It's one hundred years from today. A Fail to Suck Day 102, except that
nobody has put out the call since early in the century. Everybody reading
this is dead. I'm dead. You're dead. All of the flesh on our bodies and on
the bodies of all of the dancers we write about has been Happy Meal for
maggots now long dead. On the floor of a strip club in Illinois, 450 miles
from my home in Michigan which has been bulldozed to make way for another
hospital annex, lies a used latex condom. A manager in a fake mustache
bends down and picks it up with a paper towel.

"I wonder how this got here?" he asks.

I left it there. Only I won't be around to tell him. It got there because
130 years earlier in a woods 450 miles away, I snuck into the clubhouse of
some older boys and found some dirty magazines that gave me an odd thrill
I had never felt before. I knew I must be feeling the same thing that made
older people act strangely silly about sex. But I felt like I had
discovered something nobody else could ever understand, and all I cared
about was feeling that thrill in other ways. Over the years, I found it in
different forms, sometimes by seeking it out, sometimes by accident.

In late 1991, I met three fun girls in a dance club who acted uninhibited
in a way I don't encounter that often. One was an ex-stripper and another
was currently stripping. She told me about a club where she had just in
Detroit that had lap dancing. I had heard the term before but I was so
oblivious to strip clubs that I had no idea what it meant. "Basically, it
means I massage your dick with my butt," she explained.

"And there's a club in Detroit where I can chose from among dozens of
girls who will do this?" I asked. The old thrill gripped me, and I sped my
way to the Wild Mustang at my first opportunity.

About three years later, I was exploring Usenet newsgroups with the new
Internet features of my AOL account. I remembered seeing a reference to
alt.sex.stories in a magazine article on cybersex. I yawned at what I saw
there. I went back and scanned the other groups in the alt.sex list.
Bingo! Seeing alt.sex.strip-clubs brought me that feeling again.

And ASSC brought me to a nasty little dive in Illinois I would never have
otherwise heard about. I sat in a chair in the shadows, soaking up the
palpable sleaze, until one of the skanky dancers onstage struck my fancy.
I took a seat at the stage, which beckoned her over. First she bent
forward on her knees, and pulled her G-string aside, offering me her
crotch for petting. When I did, I felt a rush of that old thrill. More to
her intent, I felt my cock get hard, and she slid down off the stage and
began massaging it with her butt, and her whole crotch, and her hand. I
would have quickly messed up my shorts with pre-cum if I hadn't slipped on
a condom. Instead, I messed up the inside of the condom with pre-cum, and
the friction of her vigorous lap dancing rubbed it off my cock. I didn't
realize this until, as I returned to my chair in the shadows, I felt it
roll out from my shorts down my leg and onto the floor of the strip club
in Illinois. And, although, as a petroleum product, latex will biodegrade,
this latex will last ONE HUNDRED YEARS, and the little nasty dive in
Illinois will outlast all the gentleman's clubs, and little self-important
managers of the future will wear fake mustaches, and it's a couple of
minutes before the end of AFTSD 2 and this is my legacy.

CMG


(Reply to cgould@ the ISP in header)