Back at the Winner’s Circle

In the distance, the hills of eastern Kentucky disappear in the dusk. Inside the Circle, it’s all shadows, a red glow casting a pleasing hue over everything, the stackable hard chairs, the torn couches along the walls, the gritty mirrors, the rough hewn runway, and the bump-and-grind of the dancers…

If Nora Jones knew her songs were dancing classics at the Circle, I think she’d be pleased. Nora’s voice brings out the sway of dancers’ hips. I’m into hips at the moment. I’m not sure how this happened, but I seem to see the sway of hips everywhere. When Alex danced to Coker, it was all hips, a movement like water, waves at the beach. Here at the Circle, the sway of hips is prevalent also. Susan, tall, strawberry blonde, thin, sensuous moves flows from side to side, a sensuous movement, long legs swaying, a motion of a wispy fog…

Autumn reminds me of a former colleague, Angela. Angela worked over at the Plant as a quality assurance manager. We went on the road a couple of times; it was a race for me to keep up. Her husband was a fighter jockey for the Corps. Like all fighter pilots, he liked his planes and women fast. Autumn reminds me of her, her face, her smile, the sway of her body when she moves down the runway. Autumn can move her hips and her smile is real. A little tuft of trimmed hair above her slit & she’s not afraid to finger herself on stage, a wet pinkness showing.

Even not at the rail, I feel compelled to tip each dancer. After all, it is entertainment, and I am being entertained. A couple of young guys are sitting behind me, a little tight with their bills. I’m reminded of one of my friends who was skilled in sitting behind big tippers, reaping the rewards of the show without risking capital.

I’m willing to risk a bit. Particularly since I know this is fantasy land and the dancers have the same concerns we all have. Christine sits with me between chatting up some of the others customers looking for private dances. She has everyday concerns; today her daughter got her license. She arrived at the Circle after taking care of her family, cooking dinner and helping with homework. She’s not a drunk; she’s not a drug addict. She’s a mother; a wife; she’s making ends meet….

I watch Christine working; she sits down with the two guys behind me. Young guys with ball caps. She leans in and smiles wide, showing her white teeth. I can see they’re interested, but they don’t know the drill, thinking this is some bit of reality. I hear her say, “I’m worth it.” It’s the hard sell. But I’m not sure they realize it’s entertainment, like playing the lottery or going to the movies.

I decide to take in some entertainment. Christine agrees to dance for me. I’ll never listen to the Eagles and Hotel California the same way again.

I sit in the same chair as my last visit. Soon she is gently on me, dragging her soft flesh over my body. She puts her one nipple, then the other, in my mouth. She gently bites my cock through my khakis. She brushes her body from her cunt to her forehead along my face. She nibbles at my ears. She kisses me, gently and briefly, on my lips. And she does it with a real smile on her face, a true sparkle of joy in her eyes. When the music is over, I am, again, overwhelmed.

I am certain her husband is a lucky man. Does he know it? Most men (I include myself in this) don't know a good thing when they have it. We become complacent... I wonder if she gets worked up while at work. Is any of it arousing for her, or is it only work. Does she go home to her husband all hot an bothered, ready for a good roll in the hay? If so, I’d like to be him… ;-)