Part 12: Indianapolis

On Memorial Day, we woke up and headed over to Jack’s go-to bar and grill for lunch. From there we shook hands and I began the long trek back to Chicago. Once in Indianapolis, I got off the interstate at the Pendleton Pike in order to get some gasoline, a drink, and take a little rest. For all of the times I have partied in the Circle City, I have never been to any of the east side’s strip clubs. What the heck. I have a few hours to kill.

I cruised the Pendleton Pike to look at my options. Both Harem House and Babes were closed on the federal holiday. I believe Harem House, Babe’s, and Classy Chassy are all owned by the same person. Upon driving by, PT’s Show Club was open. I normally avoid PT’s because of the wristbands to get dances, the expensive drink prices, and the fact that I dislike corporate chains in this particular avenue of entertainment. Against my better judgment, I pulled into the parking lot. I reasoned with myself that this club might be okay; the VCG Holdings clubs east of St. Louis were tolerable because despite the nickel-and-diming, they did look the other way when it came to the VIP rooms.

The club shared a plaza with a pawn shop. I was nervous leaving my truck in the lot with one of the best rods and reels on the market sitting in the bed.

The cover was $5 and with a ticket, in and out privileges were granted for the rest of the evening. The inside was nice, probably only Rick’s has as nice of an interior in the metro area. There were three stages in the front room, the center one with a pole and the flanking stages were tabletop. Two stages were in the back room, both tabletops. Only the poled stage was in use. The bar was tiny, maybe just four stools and was occupied by the nonspending regulars the duration of my visit. I ordered a Coke since I had hours of driving ahead of me. The club did not have the world’s and country’s most popular soda, so I ended up with a small glass of Pepsi that cost $4.25. There was so much ice in the glass, that I downed the paltry five ounces of liquid in three sips. Maybe a beer was the way to go here. I got a Bud Light from the tap. It came in a thirty ounce mug, but cost an astronomical $8.25. I would be nursing this one till I left.

The first dancer I came across was Savannah, and sans a lump on her make-up coated cheek, she was a 10. She mentioned she had been there all day (it was now 17:40) and had only made $2. After watching her on stage, I took her back for some lap dances. She said that she only charged the minimum $25, while other dancers were charging $30, $35, and $40 per lap dance. In order to get lap dances, you need to buy a $5 wristband to get lap dances from a troll that counts how many dances you get at a desk in the middle of the lapper area. Each booth also has a mirror on its far side allowing the troll to see what is going on inside your booth. Savannah had awesome curves and super smooth skin. Her hips and handful-sized breasts were perfect. When I mentioned this, she said, “I’m saving up for a boob job.” One thing, I’ll never understand is why so many young women want to destroy themselves with silicone when they already have perfect mammaries. I reminded her that half of the boob jobs out there look horrible and any surgery comes with health risks. She straddled me in the cowgirl position for four songs, but the lack of positions did not bother me much, as my hands enjoyed her flawless skin and I applied my patented titty-sucking technique to her nipples. Whenever my face got within eight inches of hers, she’d awkwardly lean back or turn her head. I am guessing she was scared I was going to kiss her. She must have had a pimp…oh wait, sorry…boyfriend.

When four songs were over, she claimed, “That was five.”

I retorted, “No, that was four songs.”

She then said, “Just joking.”

While I hated the fact that an employee was a voyeur, at least he was counting dances. Savannah had no leg to stand on. However, I imagine the ploy would get the occasional unsavvy customer to overpay.

I went back to the main room to watch the rest of the talent. By 18:00, there were only four dancers working. Jasmine was a fake-titted tan brunette who I’d guess was maybe in her late twenties. Mercedes was a busty blonde who I did not get a good read on because she spent most of her time off of stage in the back or with regulars. She did look hot though. Casey was a blonde-haired, brown-eyed 7. One of her tattoos was the date her child was born. So she had a kid about fifteen months ago and was still showing some residual effects. Finally, Divine was a tan, heavily tatted dancer with amazing curves. She was a 10 in my book. I approached the stage and tipped heavily. She said she would come see me when she got off stage, but had to stop by her regular first. Well, her regular ended up taking her back for a thirty-minute VIP session.

I decided to give Casey a roll of the dice since she was fun to chat with and let me feel her up at the table. I figured that since she had had a kid, she had obviously been versed in the ways of getting a man to orgasm. She was wearing two undergarments: Skimpy blue bottoms and a small black thong beneath. I asked if she would strip down to just the black thong for our dances. She said she would. The troll tried to charge me for an additional wristband when I went back to the booths again, but I showed him I already paid. There were only about six patrons in the club. How could he not remember me from twenty minutes prior? Casey charged $30 per lap dance. She claimed that the club takes $5 of every dance they do as a fee. The grind was much better than my first sortie. I could feel Casey thrusting her clit against my hard member. However, when I went to give her nipples a little lick she denied me. She also never stripped down to the skimpy black thong. That combined with the fact the lap dance area troll was constantly looking back into the booth via the mirror made me end the set at just two dances.

I went back out to the main room and shortly after Divine was back on stage. She apologized about being away for a half hour as I showered her with George Washington’s. She suggested I take her back to the VIP room. It was $275. I still had a lot of cheddar left in my wallet from the weekend and decided that I’d TOFFT for intelligence purposes. She said she’d come see me after she got off the stage. When she got off the stage, she visited a guy at the bar briefly, probably a guy who comes in just about every day I’d guess. Then she started heading back to the dressing room, briefly talking to a black guy dressed in all white who sat at a table nursing bottled water the whole time I was at PT’s. She then departed and went back to the dressing room. I looked at my cell phone. It was 18:48. If Divine did not come back to me by 19:00 sharp I was going to depart. At 18:59 she emerged from the dressing room and went back to the bar to say something to the guy at the bar she had talked to before. My cell phone then flashed 19:00, so I got up and headed to the door. Who knows, maybe she was going to come see me next, but like the lyric in “Ohio is for Lovers”: I’ll wait for you, but I can’t wait forever.

I made the rest of the drive back to Chicago. A blinding thunderstorm had cars traveling 30 mph on the interstate near Lebanon. I decided to take a piss in Lowell, Indiana. At the exit was a Lion’s Den adult store. I had never been inside an adult store and could use a refill on my rubber stockpile, so I decided to check it out. I found the condoms among the plethora of DVD’s, dildos, and Fleshlights…only two dozen options. You’d think a sex shop would have a better selection. Prices were outrageous too. A three-pack of Trojans was $5.99. I think I’ll stick to buying online.

Part 11: Cincinnati

On Sunday, we did not get up until two o’clock in the afternoon. The Taste of Cincinnati was going on downtown so we decided to check it out. I targeted a few of the German booths, getting a mettwurst and a corned beef sandwich, while Bareback Jack grabbed some Greek food. We grabbed some Yuengling to wash it down and walked over to the newly built Jack Binion’s Horseshoe Casino, just a short distance from downtown. With a new casino in the heart of the city, the other casinos in the area, such as those in Lawrenceburg, will probably be taking a hit. Jack went to the bar to watch the Cubs beat the Reds in extra innings, while I lost another $60 on the roulette wheel.

We walked back up Mount Adams, stopping at a dive bar called City View to have a few beers and get a great view of the skyline from their patio. I was interested in fishing the Ohio River, so I suggested that we go fishing, but did not know where to go. The bartender told us the Little Miami River was a good spot, so we jumped in the car and headed east.

Bareback Jack and I stopped at a gas station to get bait and a six pack of Coors Light, then headed down to the river. We fished until dusk, not getting a single bite on the line. It was a complete waste of time. On the way back to the car, we ran into a couple veteran fishermen. They told us they were there all day and only caught one fish, a sauger. However, last weekend they caught over one hundred fifty fish. They said it depends on the water level and weather. The Little Miami can be hit or miss.

On the way back to Jack’s place, he remarked, “That was fun. I am going to have to get a fishing pole and start fishing again.”

I said, “How was that fun? We did not catch a single fish and are covered in mud.”

Jack said, “Well, I had a six pack of beer and was on the river.”

We headed back to the house and washed up. Pregaming for the bars consisted of Jager Bombs and Jack Daniels straight up. We hit St. Gregory Street, and I was coming in hot. I started ordering pizza slices at the first bar we went to. Needless to say, I had the munchies and ended up eating all of the pizza they had. They only charged us for half of the pizza slices I ate because Bareback Jack had become friends with the bartender since moving to The Nati. We then jumped to another bar which was crammed with twenty-somethings grinding to hip-hop. I was prowling for some single coeds, but it seemed all of the females were accompanied by males. There was once a time when bars were places where singles went to meet new people or hook-up. Nowadays, it seems bars are places where people go with a group of friends to converse over drinks. There are definitely more bars filled with tables and chairs than there were fifteen or twenty years ago.

Finally, we went across the street to a club called Pavilion which had a great view of the night skyline. Closing time was an early 02:00. One of the black guys in the club who was getting bottle service decided that they had paid too much for the Grey Goose to let it go to waste. He walked out of the club with the open bottle in hand. A police officer, who was known to harass the bar patrons in the neighborhood, pounced on the black guy and pinned him to the police cruiser. The black guy ended up going to the city jail.

Part 10: Cincinnati

In the morning, I walked into Wallyworld to wash up and grab some Coors Light and Jagermeister as housewarming gift. I made it to Cincinnati a couple hours later. After getting lost, I finally found Mount Adams, a nice neighborhood of Cincy on top of a hill that overlooked downtown and the Ohio River. This part of the city reminded me a lot of Pittsburgh. I met up with my old friend Bareback Jack and was told we’d be having a barbecue and party that evening. We went to the grocery store and bought meat, buns, chips, condiments, and booze. The party was to begin at 17:00 and there were still a few hours to kill so we went to some of the bars on top of the hill. Bareback Jack sent out a mass text inviting people to come and invited the bartenders and waitresses and the local establishments to the party. When five o’clock rolled around, there were only eight people at the party and six were guys. It was a bust. We consumed the case of Coors Light, and the party faded by 22:00.

Bareback Jack and I decided to clean up and go strip clubbing. I am typically a lone wolf when it comes to adult entertainment, but whenever I have gone with a friend, it was always Bareback Jack. When we went to East St. Louis during Mardi Gras weekend, he ended up fucking a stripper inside one of the clubs…bareback. I couldn’t believe it and told him he needed to get tested for AIDS and other STD’s. He clearly loved strip clubs as much as I do. I texted another friend who lives in Cincinnati, Erik, and asked him where the best strip clubs were. He couldn’t come out due to just getting married, but here is what Erik texted:

Diamonds or Cheeks in Centerville is good, or racers in Sparta Kentucky. Don’t recommend Covington. Those are nasty. Lawrenceburg isn’t that much better. Might be better getting the private ones incall.

Bareback Jack claimed the best club in the Cincinnati metro area was across the river in Covington called Club Venus, so that is where we went first. It was located in downtown in a kind of a narrow store front, but the inside extended back a ways. The front half was a bar and the back half had the stage. The club was “bikini”, meaning the girls would dance on stage wearing bikinis and we wouldn’t even see a nip slip. There was also a no-touch policy at the stage. The old fart manager sat near the stage and stared everyone down. The dancers were mostly white and had an affinity for hardcore rap music based on their TouchTune choices. I think there were six working at 22:30 on a Saturday night, which seemed week. About two were fuckable by my strict standards, but the other four were below a 6 rating. There was one that was almost completely covered in tattoos and had must have recently given birth. Her stomach was disgusting. She knew she was nasty too. She went up to every guy in the club and asked for a dollar for the jukebox because she knew she was too nasty to ask for a dollar for her body. Most guys relieved their pocket of a Washington just to get her away from him. She honed her sights on Bareback Jack and told him he could do anything he wanted to with her. I believed it.

The no-touch, no-lap dance, and bikinis did not rev our engines. Apparently, to get around the no lap dance thing, you can buy a dancer a “drink”. She’d then spend one-on-one time with you for how long it took her to consume the “drink” on a bench in the back of the club with no privacy. I believe prices ranged from $40 to $150 for the “drinks” and the more you spent, the more intimacy you’d get. This is similar to how some clubs operate on The Block in Baltimore. Bareback Jack claimed he bought the blonde dancer, who was across the room locked down with a regular, a $100 “drink” on a previous visit and got mutual groping and DFK. He enjoyed it, and that is why he brought me there. We watched about three dancers on stage and got out of there at my behest.

I could not deal with the rules on the Kentucky side of the river, so I suggested we hit up Lawrenceburg, Indiana. There is a strip club chain in the metro area called Concepts. The have clubs in Aurora, Indiana and Lawrenceburg, Indiana on US 50 and a club in Covington, Kentucky that we had no interest in. Our plan was to go to Aurora first and then double back to Lawrenceburg on the way home.

Concepts in Aurora is a relatively new club. It appeared it used to be a restaurant called Journeys then remodeled into a strip club. When the dancers came out to the stage, they came out through what was the kitchen. The first room you enter has a two pole stage if I remember. Beers were $3.50 and cover was $5. The club was very clean and new, but the talent did not match up with the nice atmosphere. There were six dancers: five white, one black. One of the white girls was even visibly pregnant. No one from the sparse crowd of ten or so patrons would even give her a cent. Two of the white dancers approached our table and hit us with a hard sell. Both appeared to be on some kind of drugs. The younger of the two was very skinny and appealed to my friend, who has been known to have a liking for nasty crack whores. She kept sticking her tongue out at him and making a licking motion. My friend departed for the VIP with her thinking he was going to get his dick sucked. I think he paid $150 for thirty minutes and nothing happened other than regular dances. He was pissed and would later whine about blue balls. The VIP area was not even that private considering the staff would peek around the corner every five minutes or so.

While five of the six dancers did not appeal to my taste, there was one who was nothing short of heaven sent. Her name was Alexis. Her body was amazing…marriage material for Sinclair. When it was her turn on stage I started sprinkling singles, making sure to outspend the swinger couples just down the tip rail. She did not give me much attention. When her stage set was done, I retreated back to my table and waited for her to come by. Instead she just sat next to the DJ in a chair and looked bored. Was the young DJ her boyfriend/pimp? Was she content with just making money dancing on stage? Is there something wrong with the way I look? I would have gladly maxed out my Black Card and ATM Card on Alexis, but she did not take the hint. That might have been a good thing in the end for the sake of my bank account. One thing I will never understand is why dancers squander opportunities to make money. I have seen many instances in my strip clubbing career where girls will loiter with friends, regulars, or other nonspenders when spenders are drooling over them. Perhaps the poor decision-making behind this is the same poor decision-making that has relegated them to being a sex worker.

After leaving Concepts in Aurora, we headed back west to the Concepts in Lawrenceburg. This location was much more populated in terms of both dancers and customers, which makes sense because it is closer to Cincinnati and near two casinos. Beers were $4 and cover was $6. There were three box stages, meaning each stage was close to floor level and a square frame about two and half feet in height surrounded each, acting as tip rail. I found more attractive women working here than the previous two clubs. There were a few dogs, but close to half got me hard. Most of the talent seemed to be in their twenties. I tipped a few dancers well, but they always went to other guys when they got off stage: guys who did not tip or even buy them drinks. I figured they must be regulars. I had not gotten a lap dance all night, while he had gotten dances in both Aurora and Lawrenceburg, so Bareback Jack started insisting that I take a dancer back for some action. In his drunken state, he wandered off and pulled away one of the dancers I was smitten with on stage. He told her I wanted a lap dance and gave her a twenty. Mia was about 20 or 21 I’d guess and about 5’9” with nice long legs, the type of girl who probably played volleyball in high school. Her stomach had a hint of stretch marks, meaning she had a kid in the last year or two. She said she had been dancing for ten weeks and maybe that was why she had not approached me after my generous tipping. I tend to avoid women who’ve been “beat up” by childbirth, but there was something about Mia that I found attractive; she had a good attitude and a great smile. One dance turned into many more, possibly seven, but more likely eight or nine. I felt her grind her pubic bone into my crotch, trying to get off. I felt up her lean body but did not indulge further than that. I rode the string of dances right to the 03:00 closing time.

The music stopped and she said, “Thank you,” as she climbed off my lap.

I looked across the lap dance room and saw a morbidly obese Mexican guy getting a dance and then ten feet down the couch a dwarf with a fanny pack getting a dance. I thought to myself: “Damn. Strip clubs attract a lot of weirdoes.”

Mia continued, “I like dancing for nice guys. And there aren’t too many of them.”

She then kissed me on the cheek. I handed her $90, enough to cover six dances at $15 apiece, in addition to the one prepaid by Bareback Jack. I think I might have owed her for another dance but she walked off without counting the money and didn’t seem to care if I had underpaid. That was the first time I came across a dancer who didn’t care about payment. Frequently, they try to overcharge you for dances you never received. We exited the club and wandered off into the surrounding residential area. I felt bad that there were houses close to the club that had to endure boisterous drunks parking in front of their property and waking them up in the middle of the night.

We were not ready to call it a night, so we drove a few blocks and went to the Hollywood Casino. I ended up losing about $100 on slot machines and roulette. At least I was able to drink all of the soda I wanted for free out of the complimentary soda fountains. Yes, I was wandering around the casino at 03:30 with a Mello Yello in each hand. Pissed off by how tight the slots were, we decided to find somewhere to eat.

Jack and I rolled into a Waffle House at about 04:00. Bareback Jack had never been to a Waffle House. I explained the food sucks but it is great when you are drunk, plus it is one of the only options at this time of night. I was horny and buzzed, and one of the waitresses was looking good to me, a diamond in the rough. She was maybe 19 or 20 and looked good in those tight black pants. I started dozing off waiting for my cheese steak sandwich, thinking what it would be like to bang her in the bathroom stall of the Waffle House. We finished our meals and got back to Mount Adams around sunrise.

Part 9: Kokomo

I had not gotten out much since I returned home from Argentina in March. A friend had moved to Cincinnati in January and had been begging me to come down and visit him, so I relented and decided to road trip to the Queen City over Memorial Day weekend.

I got out of work in Chicago early and sat in traffic for hours. I-65 towards Indianapolis was thick in traffic too. Apparently, the Indianapolis 500 is still a big draw. I did not think open-wheel racing was popular in the United States compared to NASCAR. To get out of the congestion, I took Indiana 26 east to Kokomo and took a timeout at the Hip Hugger at 21:30. The club was packed and I overheard many patrons there talking about how they were going to the race.

The attractiveness of dancers was higher than my last visit to this club back in September 2012 on a weeknight. There were some dogs in the mix, but half of the night shift got me erect. When I entered, I paid the $3 cover with $4, and the manager actually gave me a single back. In just about every other club in the country, the door attendant would have kept the tip. I took a seat at the bar and started guzzling down three-buck drafts of Budweiser and Bud Light. Most of the crowd seemed to be there to drink beer and watch the stage show. A pitcher of beer was just eleven bucks. While taking in the Friday night, I observed two interesting interactions. (1) A young guy was ejected from the club. He was getting dances from a goth chick when some type of dispute happened. Either he did not have money to pay or he was sticking his digiti manus where they did not belong. They went over to the manager, and then both the manager and dancer were shouting at him angrily. Out the door he went. (2) A horny Indian guy grabs the ass of a dancer walking by the bar. She turns around, greets him, and then offers him a $10 lap dance. He declines. It all happens in less than ten seconds. I don’t know why he would grab at a dancer and expect her to hang around with him for free.

I went to get a few $10 dances from a blonde dancer named Mandy. She was probably a 7 or so 30-something on my scale, but I was buzzed and her body looked sexy enough. I sat on my bingo hall chair and got four full-length songs. Two way groping is encouraged at the Hugger. My paws ravaged her fake boobs and ass. The $10 lap dances are a great value. I doubt there is a club in the United States with better lap value. Afterwards, Mandy asked me to buy her some new dance gear that was being sold on the south bar. She said she’d give me her phone number if I got her a new outfit. I read it as stripper shit. The number would either be fake or to advertise when she was working.

In an age where the industry is transitioning to corporate chains that perfect methods of extracting as much money from you as possible while giving you the least utility, or relative satisfaction, that you’re willing to accept, the Hip Hugger is old school. But remember, old school is the best school. I spent just $62 total and had fun.

After leaving the club around midnight, I realized I had not eaten dinner and hit the McDonalds drive-thru, one of the few options this time of night. The Angus burgers have recently been removed from the menu so I took a #1. Eating while I drove south turned out to be a bad idea as I dropped half of the Big Mac on the floor of my rig. I forewent staying at a hotel due to the jacked up prices for Memorial Day weekend and the race. I slept in my vehicle in the parking lot of the Noblesville Wallyworld.