Tuesday, November 20, 2018
Tuesday, November 13, 2018
Saturday, November 10, 2018
It is never a good idea to go into a pub at 10 am on a Sunday morning. Especially when you are allegedly old enough to know better. But I had watched a few soccer matches leading up to the final and had found a nice Public House that catered to soccer fans that was open that early on a Sunday. In I went to Kill a few Kennys with a couple of friends. There were a few overconfident Eastern European types in the pub as well and after a bit a few friendly wagers were made. The rest of the daytime hours are history. A big lunch after the match and pockets full of gambling largess I was released into the wild to fend for myself.
The night time hours were near, but not near enough. Where should I go?
I made my way cross town to Slammies.
It had been a while since I had been there. A mere matter of months this time rather than years for a change. I confess my slightly liquored and age addled brain almost admitted to itself that there was an irrational exuberance and audacity of hope that JoJo would be the barkeep this evening. Not being enough of a frequent flyer patron to know the schedules it was a crap shoot at best. But hey, this had been my day for being on the right side of the crap and besides it was still early. JoJo always did wonders for both my mood and libido, if for no other reason that she exuded exquisite energy on all spectrums.
Well when I arrived the the place was busy with World Cuppers who also had been sporting since the early morning hours so entertainment was to be had in conversation and camaraderie. Not to mention since when does anybody in the US care about soccer. But Rodney was slinging the drinks and truth be told he was much more adept with soccer ruffian speak than JoJo would have been.
But with a day of imbibing and visions of JoJo and other ghosts of Slammies gibbering in my head; plus ill gotten gains in my pocket left only one thing to be done.
I went to long forgotten but dark corner of many a man's past and headed further afield out to the airport strip clubs.
Dark. Expensive. Reeking of unrequited male lust after the unattainable dreams and transactional commerce of the most basic and ancient kind. Knowing that I was stimulating the economy and myself in a manner that will only result in a trip down memory lane of what a naked woman of a totally inappropriate age for me looks like, I was on a splurge. The visual enticement would certainly charge my batteries. Polite, but never wanting to waste a dancers time when she could be transacting commerce, left me with plenty of time to enjoy the dancers lithe bodies from afar. Not dark lurking corner afar. More midway between drooling stage side tipping range and creeper corner where the bouncers watch for the first whiff of trouble.
The dancers are delightful. All ages and body types. Lovely to the last jiggle. I am mesmerized at the bounty displayed. Some eliciting illicit memories. Others merely long held fantasies. Much to the dismay of the women's bottom line I am too frugal to invest too much of my liquid capital on things other than my liquid hobbies.
That is when it happened. The stage went dark. The MC announce the next performers name. I don't even recall what it was. Your stock in trade strippers name. It was clever. It was enticing. It was not to common. Not to abstruse. It was just…...JoJo!
Okay. I admit I thought about skulking out. For her ? For me? Considering the number of faces she has to see across the weathered bar of Slammies was I kidding myself that she would even recognize me? With the stage lights could she even see beyond the leering laddies stage side with their mitts full of lucre?
I stayed. I confess. The thought of seeing JoJo naked, strutting, and shimmering won the fantasy soccer day prize. Yes I’m that guy. My unreasonable expectations were taking a step that my wildest hopes would have dismissed just moments before. Naked strange women was one thing. My favorite bartender whose imagined visage has roiled my monkey brain for months was a horse of a different color.
I was transfixed as her goth girl inspired clothing became a melting pathway to paradise.
Then our eyes met.