I...

I should have known. I really am smarter than the decision to go into this joint would indicate. It looks like a dump. It is attached to an Interstate Highway Porn Palace for truckers and pervs. The reviews on TUSCL indicate "stay away." I went anyway. The "open-by-remote-like-when-you-have-been-arrested" door and the stench of old cigarettes and VOMIT should have scared me away. By now, I was committed. Perhaps I should be "committed." The door charge was $10 and the guy taking the money was so rude, it is a wonder that they have any customers. Wait a minute: they don't. I was it. All the other cars in the lot must have been next door buying porn, because the lot had a fair amount of vehicles and I was the ONLY customer.

The bartender was also the waitress. She was slightly intriguing in that "how long ago did she give up meth?" or the "how young was she when she became a grandmother?" sort of way. Reasonably clean, no visible tatoos, hostile attitude, was pretty once, decades ago. She hit me hard for the $30 upsell. The bracelet made all of my soft drinks free and gave me admission to the VIP, where, in her words, "the magic happens." She elaborated that the stage dancing was the "appetizer" and that the "entree gets eaten in the VIP." At least she had a way with words. I gave her a 50 and asked for 20 singles so I could tip the girls. She came back with a wristband, a lukewarm bottle of water and the stack of Ones. She counted out 18, put them in my hand, and stuffed two into her bra. She chuckled and said, "If you want 'em, go get 'em!" I declined.

Dancers huddled at the end of the bar, each wrapped in a shawl, as it was VERY chilly, and all of them chain-smoking and waiting for me to take my bottled water to a table. The fat girl lost the flip and had to dance on stage first. She seemed very nice. She smiled and chatted me up and shook it for all it was worth. And it wasn't worth much. I am not fit. I am old and fat. She, however, has a job where part of the deal is to take her clothes off. She should find another profession. When she took of her bra, her boobs literally bounced up and down, and down, and down, and one of them bounced lower than the other, and she could have tucked it into her panties. Her rolls of fat were only outnumbered by her stretch marks, and her natural teeth were outnumbered by her tatoos. I was mesmerized. I seriously could not believe it. It was like watching the Freak Show at the traveling carnival. You couldn't look away. Midway into her second of three songs, the meth girl came to my table to sell me an "entree."

We all know meth girl: impossibly skinny, ugly tats, rotting teeth, bad breath, and a curious sense that she is beautiful. Her hair stank and her outfit was dirty. I am certain her boyfriend, the meth cook, tells her she is hot, because she believes it. She gave me the lowdown on VIP while furiously rubbing my thigh where she mistook my cock for being. Her regulars must be hung like horses, because she missed Mr. Happy by at least three inches. VIP (according to Tweeker, as we will call her, as I forgot her stripper name): $25 for two-way contact in an open, but darkened VIP area. 5 dances cost $100, but you have to pay for the "buy 4, get 1 free!" in advance. She was explicit when discussing extras: HJ was $50 bucks. BJ not available. FS not available, Happy Endings were expected to "tip" extra. HJ, BJ, FS could be negotiated OUTSIDE the club--and done in the parking lot--if you paid the $100 tip-out to the club IN ADVANCE. One pop. Go home. Hmmm.....

I should have left, but I stayed. The car/train wreck aspect of this club was too high to turn away.