Why I Went To Atlanta Ch. 06

Cigarette Machine/ Purple Frilly Dress

Soon I was promoted to Senior Optics Tech. The job involved traveling to other labs to fix their issues. This fundamentally turned me from a guy who hardly ever left New Jersey into a corporate nomad with over 50% travel. I soon figured out there was an entire country of strippers waiting to be discovered. A hidden America, riddled with neon signs, spotlights, heavy bass, stages adorned by brass poles, and nude dancing women.

One night while in Southern California, I finished a dinner with the west coast engineering group, and took a cab out to an upscale topless place called The California Sapphire. Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas, or New Jersey, anymore. There was no old stale beer stench, it was replaced instead with sweet smell of coconut and vanilla. Dark blue velvet booths lined the perimeter of the large main room, surrounding the multitiered stage wrapped neatly in chrome. The DJ spun PARTY NEXTDOOR's Recognize. The soft jazz mixed with the heavy electronic bass set the mood.

A dancer named Chanel was announced over the highly sophisticated sound system. She took the main stage as the slow bass shook the place. Her outfit consisted bottom to top of, Six-inch clear platform heels, an almost non-existent g-string, and glittering chains that crisscrossed over breasts. She was a master on the pole, spinning, ascending, followed by gravity-defying drop. Her shoes made an audible clap stomping the flor when she dismounted the pole. She climbed back up the pole and removed her chains which made a loud metallic crash as they fell onto the acrylic stage floor. She spun for what seemed like hours topples above her adoring California crowd.

After walking around the entire place to collect her tips, she walked behind my velvet chair, swung her leg way over my head, practically clipping my forehead with those shoes, and dropped right on my lap. The heavy thud of her landing caught me by surprise. She ground her hips into me and placed her hands on my shoulders. I placed my hands on her legs, she had the smoothest skin ever.

She extended a hand to shake and said, "Hello handsome, I'm Chanel."

I extended my hand and said, "Hi, Theo."

"So, Theo," she whispered, I felt her hot breath in my ear. "Are we going to keep talking all night, or is it business time?"

"Well, that escalated quickly," I looked up at her. "I just got here."

She gave a short laugh. "Hey, talking is nice, but you know." She ground her hips into me.

"Fair point," I said since she was beginning to get me going. "So what does business actually look like around here?"

"A private dance in the VIP lounge," she nodded toward the back, like she had done it a million times. "Or, right here, you can just take care of the house fee for one song and I'll hang out with you a little longer."

"Actually, I think I'll just sit back and watch for a bit," I said.

Chanel rolled her eyes, and she stood up. "Your loss, handsome, I'm definitely the best. Have it your way."

Other performers danced, one with incredible lightning-fast pole tricks, and another who was so pretty she did not have to do much to entertain. Eventually, I headed out into the Southern California night.

My travels dragged me into the Deep South Bossier City, Louisiana. A completely different universe from Los Angeles.

The non-nude club, The Midnight Oasis, was hidden behind a strip mall. The neon sign buzzed as I parked my rental in a gravel lot out back. The interior walls were paneled with faux wood, and it smelled like fog machine fluid. It was gritty, unapologetic, and loud. I loved the place the minute I walked in.

No slick dance remixes here, instead, raw southern rock ZZ Top, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and The Allman Brothers Band. There was no DJ announcing the dancers, instead, a nondescript voice from the back called out, "Brandy your up!"

Brandy hopped up onto the slightly elevated worn wooden stage. She was barefoot, wearing a fringed leather vest and denim cutoffs. With short curly dark hair and much less makeup than any dancer described in this book so far, she moved with a smooth passion to The Outlaws' Green Grass and High Tides. As the guitar solo wailed, she discarded her vest and shimmied out of her pants, leaving her with a white lace bra and matching panties, which complimented her cute little curvy ass.

After her set, Brandy stepped off the stage and walked to the cigarette machine in the corner. When her money didn't produce a pack, she hit the machine. A raspy male voice from the far side yelled, "Hey, take it easy on that thing, it's a relic."

The machine finally dropped a pack, and Brandy knew I was watching, so she bent at the waist, and stuck that cute ass my way. Picking up the pack from the metal tray, she turned winked, took out a smoke, lit it, and finished with a long smoke engulfing exhale.

Brandy then slid onto the vinyl bench next to me and set down a tall glass of amber sweet tea on the armrest.

"This is your first time here," she said with a Louisiana drawl. "You've got that New York look."

I replied, "I didn't know that those old cigarette machines existed anymore."

Brandy extended a hand for a shake. I shook her hand and said, "Theo."

Smiling, Brandy said, "Theo, like the president." She continued in a sing song way, "I'm named after that 70s song, Brandy, you're a fine girl, what a good wife you could be." She looked around the place, "Besides the military guys, you're 'bout the best-looking guy around, even though you're from New York."

I think that was a compliment. "Actually, I live in New Jersey," I replied, not really the point..

She took a deep breath, "To be honest with you, Theo, My lease is up at the end of the month, my roommate spends every cent on weed."

I countered with the lame, "Well, I'm just here for a couple of days."

She leaned in and kissed me. She tasted of cigarettes, but the kiss was soft and inviting. She stopped kissing and said, "I can't do that here."

"Right, probably frowned upon by management," I looked around there was no management.

She laughed, "Oh, they look the other way on tons of shit, but no full-on makeout sessions. Still, I'm glad you're here tonight."

I gently brushed away a curl of dark hair with was hanging over her eyes, and kissed her again.

She said, "Don't go running off just yet, New York." She looked around the near empty club. "I've got one more set, and then I'm done for the night."

I replied, "I'm not going anywhere. But I should warn you, I check out by ten tomorrow morning."

Brandy chuckled, "My aren't we full of ourselves, morning. Plenty of things can happen by then." She leaned in close, "Wait for me by the back exit around midnight."

"Midnight. Deal," I said.

I told myself that she had probably done this a thousand times before. I waited by the exit anyway at midnight, no surprise, she was a no show. I got in my rental and drove away.

After all the travel, I spent a week's staycation at home. One evening, I was running errands in a busy downtown while waiting at a red light, when an outdated '80s sedan pulled up. The window rolled down, and a gorgeous redhead made a crank motion with her arm, wanting me to roll down my window as well.

"Hey!" she called out. "Do you know where Painted Dolls is? I'm looking for the intersection of Amsterdam and McLean, but I am spun around!"

I knew the area. "Yeah, I know the intersection, but I didn't know there was a club there."

"It's kind of hidden!" she yelled over the honking from behind as the light turned green. "Do you know the way?"

I said, "Sure, follow me. We have to make a U-turn up ahead."

She followed me through the streets, and we pulled in behind a car wash, the Painted Dolls sign was adorned with dancing girls.

Getting out of her car, she seemed to be in a hurry.

I hopped out of my car. "Need a hand?"

"Oh my god, yes," she said, popping her trunk. "I'm late for my shift."

I practically pulled my back out trying to lift the heavy wardrobe bag wedged in the trunk. When I pulled it out, I noticed there was a frilly, purple dress partially sticking out of the zipper.

"I'm Blaze, by the way," she said, extending a well-manicured hand. Quickly she added, "Well, Blaze is my dancer name, you know 'cuz of the hair. My real name is Tammy."

"Theo, my dancer and my non-dancer name," I said, trying to make a joke.

She didn't get the joke. "Come inside, I'll get you in, no cover."

It was a topless joint that featured a massive central dance floor with an elaborate light show and about a dozen girls working the floor. I took a seat near the main stage.

A few minutes later, Tammy emerged, transformed. Her bright red hair had wild but natural waves. She had sharp dark makeup and the brightest red lipstick. And, of course, she wore the frilly purple dress, which was short, revealing her dynamite legs and her matching purple stripper shoes.

Just then the DJ's voice announced, "And now welcome to the stage, Blaze."

As the heavy opening riffs of "Cherry Bomb" by The Runaways blasted through the speakers, she slipped right out of her purple dress, exposing two perky tits right at the explosion part of the song. She had a taut, athletic body with tight curves. She moved with a fast, spinning and whipping her fiery red hair as she thrashed to the beat. She wore a black thong that hugged her hips, perfectly framing her firm, toned ass.

She left the stage after crawling around for her tips and slid back into her purple frilly dress. Without hesitation, she walked right over to where I was sitting and slid into the chair next to me.

"Thanks again for the heavy lifting," Tammy said, flagging down a waitress to order drinks. "So, Theo, what do you do for fun?"

"Just hang out, I shoot baskets with my neighbor," I said, wow, what a lame answer. "You dance with a lot of energy, not like most of the girls around here. Where you from?"

"Good eye," she smiled. "I actually just moved here from Arizona. Out there, the laws are different, we dance completely nude. I'm not so used to keeping the thong on." She laughed, "One time last week, I forgot where I was and did the last song nude, I got a lot of tips that night. " She was still laughing.

"Arizona to Jersey," I noted. "Where are you staying?"

"I'm actually crashing with some friends right around the corner from here," she said.

"No kidding? That's right near where I work. What do your friends do?" I inquired.

"They're actually in a band," Tammy said. "This job is good, they work late, I work late. In our apartment, there are two other girls and three guys. It's a bit crowded."

The drinks showed up and she took a sip. "The name of the band is Horse Trailer Trash."

I grinned. "Wow, I saw Horse Trailer Trash play a couple of weeks back." I took a drink. "Hey, you know the nude album cover by Citrus City?"

Tammy said, "Yea, sure, that was iconic, a couple of years ago, right?"

I proudly said, "Well, I was part of the team that photographed that cover."

Tammy laughed. "Famous photography shoots. Quite exciting, do you live around here?"

"Yeah, but I travel a lot for work," I said. "Honestly, one of my favorite things to do when I'm on the road is check out the local strip clubs. I have not been to Arizona yet, but possibly in a few weeks." I smiled. "Totally nude, nice."

"A connoisseur of the arts," Tammy was teasing me by bumping her shoulder against mine. "I love it. Well, if you ever find yourself in Phoenix, I can give you the best strip joint recommendations."

We chatted until it was time for her to take the stage again.