So much mediocrity. And yet ...

You would think a handjob would be easy. And for pros who rely on handjobs for a significant portion of their income, you would expect expertise. And yet there is so much mediocrity.

Just this week, for instance. A slim, young attractive dancer settled into the stool next to mine and suggested we share a drink. Her hand was in my lap before her drink arrived. My dick was making its way down my pants leg before she even took a sip. This was good.

It got better. Maintaining constant contact with what was now a giant erection, she whispered that we should go private. She even did me the favor of informing me the handjob would only cost me $50 extra. For another $50, she would blow me too. The answer was "let's go."

The favors ended there. Though we were in private - or what passes for private in this club - her hands were no longer anywhere near my rapidly deflating dick. Half of the first song was devoted to searching her bag for her vape. When she finally did resume contact with the center of the universe, she didn't seem to understand its centrality to the bargain we'd made and the objective we had. Not passionate. Not even mechanical. It was just amateurish. Did she know how to do this? Worse, she was staring into my eyes as if trying to read my mind. If she had any aptitude for that, she would have know I couldn't wait to finish.

My first strip club handjob was in a fancier, pricier club. This was New York, and she was a Latin babe. Face, hair, figure all were outstanding. The only demerit in my book was what seemed to be an unnecessary boob job. She'd been playing with my pecker masterfully on the floor. So I splurged for what I hoped would be a good, if expensive, splooge. Thinking back, there was nothing special about her technique. In fact, I'm confident the explosion she coaxed out of me owed less to her ability than to my sense of the nasty line I'd crossed.

There would be more bad technique. A lot more bad than good to be sure. I can't stand the girls whose goal is arm speed. They layer on the lube then pull the pole like a paint mixer. I can come that way. Why would I want to? One girl circled the base of my dick with her thumb and index finger. This naturally put her palm adjacent to my sack. So when she proceed to jerk, what she most was doing was bruising my balls. Stop. Or the all-too-common dancer who uses the stop-go system. The way that works is just when it starts feeling good, she stops. Why, I don't know.

Another pathetic fail is certain dancers who decide to tit fuck you without a grasp of the science. Lacking lube or even spit, all she's doing is hurting you. Another fail are the ones who recoil at the first hint of ejaculation. Another misunderstanding of the science.

In this respect, the pussy is the safest option. I've gotten plenty of club pussy. And not one of those orgasms (hundreds maybe?) was a fail. Indeed, in a few instances where I was fucking the girls raw, some dancers insisted on knowing when I was going to come so they could hop off and take it in her mouth. Champions.

Blowjobs come with more risk than pussy. We all know that many girls are squeamish about swallowing. Still, these generally are more successful than the ITC handjob.

I've had a few great handjobs clubs too. The best was a New Jersey club where she took care of me barside. She had my dick out of my pants faster than I could have. And just as fast, she had me lubed expertly. Then she slowed it down. Strong, languorous strokes. My knees shook. I painted the wood. She cleaned me up. She only wanted $25.

Another winner was in Pennsylvania. She too made no serious play for VIP. Instead she invited me to pull out my pecker right there in the common room. With spit for lube and desire in her eyes, she began to work me. While her stroke was fine, what really made me rock was the soundtrack. I hope to hear again how bad she wants to fuck my cock.

When you score a good handjob, you've scored a bargain. The places where desperate dancers offer pussy at a discount are dying. Maybe dead. So dickheads like me will continue betting against the odds. We'll be hoping for expertise. We'll likely be settling for a lot less. It's okay though. As Woody Allen famously said: My worst orgasm was just right.