Sloppy girls and lame handjobs can't stop me.

So much can go wrong in a strip club. Not the once-in-a-lifetime catastrophe like armed robbery. Not even showstoppers like a grease fire or a power outage. The everyday annoyances that amount to cockblocking - or that just piss us off. Like when there's only one girl in the club that you want to see. And just when the angle is perfect, and she pulls that thong to the ... the nasty girl arrives. The sloppy one. The one you were determined to avoid. Only now she's directly in your line of sight. Moment ruined. Worse, nasty girl stays for the chat, oblivious to your signals or your prayers. Dancer drama is a major risk because it's all too common. In one sad such situation, I'd made an arrangement with a pretty dancer. She was going to blow me in the parking lot after she took her turn on stage. Then, as she left the stage, another dancer said something. Fireworks. Screaming. Rage. Ranting. No idea what the transgression was. All I knew was my dick wasn't getting wet. There can be bad luck even inside good luck. When the caramel-skinned girl I really wanted couldn't (or wouldn't) shake the loser with whom she was sitting, I pulled the trigger on a slutty white chick, figuring she was down to fuck. She was. She just wasn't down to suck. What? Didn't know that even happens. So it was a lame handjob to make me hard followed by a struggle to fit me inside. Bad fuck is better than no fuck. Still ... Speaking of lame handjobs ... How hard can it be? And yet ... Anatomy can distract in the wrong way, sending your mind in directions destined to kill the mood. Like the dancer whose butt was so tragically flabby it didn't flex even a fraction. Though her legs were rising, her ass responded only to gravity. No flex. No tension. Just sag. Just sad. Or the big girl with the big thong. All I could think about was how much material was needed to form that triangle. As I said in a review here, her thong could have been a pennant on an ocean-going ship. Here's one you can relate to. Or recoil from. Bad breath. I'd almost prefer BO to bad breath. Worst case is everything you see is perfect. She looks like you placed a custom order. Until she talks. Cancel that order. Can't face her. That smell! Girls aren't the only hazard. Guys who smoke cigars in clubs break the bro code by putting their brothers at risk. The closest I ever came to getting busted by my SO was because of a self-important turd and his cigar. My proven precautions against the ashtray atmosphere of this particular club always worked until that night and that cigar. This was the only time she doubted my story. Why do you smell like that? Where were you really? I didn't tell her that a burning hot Latina with riotous curls and neon singlet had marched across the bar, insisted I follow her and stuffed my cock into her pussy raw. I guess that Latina is kind of the point. Woody Allen once joked about the woman whose therapist had told her orgasm wasn't the right kind. Woody responded: "My worst orgasm was ... just right." Lots can go wrong in the club. Girls. Guys. The things we do. The things we say. But there's tits and ass. And I even get laid. Not complaining about that.