Not Hemingway, but...

AFTSD sounded like my kind of event. I've always found that writing things
out helps me decide what I think about them. Putting things in order, trying
to make a logical argument; they force me to organize my thoughts. Plus,
writing lets my true bullshitter nature out. I'm not a good con man because
I'm not spontaneous enough. But writing lets me construct a web of words
that I can try to capture people with. I went through several ideas, and
actually wrote out one whole draft, but I wasn't satisfied with any of them.
One was a flame war in ASSC, in which the insults got nastier and nastier -
kind of a poster roast with no holds barred. Another was a love story that
never happens because both dancer and customer can't believe that the other
can be trusted - and are right. Another was a glossary from the dancer
perspective. All of it got shit-canned because something in each attempt
just didn't feel right - either the humor was lame or the drama was closer
to melodrama. So... I decided to just tell the truth and describe my first
month of SCing. Normally, honesty is NOT the best policy, but what the fuck,
this is totally anonymous. A friend of mine once told me that the good thing
about travelling is that you can be anyone you want to be once you've
escaped 'home'.  On the Web, it's kind of the opposite; you can be yourself
and tell the truth because you don't have to deal with the consequences of
friends and family knowing the 'real' you.
 It took me two nights to finish, maybe six hours; two hours of writing and
four of thinking. It’s really amazing the things I learned about people -
that is, women - and about myself in four weeks. I saved the file, and sent
a copy by e-mail (more about this later).The next time I went to my local
establishment, it was fav night. That's the night each week when two of my
favorites always work. They're very different from each other, but both
offer something I find irresistible. B is an Amazon, all arms and legs and
boobs. She's always friendly and always ready to rock. The first time I met
her I had just noticed something about some dancers, Two beauties in a row
had danced on stage in front of me. Both moved in incredibly erotic ways,
and both made me think of they'd be great in the VIP room. But I noticed
something about each that I later saw in other girls. I saw that while they
kneeled forward and held their garters open for my dollar, they were already
looking away from me. A subtle thing, but I've observed since then that some
dancers stay focused and seem appreciative, while others consistantly get
away from customers as fast as possible. I understand why a dancer would get
that way, but B either retains her sense of humor in this grim business or
she's a superb actress who can stay in character for hours on end. On the
other hand, T is petite and willowy, looking every bit the ballet dancer she
was as a child. She's also a student at the local instutition of higher
learning. I know you guys used to dealing with damaged goods think that the
coed stripper is as real as Bigfoot, but in my town it's for real.
 I went in, paid the cover and entered the club. A couple of dancers I knew
by sight were on stage. Before I passed them to bar I gave each a dollar -
just to be on their right side. B was dancing on a table for some locals. We
made eye contact, and she squeezed her boobs together for me and smiled.I
walked over and put a dollar in her garter. If the guys who were paying ten
bucks for the dance looked a little pissed that her attention had strayed
from them - fuck’em, she was happy. I continued around the stage and settled
at the bar. A Bud appeared in front of me - courtesy of good tipping in the
past. If only the barmaid would work on this side of the bar she's sooo
pretty. Oh well...  .
 As I scanned the room to get my bearings I felt an arm moving around my
waist. It was T, coming out of the VIP room, another satisfied customer. I
wrapped my arms around her as she kissed my cheek. The first thing she said
was "I figured you'd write something good, but I didn't know it would be
that good". I told her she didn’t need to flatter me, I was already under
her spell. I had told her about ASSC and she had seen some of the posts,
including some of mine, which was a little embarrassing. When I told her
about AFTSD she insisted that I show her my submission before I posted it.
She said it would be good to get a dancer's opinion, and anyways, she's a
communication major, so she knew about both the club scene and writing.
Having opened my big mouth, I couldn't back down; she had become too
intrigued by the whole thing.
 We went into to game room and sat down in stuffed chairs around a table.
Away from the stage and speakers we could talk in peace. She said that she
had often thought about writing about the business for school, but had
decided against dealing with the notoriety. I think that's why she took such
an interest - she was thinking about what she would have written in my
place. It was interesting to learn that her opinion of one dancer was the
polar opposite of mine; where I saw cheerful professionalism, she saw a
money-hungry bitch. I had changed the names, of course, but she recognized
the dancers from her club almost without exception.  When she had to go on
stage, I walked with her to the main room and went back to the bar. As soon
as I got there, I saw B finishing another table dance. She held up an index
finger - wait - and got dressed and took care of business. I had been
talking long enough for my taste, so as soon I she got to me I nodded
towards the VIP room and she smiled and followed me in. A song had just
started, so I figured we'd sit this one out and chat for a while. What she
said was not what I expected.
 "Hey, is my red outfit really your favorite"? I was ready to talk about
what we did over Thanksgiving, so I was slow on the uptake. Then it dawned
on me; I had described her in that outfit in my AFTSD essay. Oh shit! This
is not what I had in mind. I had written some very personal stuff in there
and was basically talking about people behind their backs. It's not that
there was a lot of bad stuff - there wasn't - but there were things I just
wouldn't have said out loud in the club. She was smiling, but I was very
uncomfortable about what she now knew about me.
 I asked, and sure enough, T had shown her a copy the previous day. At least
I had complimented her in a couple of places. She seemed amazed that someone
she knew had written something like an article she'd read in a magazine -
except that she was the subject. When the next song started, she said "now I
know what you really like" referring to my description of her lap dancing
methods, and started to move to the music. It was amazing = she seemed
totally in tune with my body. But of course, now she had more or less read
my mind. The first song slipped into the second, and she didn't bother
asking if I wanted more, she just kept moving. And her smile was bigger than
ever. When the song was over, she slipped to the couch beside me and nuzzled
my neck. When a waitress came through the room, B waved to her and asked for
two white wines. As the waitress walked away, T came through the backstage
door and came over to us. When she asked, with a smile, what the hell was
going on here, B told her to sit down and find out. Now I had a dancer on
either side of me on the couch, something I had seen before and had always
been envious of. It's the 'two babe' thing. And these were two of the
nicest.
 When the drinks came, T asked for one of her own. Yes, she had shared my
writing with B, she didn't think I'd mind. She said that she needed a second
opinion. Said that after all, B was one of my favorites, she couldn't be
offended.  Yes, I said, but there was private stuff in there. Her answer?
Oh, and you weren't writing private stuff about us? She was right, of
course. Name change or no, I was telling the world about some pretty
intimate stuff that was just as much their life as mine. B came through with
the solution in her usual way. She said "just relax and enjoy". Her smile
brought me back to that dance she had just done for me, and I put an arm
around her and squeezed. From over my shoulder T's voice came out in a pout.
"Where's my lovin'"? I turned back, put my other arm over her shoulder and
pulled her to me. My fucking God. Two goddesses, seven-eighths nekkid and
wrapped around me. I know that I pay them, I know it's just business,
right?, but in my current lame life, it couldn't get much better than this.
 "Are you going to make us all famous"? The voice came from the other side
of the room. It was S, one of my favorites as a lapdancer, but a girl I
really hadn't connected with. She seemed 'too' perfect, and I generally
prefer the prettier that average girl
next door than the classic body type. She came quickly across the room and
sat herself down on my knees, with her thighs on either side of mine and her
arms around the back of my neck. "What are you doing with second best when
your absolute favorite is here"? I looked at T. She nodded. Yes, she had
shown my post to S. No, she didn't think I'd mind. Then she did it; she gave
me the most heartbreaking pout I'd ever seen on two delicious lips. Did she
do a bad thing? I turned to B, the liquid brown eyes shining out at me, then
to S, formerly aloof, now on my lap for fun, not money, and then back to
her. And then she finished me off. She leaned those perfect lips to my ear
and whispered "I just wanted you to have A Fail To Suck Day. Wasn't that the
point"? I answered with a smile.

Dancers 1
PL 0

Or was it PL 3?

McGuffin



1999
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