“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard

Saturday, April 28, 2007

Awright! Jesus you fuckers, I said I'd post the good story tonight and I am. I'd have put it up this morning but I had to rewrite some of it because I felt it could be better.

Hear that people? More time spent on the post = BETTER POST.

And I'll likely be posting more often now as I've just found out that this is now my only avenue of therapy for the time being.

Yes, last time I went to see my shrink and went to schedule the follow up appointment they said they'd call me when the new schedule came in. Well I waited and waited and finally called them and she doesn't work there any more.

Just as well I guess. I'd already found out what I needed to know and that's that I don't fit the textbook definition of insanity. This either means that I'm sane, which I still think is unlikely, or that I'm some new form of insane, which I think we can all agree is at least plausible.

So Mike D came down a couple weeks ago and I got to take him to his first strip club. The same strip club, in fact, that I had attended with Mistress Victoria only a few weeks before (see the April 2nd post). The major difference this time was that Mike and I went on a Saturday night. If given a choice between a Tuesday night and a weekend, go with the weekend.

Not that I feel slighted at all by my trip with Victoria. Half of the point of going anywhere with V is going there with her. With her around it's pretty much impossible to not have fun. Granted, you have a higher chance of getting arrested, but you'll never have more fun getting pepper-sprayed in your life.

That having been said, there's more going on at the club on the weekend, but everything is more expensive. The cover charge goes from $5 to $10 and I can only imagine what happens to the drink prices. Fortunately, as last time, I wasn't spending my own money, but I made an effort, as last time, to keep it within reason and we had a blast.

Anyways though, Mike and I enter the establishment at around 11 PM and the place was already jumping. My midnight it was packed. One of the cool things about the weekends is they get pornstars on tour. We saw one miss Kiera Riley, who put on quite a show, at one point using red, white and blue body paint and rolling on t-shirts to make flag prints which she gave away to audience members.

Sadly, we didn't get any shirts, but it was still fun to watch.

Shortly after miss Riley's performance we picked our girls for our lap dances.

There were two this time that I really had an eye for. One had long, dark hair and was covered with tattoos, which sometimes I like and sometimes I don't, depends on the girl and on the tattoos. The other had short, dark hair and no tattoos, but I had a good feeling about her, so she was the lucky winner.

This time I took a moment to explain about the hernia and how she could get up on me (a privelige I'd deny very few women) she just had to be gentle about doing so. I ended up telling her the whole sorted story and I don't know if that's what did it or not, but she was very friendly. It didn't take too long to see that I'd made the right choice.

This time I was having the three song dance rather than the one song as last time and before you know it I had bare titties on my face again. I'm following the rules, got my arms over the back of the couch just like last time, next thing I know she's sucking on my left earlobe.

Ok, that's new. And fucking GREAT!

But in all too soon a time it was over. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and Mike and I went downstairs to compare notes. It seems that Mike didn't chose quite as wisely as I did. His girl didn't even take her top off.

You know, as immortalized in the movie Caddyshack, The Zen philosopher Basho once wrote, “A flute with no holes is not a flute and a doughnut with no hole is a danish”. I'd like to add to that sage wisdom that “a stripper who doesn't take her clothes off is not a stripper”. She's a sad commentary on our times is what she is.

I'm sure Basho would agree with me. Cause that's how he rolled.

Well I couldn't allow this to stand. It was a travesty of all I hold dear. Mike had to have another lap dance, a REAL lap dance. And of course I would have to have one too. It was essential to the process. I'm not sure how exactly, but it was absolutely essential I assure you.

Well Mikey isn't made of money so I had to dip into my own fundage for this go-around, but it was well worth it. I got the same girl the second time, because she was totally hot and because she wasn't real strict on the rules last time. Well the second time through pretty much all but the most cardinal stripper rule were suspended. The 'she can touch you, but you can't touch her' rule was completely out.

I'd made a comment the the effect of “You've got a gorgeous ass” cause I'm all smooth an shit, and without batting an eye she says “Well go ahead and slap it.”

Next thing I know I'm slapping ass in the strip club and that fucking ROCKS.

She explained before she turned around for me to do so though that she had to put her top back on so the people downstairs didn't see that she'd had it off. Apparently that is against the rules, but Mike had earlier selected the one girl in the place that didn't break that one.

Or maybe it's just my intense sexual magnetism.

Actually, yeah, that's probably it.

She turns back around, drops the top again, kisses me full on the lips and then, much to my surprise, her tongue is in my mouth. She's full on making out with me and I've got two hadfulls of ass. The lack of the 'no touch' rule allowed me to get to know her rather well.

I mention all this, not because it makes me look like the man (ok, not entirely because it makes me look like the man) but because it explains what I did next.

I gave a stripper my phone number.

Yeah, yeah, save the comments. I know she's not going to call. That wasn't the point.

The point was that I kinda realized that I've never been Mr. Suave when it comes to talking up women for the first time, especially since my body got all fucked up and is now twice as big as it was before, but in the club I was confident as hell. I further realized what you're really paying for in a strip club isn't the nudity. A confident guy can get a girl to do anything a stripper will do and more under the right circumstances. The elimination of rejection is what you're really paying for.

I mean, that's my only real fear is getting shot down and that fear has cost me a lot of opportunities. Despite that fear though, I do occasionally work up the sack to talk to a woman. For that to happen though I have to see an awful lot in her to make the attempt and risk getting shot down.

Those of you that have been reading this blog and paying attention know how well that ends up going...

Well I figured if I gave the stripper my number, even knowing full well that there's a 99.999% chance she'll not use it, then I'm taking the rejection-free situation and using it to say “Fuck you rejection!”

Of course, it's easy to tell rejection to go fuck itself after you've made out with the person you're worried about rejecting you, but let's not split goddamn hairs here...

Actually, I didn't just give her my number, I also invited her out to breakfast, but she said she had stuff she had to do and I've no reason to disbelieve her.

Oh yeah? I'll fucking show YOU delusional, motherfuckers!

But yeah, all in all it was a fun evening.

And NO, she hasn't called. Like I said, that wasn't the point. The point was that I'm getting some damn confidence back, due in no small part to the fact that I've lost around 75 lbs since I started on the weight loss drugs and my working out is starting to show real results. A few more months of this and I'm gonna be a real stud-monkey.

Well, more than I am already.

Anyhow, to ensure that Mike had a better time with his second dance he waited till I was done and went with the same girl. I don't know if he had as good a time as I did, but he damn sure had a better experience than the first time through.

I mean, a stripper that doesn't strip. What's the world fucking coming to, really?

I've got half a mind to write my fucking congressman...

By the way, I do realize that I never gave 'the stripper's' name. This is because I wouldn't want to get her fired over the stuff I wrote about, but if any of you in the area are planning on going to the club (which I'm also not naming in this post so no Google search results might lead to her firing either) email me and I'll recommend her highly.

That's it for now. One last thing before I go though. Remember, the more comments I get the sooner I post again. Bear that in mind.

Now here's part three of the Bill Hicks documentary.



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