I woke up around noon Saturday and checked my phone. There were no text messages from Bareback. Maybe he was still asleep. Maybe the stripper killed him in his sleep. I got showered and did some work on the computer. An hour later, Bareback texted me that he was outside in the parking lot smoking a cigarette. I went downstairs to meet him and asked him if he banged the stripper he took back to the hotel. It turns out he did not score. He claimed he made out with her and felt her up, but she would not go for sex. He felt she played him for a free night’s hotel stay. She lived in the Chicago suburbs and was working at Dancers Show Club for the afternoon.
We got in my rig, and I drove to the Chick-fil-A in Avon, which was packed on a Saturday afternoon. I had Chick-fil-A cards for free grilled nuggets, so I treated my friend to lunch. We hit an ATM on the way back to the Crowne Plaza. Bareback Jack wanted to go relax in the hot tub for an hour and take a nap. I did some work on my websites and took a shower.
Around 17:00, we reconvened and went over to Fountain Square to barhop. We had a beer at Imbibe, and then went to B’s Po Boy for dinner and more beer.
After dinner, Bareback wanted to see more of the Circle City’s flesh factories, so we made a stroll over to Classy Chassy. I had not been there since November 2012 when I had a very disappointing visit. Between 2012 and 2016, not much had changed. The dancer line-up on Saturday’s night shift did not impress us. I got a couple lackluster dances from an inked redhead named Charlie. The slow and sensual lap dance style is just not my cup of tea. Bareback Jack bumped into a trucker while smoking outside who was staying at the Quality Inn across the road by the truck stop. He explained to Bareback that he was trying to get stripper to come to his hotel room, but was not having any luck. Bored, we took off and headed over to Silk.
I had not been to Silk since September 2012. The club was slightly better than I had remembered, only because there were two 9’s working. Bareback was able to flag down one of them for lap dances. She was tame and told my friend that she could get him drugs if he wanted any, because her boyfriend was a drug dealer. Being horny, Bareback took a significantly less beautiful dancer back for dances. She gave him all the contact that he wanted and offered even more in the VIP room. He declined because she was not good-lucking enough to drop several hundred on.
Around midnight, we agreed that Dancers Show Club was the best option to close out our weekend in Indianapolis. It was midnight, and we needed to get more airplane bottles en route to Dancers. We were worried all the liquor stores were already closed. We were finally able to find a liquor store in the Mars Hill neighborhood that was still open. It also happened to have over one hundred varieties of airplane bottles. From there, we trucked over to Dancers.
We started out by ordering a hydrant that had one hundred ounces of Budweiser. That only lasted about ninety minutes. We kept taking turns going to the washroom to down miniature bottles of alcohol. We only brought in enough nips to avoid suspicion. As the night wore on, each of us would have to make trips out to my vehicle to reload our pockets. The Czech dancer Bareback had slept in the same bed with last night was working. Bareback Jack learned that the Czech was not 26 like she told had him, but she was actually 36 years old. Not only that, but Bareback felt scammed by her coming to his hotel room and not letting him penetrate her holes. Bareback Jack made a point to pretend like she did not exist.
I saw an athletic brunette on stage at one point, so I went up to tip her. Some short dork was already sitting at the stage with a Jackson in hand, but she seemed to ignore him, giving me attention for almost her entire stage set. When she gets off stage, she immediately asks me if I want to do lap dances with her. “Absolutely,” I said. The lap dances were great and this dancer, whom I will leave unnamed to protect the innocent, started French kissing me. I was in heaven. In my euphoric state, I gave her a mini bottle of peach schnapps from my jacket, which she brazenly chugged in view of all the cameras in the lap dance area. She said she would not get in trouble for it. On the fourth song, another dancer, Olivia, walked into our booth and started whispering something in my private dancer’s ear. From what I can overhear, the dancer’s regular was upset she ignored him at the stage, and he sent Olivia to tell my dancer to come to his booth immediately. I am getting pissed because I have never had another dancer interrupt a lap dance before. After the fourth song, my dancer tells me she needs to go to her regular customer. I told her it was okay and that she needed to keep her regular customers. She said she does not like the short guy and would prefer to keep giving me more private dances. She took a whole song to get back dressed and we French kissed some more. She gave me her real name and told me to add her as a friend on Facebook. She did not seem like a cutthroat stripper and had not been doing it very long.
I return to my table and sit with Bareback Jack, watching the dancer in the booth of the dorky regular. He appeared to be whining about being slighted, then stormed out of the club with his Polo shirt-wearing entourage, making a scene like the stripper made a fool out of him in front of his friends. The dancer disappeared to the dressing room, and likely went home after that as it was 3am and I did not see her on the floor for the rest of the night. In retrospect, I should have followed the regular out of the club and beat him and his frat boy crew all over the icy parking lot.
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