Sunday afternoon I went to Hooters. Probably would've worked out had my community center been open. Also, my Mug Club card is about to expire at the end of the month and I am up to using it a couple more times before it's done. Finally, the day was supposed to be the hottest yet, so I planned on staying inside for it. The Mall of America was it because they have parking ramps so my car wouldn't bake out in the sun while I stayed cool inside.
While eating my wings there I noticed something that's never happened before: More than one Hooters girl not only came up and said hi to me, but they also chatted me up a bit. Usually it's only my waitress that does that. Well, to be more accurate, my Hooters waitress gets me order, then sits down and chats with other, more fun, less creepy people. But the girls there, they were actually friendly to me. OK, one mistook me for another person, one of them I didn't recognize, and one was someone whose name I've forgotten even though they may have serviced me the last time I ate there, which was Independence Day. It's still a milestone.
I'm not sure why, and I'm not even sure of all the factors that went into this pleasant happenstance. While it was lunch hour, the place wasn't as busy as I thought a weekend afternoon would be, so they had the opportunity to say hi. Also, like I alluded to, I have eaten there a bit more often, so I could much more familiar to them. But other than that, I have no idea why I was so suddenly a chick magnet. Fear not, fellow weirdos and nerds; I still had no game, so after a few hesitating stammers coming out of my mouth, they smiled and said enjoy the food, and they were gone. Baby steps.
This familiarity after many visits (and lots of money) reminds me of my base hopes when it comes to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division). Ever since I held my breath and first went into the mysterious, scary place close to The Store, wondering exactly what kind of strip club it was going to be, I had hopes, deep down, that I would be able to fuck one of the strippers. That's been one of my big dreams in my life, to fuck a stripper. You can say it's on my bucket list. I've been going there for ... shit, I'd say 15 years now. I'm sure I've spent thousands of dollars there -- two and twenty bucks at a time, of course, but it all adds up. They probably thought I was weird, a curious bloke who wanted to come to the bad part of time to see how bad he could be without his family and co-workers knowing. But as I kept coming back and continuing to tip the dancers onstage, then occasionally getting lap dances from them, I slowly earned their trust.
Eventually, one of the dancers told me about this stripper party that goes on at a private residence and gives me her number so I can call her and ask where it is. You'd have to pay a cover to get in, but you can do more stuff with LDs. And there I took advantage and whipped my dick out. Another step. More visits to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version), more money, more trust gained, more exchanges of numbers and invitations to other stripper parties, whereas I could get one step closer to my ultimate goal by again exposing myself and seeing which strippers from My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) really wanted to play. My familiar face means that the really nasty ones admit to what they would do and for what price. And so that's where I'm at right now: One of the club's strippers who will give me a blowjob (whenever she answers my texts, of course) and several who'll give me handjobs. All of this away from the bar, of course. I will always try and push the envelope with them, just to see where all of the women's limits are, but I am, for lack of a better word, proud of my current situation with these gorgeous ladies who are otherwise out of my league. The fact that I can now satisfy my sexual urges (for a tidy sum, of course) is the end result of a lot of time, money and, most of all, patience.
I don't want to sound like I'm spending all my money as a means to my ultimate end, which is sex. I truly enjoy talking to the dancers and getting to know them, many of whom have given me what I believe is access to a key part of their private lives, their Facebook profile pages. I do not want to betray their trust by all of sudden demanding handies and shit all the time. Yet, I kind of think that, for most of them, we both know that we're just stripper and customer, and I am seeing if the relationship can evolve into escort and john. So, yeah, maybe all of this does come down to sex for me.
It stands to reason, then, that my deviant mind is going down that same path when it comes to eating at Hooters so often. I mean, the wings are OK, but we're not talking about three Michelin-star cuisine here. They're just all babes, some of whom expose their sexy midriffs, who would otherwise never give me the time of day. However, unlike strippers, I'm absolutely sure that I could spend a fortune with them and none of them would ever even give me their phone number, let alone fuck me. But I try nonetheless, because I am a pervert.
So, if there's no way I can get with them, why do I go? I'm not actually wearing them down. Maybe they are buttering me up, even playing me? Like I said, I have no game, so I could be the stupid one. Oh, well. I'm a sucker for a hot woman. I'll probably go back to Hooters next week.
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