"It's way too early for that shit" and the $1500 hand job

Business takes me to Dallas. I've never visited The Lodge but it's supposed to be one of the best upscale clubs in the country. I head out to the club on a Thursday night. It's a one-man celebration of the successful end of a long and painful project before I get on a plane home in the morning.

Entering the club into the main room, it's a stone and log affair with a main stage and a smaller satellite stage in the middle of the room. Two hallways in the back lead you to a just-as-large wood-paneled library room. It has its own stage in the middle, a floor level dance floor with a pole. There's the Champagne Room off of this. $275 for a bottle and $400 per hour to your dancer. More on this later. There's a VIP Room upstairs, $400 for a bottle plus $400 per hour to your dancer. I'm told the VIP has private rooms. I didn't see that. The Champagne Room has booths around the walls, tables in the middle. Not private, although there wasn't anyone else in there while we were in there.

There are lots of dancers, most of them pretty plain. But there are four or five fabulous babes who interest me, a pretty decent talent pool by my standards.

I have a steak. It's ok. Not as good as what they serve at my favorite Detroit clubs but definitely good enough. Less expensive though, so that's a bonus.

The sixth game of the Series is on. The local team can clinch it all with a win tonight. So the boys are focused on the game and cheering every move their guys make. Only a few girls are working the room. The rest are just hanging out waiting for the game to end, including all the fabulous babes.

So if I'm gonna get any, I'm gonna have to take the initiative.

There's a fabulous tall, curvey brunette who's touring the room with her less fabulous blond friend. I arrange it so that they catch me from behind while I'm headed somewhere else. After a little sexual banter and some preliminary groping in the hallway we head back to a corner booth in the library room for some table dances.

The brunette is hot. Big, firm, but not obviously fake tits. Great curves. Slutty stripper hair. Slutty stripper eyes locked in on mine. Hands all over me. The blonde is more laid back. Fried egg titties. Big hips. Not bad looking but nothing special.

After a couple warm up songs I want some two-girl play. "C'mon, lemme see you nibble on her nipples." But "No," the brunette says, "we can't do that out here." She promotes the private rooms. What the hell, I'll go for the $275 bottle room. It's a celebration after all, and this girl is hot.

We move, into the room. There's nobody here so we get "their favorite booth." Deal with the bottle purchase. Which brings up an odd practice at this club:

Out on the floor, when I ordered my third drink, the waitress brought me a card that she wanted me to sign. I couldn't read it in the dim light so I asked what it was. She tells me it's so that I won't hold the club liable if I have an accident or some other problem after having had too much to drink at the club. What the fuck? I don't want a fuss so I sign it with my stage name in a scrawl. Good luck to them with that. And again, when I order the bottle in the Champagne Room here's this stupid card I gotta sign. I comment that I've never seen this practice before and the brunette tells me it's me promising that I won't contest the charges they're putting on my card. (I'm not running a tab. I'm only charging the bottle. Anything else, I'm paying cash.) Regardless of the purpose of the card, it's still an odd practice. But back to the reason we came ...

In addition to the bottle the brunette ordered whipped cream and strawberries. So it's whipped cream and strawberry nipples all around. Serious nipple nibbling done by all. Yum!

After a while the blond needs to take a short break. Cool, alone time for me and the brunette. And she is smokin'. Slow, smooth grind with lots of stick shifting. She's hitting all the right spots. And I'm all over her smooth skin. Grabbing her ass. Cupping those massive breasts. Tonguing those nipples. Getting me all cranked up.

And now the blonde is back. But she's grumpy. "There were girls back there throwing up in BOTH bathrooms," she complains, "it's way too early for that shit."

Now that she's back we move on to the main event. We're into some serious rule breaking now, apparently. And we discover why these two work as a team. The brunette has her hands in my pants, stroking, while the blond screens her from the view of the manager who's in and out of the room through the far entrance, taking care of business at the bar. They both scan the room while she unzips me and starts stroking with intent. She has to ease off every time the mangler comes into the room which kind of fucks with the mood. But I focus in on her fabulous curves and soon enough we do acheive lift off. Nice. Very nice.

I've got an early flight. The alarm rings at 4am. So I gotta get outta here. No more time left to explore just where the boundaries actually might be with this girl. Much as I'd like to take the brunette up to a private VIP room and see what happens, I'd rather not pay to take the blonde along for the ride. And I really am turning into a pumpkin. Honest.

So I say good night. The brunette texts me her picture and contact info so that I can let her know next time I'll be in town. (The picture thing is a nice touch. First time I've had a stripper do that.)

And I settle up:

3 table dances plus tip, times 2 dancers: $160
1 buy-the-stripper-off-stage shot (Macallan 25) plus tip: $100
1 Champagne Room bottle plus tip: $325
Stripper hourly rate plus tip, times 2 strippers: $1000

There you go, the $1500 hand job.

Pricey.

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