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• Sgrayeff

Something has been missing from the strip club fantasy. It may have been missing forever. It's not something you can see. It's something you can't hear.

Dirty talk. In a world dedicated to our sexual imagination, to the illusion that she is preferred at that moment to the women in our real lives, it's missing and missed.

Think about it. You can find any kind of girl. White, black, Latin or Asian - they're there. Girls who barely dent the scale at 85 lbs. Others who weigh closer to the NFL range. There are tits in every size and shape. There are big asses and tight little butts. Blondes and brunettes. Redheads too. Oh yeah, redheads too. There are young girls and older women. Gowns and lingerie. There is the surgeon's handiwork and the hand of God. There are stage dances and private dances. There are air dances. And there are handjobs, blowjobs and fucking. Yes, there is!

The incredible variety is part of the appeal. It's wonderful. It's everything we could ask for. Almost everything. A major exception is one thing that some of us want but hardly ever find. Can I get a girl to be even halfway good at dirty talk? After hundreds of dancers and decades of trying, it's such a rare treat.

It's not just strip clubs either. Porn stinks at dirty talk. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me" doesn't count. Nor does the tedious "right there, right there, right there, I'm going to cum." Porn should be so much better at this.

Dirty talk doesn't have to be difficult. Just describe what you're doing. "I'm licking the swollen red head on your big dick" would go a long way toward my satisfaction and her tip. Instead I mostly get ... well ... nothing.

To be fair, my civilian sex hasn't been all that different in the dirty talk category. One or two girls were great at it. They understood the charge it gave me and used it strategically. A couple of whispers, and we were off to the races. The right word at the right moment, and it was fireworks.

Case in point. A longtime lover all but refused to talk dirty over our years-long relationship. For some reason one day she surprised me while giving me a handjob in bed. Out of the blue, she just starts describing sex with a former boyfriend. The delight of hearing my fantasy soundtrack so unexpectedly set me off almost right away. It was one of the most powerful orgasms of my life. Nearly every drop blasted over my head and over the bed's headboard high onto the wall. And for reference, I was no teenager at the time. I was closing in on 40. Bam.

In the clubs, I get it that a dancer I've met just five minutes before - a girl who expects her tits and ass, not her vocabulary, to get the job done - isn't inclined to start the nasty soundtrack right off the bat. Not with the music blaring. Still, it would be nice. Actually, it would be more than nice - nice enough to pay for.

If you've read my reviews and articles (try "The dick knows the difference," for instance), then you know that I have banged lots of girls in the back. More than a few I've banged in the back multiple times. And all of them I've tried to coax into saying a few simple things to make our time even more special. Some just stare blankly. Some make feeble attempts. Few manage more than a token "cock" or "pussy."

I really would have thought professionals would be better at this. But I suppose it's yet another example of the many limitations of the dancers we love. So my quest continues. Worst case is I still get to come.

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