four or five large couches and coffee tables. The fourth wall was a large red velvet curtain that separated it from the rest of the club.

We settled in one of the corners and she rolled down her top to release two very large natural tits. They were large enough to s stretch her nipples so they hardly protruded. Her lapdance turned out to be just a slowed-down regular dance like I’m used to getting in the semi-private area. She leaned over me and got me hard with her knee; she straddled me with her tits in my face and her crotch rubbing mine; she turned around and let her ass do the work. She did let my hands roam. Her breasts were full and jiggled very nicely in my hands as she undulated in my lap. I rubbed her pussy with my fingers and when I worked my fingers under her clothes she had one more rule: no penetration. I stroked her clit when I could. She had very small pussy lips (unless they were folded up by her ample thighs). It was difficult when she was facing away from me, grinding with her ass because I couldn’t quite reach around to get in her panties. At that point I had to suffice with cupping her tits in my hands and letting them bounce to her movements.

I was getting close to climaxing when I realized she hadn’t used her hands on me. That one the one step I wanted to take by going into the champagne room - a discreet hand job in a more private area of the club. I was too timid to ask. And besides, her hip movements were doing their job; I came while squeezing her tits and moaning into her hair.

I gave her my email address and she promised to send me some promotional photos. I haven’t seen them yet. I thanked her and went back to work.

I hope I didn’t sound like I was making fun of A’s weight. Don’t get me wrong – I have nothing against big girls. I love all women, big & small. I’m not one to be judgmental about one’s weight. A was very nice to me but overall it was not as exciting an experience as I would have liked. But I live and learn. Next time I’ll find a woman who may not be as sweet but will deliver on her promise to take advantage of the private room and be a little nastier than what I usually find in a lapdancer.

Guest blogger

2005-07-12T12:53:00.000-04:00

I have hit a dry spell in my secret life but blueeyes has graciously allowed me to post this story of his recent strip club trip:

I lived in a midwestern city from 1973 to 1975 and I frequented this club at the time. It is still run by the same owner. And it's still a small, intimate club. The big difference is that beer was $0.65 back then. It's now $3.00. There's no cover and free parking. Both of which are unheard of in the Chicago area.

I visited the club on a Monday afternoon. This is typically a slow time, but I find it's a good time to visit because the ratio of girls to guys is more favorable, i.e. not as much competition for the girls' time.

After my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I found a seat at the bar. I happened to sit two stools down from a guy who was buying the waittress and one of the dancers shots of Jaeger Meister. He'd order a pitcher of beer and three shots of Jaeger Meister. I'm not sure what Jaeger Meister is exactly because I've never had it. I'm guessing it must be whiskey of some sort. In any event, they all seemed to be having a good time and downed the shots like three amigos.

My attention was soon diverted by A, a thin dancer with nice big tits. I figured they were silicone, however, since their size and shape didn't match her thin body and tight ass. My general observation is that women with natural big tits also have a big ass. In younger girls this isn't a negative, but as they get older the big tits and big ass seem to get out of control. But I digress.

A was sexy, but she had a detached attitude about her. "Do you want a dance?" she asked me rather matter-of-factly and in a flat tone. I told her I wanted to have a couple of beers first and relax for a moment. She said she'd be back in a while. I noticed that she went back to her stool at the other end of the bar and sat by herself. The other girls were sitting with customers or in a small group.

The club has a small stage in the middle of the room and a couple of stages off to one side. But on Mondays and other slow days only the main stage is in operation. The girls take their turn on stage. I sat back and enjoyed the show, occasionally approaching the stage to tip each dancer. Tipping normally buys you a tit facial, but many of the girls were rubbing their pussy against your nose or letting their ass slide over your face. It was all good.

A came back and asked in the same detached tone if I wanted a dance. This time I said yes, hoping that the dance would exceed my limited expectations. She had one hell of a sexy body, and she gave full lap grindage, but her attitude remained aloof and detached. She just wasn't into me, and as a result I wasn't into her. At this club your hands are allowed to roam anywhere except the kitty, so I played with her bolt-on tits and tried to salvage an otherwise uneventful dance.

Meanwhile, back at the bar, this guy is buying another round of beers and shots of Jaeger Meister for the waittress and the dancer. The dancer was tall and shapely. She had skin the dark color of a Mexican or an Indian (from India), but I was unable to distinguish which she was. Her hair was dark black, and she had a couple of tatoos on her shoulder and the small of her back. The guy who was buying the drinks seemed to have exclusive rights to her time because she wasn't circulating the room.

So, I'm enjoying myself at the bar, sipping away on my beer, when the guy next to me gets up and heads for the door. Now I know the dancer he was entertaining has had at least 3 shots of Jaeger Meister because I watched her drink them. I overhear her tell the waittress how she shouldn't have drank them because now she's drunk. She asks the waittress if she can have a ride home. She walks over to the other side of the room and sits down at a table with a big, fat guy. They seem to know each other, but he doesn't buy a dance. I'm kind of watching her out of the corner of my eye just to see how drunk she really is. It soon becomes obvious from her behavior that she's not feeling any pain. And the guy who bought her all the drinks has left the premises.

After 10 minutes or so, she walks over to my bar stool. "How are things with you?" I ask.

"Oh, I'm feeling GOOOOD!!!" she exclaims with a big smile. "I shouldn't have drank those shots. I've still got to finish my shift. Hey, would you like a dance?"

I'm thinking this could be interesting, so I readily agree.

The dances at this club are done on regular chairs that are lined up against one wall. It's not very private, but everyone seems to mind their own business. J (the dancer) leads me to one of the chairs in the middle of the row. She sits on my lap and we wait for the next song to begin.

"You've got a fantastic body," I tell her.

"Thank you," she replies as she rubs my thigh.

"Do you give good dances?" I say, trying to make conversation.

"I try. For you I will."

My hand explores her tits as she gets up to start the dance.

"You going to let me play with your pussy?" I ask.

"Of course. But only if you're nice," she says coyly as she begins to rub her tits in my face.

Then she straddles my lap and begins some heavy grinding action as she reaches down with her hand and starts massaging Little Willie. Now, I have to tell you Jim, I've had lots of lap dances, but this is the first time a dancer has played with the stick shift during the test drive. Then she proceeds to moan and groan in my ear. She's breathing real heavy and licking my ear and moaning, all while she continues with double clutching the shifter. But I'm helpless to do anything about it since my hands are busy the whole time feeling her tits.

By the time the first song ends, Little Willie is standing at full attention.

"Would you like another one?" she says breathlessly.

No need to wait for my answer.

The next song begins, and J picks up right where she left off. I slip my hand between her legs and begin massaging her pussy through her g-string. I half way expected her to tell me to stop, but she just continued grinding and massaging. By now she's got me really hard, and I realize that this dance is going to have a real happy ending. I'm fingering her through the fabric of her g-string, and he's massaging Willie through my pants like there is no tomorrow. I was tempted to push aside the small triangle of fabric that covered her pussy and finger fuck her, but I was afraid of taking things too far, or perhaps catch the attention of the club manager. One good thing about this place is that they don't have a bouncer, so I wasn't too concerned about being thrown out the front door.

And so, about 2/3 of the way through the second song J manages to push me beyond the point of no return and I make my deposit. She keeps massaging Willie Johnson, and moaning and breathing in my ear right up to the end. She must have realized that she accomplished her mission because she said, "Do you want to continue or rest a while?"

I told her how fantastic her dance was, and gave her an extra tip for the effort. With that she said she hoped I'd see her again, and she wiggled off in the direction of yet another customer.

My beer-altered mind was reeling and of course now I'm confronted with this wet spot in my pants, so I decided my afternoon adventure was over. I have to tell you that this was the first time I've had a lap dance that concluded with a happy ending. And it was the first time I've fingered a dancer's pussy. So, all in all, it was a grand adventure.

The great thing about this club is that the dancers set the limits. As I said, they don't have bouncers, so just about anything goes, if the dancer allows it. I wanted to get a dance with this thin blonde gal, but she was in constant demand. As I sat at the bar, I casually watched her lap dances, and for much of the time she was lying on the floor, supported by her head and upper back, with her legs up on the guy's shoulders. It almost looked to me like the guy was rubbing his nose in her pussy. He was holding her by her hips and had his head bent down, but it was dark enough that I couldn't see all that well. The main landmark was her white, high heeled shoes pointing toward the ceiling. Every time I looked over in that direction, I could see her white shoes high in the air. Guess I have no choice but to check her out for myself on my next trip.

All in all, this strip club experience was one of the best I've ever had thanks to the generosity of the Jaeger Meister man. Thanks, Jaeger Meister man, wherever you are.

Excuses, excuses

2005-06-30T23:27:00.000-04:00

I backdated this to June 30 just so I could keep up my 2 postings per month. My secret life has been put on hold recently while my real life has commanded my attention for several weeks now. I haven’t been reading, let alone writing blogs for a while.

Lots of excuses – work has remained crazy in spite of the advent of the slow season; a mentally ill family member has been acting up causing no end to stress and distraction; moving my office has meant lots of cleaning and purging.

One funny thing – looking out of my new office window, directly across the street, is the entrance to one of the downtown massage parlors. I’ll be dreaming about it.

Back in the swing of things

2005-06-17T14:35:00.000-04:00

One of the busy times at work just ended and I took a few vacation days to decompress. I haven’t had much time for blogging, either reading or writing. It’s nice having time to myself on a weekday when everyone else is off doing their workday thing. On Monday I had an extra chunk of time to visit my regular bikini bar.

There has been a lot of Internet forum talk of the club’s new time clock used to count the private dances. After an initial fury about getting ripped off, things have settled down. I would just have to see for myself.

It was hot and steamy and the downtown streets were deserted just after lunch time. I slipped in and got used to the dark sitting at the bar. When I felt I could make my way to the stage without tripping I sat at one end and watched a rather large dancer in a flowing chiffon robe over her bikini. O wasn’t fat, just ‘big-boned.’ The place was virtually empty so she came over and said hello as she did some yoga stretching, bringing her foot behind her head and left her pussy lips bulging out of her thong. She sat on the edge of the stage with her feet on my chair, leaned over, pulled down her top and wrapped her rather ample and firm tits around my face. She stayed there for a while, rolling them around with her hands and letting me discreetly run my hands up her side to caress her, all the while covered in chiffon and perfume. O left and came back with the same routine but she kept making little jokes and destroying any mood she was creating with the tit tent.

The next dancer was a black woman named D who was about the same size as the previous dancer. (I have no problem with big women. I just remember one time a while ago I had a dance with a heavy woman whom I think I insulted when she first sat on my lap – she forced all the air out of me in a big grunt [I am pretty thin]. The rest of the song she gave me an air dance with a scowl on her face.) D had a very similar routine as O, rolling her tits around on my face, but she seemed more interested in the songs they were playing than in drumming up business for a private dance.

Next came S, a short, thin, dark-skinned woman who wore a tiger-striped one-piece bathing suit that was tight everywhere except around her pelvis. She said she was a ‘bad girl’ which peaked my interest. She pulled down her top to reveal small deflated breasts. There was some flesh at the bottom of each, but the skin on top seemed to rest against her chest. Her nipples were large and firm though (I found out later) and she played much more to her strength – her ass and pussy. She made sure her crouch spent a lot of time near my face and even pulled aside her suit to reveal a hairy pussy with lots of lip hanging out. She let my hands roam up and down her legs and ass and didn’t object when I ran my fingers over her mound and clit through the fabric. “You like to touch!” she said and added, “I do too.” She asked my nationality & only had a laugh when I said I was Irish. She said she was Cape Verdean and Italian, and again a ‘bad girl.’

We agreed on a private dance. When she was collecting her stuff, I saw G come on stage and regretted not waiting for her. But I figured I’d go with the new experience. S assured me that the time clock was there to prevent dancers from ripping off patrons so I accepted her propaganda and clocked in with her. We got started right away and she used her knees to set me up right and then went right to grinding, first with her front to me and then her back. While she was switching she gave me a few discreet strokes by hand or rolled her head around on my cock. She gave me free reign with my hands and I concentrated on her ass, her hard belly and her pussy. She was really wet down there and the fabric was so loose that it was hard to tell if I had a handful of flesh or cloth. She stuck her nipple in my mouth and told me to suck even though it seemed that everything was already sucked out.

As I promised at the stage, I gave her a back rub as she was grinding. She seemed very appreciative and stepped up her efforts at making me cum. She locked my cock between her pussy lips and began a methodical rhythm from base to tip until I couldn’t hold out any more.

When I relaxed she laughed and whispered in my ear, “Did you cum in your pants?” I said I hoped I didn’t make too much noise. She told the story of another one of her customers who was moaning and groaning and almost gave them both away. I didn’t doubt her as I tried to remember how expressive I was just a couple of minutes before.

I paid on the way out and was relieved to find out I was charged what I should have been. S wanted me to stay and chat, but as per my routine I said I had to leave. She said she knew me from another club, one I haven’t visited in several years. I vaguely rememberd her name when she told me what she danced by then, but I said I look a lot different now without the coke bottle glasses I used to wear. She said, even so… Maybe she’s more perceptive than I figured.

So I went out into the steamy weather, my tee shirt covering the wet spot on my pants (not enough clothing in the summer to absorb my little spoonful). The weather gave me a good excuse to jump in the shower immediately when I got home to wash away the evidence.

This may be my last trip here for a while since I’ll be working every day for six months about two blocks away. I don’t want to be too familiar a character in the dirty parts of town. Of course, there are other dirty parts of town where I can take my business.

Follow your bliss

2005-05-24T16:01:00.000-04:00

One of the professional groups I belong to meets a couple of times a year in the big city. It’s an hour to get there by commuter train, and a short subway ride takes me within a ten minutes’ walk of my destination. The meetings usually end by noon but the first train back leaves at 3:45. With several hours to explore the city alone, who knows what might happen.

Of course I had been keeping up on craigslist and yahoo groups so I thought I might try a massage by a woman named S in Chinatown whom several people mentioned. She got high ratings not only for the happy ending but also for her massage (what a concept). I called the day before to make an appointment and to get directions. She works out of a back room in a hair salon tucked away on an anonymous side street in the middle of Chinatown.

I walked down the stairs into the basement entrance of a brownstone building covered in Chinese and English signs. Two tres chic young Chinese women working in the salon greeted me and one went back to tell S I was here. Luckily there were no women having their hair done while I waited in front of a row of tables with mirrors, scissors, hair dryers etc. I watched a live musical performance on TV with English subtitles ("La la la…Oh oh oh") while I waited.

In a couple of minutes a large Asian man came out of the back room with a smile on his face and walked quickly past me. S waved and said she’d be right back after cleaning up. She came back and beckoned me into the back. The room was very small – looked like a converted storage room – with very low light and a table that took up most of the space. S looked to be in her mid to late 30s with short black hair. She was wearing a long white lab coat over black pants so the whole scene reminded me of a trip to the doctor’s office. She spoke broken English, but enough so we understood each other. I got the impression she was a serous business woman and that I was not frequenting some sex slave operation as many Asian massage parlors are purported to be.

It was my first time there so she explained that she does one or one-half hour sessions. I wasn’t sure what to expect so we agreed on a half-hour and if I liked it, next time I would go for the full hour. She told me she didn’t think I would show up, so she called a regular client who was apparently waiting to hear from her to book the other half-hour. Nothing was mentioned about endings, happy or otherwise.

She asked me to get undressed and, in what looked like a reflex, she bent over to help me with my shoes and socks. Must be a cultural thing. We both got my clothes off rather awkwardly and I lay down naked on my stomach and S put a towel over the lower part of my body. She asked me if I like it heavy or light and, not being very sure what heavy meant, I asked for something in between. She dribbled oil and began a serious massage on by back and shoulders using her hands, elbows, knees, working out all the kinks. Working quickly, she went over everything again giving special attention to my shoulders and neck. There was no shower there and I was a little worried about going home with a telltale smell or feel but the oil was odorless and she brought out a steaming hot towel to rub down my back.

She moved the towel from my legs to my back and started working the muscles in my right leg. I had done a lot of walking that day so this was a real treat. With the wonderful massage I was beginning to forget why I was there. I was reminded when S started to rub the oil over my butt checks and ran her fingers into the crack, hesitantly at first but then with regular strokes as she kneaded my thighs and cheeks. After oiling up my ass and working on the thigh she began to reach under to get at my cock. Now I remembered why I was here.

She twirled her fingers around the head and stroked until I got hard even though I was on my stomach and it was still pointing toward my feet. I raised my pelvis a little to give her (and me) a little more room. I was enjoying the oily manipulation so much I didn’t notice her other hand was moving deeper and deeper into my upturned ass crack and she started to fuck me with her little finger. I’m not a great fan of ass play and although it wasn’t that uncomfortable, it wasn’t a turn-on either. She sensed something and asked "Inside or outside?" I politely asked her to stay outside.

As she kept stroking my cheeks and crack and twirling my cock she leaned over the table a little and I found my hand lying within a cunt hair’s distance of her cunt hair. I softly caressed her inner thigh and her pussy through her pants. It was enough to put me over the edge. I came in her hand and she pulled every last drop out. She leaned over and whispered, "OK?" in my ear. All I could do was groan in affirmation in my blissful state.

She cleaned herself and wiped me off and began on the other leg. It was getting late and she finished by pounding my pelvis bone toward my head a little and then started working on my cock again. There was a knock on the door – her next appointment was here. I was hard & she said to me, "Just one more minute" and asked me to turn over. I saw that she had taken her lab coat off and had only a bra on top. I copped a quick feel as she stroked me quickly in a more traditional fashion hoping I would come again right away. And I would have, but it was hard to concentrate knowing someone was waiting outside. She stopped and said "Half-hour, one time. One hour, two time." She got another steaming towel and cleaned me off.

Again, she helped me get dressed and gave me her card. We embraced, bowed to each other and left the room. She suggested I comb my hair and showed me to the bathroom as she got ready for her next appointment.

The hot & sour soup in the restaurant next door was excellent and the homemade ice cream at the train station was delicious. All I needed was a couple of tokes to top off a decadent, self-indulgent afternoon.

At the meeting I went to in the morning there was talk of needing a new chair. I’m going to volunteer so I’ll have to make more frequent trips to the city.

I thought the stars were all lined up

2005-05-11T15:26:00.000-04:00

It was another Sunday afternoon after my trip when things started to fall into place. My wife was involved in a project that was going to occupy her time for several hours; I had an excuse to go on some errands; the busses don’t run very often so I could pad my excursion with enough time to squeeze in a visit to my favorite bikini bar. Enough with those midwest rules – I was ready for some two-way contact with a willing dancer. On Sundays private dances were 2 for 1 and I could even put up with the NASCAR races on TV that they promote to bring in business.

It was a cool day and downtown was deserted. The circus had left town and it was Mother’s Day so only the panhandlers and a few working stiffs were around. Everything was going my way but I had a feeling that something would go wrong. It was too easy. Maybe I would see a friend who was catching up on work in his office or I might run into a relative who had his own errands to run.

I ducked down the club’s side street – there was no reason to ‘duck’ since I saw no one in any direction. I reached for that door and – locked. The sign taped to the door said the club would open at 6 pm because of Mother’s Day. Nice of them to be so considerate of the moms on their staff.

Oh well. I knew it was too easy. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and put my best-laid plans on hold.

Field trip - Day 2

2005-04-30T23:49:00.000-04:00

It was unusually nice out during my second day at the conference and I had a chance to blow off a couple of workshops and walk to another nearby strip club. This one was an ‘upscale’ club that offered ‘bed dances’ which sounded very intriguing to me. The online forum patrons didn’t say much about it so I would have to find out on my own.

The club was near a commuter rail stop and around the corner from another dive club. In fact, smaller club had a big ad on the side of its building overlooking the door on the upscale club enticing patrons around the corner. I went past the downstairs peep show up the stairs to the entrance (I wondered about a handicap entrance). I interrupted an argument between the manager and a couple dancers who disappeared inside. There was no cover but I had to buy an overpriced non-alcoholic drink at the bar right inside the entrance. It was a big room with a U-shaped stage on one wall and a lot of small round tables in the middle of the room. It was pretty dark except for the stage and the couch area – it seemed the only lighting was provided by the small lights strung around the walls. The couches in the back were arranged like a little living room with coffee tables and lamps, kind of like the place I was at the previous day.

There was a dancer on stage and one other customer in the place who got up and left while I sat at one of the tables. It wasn’t more than a minute when S, a lanky white woman in her 20’s came over. I got to the point and asked her about dances. Typical couch dances over in the living room. I asked about bed dances. She pointed to a very dark corner and gave me the price, about he same as a few couch dances, since they had a special during the slow time of the afternoon. She also explained the rules – I had to keep my hands to myself; only she could initiate contact “short of giving you a handjob.” I wish.

She had to hold my hand to lead me to the back so I wouldn’t trip down the couple of steps in the dark room. The waitress came and asked if I would buy the dancer a drink. She brought back S’s soda as I was emptying my pockets to be more comfortable.

The bed was up a step in a little alcove with just the club’s ambient light to see with. I thought for a moment how often they wash the bedspread or pillowcases. I lay on my back and S began her moves. She rubbed me to erection with her knee, straddled me backward and forward, wet her nipple and asked me to blow on them to get them standing at attention, kneeled over my face and pulled aside her thong. I was dying to run my hands along her flesh, rub my face in her tits, dip my fingers in the pot but when I even grazed her ankle, she moved my hand away. She knew what boys like anyway and got into a fucking groove, wedging my cock between her butt cheeks and accomplishing the mission.

We cuddled for a minute and I got my act together. I realized I forgot to tip the waitress and she seemed surprised as I gave her money on my way out. The sun was blinding as I left and blended into the afternoon strollers.

Field trip, day 1

2005-04-18T13:45:00.000-04:00

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.)

Sirens in the city

2005-03-30T09:28:00.000-05:00

I will be filling in for someone in another office for five or six months beginning this summer. My new space will be in the middle of vice city. Within a two block radius of my new office there is a bikini bar (my usual haunt), an AMP (Asian Massage Parlor) and an adult book/video store.

Expand the radius a few more blocks there’s another bikini bar (reputed to be the sleaziest in town) two more AMPs and a notorious area for street walkers.

It’s not as down-and-out as it sounds. There are also theatres, libraries, colleges & universities, restaurants, hotels, bars and dance clubs, condos, and plenty of retail.

What a country!

I just worry about becoming too familiar a face in the area. My professional self should not be seen patronizing any of those pleasure sites. It wouldn’t do my career any good. In a way I’d rather be much more anonymous; on the other hand, being a ubiquitous presence downtown may make me blend in better.

To make matters more interesting, I have friends who work in several of those surrounding ‘legitimate’ buildings. In fact one works overlooking one end of the side street my favorite club is on and another works near the other end of the street. I will just have to work on my disguises I guess.

Lead us not into temptation…

Another quickie

2005-03-15T16:44:00.000-05:00

K is a tall black woman, probably mid-twenties. She was on stage when I entered the club last Saturday. The bar was kind of crowded so I just sat near the stage knowing a waitress would come by eventually. She came over just as I was sidling up to meet K. I hurriedly paid for my tonic and lime and sat at the stage.

There weren’t too many customers around the main part of the club so K came right over to pay me some attention. She was nicely shaped, not too skinny but not overweight either. Let’s say there was some meat on her bones (but nicely distributed). Her gold chains banged against her medium-sized, but heavy tits and she got on all fours in front of me. She dropped her bra so she could mush herself into my face before sitting on the edge of the stage with her knees on either side of my head inviting me to run my fingers all over.

This would have been enough for me to ask her for a private dance but she sealed the deal with a rather unique move. She hooked the toe of one of her stiletto heels under my crotch and, finding the right spot, she stroked behind my balls with her toe to harden up the base of my cock. That was my sign that she knew what boys like in the private booths.
We sat in a booth waiting for the next full song to start. At first we sat together with her hand on my thigh, but another dance poked her head in saying she was missing her costume. K said she hadn’t seen it and then kind of curled up with her feet on the seat and her arms folded over her knees. I tried not to read between the lines.

She was still friendly however. She asked if I lived in town and then talked a little about how a lot of men came down from the big city because there was no action in that state’s clubs. I told her about the club I went to up there where you could get a hand job under the table for the right price. She said You get what you pay for. She said she was only working as a dancer for a few more months - she was about to graduate from a local college with a degree in radiology. Luckily it’s been a while since I had anything to do with that college so I wasn’t afraid of getting recognized.

The song started and K went to work. She had only a couple of moves but they were effective. She faced me getting everything straightened out with her knee and offering those heavy, juicy, brown grapefruit tits to me to squeeze and to suck on her hard nipples. She slid down my torso and very discretely (there were others in the booths) worked on my cock through my pants. She hid herself with her long thick black hair and used the fingers on both hands to stroke me. She then got up and turned around, strategically wrapping my cock in her ass crack and continued the up and down with her pelvis. She had very nice dimples on above her cheeks on either side of her backbone and her boobs hung down for more fondling.

She turned around again for more hand action & this time I thought she was going to take my story to heart and unbuckle me for a hand job. Instead, she tucked a couple fingers inside my pants and played with my little head for a bit. Needless to say I was on the edge. I went over the edge when she went back to stroking me with her ass cheeks. I was helping her by grabbing her hips and directing her movement, feeling her vice grip just as if I were doing the deed for real.

On my way out I saw the waitress who gave me my drink and I stuck a bill in her hand saying I forgot to tip her earlier. She was pleasantly surprised. Even though it was chilly out I walked with my jacket open and my hat off to take one of Ben Franklin’s air baths to reduce the perfume and cigarette smell before I got home. I also stopped at the pet store for some terrarium supplies and hung around there a little bit to absorb some of the cedar chip and pet food smells to mask any lingering bar residue. I reached home without incident.

Navel gazing

2005-02-25T14:58:00.000-05:00

I hope my visits to the same bikini bar aren’t sounding too repetitive, but it’s the most convenient place for me to live out that part of my secret life. It’s a routine that’s relatively safe and discreet and allows my fantasy cache to refill every now and then. When circumstances allow, I plan to branch out to other venues and I will share my experiences.

There are other aspects of my secret self besides strip club mongering that I could confess here. For a while I was a voyeur photographer and I keep my collection pretty much to myself. When I figure out how to use the image software on this site, I will post some pictures. And of course there are always fantasies to write about, but I have the feeling that men’s fantasies can be really boring to others. And as someone who works in a profession with a code of ethics, I feel that I have to employ some self-censorship when fantasies involve some of the people I see in real life.

The one good thing about going to strip clubs (and I may have said this before) is that it satisfies my need for extracurricular sex without all the emotional baggage that an affair can bring. Been there, done that. It would be nice to find a fuck buddy, friend with benefits, but that seems uncomfortably close to carrying on an affair. Besides, with my schedule, spur of the moment visits to a club when I can is much easier than juggling rendezvous times with another person. Maybe things will change – secret real sex with a real woman would certainly be a lot nicer than dry humping in the back corner of a club.

At any rate, let this self-reflection serve as a place-holder until I write up my most recent bikini bar visit.

An old favorite

2005-02-16T16:39:00.000-05:00

One Sunday I announced I was going downtown to spend a Borders gift certificate. The busses were on a holiday schedule so I had an excuse to pad my trip by an hour or so. I slipped into my bikini bar around 2pm and it seemed like a normal crowd for a weekend afternoon. There were several dancers milling around, some sitting with their 'regulars.'

The first couple of dancers on stage weren't too exciting. I caught the end of L's set - she's a little on the heavy side but was very friendly as she stuck her tits in my face and rubbed them all over my head. My hard-on told me to ask her for a dance but when she got off stage she went right back to her guy, a big thug. I wasn't about to interrupt them to ask. P took the stage next - a dark-haired, nicely shaped woman who spread her legs in front of me and stroked her pussy with her middle finger and turned over and slapped her ass real hard. She was standoff-ish with me, but was all over a couple of the other men at the stage. Maybe she doesn't trust men she doesn't know.

I sat back at a table away from the stage and waited to see who was next. A dirty blonde dancer came to sit with me. She was very thin and looked like a crack addict. Her name was S and she had just started working there. I was afraid she would ask if I wanted a private dance because she was kind of scary. I needed an excuse to get away from her and it came in the form of one of my old favorites - C took the stage next. Before she left, P joined C in attending to a fat guy sitting at the stage, rubbing 4 tits all over him and running their hands over his mounds of flesh. "Must be a regular" I said to S who indicated he was. As I looked at her I saw a guy with greasy black hair and leather jacket come over to stand behind S. He looked just as strung out and was acting more like a boyfriend than a regular so I took my cue to excuse myself to go to the stage.

C said she remembered me, but I'm always skeptical of the lines dancers hand me. She was her friendly self as she giggled that it was her birthday a few days ago and she's been drunk ever since. She's tall with long, frizzed-out strawberry blonde hair and she was wearing her usual costume - stockings and a black lace teddy with a very short black skirt. It's a bikini bar so the important parts must stay covered, but that's never been a problem for dancers here. C pulled out her tits and rubbed them in my face and spread her legs so I could rut around under her skirt. I asked if she had a lot of men waiting for a private dance and was surprised to hear that she was available after her set.

She took me up into the private dance area. There were a couple other couples in there and C guided me to a corner. She sat next to me and we cuddled a little bit before she lay on her stomach across my lap with her tits conveniently over my left hand and her pelvis over my right. I discreetly ran my hand up her leg to that little valley where thigh meets pussy lips and tentatively stroked her pussy through the black lace. She didn't seem to mind (I never know how far to go with dancers so I politely test their limits.)

She got up to do the dance for real. She started by straddling me and began a slow back and forth rhythm with her crotch running up and down my hardening cock. Unlike a lot of dancers who change their positions often, C kept this up for a while. She kept a poutty, concentrating-on-sex look on her face and leaned in every now and then to breathe down my neck and moan a little in my ear. I loved to nuzzle behind her ear and take in her scent. She also pulled out her tits (usually the one not visible from the door) and offered them to me to fondle and squeeze. She looked over her shoulder every now and then to make sure we wouldn't get busted (so to speak).

By now I was rock hard and I kept thrusting my hips to match her rhythm and hoping I was giving her some pleasure too. In another test, I ran my hands down over her mound and found that the material around her crotch was pulled to one side and half of her pussy was showing. I ran my finger under the lace between thrusts and stroked her clit a little. I seemed to be a little swollen and I like to think it was from the friction on my cock. I guessed I reached her limit and she switched positions. She got on her knees and started to simulate a titty fuck. The pressure and steady movement was bringing me to the bursting point.

She glanced at the door again and brought her arms up so her hands were up at my belt level. She discreetly brought one hand lower and her fingers started to fiddle with the tip of my cock which by then was at my belt level too. A minute or two of that and that was it. I came as she continued to tweak me. Her fiddling became a little painful after I shot my load and I said I was all set.

I don't think she realized I had come at first because she seemed disappointed that I had her stop. As we stood up she hugged me and ran her knees up to my crotch and turned around to rub her butt against my spent unit. I explained what happened and she was back to her friendly self. I paid her and she wanted to sit with me for a while. I really wanted to, but I still had to go to the bookstore (y excuse) and get home before suspicions arose. I will have to make it up to her next time I see her, and I'll also see how much farther I can push her limits.

I rushed to the store, bought some stuff and made it home without incident.

Condensed soup

2005-01-31T16:45:00.000-05:00

Interesting article from a few months ago in the British newspaper The Observer titled The Brothel Creeper. It’s a cynical but perceptive look at the differences between sex for money and sex with a more spiritual/emotional basis. The article is based on the old joke that sex for money is a lot less expensive than sex for free. His philosophy: "…the prostitute and the client, like the addict and the dealer, is the most successfully exploitative relationship of all. And the most pure. It is free of ulterior motives. There is no squalid power game. The man is not taking and the woman is not giving. The whore fuck is the purest fuck of all."

There must be (or have been) a debate in England about legalizing prostitution, and even though the author advocates patronizing prostitutes, he still wants brothels to remain illegal because he treasures his secret life. Although I’m not addicted enough (yet) to be pursuing street-walkers, I’m realistic enough to see strip clubs, at least where I live, to be brothels in disguise.

As I see it, I’m living a very compressed version of the experimental period I never had. I married pretty young and did not ‘play the field.’ That was actually OK during the beginnings of the AIDS epidemic in the eighties – monogamy was cool – but in these sex-obsessed times, it makes me wonder what it’s all about. So my short-term relationships that I should have had before I was married are now happening in the very short term, like say a half-hour or so.

The meeting phase happens when a dancer does her 15-minute shift on the stage, stopping by to flirt, to entice, to sell herself to me & I make a decision to get to the courting phase. I ask her for a private dance. Courting is just small talk as we wait for the next song to begin and then we progress toward consummating the relationship during the dance, starting off slowly, getting hotter and hotter, and finally reach what we both want. I get off and she gets her just reward.

We then have an amicable break-up and go our merry ways. It’s a stripped down (so to speak) version of a relationship – stripped of emotional baggage, dependence, and animosity.

Return from Hades

2005-01-13T10:02:00.000-05:00

Four funerals in as many weeks have kept me from blogging and strip club mongering. I'm really getting itchy to resume, but in the meantime, I have a story from my archive.

I rode the commuter train to the big city up the line on business & I had a couple of hours to kill in the afternoon before the train started back. Not surprisingly I got no response to my Craig's List posting looking for a lunch companion so I decided to see what has become of the city’s infamous red light district. I did my homework and found two strip clubs in the city, an 'upscale' club (where the pro athletes hang out) and another which is more of a dive bar. Of course I knew where I was headed.

Both clubs are on a street the width of an colonial alley that runs between a street in the trendy theatre district to a street on the edge of an ethnic neighborhood. There are a couple of dirty bookstores around there and the two clubs - what's left of the adult businesses cleaned up ten or fifteen years ago. I ducked into the dive bar and grabbed a seat at the bar waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dark. It's a long narrow room with a U shaped bar & there were quite a few people there for 1 in the afternoon. At the open end of the U, away from the door was a raised stage where a chubby white woman with a long black wig danced slowly in a bikini bottom. Along one side of the room were U shaped booths with tables and black leather seats where customers and dancers got together.

One of the first things I noticed was that there was no cigarette smoke. I had a feeling this is one of those cities that has banned smoking in restaurants and bars. One thing I don't have to be ready to explain away later. Also banned is any contact between dancers and patrons - there has to be a 5 foot distance kept at all times. What fun is that? But I knew from my research that plenty goes on in the booths.

I wasn't in my seat long before a slightly overweight, very fleshy Hispanic woman sat next to be and asked if I wanted company which I knew meant buying her an over-priced drink. I naturally said yes and got us both drinks. As we started to chit chat J was very friendly and ran her hands all over me. She unbuttoned my shirt and pinched my nipples. She took my hands from her legs and encouraged me to reach inside her bikini bra which I did readily. She rubbed my cock and asked discreetly if I wanted to come. I nodded. It seemed like she's about 7-8 months into learning English, but I understood her perfectly well. She and the bartender told me the deal - buy a half or full bottle of champagne or several drinks and you can go to a booth with the dancer for some 'privacy.' While I was deciding she was persuading me with more stroking and nuzzling. "You like licky dick?" she asked at one point. I laughed and said that comes with the full bottle, right? I probably wasn't far off the mark.

I broke down and ordered a half-bottle and we went over to a booth (that's what I was there for anyway). We took the first booth which was up a couple of steps. I looked down on the booth to my left which was at floor level and was filled with dancers having their lunch - great-smelling Asian food. The table in our booth was about chest high to people walking by between the booths and the bar. J sat on my right and moved very close, cuddling, stroking, cooing, chatting and mixing her champagne with cranberry juice. At some point she double-checked to see if I still wanted to come and then pulled my shirttail out from in front of my pants. Over the next few minutes she alternated between discreetly unzipping my pants, innocently sipping her drink, pulling down the waistband of my briefs, and putting her arms around me, depending on where the bartender was and how many people were walking by the booth. She succeeded in pulling my cock out and covering it with my shirttail - needless to say it was standing at attention. At that point I wished I had worn pants with a longer fly.

She asked me to give her a back rub. She put her head down on her left arm on the table and reached under with her right hand and started stroking. I massaged her back with my right hand and her tits with my left. Somehow she knew when the manager or a customer was going to walk by or when the bartender was serving someone across from our booth and she straightened up, covered my cock with my shirt and attended to her drink. When the coast was clear she leaned over and we both went to work again. This happened several times, leaving me at the brink of coming each time. She was a little rough and my clothes were a little tight but she succeeded anyway. I came in my shirttail and on my black pants as I disguised my heavy breathing by burying my face in her neck and hair.

She straightened up again for a passer-by and asked me in a whisper if I came. I smiled and she checked the wet spot. She seemed proud of herself and we continued talking as if nothing had happened. I put things back together and finished my beer and she finished her champagne (what a job - giving hand jobs and drinking all day). Another dancer sat with us and asked me to buy her a drink. I told her I was out of money and J translated for me (no diniero). Eventually she left and J led me to the men’s room where I cleaned up.

She tried to convince me to stay but I had to go. She walked me to the door and we embraced and pecked each other on the lips. I looked back as I was leaving the entry way and she was still watching me, smiling, and she waved goodbye. I walked into the bright sunshine and wandered around a little and eventually made it to the train station for my ride back home.

IRL

2004-12-06T16:44:00.000-05:00

The twists and turns of real life have my head spinning. I'll be back to write more when the dizziness goes away.

Speaking of red states...

2004-11-19T14:13:00.000-05:00

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

2004-11-10T13:34:00.000-05:00

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.

Reminiscing

2004-10-27T16:38:00.000-04:00

Writing about the so-called Stench Palace made me reminisce about some of the trips I have made there in the past few years. It’s a very traditional topless club that has a reputation for being pretty sleazy, and based on some of the Internet reports I have seen about it, its reputation is well-deserved. I’m too cheap to spend the money for a VIP room or even the nude room, but that’s where some of the reported hand jobs, blow jobs and full service sex happens with the right dancer. I haven’t gotten to go there as much as I would like but one of these days I’ll make another pilgrimage. Maybe I’ll even save up enough money to try to find some extra services.

A few memories of Palace dancers I have seen:

A Brazilian named S who found me in the ‘test drive’ area and discreetly grabbed me in the right place and whispered something dirty in my ear. Naturally I asked her for a private dance. She was so enthusiastic that she started rubbing me the right way so that I almost came before the song even started.

Then there was C, a short, fleshy, oddly shaped woman. When I first had a dance with her she asked me what I liked so she would be sure to please the next time she saw me. I was non-committal but satisfied. The second and last time I saw her she kept offering me her pussy while she was on stage. I was too polite and concerned with the alleged house rules to do much more than to gently caress the soft bulge in her thong. I probably could have slipped my fingers inside. After her stage dance I was standing in a dark corner near the dressing room when she came out and recognized me from the stage. She sidled up to me making sure her tit was rubbing against my side. I reached around and fondled the side of her other breast and then settled my hand on her ass. “Should I get a dance ticket?” I asked, and off we went and off I got.

L must be one of the club’s bdsm dancers. She is a tall blonde with permed-out hair, wide hips and perfect natural breasts. I’m usually slow to fondle a dancer on stage too much but L grabbed my hands and brought them up to her tits, encouraging me to knead away. She played a little rough in the private dance area, grabbing different parts of me, pinching my nipples and giving me piercing, almost evil looks. I tweaked her nipples hard in return and slapped her ass. She seemed to relish the pain (a lot more than I did). It was still a rush and a memorable release.

Ah, V. A short, very thin but nicely shaped white girl with fruit cup tits and a gorgeous round ass. Whenever V’s name comes up on discussion boards her backside is always mentioned. (There is usually also some discussion of her providing ‘extras’ outside the club, but that may be just nastiness. I never asked her about it.) I’ve had a few dances with her and she definitely knows what a guy likes. She has very long and frizzy dirty blonde hair which is used to great effect to hide my hands from the bouncer as they explore her breasts. If I remember, she used her knee to do what her hands would have done under different circumstances.

Can’t wait to get back there.

It's about time

2004-10-05T17:42:00.000-04:00

Work has been crazy lately, especially since I’m still playing catch-up after my sick leave so I’ll try to pick up where I left off. My last excursion left me frustrated so I worked it out so I could squeeze in another trip at the end of my leave.

I really wanted to go to a different club this time and I almost did. The one I had in mind is a topless club affectionately know by its patrons as the Stench Palace. The decision came at the last minute as I hopped on my bicycle at the ATM and had to choose a direction to point the wheel.

I weighed my options like a good Libra should (not that I pay any attention to astrology). On the plus side, the Palace has topless dancers and a nude room, a sleazy reputation, several Brazilian dancers (high marks from the SC internurds), and more traditional strip club activities than my regular bikini bar. I have fond memories of some of the dancers there. On the down side, it’s more expensive and there is a lot of roadwork on the way – not easy on a bike. But what really tipped the scales was the fact that the club is on a street that is an alternate route when the highway is jammed up. I knew my wife would be travelling up the highway between appointments around that time and could cross my path if the she got tired of sitting in traffic. I headed to my bikini bar.

I locked my bike a couple blocks away and slipped through some side streets and into the club. It was kind of slow on a weekday afternoon, very laid back. I had read about the new dancers here & I did see all new faces. I sat at the stage and a beautifully fleshy dancer came over me. C looked kind of Asian or maybe more Polynesian with a round face and straight black hair. She wasn’t necessarily fat but the smallest parts of her were her tits which she generously offered to me as she pulled down her top and squeezed them in my face. I caressed them discreetly with my hands. She must have had some experience at another club (maybe the Palace) because she lowered herself onto my lap for a ‘test drive’ like dancers do in places that are designed for that – like at a ring of tables around the stage where dancers offer ‘cabaret’ dances for a couple of bucks. Anyway she did a little lap dance as a preview of what her private dance would be like. I was certainly getting hard but she didn’t have a lot of muscle tone. Not that that’s a bad thing, it just didn’t turn me on as much. As she lifted herself up she swooshed her crotch around a little in front of me and I brought my hand up under her and stroked her pussy. She seemed to like it as she smiled and brought a little pressure of her own on my fingers.

One thing about the new women there - they aren’t pushy at all. I expected the sales pitch after our little encounter but C danced away to another customer. Next came D, a pretty black/latina with short black hair cut in a flapper-type bob and too much hair spray. She had a very similar routine as C. She too flaunted the rules and pulled down her top and really seemed to like it when I licked and sucked on her nipples and ran my hands along the sides of her breasts. She had very lovely natural tits, the kind that gently splay off to the sides with large brown, erect nipples. She also gave me a sample of her lap dance which was enough for me to ask her for a private dance at the end of her set.

Something else new - the songs seem to run longer than usual. We sat on the couch in the middle of a song and waited for the next one, and the dance, to begin. She had a rose stem and bud tattoo on her thigh. She said she did it, and several others herself. Nice job. Even the one on her right shoulder was nicely done considering she used her left hand to do it. She said she had only been working as a dancer for a few months. I was surprised, considering her performance on stage (and later considering her lap dance moves).

When the dance started she removed her top and short skirt and straddled me making sure I had access to her tits. She pretty much stayed in one position the whole time, just finding the right spot with her pussy to grab hold of my cock for a long slow grind. She started with light pressure and as the music warmed up, so did she. I ran my hands all over her but she seemed to really enjoy my attention to her tits. They were very nicely shaped - not too big, not too small – and she encouraged me to squeeze, caress, fondle and mush my face all over them. I spent some time sucking her nipples which seemed to be just as large and hard on the inside of her breasts as they were on the outside. I licked and sucked with abandon and I even heard her let out a few grunt/sighs as I lost myself in her chest. I tried not to pay any attention to the gold cross hanging between the lovely orbs.

Her grinding became more intense as she sensed me getting close to release. She never let up and I had to hold on tight as I let go, with my hands full of tit and my mouth full of nipple.

The song was still going and she slowed down a little asking me if I wanted to finish the song. I said I was finished and we cuddled for the few minutes remaining. (The songs are definitely longer.) I asked her, like I do with other dancers, if she ever gets off doing lap dances. She said sometimes, but she never tells. I knew it was too short a time with me for that to happen but, if we went for another song with the way her pussy was grooving, who knows.

I made it home without incident. Later I found out that if I had stuck with my original plan I would have missed seeing my wife on the highway bypass street by about ten minutes. And if I had been delayed by roadwork, there’s a good chance she would have seen me. I guess I must be living right.

Fashion statement

2004-09-10T16:26:00.000-04:00

I’m really glad that the latest button-down, cover-up trend in fashion has not hit this college town yet. I’m not a very dedicated follower of fashion, but I’ve heard that midriffs are out and modesty is back. But so far, the coeds around here are still flashing a lot of flesh. (Interesting how the porn industry and media have changed the meaning of ‘coed’ from the innocent and novel concept of college girls in the ‘50s to the sex-crazed and free-spirited sluts of the last 20 years – almost as dirty as ‘schoolgirl.’)

It may take another fashion season or two before the shades are drawn, but until then I’ll revel in the short shorts and long, still tanned legs, short skirts and short shirts. Nothing keeps my blood flowing to the right places more than shapely legs showing all the way up to the soft little bulge at the top of the thigh inches from a barely covered pussy; or a thin swishy skirt barely hanging on to a nicely-shaped ass with a thong strap and maybe a tailbone tattoo showing; or an exposed oval womb hinting at the ripe mons below. As one of my old philosophy teachers, a Catholic priest, used to say, "Ever since man has left the womb, he has been trying to get back in."

I have to keep my cool through it all. I’ve learned to glance and memorize so I won’t appear to be the lecherous old man that I am. I just add those images to my memory files for later retrieval and use at the appropriate times.

False alarm

2004-08-31T18:10:00.000-04:00

I had some minor surgery so I had to take it easy at home for a while. The recovery was short but I took some extra sick time from work because I could. I did take things easy which was boring as hell - plus I have very little opportunity to do the things I really like to do.

I was actually able to get out today, but it was kind of a bust (so to speak). I bussed it downtown in the middle of the afternoon and snuck into my bikini bar. There were only three dancers and a lot of men. I plopped my drink at a table and went up to the stage to meet D, a curly-headed brunette with small natural tits and a nicely shaped fleshy pelvis. She sat down in front of me and wriggled her pussy in my face. She didn’t object when I gave her clit a good rubbing with my nose and chin. She squeezed her tits on either side of my face, pulled her top aside and offered me her nipples to nip. I should have asked her for a private dance then – I had the makings of growing hard on. But after her set she sat at the bar with a regular.

Next was a tall blonde with short frizzy hair bigger tits and a plump pussy. B was a little standoffish but she liked to lean back and pull her white thong tight to outline her mound. For looking only. She did try to do the GFE thing and nuzzle in and breathe in my ear and she did take my glasses off and rub her boobs in my face but there was no real spark for me. She went off with another apparent regular, a guy with greasy black hair and beard and a big pot belly who had spent most of B’s set slouching in a chair along a wall, leering at the stage, and opening and closing his legs rhythmically. I don’t see much of a bulge - I guess his penis pump wasn’t working that day.

It wasn’t looking good for me to get off today. I was running out of my budgeted time but I waited for the next dancer just for a little rush and a test drive in case I see her again. G looked very Mediterranean with straight black hair pulled back and olive complexion (I assumed it was olive – hard to tell under black light). She wore a tiny stripper skirt – plaid material that came about halfway down her ass. She had a nice trick of sticking her pussy in front of my face and fanning with the skirt. Luckily it was a clean smell. Her pheromone flash had its effect though and I wished I could stay longer.

It turns out I had plenty of time. I got home with an hour to spare. I will probably have another chance later this week. Hopefully I’ll have more exciting news

Surgical strike

2004-08-15T10:48:00.000-04:00

Because of family and health-related matters lately I can't do as much extracurricular activity (or as much blogging for that matter) as I'd like to. I'll have to continue to rely on memories. Even the trips I remember were taken under time constraints also. This fondly remembered foray into the dark side comes to mind.

An impromptu plan on a Saturday gave me an opportunity for s strip club visit. I offered to do the grocery shopping so I could also return some library materials downtown. The library is about a block away from one of my haunts, a bikini bar tucked away on a side street. I figured I could pad my itinerary by about a half hour - about as long as I could make up excuses for.

I dropped off the stuff at the library and went around the block and slipped in the door. There were only a couple of customers and it seemed exceptionally dark. I got a soda and went right to the stage. A, the Indian woman (dot, not feather) from my last trip there was dancing. I sat down and she came over, knelt down and put her head down and rubbed my crotch. She straightened up and rubbed her tits in my face. Then she sat up and put her legs on either side of my head and pulled my face into her crotch. I gave her clit a bit of a nose job through her thong. Then, leaning in close to my ear she gave me the pitch I knew was coming: "Wanna come play with me? I'll make you come real hard."

I am usually put off by the direct approach, but in the interest of time (and with the memory of her last dance with me) I readily agreed. And the timing was right - she was just leaving the stage and we went right into the empty private dance area where it was
even darker that the main room.

We embraced and she grabbed my crotch and started fondling and stroking. We almost kissed but remembered the unspoken rule between sex workers and their clients. She moved me over to a couch as sat me down on the edge. She got her knee working to straighten things out in my pants as I ran my hands up her side and over her tits. It's a bikini bar (not zoned for topless) but she was flaunting the rules. I had to be careful I didn't catch my finger in her nipple ring.

After the preliminaries she began in earnest, alternating between facing me and working her pussy against my cock and facing away and running her ass crack up and down my shaft. She has a tight little body with fleshy, fruit cup sized tits and a pear-shaped ass to die for, and my hands roamed whereI wanted. (I didn't test her on dipping my fingers in
the pot as I have with other dancers. Maybe next time.)

The pressure with her grinding was a little heavy at first but lightened up as she went along. I had to stop her from biting my neck. I don't know if she was getting carried away or just wanted to leave a mark for my assumed wife/girlfriend to see. When she could,
she leaned in and breathed in my ear and down my neck.

It was non stop stroking with her ass and crotch and as her touch became lighter and lighter I lost it. She was right, I came real hard. It took me a couple minutes to catch my breath and I agreed to her request for a big tip (I would have anyway). Luckily she
didn't remember me from last time I saw her, so she just said to be sure to come back to visit her. In a daze, I said yes. She went off and I took a minute to straighten myself out and finish my soda. I left the bar and checked my watch. 20 minutes. Plenty of time
to finsh my errands and get home in reasonable time.

Broken promises

2004-08-07T14:52:00.000-04:00

I promised myself that I would take part in the local sex trade when I traveled. I'm just back from my third trip this year and I wasn't able to keep the promise. For me to get into a strip club or massage parlor I have to have the time, the opportunity and the money. All three have to line up. During my first trip in May to a Midwest suburb I had no time to escape the conference I was attending. In June I was in Florida so I combined business and vacation and my wife joined me. Certainly no opportunity there. Those trips made me broke for my August trek to a mad midwestern city (crazy, not angry). It was a little frustrating last week because I had a memorable experience there last year. I'll just have to rely on my memory.

I was attending a conference with a bunch of colleagues. Friday night the conference dinner and keynote speech ended about 9. I called home to check in & left a voice mail saying I’d call back later. I figured I could run out for an hour & not be missed. I knew the local strip club was lame but the world sex guide gave good reviews for the massage parlor in town..

I walked around the block so I wouldn't have to pass by the upscale diners on the sidewalk and slipped into the doorway between two bars. The stairs were gray and squishy and felt like they were covered with duct tape. At the top was a wrought iron full-length gate that served as a door. Inside two women in negligee let me in. they asked me the question I knew was coming (from the sex guide), 'have you been here before?' I said yes since apparently they charge more for newcomers. I paid a college age guy for a massage (nice job for him) and got to pick one of the two women there. I chose M since she seemed like the friendlier of the two.

M led me down a hall and into a dimly lit room with a small bed and a couch and artsy illustrations of models on the wall. She was tall with short hair, a slim figure and very large natural tits. Within a few minutes I knew that she was 44 years old, smarter than I think and an amateur storm chaser. She was looking forward to her Saturday off when there were tornado watches being posted. She gave me a towel and showed me where the shower was.

After my shower she came into the room again and asked what I was interested in. I told her just a massage and a hand job, paid her 'tip' and lay face down on the bed. She kept chatting in a soft voice as she removed her slinky black top and rolled down her panties and stockings. She said he almost became a model when she was younger - she had the face, weight and figure for it except for the big boobs. She was told to "lose 'em" if she wanted a modeling career. She refused and ended up with just a few headshots and cleavage photo jobs. She’s been working there for 18 years.

The backrub wasn't half bad - it went a long way towards relaxing me after being 'on' for 12 hours at the conference. After a few minutes I rolled on my back and she teased me with her fingers all around as her voice started trailing off. She rubbed more oil on her hands and started a slow stroke while I caressed her tits. She was quiet and quite expert at this (obviously) and offered me her pussy to play with as I came closer to climax. It was a very satisfying release of tension.

She let me zone out while she got a wet towel for me to clean up with. We got dressed and she continued her monologue. On the way out we both stopped to look at the TV weather forecast. Tornado watch - she was excited but thought the weather guy was covering his bets. I walked back to the hotel and called home. Everything was cool. I went to sleep and resumed my pose as productive member of society.

Time is not on my side

2004-07-29T17:06:00.000-04:00

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

2004-07-24T15:10:00.000-04:00

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

2004-07-19T00:53:00.000-04:00

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).

bloomsday +100

2004-06-16T09:08:00.000-04:00

Is Ulysses an academic work of genius or a long fart joke? Probably both. Some might say that academia is one long fart joke.

I can relate to Leopold Bloom's secret life - going into an masturbatory reverie when he sees a woman flash her leg and he sees all the way up to her garter, wandering around the brothels of Nighttown, trying hard not to think about Molly's rendezvous. And of course Molly's secret life - 'pulling off' her first boyfriends in Gibraltar, musing over the differences between her husband's sex habits and her lover's, refusing Leopold for ten years yet coming over and over with her lover.

Tame by today's standards, but provocative none the less.

Or maybe just a fart joke. Raise a pint anyway.

strip club trips

2004-06-15T16:22:00.000-04:00

Nothing like going to a strip club. what a rush of shame and guilt walking up to the door with my hat pulled down, glancing around to see if anyone's looking, ducking in quickly. but inside, a feeling of dark concealment and a rush of blood to my loins. there's also that unique combination of smells that i associate with mostly naked women and hidden sex - perfume, cigarette smoke and lysol.

There's also the thumping dance music and the selective dim lighting everywhere but the pool table.

Anyway, it's a habit I need to feed every now and then. I have one or two favorite local clubs and I try to sample clubs in the cities I visit on business. Here's the short story of a trip I made a couple of weeks ago.

Fake names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent

I went to my usual haunt, technically a bikini bar where dancers are supposed to cover the important parts, and where the contact rules are discreetly ignored. Since I had a little time this trip I sat around to see who was dancing. The first two women didn't do anything for me and while I was sitting there a couple of other dancers came to sit with me. They seemed nice enough but I could see the sales pitch coming. When I heard that Tamika was on stage next, I opted to wait for her.

Tamika is a tall black woman whom I've had dances with in the past. She recognized me and we arranged for a private dance. As usual she sat on my lap waiting for a song to finish and she pulled up her top so I could fondle her small, firm tits. She has long, pointy nipples - she told me another guy said he could hang his coat on one of them. By the time the next song started I was hard as a rock.

I probably shouldn't have worn my jeans since they were probably a little rough on her, but she straddled me and found the right groove and started grinding. She offered her nipples to my hands and mouth as she talked dirty and breathed heavily in my ear. She wanted me so slap her ass, and I obliged. She switched positions a few times and near the end she knelt down and put her wrists on either side of my cock and started rubbing, running her fingers over the head every now and then. She looked at me and made lapping motions with her tongue. When she knew I was close, she straddled me again, put her pussy in just the right place and really started pumping. I grabbed her hips and thrust myself up against her until...

another dance with Tamika, another workout. Another memory for my fantasy cache

so it begins

2004-06-12T20:15:00.000-04:00

It's tough for a voyeur like myself to be such an exhibitionist - telling complete strangers about my secret life. But here goes. I'll chronicle how I've maintained a sexual life apart from my long-term marriage, but one that doesn't jeopardize my marriage.

I live a straight arrow life so none of my colleagues or friends knows me as a strip club junkie, a voyeur photographer or a porn consumer. Nor do they suspect the alternative narrative going on inside. I feel a need to confess.

domine domine domine