One Saving Grace

Within the first hour of my second visit to Jill's it was becoming readily apparent it was going to be as depressing as my first visit. As flexible as I am in my taste in women, even I couldn't bring myself to get excited over the crop that was in house. I don't think a single one even rated a five (and my buddies have busted my ass for my generous ratings for years). The two 40-something guests who came in with their boyfriends wearing flannel shirts and loose-fitting jeans far exceeded the caliber of any of the dancers on the stage. Don't even get me started about the waitresses and the bartender.

But then Melia made her entrance. Granted, I have a strong predilection for Mediterranean women, and Melia was the only dancer in the joint with a single non-Caucasian gene, but undoubtedly she's a legitimate nine.

I fended off all others until Melia freed up. We chatted a few minutes and it was quickly obvious that not only was she smokin' hot but quite personable as well. We headed up to the VIP room. As appalled as I was by the $220 fee Jill's has the audacity to charge for 30 mins in their VIP room (though surprisingly, unlike their main floor, their VIP room is relatively tasteful and has a nice layout with plenty of private space) the walk up the stairs following Malia's perfectly fine ass allowed me to rationalize the fee. The next 60 minutes – yes, a $20 tip to the upstairs bartender and Malia's interest in avoiding the depressing dance floor gave me an extra 30 mins– made me perfectly content to part with my cash. I'll just say she gave me free reign.