Last week I said I'd have some comments about my trip to Platinum. But this isn't really a club review, so I'm dumping it here.
The first thought came from reflecting on those minutes when I had my hand between Chancee's thighs, as she tried to convince me I needed just one lap from her. She had first approached me some time before, but I had come to dance with Divinity, and Divinity does not usually leave me feeling like I need another lap. So Chancee now had few tools that would work for her. Not her appealingly snazzy little body, all the snazzier because she's put on some weight over the past year, giving definition to her arms and naturally inflating her pretty naturals almost into the B-cup range. Not her seductive patter, persuasive though it was; this is one of the few dancers who won't take no for an answer but persists in a way that is not whiny or otherwise irritating. No, it wasn't either of those that got me, it was the thigh squeeze.
Considering that most of us lap dance fanatics are not in it primarily for the looks (you can't see much on the stage at Platinum, let alone in the booths), we don't file many reports appraising what dancers feel like, nor even have much of a vocabulary for it. Yeah, the girl's tits might look good, but what are they like to touch?
Chancee is 33, something she says she's proud of and doesn't care who knows. So she's now at that point where she's a bit beyond the kind of hard body that draws 10s and 9s from the looxmeisters but does not have much feminine give to it. The give is what Chancee now has, that marvelous soft-firm-soft-firmness that's like an electrodickmagnet, drawing me inexorably in, implanting in my little brain the biological need to have my hands (if nothing else) all over her.
Though it was Chancee and her body that made the point, she's not unique in that regard. The feel is part of the reason why I like dancers in their 30s, dancers, more generally, who have some mass and tone to their bodies. Not especially girls that are packing a lot of butt or boob; I mean, there's soft and there's too soft. But there are varying tastes for feel, and as I have all of them some of the time, I'd like to hear more about that in dancer reviews.
So that's my pitch for touch.
The other thought this encounter brought to mind was the long arm of Z-Bone. I discovered that I've now evolved (or devolved) one more level on the reviewer notoriety scale. Not having gotten any further, I don't know how many levels there are, but here are the first four, in chronological order:
1. No reaction. I think I'm being ignored, and I wonder if I should quit (not a bad option, all things considered.)
2. Readers report in their own reviews that they are taking my advice. This induces a sense of responsibility. Say I was going nuts one night over any dancer who in her stage routine gave me a good view of her cervix. Well, nothing irresponsible about that, but I'd now feel the need to report that my lap score may have been biased by that kind of tunnel vision.
3. Dancers dematerialize into cyberspace to complain about my reviews. Lesson: Be fair. Don't take cheap shots. Make sure criticisms, e.g., mistaken song counts, megaboob weight estimates, are well founded.
4. Dancers use my reviews to try to convince me to get dances with them. This is my current level. Chancee quoted some of the compliments "people" had posted, chuckled that she got a 7 on the "lapometer," then earnestly assured me that that was "a good score." Lesson: Restore cheap shots.
Posters with more experience than I have can probably add further levels if they're not embarrassed to do so. Meanwhile, for anyone who's just starting out, there's something to look forward to. |
