Part 16: Detroit

I finished another day of work around 10:30, then locked my office door and took a nap. For lunch, I went to a newer artisan pizza place that a guy at work was raving about, Supino’s. I ordered a pepperoni pizza and went to pick it up. There was a line out the door at this place. It must be really good pizza I thought. I snarfed the whole thing, and yes, it did have a unique crust and tasted good.

I went back to the hotel and did some work on the computer for awhile. Around 21:00, I decided it was time to check out the Toy Chest in Dearborn. It seemed like the only option to park was valet, but I parked on a side street for free about a block away near the Red Robin since this cheap bastard didn’t want a stranger inside my car. I walked in and got a dirty look from a guy by the door, but otherwise everything was okay. The Toy Chest is basically a large room centered on a kidney-shaped stage. I sat near the bar and ordered a beer, which was a hefty $7, and a beef quesadilla for dinner. The beef quesadilla was $12 and very undersized.

I sat back and watched the action. About half of the dancers were black and half were white. A lot of the customers were Arabs. The largest mosque in the United States is actually just a couple blocks west of the Toy Chest. It is hypocritical how these guys make their wives and daughters wear hijabs, then go to strip clubs. If one of their daughters or girlfriends stripped, they’d stone her to death.

I also kept my eyes on the bartender’s fine ass. One thing I have noticed about Detroit area clubs is that the servers and bartenders are always as good-looking as or better than the dancers. Eventually a few of the uglier, overweight dancers approached me, and I turned them down. All of the 7-10’s were locked down with regulars in booths. This club seemed to be not a good pick for someone just passing through town. I even tipped a couple dancers, but that was futile. I was going nowhere fast, so I decided to hit another club.

Since I had decent luck at Criket Tuesday night, I decided to head over there about 24:00. The line-up turned out to be even better than my last visit—more sexy white dancers, fewer pushy black dancers.

Angel was dancing, and her fan boy was there as well at a stage side table. After she got off stage, she came by and we talked for about ten minutes. Then it was to the back for five lap dances. I needed to grab another beer by that time. She wanted my phone number, so I gave her my burn number. Instead of hanging out and drinking with me, she worked the room taking two other guys back for strings of dances. I realized she had a lot of regular customers and probably had all of their phone numbers too, sending out texts whenever she needed a pathetic loser to come to the club and give her money. Eventually, she came back to me and told me I had to buy more dances from her. I told her, “Later,” as by this point I had become tired of her pushiness and started to think less of her.

When she went up on stage, I was approached by a tall, lean brunette with A cups and nice legs. We started talking as she grabbed my throbbing cock over my pants. She made a sales pitch and I decided I wanted to climb up those long legs like they were beanstalks and I was Jack. After about one song, she pulled my pork sword out, slid a condom on, and started taking it into her mouth. This dancer could suck a bowling ball through a straw; she really knew what she was doing. I was having a hard time holding back as saliva was coming out of her mouth and oozing all the way down my shaft. Needless to say, I did not last more than a couple minutes and erupted like Mount St. Helens on May 18, 1980.

Since dinner at the Toy Chest was not plentiful enough for me, I went to the Taco Bell that is nearly across the street from Criket around 01:00. It seemed that some of the other patrons and dancers had the same idea. After eating in the parking lot, it was back to the hotel to rest up for my final day of work in the Motor City.

The abandoned Michigan Central Station. It was at one time the tallest train station in the world.

Part 15: Detroit

I made it up for work on time. On this particular day, the area boss made a surprise visit. He started asking me all kinds of questions, trying to stump me on technical specifications. I had been studying my materials for the past two days and had answers for all of his questions. After an hour, he left. I knew he wouldn’t show up more than once in a week, so I was on easy street for the rest of the week.

I left work around 14:30 and got a corned beef sandwich on the way home at a place called Louie’s. It was okay, but had a little too much fat on it for my liking. I then took a shower and went to sleep. I got up around 21:00, and it was time to go strip clubbing. This particular evening I was headed to The Landing Strip in Romulus, Michigan.

The club was a little hard to find. I ended up getting there around 22:00. What is weird about this club is that it is like the largest building smack dab in the middle of the downtown street of Romulus. It was the only business open this late at night. I am a cheap bastard that does not like valet charges, so I parked for free on the main street instead of the parking lot. There is nothing on the first floor. A stairway leads up to the second floor, where the club is at. I would find out later that there are VIP rooms built into the first floor, accessed by a separate stairway. It is safe to say this club is not wheelchair-friendly.

The club was very crowded on a Wednesday night. I sat at a crowded bar, where a domestic beer was $7.75! Yikes! I took in the stage show for awhile. There were a few really sexy dancers, but also some that were too old or too ugly. One redhead with glasses and pale skin caught my attention. Unfortunately, after she got off stage she went and sat with a suit in a booth for the next two hours. I did not think it would be appropriate to drag her out of a booth from her whale.

After sending away a couple uglies, a sexy dancer that looked like Nicole Scherzinger came by. She had put on a hell of a stage show earlier. I bought her an overpriced $10 drink to loosen her up a bit. I learned we had a lot in common such as attending the same college and liking the same bands, as she rubbed me. Hook, line, sinker, and off to the VIP room downstairs.

I paid the bouncer downstairs $20 for the room. It was a padded bench with a curtain blocking the entrance. I started rubbing her fit ass and caressing her nice handfuls. She didn’t mind a little pussy rubbing as long as my hands were not inside of her thong. She mentioned she was not an extras girl, but I was fine with that because she was giving really good dances with intense grinding and intimacy. I think she might have been into me because we did six dances, and she was fine with me paying for only five. We went back upstairs as it was her time to go back on stage for four songs—two on each end of the long runway stage.

I went back to the bar and finished my beer. A dancer from Milwaukee that was not too appealing hit me up. I figured I’d bullshit her and get the lowdown on the club. When she asked if I was going to get a dance from her, I asked her if she was going to give me a BJ. She said that most of the dancers at The Landing Strip don’t do extras, but if they do it is usually just hand jobs. She said she’d give me a handy for $50 plus the costs of the dances. I had no intention of getting serviced, but kept up my act.

“So if you aren’t going to suck my dick, can you recommend a dancer who will?” I said.

She started telling me about every dancer in the club who sucked and fucked and what their ballpark prices were. She said you could get anything for about $150 from a dancer that looked beat-up from a pregnancy. She said one of the black girls Miley was a big slut and would give you everything for $200. I pointed to the dancer on stage, Heidi. The dancer told me she would provide full service for $300. One thing I noticed was that all of the dancers that were extras-friendly were either older or black. All of the sexy younger dancers I desired seemed to be able to make money without sucking and fucking.

A Mexican at the bar was listening in on our conversation and started chatting Milwaukee. I think he was interested in getting stroked downstairs by Milwaukee. This was my cue to bounce.

I walked back to my car and started going back to the hotel. I had not eaten since Louie’s this afternoon and was hungry, so I hit the McDonald’s drive thru around 00:45 on the way back to the hotel. I ate the burger and fries and passed out on the bed.



The Landing Strip sign at night.

Part 14: Detroit

I worked until 10:00, then locked my office door and slept until it was time to go home. Then I went back to the hotel and slept some more. By 21:00, I was showered and headed to Criket, a strip club in Dearborn. One of the reasons I chose this particular club was that it was one of the few without mandatory valet and no room fee every time you go back to get dances.

I entered and ordered a Bud Light. One was $7, but an ice bucket of two was $12. I also had not eaten all day, so I ordered the Philly cheese steak. The sandwich was good, but a little smaller than I was expecting for $9. My waitress was a knockout blonde, who looked hotter than most of the dancers here. I tried flirting with her, but she was being very terse. Meanwhile, I spotted a Barbie on stage named Angel. She looked like she might be Polish or at least half. She had beautiful blue eyes, dyed blonde hair, tan skin, pierced nipples, and an ass to die for. I threw four bucks on the stage. Immediately some young guy came up to outbid me.

Next, a black dancer with more-than-handful breasts sat at my table and started talking me up. She was a twenty year old college student on summer break. I small talked for awhile, then after ten minutes she hit me up for dances. Since Angel was sitting with the guy who made a point to out-tip me, I decided to go back for a few dances with the chocolate dancer to check out the logistics in the dance area. Dances were done on captain chairs behind a curtain. Two-way contact was encouraged and it seemed nothing was off limits it seemed. She started stroking my dick over my jeans. I grabbed her tits like they were softballs. She mounted the chair in a squatting position and started thrusting her pussy into my dick really fast. These $20 dances were a good value and privacy was good, but I wanted to save some money for Angel, so I cut out after three songs.

I went back to my seat and ordered another two beers. Eventually Angel left her stalker and came over to thank me for tipping. She spoke with an accent and was even sexier up close. I asked where the accent was from. She said she was German. She was adopted and raised by American parents. We talked a lot and found out we had a lot in common like our love of cowboy boots.

I went to the back with her. The dances were better than the previous peeler. She encouraged me to smack her ass, saying that she loved it. My hands caressed her perfect ass and pierced tits, and for a minute I thought I was Donatello and her impeccably soft skin was my clay. Six songs later I needed a break and she needed to go on stage.

The stalker resumed his tipping and she went to him after her four song set was over. They went in the back for about four songs. I flagged down the tight ass blonde waitress and got another two Bud Lights. Most of the dancers on this particular night were black, even though this was a mixed club. I had no interest in most of the other talent on this particular night.

Later, I took back Angel again for another six dances. I rubbed her pussy over her g-string, which she didn’t mind. She said she is not an extras girl, which is okay by me if you can keep me entertained.

Eventually Angel went back on stage and I was approached by a slim brunette with A cups. She looked thin enough to be a good fit between my legs, so I took her back for a couple lap dances. After dancing for just one song, she got on her knees and started worshiping my cock. After putting a rubber on, she began to deepthroat me in rapid motion. I could not take it; I went off like a Roman candle in just thirty seconds. By then, it was after 24:00. I was buzzed and had dropped something like $470 just that evening. It was time to get back to the hotel, so I could get up for work at 04:30.

A lake freighter moving down the Detroit River. Windsor, Ontario is in the background.

Part 13: Detroit

I haven’t done an out of town assignment for work in about two years. To my surprise, I got called up to work a week in Detroit the week starting with Memorial Day.

I left just after midnight on the morning of Memorial Day so that I could avoid all of the delays and traffic. I made it to a rest area near Jackson, Michigan by the time I started to fall asleep four hours later. I slept for about four and a half hours and then continued on into Detroit. My hotel was right in downtown. I went to check in around noon, where I found out that they only had valet parking that was not easy access. I needed quick in-and-out for work and exploring, and I did not want to subject my job to added parking fees at an offsite lot, so I cancelled my reservation and walked out. I backtracked down I-94 and got a room at the Holiday Inn Express in Dearborn. Parking was free. I showered up and headed downtown for the afternoon.

When I was downtown earlier in the day, I noticed a lot of young people and scantily-clad women near the riverfront. Today was the final day of the three-day Movement Festival, formerly known as the DEMF (Detroit Electronic Music Festival). I decided to stop in at the Bouzouki Club about 17:00, figuring that it might be happening because there was an event going on downtown. I was wrong. There was not a single dancer working, just seven patrons drinking $5 beers at the bar.

A little history on the Bouzouki Club and Sinclair: This was the first club that I ever got a lap dance in. I had been going to strip clubs since college, but never bought dances until the first time I went to Bouzouki. I remember the dancer was a sexy blonde from Royal Oak who grinded me good and kissed me at the end of a five-set. That moment was the beginning of my addiction to strip clubs.

I left and went to dinner at Loco’s Tex-Mex, which is a restaurant next door, owned by the same guy that owns the strip club. The food was okay. The cool thing is that the same beef quesadilla that I ate at Loco’s could be ordered at the strip club for the same price. The Greek restaurant, Niki’s Lounge, is just beyond Loco’s and also owned by the same people that own Bouzouki.

I then walked around the Greektown Casino a bit and returned to the Bouzouki Club which still did not have any dancers. I had a beer and left at 19:30 to check out the electronic music festival in Hart Plaza. There were sexy women everywhere and I bet most of them were either drunk or high. I had to get back to the hotel so I could be up for work at 04:30, but I wish I could have closed the festival down and hit the after parties. I bet by the time I reported for work in the morning, these people would still be drinking and taking Ecstasy. Note to self: Next Memorial Day weekend go to Detroit for the Movement Festival.



The entrance to the Movement Festival.

A go-go dancer headed to the festival?

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.