On the Fringe

Sugar: Hey, you should come in tonight. Violet is here. She wants to see you.

Bathwater: Did you find out what happened to her?

Sugar: I did. Come talk to her. It's for her to say. It's not my place to spread her stuff. I don't want to do that.

She sends a picture of the two of them in the dressing room getting ready.

Bathwater: I take it she can't text me.

Sugar: Yeah, she wishes she could. That's why I said don't worry, I got you. She really wants to talk. She always feels better when she does.

Bathwater: I got plans. I wouldn't get there till late.

Because I can't resist a good story, I went. 

I'm not a fan of Friday nights at the club. The crowd is just different. Some familiar faces always seem to be there. The pair of German brothers in their mid-seventies, who like to stare over the rail and compare dancers. Same bartenders and a couple of familiar dancers.

The crowd was thin, and there were a lot of dancers working. They were really hustling. I had to fend off more than usual.

I saw Sugar first. I chipped away at her defenses during our conversation. She didn't say much about Violet.

Familiar names get called on stage. I find myself thinking about the dancers I used to know with those same ones.

I excused myself to the bathroom. I saw Violet sitting in the center of a booth filled with a group of guys and a couple of other dancers. We locked eyes for a second as I walked past.

Violet came up to the upstairs bar where I usually hang out about twenty minutes later. She settled into the high-back stool next to where I was standing.

Her eyes were glassy. 

"I'm glad to see you're alive," I said.

She didn't want to get into her story at the bar in front of others. 

"Let's go into the back, then," I suggested. "Let me order another beer first. I have a feeling this is going to be a long one."

We went to the back. Violet plopped herself into the corner of the couch and rested her legs on my lap. She slid the triangles of her purple bikini top off her breasts out of habit and started unloading.

First, let me gloat.

Ninety percent of my suspicions were correct. She did get to Loves before I arrived, but he started creating a scene. He took her phone. It was he who sent those last few text messages. It was him in that grey midsize SUV.

The SUV was actually paid for by Violet, but it is in his name. His truck is not running. He threatened to call the cops and take it from her. Violet does not want to be without a car. She did get kicked out of where she was staying (which was not with him). He caused a scene outside, and her roommate said she can't have that.

Violet was forced to move in with him. She stopped texting with me because she doesn't want to put me in the middle. I don't want to be in the middle. She is afraid of him. Her current plan is to save enough money to get another car and leave. I suggested that when that time comes, she should call the cops. She is still reluctant to do that. She'd rather make a clean escape. I don't really see that happening, given the control he has over her. 

I gave her my Google number just in case, before we parted.

When I returned to the upstairs bar area, it was freezing. I was shivering. Sugar passed, and I pulled her in. "Come here. Keep me warm for a sec."

"I figured you two would still be in the back."

"I didn't come here planning to spend a bunch of money. Do me a favor. Keep an eye out for her."

"Will do."

I think Violet will leave him. It's there in the detached way she talks. In the layered plans she's already making. The note she plans to leave behind will basically say, "You're an asshole." The question is when and at what cost.

Why I'm still hanging around the fringes. I like her. She wants to hang out, and she wants to do it soon. I do too.

"You don't have to come in," was one of the last things Violet said to me.

I think that tells me two things.

She wants to figure this out on her own.

And whatever this friendship has become, it isn't dependent on me walking through the doors of the club.

Fade to Black

Saturday, I went to the club.

I didn't expect Violet to be there, but I hoped Sugar might.

When you look down on the stage from the railing near the upstairs bar, you can see where the glossy white surface has worn into a dull circle around the front pole—years of high heels tracing the same path.

I arrived around nine. The place wasn't busy. I'd been sitting at the upstairs bar for about ten minutes when the DJ announced Sugar would be on stage in five songs.

When she came up, I walked down to the rail.

"Hey, have you heard from Violet?"

"No. She's not here tonight." She grinned. "Does that mean I get to take you to the back?" Always the salesman, Sugar is.

I slipped a twenty into her G-string. "I guess. I got a story for you."

After she finished making her rounds on stage, she found me upstairs and sat beside me at the bar.

She told me she'd texted Violet a few days earlier but never got a reply.

I told her everything—what happened that night, my theory about the SUV, and showed her the text exchange.

"Now I'm worried," she said.

"Me too."

She said she'd try calling her the next day. Before she went back to work, we exchanged numbers.

"If you hear from her," I said, "just let me know."

She nodded.

It was obvious Sugar had heard more stories about Violet's boyfriend than I had, but she didn't elaborate.

For now, that seems to be the end of the story.

At least the part I know.

What We Say With Words

The last time I saw Violet was a week before her I think I need help texted. It was my third time seeing her at the club. 

We were behind the curtains, and she wanted to read me a poem she wrote on her phone. She said I had to hear it in her voice. She has a slight southern drawl that you don't usually expect from a person from Indiana. 

I tilted my head close to hers so I could hear her over the music. It was a poem about being in a troubled relationship and knowing the right choice, but not knowing why she stays.

Her poem reminded me of the Silverstein song Massachusetts—about knowing the right choice and still not being able to make it.

Violet is friendly with Sugar, another dancer at the club. She said Sugar was only eighteen, but she lies and tells customers she is twenty. But what was really concerning to both of us was Sugar's actions.

I think Violet doesn't want Sugar to go down the wrong road. Something Violet has had experience with. 

I still haven't heard from Violet, although I have a feeling at some point I will. I'm not reaching out. I'm thinking about going to the club on Friday or Saturday. I don't expect to see Violet there, but I can check to see if Sugar has heard from her and exchange numbers.

 

Bumfuck Michigan

I threw on some clothes and got into the Buick. Driving up North Ave and Capac roads at night this time of year is like flirting with death. Not your own, although that could happen too, but more likely the death of a deer.

I remember a few years back, Sam and I were driving up North Avenue during the middle of a summer day to get to our favorite biking trail and countering nine deer carcasses along the side of the road.

Why was I driving up these rural roads at 12:30 a.m. on a Saturday night? It started with a text I received much earlier in the day. 

Violet: Missing talking to you...I've had a busy, overwhelming week; hopefully, yours has been okay. I'm going to be at the club tonight if you want to pop in and talk for a little bit. I know it sucks spending time together there, but I do miss you...I completely understand if you can't, though.

I saw her the week before. She knows I like seeing her, but she also knows I don't like going all that way to the club. I texted her back a few hours later when I saw her text.

Me: I'm going out with Max and his girlfriend tonight so they can gush over their engagement. (eyeroll emoji) You can call me later, though.

Yes, Max got engaged, but that is a story for a different post.

At eleven, I received another text from Violet.

Violet: I didn't end up going into work. I'm actually having maybe the worst night of my life so far. I think I need help.

I replied immediately.

Me: What's wrong? Do you need to talk?

Violet: I'm not alone. I can't talk yet. I'm about to be stranded and have no place to live though.

I'm on my way to get my belongings and then I don't know what I'm doing because I won't have transportation. i might be able to get an Uber, I don't know.

Me: I have a spare room. Do you need a ride or would that just cause more problems?

Violet: I might have no other choice. but to get a ride because I'm out in bumfuck and I don't know if Uber is going to accept late where I am at. I'm going to get packed and try to figure out if I can get a cab or something. Where do you live again?

I gave her my general location.

Violet: Okay, I'm going to get off here and save my battery until I get back and get my stuff packed. I'm on 19%. I'll let you know soon.

Then, a few minutes later.

Violet: I'm going to Loves in Capac right now.

Me: Call me when you can and let me know what you want to do.

Violet: Can u pick me up?

Me: Yes, 45 minutes.

That was what sent me out drive north in the middle of the night--dodging deer (I saw at least four, one in the middle of the road), and wishing I had taken the truck.

I texted her one more time, saying I was ten minutes out. She responded okay. Loves sits off I-69 in rural Michigan, a twenty-four-hour truck stop with a convenience store and an attached McDonald's. There is nothing else worth noting around it.

I parked in front beneath the neon red heart and yellow Loves sign. There was no sign of Violet. I went inside the bright-lit store and checked all around. There was no sign of her. I got back in my car.

Me: I'm here, but I don't see you.

Violet: I'm by the McDonald's. Where are you at?

I got out and walked around the side of the closed McDonald's. There was a black truck parked further back in the lot. There was no way I was going to go up to that. I got back in my car.

Me: I'm in front of Loves. Red car.

Imagine this at night

She didn't respond, but shortly after, a young kid in a silver or grey mid-size SUV pulled up next to me. I glanced over while sitting in my car and smoking my vape. He didn't get out of his car. He stayed for a few moments and then pulled out.

I didn't hear anything else from Violet. I waited another twenty minutes. Then tried calling her. Her phone went to voicemail. After that, I drove back home, thinking I'm too old to be rescuing girls in the middle of the night.

I have a few theories of what happened. You'll probably come to the same conclusions. Still, I can't answer everything.

It's Sunday, and I haven't heard from her. I'm a bit concerned for her safety. This is a kid she has a restraining order against, but there is not much I can do. If she wants to contact me, she can. She has my phone number (if he didn't delete and block it), she has my email, and CashApp. Where there is a will, there is a way.

Flight

Friday, Violet reached out to me over text.

Violet: I'm at Flight Club if you wanna stop and talk for a minute.

Violet: (The) Past couple weeks have been crazy for me, can't really dive into it all on the phone, but it would be nice to see you...I know you don't like coming in here, though.

Me: Are you working tomorrow?

I went in to see her Saturday. I can't resist the promise of a good story.

Violet is taking steps toward getting herself out of her current situation. It's not going to be anytime soon, though. 

We do enjoy talking with each other. We talked for a long time, and I continue to learn more about her. 

Violet still struggles with giving up her daughter for adoption. She knows she picked a good couple, a lawyer and a judge. She gets to see blog posts. Still, she wishes she could be her mom.

I don't know how hard that can be. I couldn't tell her she made the right choice. What I did know was that her time in her daughter's life was not necessarily over. "One day, your daughter is going to be eighteen, and might want to know her birth mom. That's very likely."

"I know thirteen years. I'm counting them down," she says.

"Focus on becoming the woman you want your daughter to meet."

She wants to continue our connection. "I always feel better after talking to you." She tells me.

She suggested calling me.

"Sure, just call me on your way to or from work."

I like that idea. Hopefully, she does. It would be a step in the right direction.

Another Night

 So Tinkerbell encouraged me to give Violet some more time. She thinks I am happier when someone is around. I am, but I am also happy focusing on writing right now.  I ended up texting her to see if she was working at the club this weekend. She was, and I decided to go in on Saturday night.

I'm beginning to hate going to those clubs, but the weather hasn't really turned to summer yet here. I spent some time talking to a new dancer I met. A cute twenty-one-year-old who would be nothing but trouble. She was hot, though.

When Violet found me and sat beside me, she was obviously intoxicated. Definitely not the girl I met a few weeks prior. I gave her some money and suggested she skip herself on stage and get something to eat. 

Violet is having issues at home, concerning a bad relationship she is trying to extract herself from, along with some other issues that usually come with being that age. She sobered up a bit after eating some pretzel sticks, and we went into the back, where we continued to talk. 

I like her; she is cute and shares some of the same interests. She seems interested in hanging out more, but she needs to get her shit together for that to happen. For now, she is a long shot. 

I told her I wasn't interested in hanging out, but I wasn't going to spend my summer inside the club, and left it at that. I'd don't think I have seen the last of her. She seems genuinely interested in hanging out. The real question is whether she is willing and able to make the first step.

Violet

 Gia is back in Detroit. Yes, I have been keeping loose tabs on her. She was in Tampa for a while, then she disappeared. I think she was in Rhode Island for a bit, and now she is showing up back in Detroit. No, I am not looking to rekindle anything with her. I understand she isn't capable of that. However, I must admit that I don't like the way things ended.

After a week of debating with myself, I decided to go to the club Saturday night. I hate the fifty-minute drive, but it is like putting on a familiar shoe.

I saw a couple of familiar faces, but Gia was not there. I'm glad in a way. 

I wasn't there long when a cute dancer walked by me. She was heading toward the private rooms. I could tell she was looking for something with one of the bouncers. I gave her a smile and tried to engage her when she walked past me again, but it seemed like she hadn't found what she was after. She gave me a quick smile and kept going.

She came back a few minutes later. She told me she thought she lost her phone, but it ended up being in the dressing room. We started talking She is from Indiana, but move to the area to dance. She has a cute smile. She reminds me a bit of Tinkerbell. 

We ended up talking. She is an artist. Likes to paint. I took her to the private rooms where we continued our conversation. We talked about writing, Legos ourselves. By the end she was eager to exchange numbers. Maybe something will come of it. Either way, it was a good night.

 

Not Enough Glue

 Gia has a captivating smile. When she truly smiles, her eyes sparkle, the years fall from her face, and she has a youthful innocence. Gia has been in Michigan for a month and is getting homesick. As the weather shifts to summer, the club is slowing down.

Gia: I may leave sooner. Work is getting annoying. A lot of cheap dudes, and I'm tired of spending money on a rental car. 

Bathwater: How soon are you thinking?

Gia: I don't know. Pretty soon, honestly. I'll see how tonight goes. Maybe next time, I'll only get an Airbnb for two weeks, not a whole month.

Bathwater: I figured it would slow down once the weather kicked in. Today is Father's Day.

Gia: You were right. I forgot it is Father's Day :(.

Bathwater: Do you want me to come down and keep you company for a bit?

Gia: It's up to you. That's a far drive.

I drove across town to the club. An accident caused the fifty-minute drive to take an extra twenty-five minutes. I arrived at eight forty-five. It was the first time I had been to the club since April. Gia and I have been seeing each other outside the club on Fridays. 

There were more dancers than customers. I got a booth, and Gia and I camped out for most of the night between her trips to the stage. She tried approaching a few other customers without luck. 

"You have come a long way since we first met. You are less stubborn," I tell her.

Gia and I are sitting in the booth. Gia is wearing an orange micro bikini. Her legs are stretched out across my lap. 

"I have been working on that with you," she tells me. 

I wish there was more of a connection between Gia and me. There are so many differences, and there is not enough glue. 

Nuggets

Last Friday, I went to see the psychic. It could have been a better reading. She did come up with a few good nuggets, though. She did see me seeing Gia again. She described Gia perfectly. The Psychic said Gia liked to be in control, she was focused on money, and I would show her she could still have fun. When I ask the psychic about different people, I never give her any of my opinions, only the names. She always comes back with wildly different descriptions that only match that person. For example, what she said about Billie or Ava would never apply to Gia.

She didn't see anything developing with Gia. Just more of the same. I am okay with that. The Psychic did describe someone else being around me. Someone I currently know, but I still need to take the time to figure it out. She said this year will not be my year with a travel partner. She sees that in 2025. Oh well.

Thursday night, I received a message through TikTok from a different dancer I often talk to from the club. I did not plan on returning to the club until Gia returned in April, but since this girl reached out, I made the trip on Saturday. 

A lot of girls were working, but none really interested me. The one I went to see was there. She is fun to talk with. I planned to take her to the back and spend some time with her, but she disappeared. Not with a customer in the back. I think she just left. Either way, the night was disappointing, and I don't plan to return anytime soon. 

This week is Chinese New Year, the year of the dragon. My colleagues in China are all on vacation, so work has slowed down for the week. 

The highlight of my days is my brief text exchanges with Gia. I reach out a few times a week, and we usually banter back and forth a bit when she replies. Distance is a hard thing to overcome, though. 

Flight Club

I saw her today at the reception

A glass of wine in her hand
I knew she would meet her connection
At her feet was her footloose man... You Can't Get What You Want, The Rolling Stones

I went back to Flight Club Friday night. Tinkerbell and Tech's friend, Teach, sat at the corner of the upstairs bar. He was surrounded by a group of regulars. A petite blond was pressed against him, showing her breast and allowing him to touch her ass.

Al walked up to me while I stood at the railing, looking down at the main stage. "I thought you got kidnapped by the Albanian mob."

"I know, I should have said something," Al replies. "My ex was blowing my phone up that night."

I am not surprised. She got back together with him. Even during our brief time together, I could tell he was pressing her hard. I even said he was going to be a problem. Al probably said something about seeing someone, too.

Al tells me, "I dreamt about you last night."

"What were we doing?" I ask in hopes of hearing something good.

"Just talking," she tells me.

Al told me she is getting back with her ex. Judging from their history, it will only last for a while. Al is 27. She has been in love with her boyfriend since she was 11 and he was 9. Although, judging from what she has told me, they have not been together consistently the whole time. They seem to be trauma-bonded.

I told her we could still get together on Tuesday nights, but she wasn't biting. Apparently, she is not allowed to see customers outside the club. It defeats his plausible deniability. He needs to do a lot of denying with Al. She pays all the bills, which probably helps with that.

Went to the private booth with Al. We were close in the way two people who have been intimate can be. I plan on keeping in touch with Al for now, primarily for lack of anyone else. I will probably start working on a few other girls. I just wish the damn club wasn't so far away.

So It Goes

 Al messaged me last Wednesday. It was several days after my last text. She said it had been a rough couple of days.  When I asked if everything was okay, she said, "Just been emotional, should have said something." I'm not sure what the heck that means. 

We made plans for her to come over after work at the strip club on Friday night. Friday afternoon, she said her baby-daddy was sick and couldn't watch her daughter, so Friday night was off, but she could do Saturday. 

Sam and I went to Arts, Beats, and Eats on Saturday. When I got home, I texted Al. It was around ten. "Hey, am I going to see you tonight?"

Al: "Yes."

Bathwater: "I can wait. Text me when you are on your way."

Al replied with a heart. 2:20 a.m. rolled around, and I had not received a text from Al. She should have been on her way. I sent her a text.

Bathwater: Did you leave yet?

I received no reply.

I think there will be one more Al update. I plan on going to the club this Friday. Not so much to see Al, but to check out a few of the girls I overlooked when talking with Al. I am curious if she has any thing to say, but I will not be investing any money in her at the club.

Friday

 After Al got off work Friday night, she came to the condo. She came in wearing a booty-short style one-piece body suit. The body suit was a  nude color beige. It left little to the imagination. My friend Jay once said, "You can take the stripper out of the club, but you can't always take the club out of the stripper." Al appears to be the latter. Unlike Tink or Billie, Al just looks like a stripper outside the club. 

It was a little after 3:00 a.m. when Al arrived. We didn't waste time with small talk and headed upstairs. Al is fun in bed. I was satisfied. She seemed to enjoy herself, but at this point, it is hard to tell. Al spent the night. We didn't get much sleep. The cat decided to wake us up early. 

We went for smoothies in the morning and came back to the condo to hang out for a while. Al seemed fine during the visit. We have a good flow of conversation, but I have a suspicion she has changed her mind. I am not sure of the reason. We planned on getting together again on Tuesday, but I sent her a text on Sunday and again today, and I haven't heard back. In the past, she was good at responding. I am going to stop reaching out at this point.

Al was fun, but I won't be disappointed if she chooses to ghost me. I would have preferred someone older and without a child anyway. I got to hook up with Al twice. That will tide me over for awhile. I am not read to make an effort to find someone else if she does disappear.

Al

 As promised, Al came over Tuesday afternoon. I took a half-day just to get things rolling. She wore high-waisted yoga pants and a beige long-sleeved knit sweater that revealed her mis-riff. She was dolled up for our first meet. Hopefully, she will be more natural as things progress.

I gave her a condo tour and asked if she wanted to get something to eat. Al agreed to get something to eat, so I took her to nearby downtown New Baltimore, where we sat outside and shared a pizza. We continued to talk the whole time. I shared stories from my colorful past and asked questions about her.

Al has been a stripper off and on since she was twenty-one. She would quit whenever she was in a relationship with a boyfriend. It sounds like she has spent more time NOT being a stripper. Al has a two-year-old daughter. Her daughter usually spends time with her ex and his mother on weekends. 

The day was cooler, but the sunshine made it enjoyable. After lunch, we walked out to the end of the pier. New Baltimore has a small beach that overlooks Lake St. Claire. Lake St. Claire is between Lake Huron and Lake Erie. It is not considered to be a Great Lake. After, we came back to the condo and sat on the couch.

I pulled Al closer, and she sat on my lap stripper style, with her legs folded on either side of my hips. We kissed, and I fondled her butt and traced my hands along the ribs beneath her shirt. Al unzipped the front of her shirt to expose her breasts. "You okay?" I ask.

"You're touching them anyway," she replied with a smile. 

I asked her if she wanted to go upstairs. Al nodded yes, and we headed to the bedroom. Al laid on the bed and took off her shirt and pants. I took off my clothes and got on top of her. We kissed, and I kissed her on her neck and down her torso. Al has a tiny waist and curvy hips. 

Al was responding to my attention nicely. She was breathing heavily, so I didn't hesitate to continue kissing her thighs and between her legs. She got really wet, and we had sex in several positions on the bed. Toward the end, she said, "That's what I needed."

So did I. I haven't been with anyone since February. 

After, we sat downstairs, watched TV, and discussed the future. I suggested she come over on Friday nights after work. I told her it would save on her driving. She lives forty minutes from me and forty from the club. "You can come over after work and just sleep if you want. I'm not going to paw at you. Then we can spend Saturday together, and you can head back to work from here."

Al agreed. She seems very interested in proceeding with the arrangement. We even talked about sneaking in a quick trip before the end of the season. She is interested in just having some fun.

I told my buddy, Jay, this morning. "I wasn't looking to pick anyone up at the club, especially a twenty-seven-year-old. She literally fell into my lap."

During our lunch, Al indicated she wasn't expecting to find an arrangement at the club. Most guys are not interested in the cost. For now, I am going to roll with it and see where this takes us.

Flight

 Out of sheer boredom, I went to Flight Club on Friday. A strip club far on the west side. It is a club both Tink and Billie work back in the day. I have been avoiding the clubs because there haven't been many pretty girls the last few times I visited. The last time was when I took Ava.

I arrived around nine. It was not busy. Nothing has changed. I took a seat at the upstairs bar. I was pleasantly surprised to see several good-looking girls were working. I ordered a beer and took in the atmosphere. I brushed off the first two girls that approached me. They were both attractive, but I don't like the pushy ones. Instead, I want to take my time and get a feel for them. You can tell a lot by just watching.

I had my eye on a tall blond with curly hair talking at the end of the bar. She reminded me of Billie. She was busy working on two guys and wasn't going out of her way to seem interested in talking to me. That was when a third girl approached me.

I am going to call her Al. Al was wearing a mauve one-piece lace nighty. She has straight brown hair and a gorgeous smile when she does. We started talking. I was going to send her away with a rejection, but she wasn't being pushy. She sat beside me, and I asked if she wanted a drink. She ordered a lemon drop. Which at the club is code for a non-alcoholic beverage. 

Al and I started talking about tattoos. Al has several, including an interesting pattern on her left hand that continues down her fingers. She said I look like Kevin Bacon. Which I have never been accused of before, but I'll take it. She even pulled a picture of him up on her phone. Al commented that we have the same facial structure.

Al asked me if I wanted to go back and get some dances. I said, "I'm just looking to have a fun night. Nothing extra or intrusive. If you are game for that, sure."

We went to the back, and she started to dance for me. Al has a nice body and a firm ass, but mostly we spent the time with her sitting next to me with her legs stretched out across my lap.

Al told me she has a two-year-old and has been working at the club since April. As we talked, she seemed to get more comfortable. Al told me she was on Seeking Arrangements, the site where I found Ava and Firefly. I indicated that I had been on the site and asked if she would be interested in something with me. 

Al is twenty-six, a bit young for me these days, but she indicated she would be. I usually keep a low-key, respectful approach with girls at the clubs. They typically appreciate that, especially at a club where most guys expect extra.

Our conversation continued. I plied Al with some of my stories and even made her smile. We exchanged numbers and discussed days when we could meet. She seems receptive. We spend a half-hour in the back before returning to the bar. Al went off to make more money. 

I ended up seeing Teach at the bar. Teach is a friend of Tink and Tech. He is a strip club regular and spends every Friday and Saturday night at the club. I talked with Tech for a while and chatted up a couple of the other dancers. Teach knows them all.

Al came back over to me later. I was in conversation with another girl but extracted myself and sat with Al at the bar. I asked Al if she would like to go to the back again. She agreed, and we went back to another room.

This time her dancing was more intimate. She sat facing me on my lap, and I had my hands on her firm ass. She would lean in close and place her forehead on mine. She asked, "Do you want to do more? You earned it."

I placed my face against her flat stomach. "Honey, I would love to do more, but this isn't the place for it."

Al agreed. She said she was usually available on Tuesdays and Sundays, and we discussed getting together on Tuesday. We parted, and I spent some more time talking to Teach. I told him I liked Al.

"Did you get her number?" He asked.

"Of course"

I could still smell Al's perfume on me when I got home. The following day, I received a good morning text from Al.

Bathwater: Good morning, gorgeous. It was nice meeting you last night. Tomorrow is Sunday. Would you like to get together?

Al: Tomorrow might not work. My daughter gets dropped off at two.

Bathwater: Well, you could come over tonight after work

Al: I can do that!

We made plans for her to come over after work, but as the night rolled on, she indicated she was tired and probably wouldn't be much fun. I told her I understood, and we shifted seeing each other back to Tuesday. I hope things work out.

Old Haunts

 I am still having issues with hair bumps on my face. I look like a crack addict who cannot stop picking at his face. My solution was to stop shaving for a few days, but I am not sure it helped much. Ava didn't like the beard. She thought it was scratchy and made me look older. I finally shaved it off today. 

Ava and I went to The Landing Strip on Friday night. I told her she needed to see what an actual strip club was like. I picked her up at 9:00 pm. She slid into the passenger seat but told me to wait. Ava was still debating which shoes to wear. She felt heels would be intimidating to the dancers.

"It doesn't matter," I told her. "Either way, you will be the prettiest girl there."

Ava wore black leggings and a black and white top. Her long dark hair was full and curly. She had put a lot of effort into getting ready and looked hot.

Landing Strip is a forty-minute drive, but it flew by as we chatted on the ride. Ava filled me in on the latest concerning the arrangement she was considering. The more she tells me about the guy, the more it sounds like he is gaslighting her. The guy is going through a divorce but still lives with his wife. He has made several promises that he hasn't kept. Ava is tired of him, but the lure of money keeps her from pulling the plug. 

We arrived at Landing Strip before ten. Friday was opening day for the Detroit Tigers, but that didn't increase the crowd at the strip club. I had the bouncer seat us at a small round table near the main stage. Ava was apprehensive but excited. She near goes to bars and is never out late because she is at a club.  

There was a good number of girls dancing. A few were even what I'd consider pretty, but not many. I still long for the good old days when cute girls were the norm and overweight girls would be relegated to working days. 

I ordered Ava water (she doesn't drink) and myself a beer. When the waitress came back around, Ava ordered a fruit plate to pick at. Ava and I discussed the attributes of the girls on stage. Her tastes don't differ much from mine. There were a couple of girls Ava was interested in taking upstairs, but we hadn't been able to connect with any. Some don't like dancing for couples, while others shy away from tables with women.

At one point, I pointed up at a dancer who was leaning on the upstairs railing. She was a bit too skinny, but I noticed when she was on stage, she had nice nipples. "She wouldn't be bad," I said.

"I can't go talk to her, can I?" Ava was still getting a feel for the club and wasn't sure if she could just walk upstairs.

"Of course you can. Come on, I'll show you." I led Ava to the stairs behind the main bar, and we went up. 

Ava went up to the dancer, still leaning on the rail, and asked if she would dance for us. We went to one of the back rooms with the girl. Ava sat on the couch, and I balanced on the arm. We told the girl to dance for Ava. I just kept out of the way and watched. It wasn't a great set of dances, and Ava was content not to do more dances with the girl.

We both liked this petite blond stripper named Anastasia. I tipped her on stage, but she went to sit with a regular once she finished her set. The second time she made her rounds on stage, she assured me she would come to see us. I gave Ava the money and told her to take the stripper up alone. I had a feeling Ava would have a better time without me. The booths upstairs are not big enough for three. 

I sat with Teach-- Tinkerbell and Tech's friend, who was also at the club, while Ava went upstairs with Anastasia. Ava liked her dances with Anastasia. They seemed to be up there longer than four songs. Ava said they talked the whole time.

We got home from the club late, and Ava spent the night. We stayed up having sex into the wee hours. Ava came three times and kept me satisfied that night and again in the morning.

Because her other arrangement is not going anywhere, we are talking about going back down south for another cave exploring getaway this month.

Future

 Saturday night, I took a break from painting to meet up with Tinkerbell and Tech in Ferndale. Tinkerbell was meeting up with a female friend. Tech and I were meeting up with Teach.

I meet up with Tinkerbell and Tech in front of Comos. A restaurant that shows up a few times in my book. It was where Billie and I ate dinner on our first date. Ferndale was having a pride celebration. Tinkerbell and her friend went off to join the crowd. Tech, Teach, and I headed further north to have dinner in Royal Oak.

We ate at a seafood restaurant. I don't care for seafood, but I had a pesto chicken sandwich that I enjoyed. After dinner, we discussed where to head next. Several of the area strip clubs were discussed and rejected. We all agreed clubs on the east side of town would be disappointing. We went to Flight Club on the west side of the city in Inkster. Teach ends up there most weekends anyway. He is a regular there.

The club seemed slow. There were a few more pretty girls there than last time. I still don't feel like spending the money or time becoming a regular at a club. At about ten, a pretty blond girl sat next to me at the upstairs bar. She wore a bright blue thong bikini and white thigh-high socks with matching blue stripes. Teach mentioned her earlier when we were at dinner. He told us how another regular he hangs with always buys her dinner. 

The stripper, I'll call Future, had her right arm in a black sling. She was in a car accident back in 2019. The arm had nerve damage. She could not move it or her hand. I pulled her sad story out of her while she ordered dinner. Sure enough, the regular paid for her meal, and she went to sit next to him when it came. A steak dinner. He cut the meat up for her.

Before she left, she told me about the crash and how the driver, her boyfriend at the time, did not receive any injuries. He slowly ghosted her after the accident. Future spent two months in the hospital. She is twenty-four. Both of her parents are dead. Her mom died when she was eighteen, and her dad when she was twenty. Future has a younger sister who is an addict who recently started Suboxone.

Future isn't allowed to dance on stage because her arm is in a sling. That is where most strippers get exposure. Future must approach customers. A talent that most of these strippers don't have these days. Future had a nice butt, and my damsel-in-distress instincts made me decide to go back for dances with her.

"I'm not looking for any extras," I tell her. "Let's just go back and have a good time."

When we got to the backroom. She took her arm from the sling. It dangled limply at her side. Future tended to hide it. I didn't have her dance for me. Instead, I had her sit on my lap facing me, and we talked some more while my hands drifted over her belly and ass. I told her I had two hundred dollars, and we could hang out for as long as she wanted, but I warned her she should not try taking me for more. 

She was pleased to have someone who wasn't demanding. We started swapping more stories. She told me anecdotes from her days at Penthouse. I mentioned Billie. My thoughts drifted back to Future long after our time in the back ended. It has to be very hard for her to get through the day with only one working arm. We exchanged numbers before I left. I could see myself getting sucked in by that girl. Luckily, I accidentally deleted her number when I went to save it.

The Colosseum

 I stopped into the Colosseum Thursday night. It was once a sister club to Penthouse, owned by the same person back in the day. The Colosseum is where they filmed the short-lived Showtime show Topless Prophet. The city decided to clean up the strip clubs. They shut down Penthouse and forced the owner to sell Colosseum.

I arrived before eight. The dayshift girls were still lingering, and the night-shift girls were slowly starting to mingle. I texted Tinkerbell, "It's full of black chicks and fat chicks so far."

It's been almost ten years since I was a regular at a strip club. Several things have changed. Some are easy to point out, but others are more elusive. The girls are bigger and less attractive. The customers do not dress as well. I saw one guy wearing cut-off sweatpants and a t-shirt with his belly sticking out. He would not have made it through the door in the old days.

Overall, the clubs are changing with the times in a desperate effort to survive. The girls carry buckets with them on stage. I noticed this in the two other clubs I've visited recently. That was never the case in the old days. Seldom did a customer "make it rain." They tipped girls on stage. These young guys have seen too many music videos. No girl wants to sweep up a wad of singles thrown at them while they are on stage.

I witnessed one guy get up from the bar, throw three or four singles at a dancer on stage, and walk back to his seat. He didn't talk to her. He barely looked at her. His whole demure showed a certain lack of respect. I went to the dancer after and slipped a dollar into the band of her g-string on the side. "Feel out of place. Am I supposed to through this at you and walk away?" I joked.

Later, while we talked at the bar, she commented that I was more of a gentleman. I said, "You don't throw your money at the gas station cashier. Why would you do it here?"

The girls don't do extras in the back at Colosseum--not anymore. The curtains are gone, and the backroom is one ample open space. When I went back for a dance, the room was empty. The dances were not worth the money.

It is too much effort to work myself back into a club and become a regular. I don't want to spend the time, the money, or drink the alcohol it would involve. None of the clubs I have visited lately and none of the dancers have changed my mind.

Still

So I guess the fortune teller's right.
Should have seen just what was there and not some holy light
But you crawled beneath my veins, and now
I don't care. I have no luck
I don't miss it all that much
There are just so many things
That I can't touch, I'm torn...Torn, Natalie Imbruglia

Saturday afternoon, I drove out to Novi to pick up Tinkerbell and her boyfriend. We didn't plan a bike ride. The weather report was sketchy. We meet up with Teach and one of their other friends at The Landing Strip Lounge. A different strip club in Romulus. Both Tink and Billie spent time dancing at The Landing Strip. It is smaller than Flight Club. I never spent much time there. 

Tink and her boyfriend knew the manager, the DJ, and one of the bartenders. We had a few drinks. There was one dancer out of about eight that I thought was attractive. I talked to her briefly while she was on stage but didn't end up spending any time with her. The rest of the day shift crew I didn't find interesting.

I've decided I like going to strip clubs by myself. Being a part of a group off in the corner does not help you meet any of the dancers. Walking out spending only $20 was nice, though.

We didn't stay at the strip club for long. We went to an Italian restaurant for dinner. The food was delicious, and I eat more than I wanted, undoing all the work I put in during the week losing weight.  After dinner, Tink wanted us to join Teach at Flight Club. I didn't want to go. I think Tink was trying to get me out more than out of any desire to go. I appreciate her efforts, but I was not in the mood. I knew it was not what I wanted to do.

These places stir up the desire to so Billie. A fixation I cannot shake lately even though I know the reality of such a meeting would not be anything like the fiction, both good and bad my mind has conjured. With Firefly away, I've been lonely. Yet, I don't have much of a desire to put in the effort needed to remedy the situation. I feel like when the government money dries up in September, prospects will be better.

We got caught in a downpour on the drive home. When it rains here, it pours lately.  I know other places around the globe are experiencing flooding issues too. Ours is limited. The Gladiator has no issues with standing water.  

Here comes the rain again,

Falling from the stars

Drenched in my pain again

Becoming who we are

As my memory rests

But never forgets what I lost.

Wake me up when September ends...Wake Me Up When September Ends, Green Day

A Dream and Reality

The following comes from a dream. I was in college, and this was an assignment. The subject was not the perfect woman in the dream. The topic remained vague and undefined in the way dreams can be as the story shifted to me making out with a girl who was not the perfect woman in the back of an inflatable school bus. Before it could turn into a wet dream, it shifted again, and I was trying to find a place to park the bus. I never got back to making out with the girl before I woke.

The perfect woman, three perspectives.

On a blueprint, the perfect woman would be shown front view, side view, and back.  Dimensions would define the ideal hip to waist ratio, the height, and the proportions of the facial features. Notes would specify the weight, eye and hair color, age, and other characteristics.

The poem describes the perfect woman with lips like hot coals, eyes as blue as the sky. She is untamable like a storm whose passion swells like the sea. She is an enigma that twists all heart desires.

The cat defines the perfect woman as one who feeds it every day. The person who brushes her fur, pets them when they want but leaves them alone when they desire.

In the dream, I was supposed to compare the merits of each perspective. I am not going to do that here. There is no perfect woman, though I have met some better than others. They change before your eyes. We all change with time.

*     *     *

Saturday Tinkerbell, her boyfriend, and another friend I will call Teach met up for dinner in downtown Plymouth. After dinner, we all headed for Flight Club. A strip club, both Tinkerbell and Billie worked at some point in their career. There is a story in my book about a time they performed the club at the same time.

The club was busier than we expected. I said at dinner, the only girls who will be working need to pay rent or buy drugs. Teach is a long-time regular of the club. He still goes every weekend.  Teach would tell us the backroom cost and behavior of every dancer as they rotated onto the main stage. He called it gathering information. He is definitely a transactional customer.

Tinkerbell’s boyfriend explained it best. Teach was in there every weekend, but none of the dancers, bartenders, or shot girls came up to just talk to him.

Teach wanted to make sure everyone was having a good time. Tinkerbell’s boyfriend kept saying the bar had turned into a Penthouse. A now-closed strip club closer to the eastside of Detroit.  I took offense to that. It was nothing like Penthouse. I spent a lot of nights at Penthouse, and this was nothing like it.

There didn’t seem to be much money flowing. Dollar bills would occasionally fall from the sky. Several girls carried buckets with them to collect the money. Something you never saw at Penthouse. Dancers don’t make their money from that. They make money from taking guys upstairs. We didn’t see much of that happening.

I watched the girls from behind the downstairs bar with the others. Some dancers were pretty. Most were not, at least not to me. They all had a hard, jaded look to them that I found off-putting. Definitely not like Penthouse.

I tipped one girl on stage. She had long brown hair and a pretty face. Her body was nicely proportioned but soft. Typical of several of the girls. The two smaller, fit girls were foreign and didn’t speak much English. I am a talker and didn’t feel like fighting with a language barrier. Tinkerbell seemed more disappointed that I didn’t take a girl upstairs. I think I would have been disappointed if I had.

Sex and Foreshadowed Doom and Gloom

This post drifted from bedroom antics to foreshadowing future doom and gloom. It must be the mood I am in.

Firefly: So, do you want to go back to being my client? I am saving money up to go to Vegas for my birthday.

Bathwater: Don't you have a boyfriend?

Firefly: Yes, but I need to make money somehow. Do not fucking tell him.

I thought about telling him, but I've already warned him enough. She will never change any time soon. He has ignored my advice. You cannot fix stupid.

Bathwater: Are you clean? You didn't look too healthy last time I saw you.

Firefly: Yes, clean and broke as a joke.

Bathwater: You were taking advantage of my kindness there toward the end. You going to be nice?

Firefly: Yes, Santa, I want to be on the nice list.

Bathwater: Okay, I will give you a shot.

We exchange a few more texts. Firefly showed up at the condo at seven wearing high-waisted jean shorts, a thin grey hoodie, and not much else. The track marks have healed. That is a good sign, but she is still thin. She claims there is never any food at her parent's house.

Firefly had her nose buried in her phone, "I'm arguing with someone."

I rolled my eyes. "Why bother...Let's go upstairs." I get impatient when people pay more attention to their phones than what is going on around them. I sat on the bed in front of her. Firefly was still looking at her phone when I started to unzip her hoodie to reveal her beige bra. She got the hint and undressed.

I pulled out the restraints and the vibrators, slipped the red velcro cuffs around her wrists and ankles, and tied her to the bed. I worked on her with my tongue and the vibrators until I got hard. I entered her while her arms and legs were still restrained, but I like her limbs free during sex, so I released her, flipped her over, and had her bent over the side of the bed.

We worked our way through several other positions. I was determined to take my time, but her heart wasn't in it, and neither was mine. I finished myself with her cuddled next to me.

After cleaning up, we discussed getting something to eat. Firefly said the next day would be better. "Tomorrow?  Don't expect me to have you coming over every night," I tell her.

"I don't. What do you take me for a.....?" She didn't finish her sentence.

She didn't text me the next day. I didn't bother texting her. She will be back around when she needs money. I figure the longer she is away, the better she is doing. She has been hanging around the boyfriend, from what I can tell from her social media. Making a big deal about them being together on Snapchat.

Someone commented I will find someone else. Probably at some point. Who knows. I haven't been looking on SA. I've been thinking about checking out the strip clubs. The best one is where Billie used to work at the end. It is across town, almost an hour away, depending on traffic and construction. I have a feeling the girls will be disappointing. That is a long round trip mediocrity.

By the time 7:00 p.m. rolls around, I am usually too lazy to put myself together and drive across town. I miss the days at the Penthouse Club. The girls were pretty back then. These days, even 6's and 7's think they are special and have Onlyfans accounts. They all want money for pics--money for nothing. How times have changed.

I wish I could be around in the future when virtual reality and robotic sex dolls put them out of business. It is not that far off the way technology keeps evolving. Guys don't want to deal with these woke women. Marriage and birth rates will continue to decrease. I believe society will unravel as people stop interacting with each other.

We need a solar flare or worldwide electronic pulse that wipes out all electronic devices. It would be a saving grace. Though the generations that never lived without computers, cellphones, and microwaves would suffer.