A trip to the ballet: A plethora of brunettes

Random women
Originally uploaded by blue4u2day.

Kenny Garcia and I are in Savannah. Came down on Monday; we had a little problem back at the plant on some parts for an aeronautical firm here in Savannah. We were joined by a consultant from New Orleans (well, she used to be from New Orleans, anyway) and we spent three days at the plant mucking about to try and solve the problem. I think we got it. Joyce had to return to home tonight, so I dropped her at the airport while Kenny played a little golf. Like that's a real sport: hitting a little ball around fields trying to get it in a hole.

I have enough problems finding the hole.

At 4:15 this afternoon we stopped in at Savannah Gentlemen's Club. We walked in; the place was dark (darkest strip club I've ever been in) and quiet. We sat down. A minute or two later, the bar tender walked in from the back. It didn't take us long to learn that while there were dancers in the house, and in spite of the fact the sign on the door said the joint was open at 4pm, and they wouldn't be dancing until 5. We split, deciding to return before 7 (and the start of the cover charge).

A little before 7pm, Kenny & I walked back into the club. The place was a little brighter, strings of lights around the ceiling, black light lighting over in the champagne room, a neon sign announcing the VIP room, and a dancer grooving on stage. Seren, we'd learn later. She was a little large -- for a dancer: straight jet black hair, ruby lips, soft pale skin. And, damn, she could move. Like fluid.

We sat down. Kenny ordered a beer and I ordered a soda. Diet. I was the designated driver, after all.

We'd been told there'd be 14 dancers. They were each dancing two songs. We weren't approached by any dancers, and we didn't notice anyone going into the VIP rooms. Not a whole lotta pressure. Either that or we didn't look like the buying type. Well, that judgment would turn out to be wrong.

We sat at a high table, talking. We were dissecting the business of the club; looking for income centers. How's anybody making money? Seren, dressed in a black flowing cope & looking goth-like, wandered chatting with customers. One dancer swung past saying she'd stop by later, if we were "still there." Guess she wasn't counting on us staying long.

An attractive blond passed by, wheeled suitcase in tow. A dancer enroute to the dressing room. Lithe. Later, I'd notice the freckles on her face, sharp eyes, and a quick smile. But not then, as it was the color of her hair that made me realize all the dancers -- well, except her -- were brunettes.

& now I realized why I was in 7th heaven.

For a while, we'd been talking about visiting the ballet. I knew that Kenny needed someone to make sure he didn't get into trouble. Right. Before we left Raleigh, I'd told Jane we'd hit the ballet. On the drive down, she called every hour. "Have you been to the ballet yet?" Tuesday, same question. Wednesday, same question. "No, honey, I'm working."

Well, not totally. Last week Jane posted a little add on a swinger's site. She asked me about it. I think she's reaching for something more, some spice, some freak. She sorted through and found a few couples she was interested in; she wondered which I was interested in. "Ah, whatever." So long as she is cute and has long, dark hair. So, Tuesday night I wandered over to the site to see what I could see. I found several couples that looked of interest. Well, okay, so I was focused on the female half of the couple.

Jane likes tall, meaty, bald men. She's got me. ;-)

I sent a couple of emails, initiating a little freak.

Or so I thought.

Last night Jane rebuked me for sending the emails. After all, I hadn't checked with her first.

After ordering the second round of drinks, Kenny went out to the car to grab a couple of cigars. We'd decided we were going to stink up the joint.

We moved to a different table, one near the door and the exhaust fan. We didn't want to stink up the place that much. We decided we'd leave when the tobacco ran out, unless there was a real reason to stay.

As we were lighting up, I noticed we'd been through the line-up. Seren was back on stage, her pale skin glowing under the lights. We hadn't tipped at the rail yet, and I figured it was time to start. I took a couple of ones and folded them lengthwise & walked to the rail, placing the bills on the stage. I sat down, alone at the rail, and Seren floated over and leaned down, drowning me in her hair, pushing her soft breasts against me. When I started breathing, I slipped the bills under her garter.

After her set, Seren disappeared into the dressing room. She reappeared a bit later, sashaying to our table. She was wearing a starched, white, oxford shirt. "You look like you just rolled out of bed and took that shirt from my closet."

The three of us talked for a long while. Our conversation covered the gamut; well, it covered a gamut, anyway. Spouses. Children. The business. Gymnastics. Nurse fantasies. My thoughts for a strip club (Seren said the nurse fantasy would only attract a small segment of the population; not as popular as I might have thought... or so she suggested.) Russian dancers (Hmmm, I perked up, thinking of Nadia.) And Kenny & I told stories on each other. Only the good ones. The best, at least as I can remember as I write this: Kenny's son getting his girlfriend's name (and an apostrophe-s) tattooed right above his pubic hair (they broke up).

At some point, the conversation went round to the Champagne Room and the VIP Room. A hundred-sixty for thirty minutes under the black lights. Twenty-five dollars a song for a lap dance. We'd had a good conversation; I figured I get a dance. Seren and I slid over to the VIP Room, and soon Seren was dancing, her softness and fullness pressed gently against me. A little bump and grind; certainly not as much as at Lipstick and not as chaste as many clubs, but still, nice.

I wondered how freaky she was. I was hard and wondering if Jane would find her attractive. In my fantasy mind, Seren and Jane were "exploring their shared bi-curious feelings." Of course, as Kenny and I spoke on the way down on Monday, "reality never turns out like the fantasy." Turns out Seren isn't bi-curious. Also turns out she believes sex is important in a relationship. And, it also turns out she can't get off; some complication to childbirth. (What women give up with pregnancy and childbirth...)

I, of course, immediately thought I'd like to save her.

That's what I do, of course.

First, however, another dance. They're like potato chips: can't have just one.

Later, after she'd changed into a little Christmas lingerie, a little red number tied in the front, white knee-high socks, and a wide red ribbon in her hair, I figured Kenny needed a dance. I gave Seren the money and off they went to enjoy a little fun in the shadows. Over Moons Over My Hammy he told me he'd had "seconds." Wait, he sucked on her breasts? Hey, I didn't get firsts! Can I go back?

I told Seren she'd do well at Lipstick. She's got the right curves for lap dancing; she's got the right touch; she's got the right scent.

While they were in the VIP room, Mariah -- the club's only blond -- joined me. Turns out she's from Venezuela. Oooo, I like Latin women. I was writing in my notebook, & she wanted to know what I was doing.

This club was fairly laid back. At some places, we'd have been over-run with dancers looking for a little cash. Mariah, like Seren, was interested in conversation, too. So, here we were, real women, real breasts, real conversation.

Or, at least I figured as such.

I could see how these girls would have regulars. As I suggested to Mariah -- after she told me the money to be made was with regulars & sometimes she made buckets just talking to guys, not dancing -- that would be like dating, without all the hassles. With a smile, she noted it would be like dating without the sex, too.

Point taken.

Still, I could see hanging out with them. Bright. Pretty.

And willing to get nekkid.

As I write this, the morning darkness slipping away, I wonder how to create that same sense of ease with Jane. I think she feels it at Osaka's, but I just can't fall into it there. We need a place where we can date, where we can hang without Miller or the older boys, where we can be at ease with one another.

Anyway, Savannah's Gentlemen's Club is now just a memory, a fantasy spread for a couple hours, lives intersecting and then retreating, reality intruding. Tomorrow we drive north.