Bartenders, waitresses, and dancers; oh my...!

    I love my job; however, I have always loved this job... Where else can I be a dirty molester? However; I was asked if I was willing to make out with another man... Seriously?! I have done the whole "devil's three-some" but you want me to suck on your boy-friend's tongue? As much as it may be a turn-on for you, I feel I need to draw a line in the sand somewhere... As hot as you are; as much as I would like to violate you... I just cannot see myself going there. Meeting another Dom makes me a little wet, watching you put on the purple gloves to wash glasses while I play with your ass was fun as well. Asking me to make-out with your boyfriend kind of killed the fun for me... Not that I would not love to have drinks, make-out, touch my tongue to your "naughty" places; but I do not want to see your boy-toy's cock. I do not want to see anyone's cock, dick, penis, whatever.. In the end, it is never about what I want... It has always been about what "YOU" want... What I can do for/to you...
      We did "duet" night at the club tonight (I know, a total turn-around from the first paragraph)I, but I actually had fun. It has been a while since I sang with a girl. Not that I'm any good; she was much better than I; but we did "Broken", "Picture", and that country song I can never seem to remember... And then: a little "Rockstar", "Sex & Candy", "Miserable", and finished it off with, "Stoned"... I wish I was in that state of mind...
     I miss getting stoned. It is not legal here and I have no idea where to start looking for it... (shit, did I just end a sentence with a preposition?) I want... no.. I NEED to get stoned. I hate myself for admitting this, but; the truth almost always hurts... I have always spent money on pot than alcohol; I would gladly trade the green for the amber... For now, I will just drink, fuck, and write (when I have the time and gumption)... I have a bartender in my bed (and she is getting impatient with my need to write)... So, I guess I'll spank her ass, tie her to my head-board, and violate her... Shit, I just got a little wet thinking/writing about that ...;
    

Shan... a semi-true story

    I believe I met her as "April". I loved her from the moment I set eyes upon her; her hair, her eyes, her six-pack abs, her tits, her ass... She was young, dumb, and full of... dreams. She wanted to start a band named after "shit"... Puddle of Mud was her inspiration. Let us just say she had an "ass" fixation. I was cool with that; I loved her ass almost as much as she did.. I would post a picture of her ass, but that would violate our agreement. I digress; let us enjoy "April"... A nice, round, ass; natural, bosoms, a pussy that was waxed,  yet still had enough short and curlies to point  herto her "sweet" spot.
     April loved sex. She loved being a sexual object. She loved being on stage and having both men and women watch, lust, want, desire, crave, and fuck her with their eyes. I was never immune to her charms; in fact, I felt she was my rapture (at the time). To see April on stage was a joy; she loved her job and was aware that anyone observing her loved her; her job; her passion for who and what she was, at that moment...
     However, the "moment" only lasts so long. After the moment is gone, who are you then? A hot girl with a smoking body? Or; just you: tired, insecure, physically naked, semi-mentally naked; baring yourself to the world? Or.. are you the lover in my bed; watching me with your naked eyes? You want... no need love and affection, but who am I to show you that? I can, I have that ability; but I reserve that for the girls I really care about. I love you, Shan, but I am not what you need/want... I am just a facsimile, a projection of what you want.
     I am the voice of  GOD... As blasphemous as this sounds, it is a fair description of who, and what I am. I speak the truth (most of the time), I am the "man behind the curtain", the unnamed one, the ultimate corrupter... The Prince of Lies, the King of the Underworld... I am "Death" incarnate... But really..., I am the nicest guy I know...

Back to the beginning

     So, it has been a few days since I written anything, here (although I have been working on something else, but I feel to speak of it at this point would just be a jinx). Tonight was a little surrealistic for me. Let me digress for a moment: I am not sure if I mentioned that I am now DJing at 2 clubs in addition to doing weddings. The main club is a topless, twenty-one and over club, but the other club is eighteen and older, and full-nude. Maybe I've been out of the industry too long, but I DO NOT remember eighteen-year-old girls looking like that. It was a little awkward, in fact; I have this weird rule where I try not to sleep with anyone younger than my oldest daughter. It does happen from time to time, it is not like I ask to see their IDs or anything, and it is well documented that alcohol can impair judgement, but for the most part, I try to keep them twenty-six and older.
     But, I digress. The point is, I worked with fifteen girls between the ages of eighteen and twenty tonight, and I found myself feeling like a perv even talking to them. Unfortunately, one of my duties as a DJ at this club is monitoring the stage (making sure the top comes off one minute into the first song, the bottoms one minute into the second song) but I found it hard to enforce these regulations without feeling like a dirty, old man. Almost all of the girls take their tops off nearly seconds into the first song, and I would not feel bad about telling them to do this if they did not do so in a timely manner; we all have tits, no big deal, really. It is the removal of the panties that I seem to have an issue with. I feel dirty (and not in a good way) when I have to "force" them to remove their bottoms. I used a couple of the old lines from when I did this before, but you (or I, maybe I'm just compulsive that way) can only say the same thing so many times...
     I guess my point is, as much as I love being on the microphone, especially in a strip club; I am semi-horrified to discover that there are lines I now loathe to cross. I guess it is time to channel my somewhat limited creativity into authoring some "new", less inappropriate feeling ways to get girls below my "acceptable" age-range to take off their underwear... The thought of this is a little frightening because once I feel comfortable achieving the above-mentioned goal, I may regress into the sexually predatory animal (I know this is not the "perfect" way to describe this, but it is almost six in the morning, and words are quickly escaping me) I once was. Hide your daughters, nieces, girlfriends, and wives; I may be about to lose the small modicum of morality I built up since leaving Deja Vu....

the lost art of conversation

      Let's talk. I really do not care what we talk about; let us just talk about what is on your mind. I hope it is sex, but I'm open for almost anything... I miss a good sit down conversation. Maybe I'm a little "old-school", but I enjoy looking you in the face (yes, I know where your eyes are) and talking. You with a glass of wine, me with a glass of whiskey, sitting at a nice table just conversing. I miss a good conversation. A good conversation can be almost as good as foreplay; wait, it is FOREPLAY! I dropped the ball on this a few days (or maybe weeks, time is a bit malleable for me) ago. I want to fuck you, but conversation is a huge turn-on for me. I'm a good listeanner, I hear and absorb everything you say as I stare into your eyes. I know you have no interest in what I have to say, and I'm cool with that, this is what Facebook is about. I can stare at your breasts, lose myself in your eyes; but in the end, it is your words that turn me on. Okay, that is a half-truth; your body is hot, your nipples are hard, and I'm guessing you are just a little wet... Not because of me, but the idea of me; how my tongue will feel on you, how you'll feel when I'm inside you, how my skin will feel upon your skin...
     I take you to the dance floor for a slow dance. I hold you close, you pull me closer. I slide my hand down to feel the curve of your ass, you pull me closer. Your hips grind against me, I push into you, you push into me; I feel your heat through your jeans. You smile and bite me on the neck, I push you away and spin you to the music. You smile and I get lost... in your smile, your eyes, your cleavage, the way you move your hips, the mental image of you in my bed... The song ends, we walk back to the table, drink our shots, and I am at a loss for witty things to say. I want you, you want me, but we both lack the words to articulate our desires.
     So, we part ways; we kiss, exchange numbers, and promise to call each other (even though we both know this to be a lie). I can still feel your body humming even though we are separated by eight inches; my cock throbs through my jeans, we want each other, but we are both too damaged to act upon our desires. So, you call a cab, I wait with you by the front door, then get on my bike and ride home; wishing, desiring, dreaming of the fun we could have had...
     But... I saved your number, I'll call you in the morning, I swear...

Smoking, drinking, and Punching & Fucking

     It is probably a good thing that I live in a non-smoking house. I like to smoke. I like to smoke a lot. The fact that I have to go outdoors to do so saves me money. That being said; maybe I should steal an ashtray from work and blow my smoke out the window... What I truly miss at times like these (6:30am, and I can't sleep) would be a nice, long joint. I would love to be able to sit in my back yard and watch the sun rise with the taste of marijuana on my lips, in my lungs, and on my breath. I long to enjoy the inhale that makes the exhale so much better. Instead I drink; which would be fine, except it is so much more expensive! I mean, really; twenty dollars in weed would last me three times as long as twenty dollars in whiskey. I am a happy drunk (most of the time, unless I am drinking tequila), but I would trade alcohol for pot in a heartbeat... Too bad it is illegal here...
     I have rarely been the seducer; I have always let myself be seduced. If a girl shows me her masturbation video on her phone, is that seduction? If she punches me in the face while she is cumming, is that obsession? I like "the game", the chase, the long road, if you will. However, I am a man and can be weak; I give in easily at times. I have a weakness for bartenders, waitresses, and strippers. Then again, don't most men? It helps that I bring a six-hundred pound vibrator to work, but sex-toys are overrated. Wait, that is bullshit, sex toys are as much fun as advertised... for her. It is time for a shot of whiskey and a cigarette as I watch the desert sunrise...

Afterglow

          I cannot remember why I had such a hard-on for this job. Maybe it was the mostly-naked women; or it could have been the shitty music, the management kissing my ass (they offered me "options" on how many more days I would like to work between their two clubs), OR... it could just be the pocket full of one dollar bills. I am a whore, I can admit that. I am also a slut, which is much more fun. Wait, let me wipe the glaze off before I dirty my laptop... More importantly, I'm an asshole. I try to warn everyone in advance, but no one seems to want to listen. Is this my fault? Maybe; probably; but I should at least get point for giving fair-warning. I moved here to try to leave my weird, deviant, complications behind; but now I know it's just me. I am a magnet for: intellectual conversation, whiskey, and, well, lady parts. Should I resist when they are offered to me?
         I read back through this and it sounds like I'm trying to justify my weird sense of guilt. In reality, I have nothing to feel guilty about. I am who I am and I've wormed myself back in to the only environment that can accept who and what I am... Is this such a bad thing? It does not feel bad, only fun. And in the end, what is really wrong with a little fun? Or, a lot of fun? Damn my Catholic guilt  complex; while it does not ruin my night, it makes it hard for me to sleep once I come home...

Behind the Curtain (again)

So here we are, my first day back "behind the curtain" after more years than I care to count. I would say that I am nervous, but that would be a lie; this is what I'm good at, what I've always been good at, and although it is only a Tuesday night shift, I'm looking forward to sliding my hand back into this glove that has always fit.  It is a small club, the equipment sucks, their music selection is extremely limited, and I've only met a couple of the girls in the 2 days I went in for retraining, but it should still be fun. If not, I'll make it fun, that's what I do.  Even though I've been doing weddings for a couple months now, most of that is scripted and structured so I'm looking forward to going a little more free-form.
It is a bit ironic that today would be my first day (since working in this industry was both the catalyst and the death of my marriage) but why be maudlin? I haven't even worked a shift yet and I've already been offered two more; one them interferes with the wedding gig, but since I have not seen much work there lately, I'm thinking I will take those shifts as well. We'll see how things go. At the very least, I'm back in the "daily cash" game, which is good since I've been walking around with only a dollar and some change in my pocket for the past week. Wish me luck!
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Mistakes, regrets, and the road not traveled...

     I've made many mistakes in this fucked up dance I call my life. I've learned that apologies can only go so far and that the words "I'm sorry" lose their meaning after being spoken too many times. I've learned that actions as a reaction are almost worse than repeating the same old apologetic diatribe. I have had two true loves in my life, and managed to lose them through apathy and the not-so subtle art of settling into a life of boring routine. Of course, it never helped that I fell in love with every woman I found attractive (even if it was only for a few minutes) and that I fucked almost any woman who would give me the time of day. Okay, maybe "fucked" is taking things too far, but I at least went down on her, or she went down on me, or we had some kind of sexual contact. I've allowed myself to led around by my cock, and this has cost me dearly.
     All of this seems a bit emo and maudlin, I know; however, it does not make it any less true. You would think it would help that I know I'm a self-centered asshole, but it doesn't. I would try to change, but apparently, change is just not in my nature. And, why should it be? For the most part, even though I'm horribly bored most of the time, I'm happy. Wait, maybe "happy" is not the right emotion, but there are moments most days: that first cigarette of the morning as the sun creeps over the horizon, the first drink of the evening as the sun sets (okay, maybe the second and third drink as well), the first kiss of a woman you've just met and the anticipation of knowing you will soon be feeling your skin against yours... I'll stop before this becomes pornographic (not that I ever do in "real life"). The point is: as much as I am a self-centered ass and as much as I may regret some of the decisions I've made in the past, if I had it all to do over again, I don't think I would change a thing. I lost two loves, but gained a best friend out of the deal. While I'm sad that the other chooses not to talk to me anymore, that is her choice and I respect that. At this point, I think I just miss the constant companionship of a woman. Not necessarily sexually, although if you've met me and read anything I've ever written (no worries, very few have, including this self-indulgent blog) you would know that sex is important; but I miss hanging out on the couch, watching movies, smoking a bowl, and laughing.
     I want, no need to travel as many roads as I possibly can. Sometimes they are dead ends, but every once in a while, you have the pleasure of finding one that leads to somewhere/one/thing special....

I hate moving!

I write, therefor I am. That I being said, I hate moving. I hate moving especially when I'm moving other people's worthless shit. I'm a simple man... I have my TV, my Roku, my laptop and all the wiring that are associated with above listed electronic. I have somewhat of a wardrobe, basic furniture (bed, dresser, a table and a chair for my lap-top), and Mr. Pink, of course. I have two wheels to ride, cigarettes, alcohol, and a bit of spare change left in my pocket. Society tells me I should want more, but FUCK that! I'm happy with what I have. I have two wheels to roll on and a big enough, um, "ego"  to satisfy the random women I hook up with on semi-rare occasions. So, if you have an issue with this, you can suck my... um, ego. Apparently, that won't fit in even a T-Rex's mouth, but I can give you something else instead...

See what a self-centered ass I can be? No wonder I lost my loves...

My MOJO, my love(s), and my ballz...

Let's work backwards, shall we? My balls are very angry with me right now. Masturbation can be fun, but there is no substitute for the real thing. It sucks for me that I am picky; really... who am I to expect to be able to fuck a girl of porn-star quality? Not that I haven't tried "settling", but that just doesn't seem to work for me. I will cum in any pussy that welcomes my cock, but after an hour of beating that shit up, I get a bit chaffed. If you actually know me, you understand that I am not really worthy of porn-star pussy. However, I can't help feeling entitled to what I know I'm capable of, can get (or used to get). My balls want porn-star pussy, and they're pissed at me for settling.
     Enough about my balls (I have left my cock out of this because it only has one eye and no ears...), let's talk about my love(s). Once upon a time... Really, that intro should be enough. I believed in that "once upon a time" and even the "happily ever after". Now, I only believe in the happy ending. Let me give you my definition of "happy ending": we drink, we kiss, we find a dually amenable location, we fuck, and we go our separate ways. Oh yeah, we were talking about my "loves"... One went crazy (after we had a beautiful, male child), one followed the money (after a coke infused, DWI, totaling her car kind of night), and the one I married... well... that's a blog for another day. I still love all 3 of them in different ways. One is still my friend and the other two are lost to me (and most of the rest of the world I'm guessing). I miss them all, or at least the things I loved about them.  Wait, still love about them. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I guess I just am who I am...
     While we're on the subject of "love", I have a confession to make. I fall in love with any woman who can carry on a conversation for longer than five minutes. Yes, I admit, I'm a conversation whore! If I don't nod off while someone is talking to me (admittedly, if another woman walks by with great tits, a great ass, or a face I can't ignore... You see my fucked-up priorities here... Really, I'm still listening...) Most women I have met lately try to get by on their looks and their ability to flirt. This may give me wood, but it doesn't mean I will fuck them (OK, that's a lie; I'm a man and will fuck just about any woman who is willing. But, for this conversation's sake, let's pretend I'm a gentleman). I love women. I love their voices, their laughs, their smell, their tastes. I could get VERY explicit at this point, but I think I've conveyed the gist of things.
     And now... to my MOJO. I am back behind the curtain. I am once again "The Great and Powerful Oz" (in my own mind at least. I will propagate this belief amongst the un-indoctrined soon). I miss my mojo, it has been a big part of who I am and how I view myself. It will be nice for me and my mojo to reunite. I think we have missed each other, needed each other in a way that is both sick and unhealthy; and yet, it makes us who we are...

I like to be "neighborly". If that includes a fuck, a squirt, and a shower... so be it. Yes, I am an ass. But I'm a thoughtful ass who will make you cum first... I mean really, all I wanted was a smoke, a shower, and to watch more Californication (I so identify with this show in so many ways) However, it is hot, muggy, and on the tail-end of a full-moon. Call them excuses, call them reasons, call them empty justifications; but in the end we all like to fuck. The fact that we need a reason to fuck is just bullshit justification. I think we worry too much about sex and the reasons for partaking in this fun, little dance. In the end, this is all just mental masturbation (or diarrhea of the frontal lobe).  Don't you want to fuck? It doesn't have to be with me, although I would appreciate the attention. If anyone actually read this, I would love for you to fuck me with your words (and your mouth, pussy, and ass...), but I am afraid that I am the only one who cares enough to read this (woe is me; palm to forehead, LOL) I can do this forever (unlike sex, that only lasts, well...) I spit out words that make sense to me, that are IMPORTANT to me... but they're just words. If I was technologically savvy enough to figure out how to invite my "friends" to read this, I would... Unfortunately, I'm like a 12 year old at his first dance trying to valiantly reach 2nd base...

I love this bar... um, I mean town

     You would think it would be nearly impossible to be bored in Las Vegas... unless you actually live here. I mean; sure the Fremont Experience and the Strip can be fun, but after a couple of tours, well, it's just blah. It's not really all sex, drugs, and rock & roll... Even the strippers are mostly the same as they were in Seattle. I don't work at one of the "premium" clubs, but you would think there would be a few who stand out...  Maybe my expectations are too high (unlike myself). Where are the future Jenna Jamisons or Jesse Janes? Overall, I prefer Vegas to Seattle. I like the dry heat (except for now, during monsoon season where it's awfully muggy), I don't miss the rain, I like that I can ride my motorcycle daily with little worry of getting wet (although Vegas is the #1 most dangerous city to ride a bike), and I get more vitamin D in 15 minutes than I would have gotten in six months in Washington.