...Up against a wall in a small candle-lit black room with an old punk
rock song playing outside, the buxom blonde woman unbuttons my shirt,
loosens my tie, and runs her ample breasts up and down my body. As her
chest meets mine, her pelvis grinds hard into my erect cock, and she
grinds up and down as she places her lips upon mine.

I run my hands up her back and slowly across her breasts. As I run my
fingers across her nipples, she gently runs her leg against mine,
feeling her knee gently rubbing up and down my erection. She grinds
against me, harder and harder, both of us moaning. Her pelvis grinds
come faster and faster and I forget where I am, starting to move my
pelvis with hers.

Her twelve hands magically massage my hair, my back, my outer legs,
and inner thighs.  Her 10-foot tongue sticks way down my throat as my
erection grows to 11 inches.  One of her hands grabs a kleenex and
another grabs a plastic cup as she grinds my cock and a 4" diameter
stain appears on my pants as she...

ATTRACTIVE FLIGHT ATTENDANT: Would you like cream or sugar, sir?
ENGNR1: Uhhh….whatever you have…
ATTRACTIVE FLIGHT ATTENDANT: Oops, I'm sorry...you were having a Coke
  Classic, weren't you.
ENGNR1: I'll have it with cream, thank you.
ATTRACTIVE FLIGHT ATTENDANT: Are you all right?
ENGNR1: Uhhh…yeah, I am
ATTRACTIVE FLIGHT ATTENDANT: Wow, what a deep voice you have.
ENGNR1: I haven't heard that one in years.  Can I have a blow job
  please?
ATTRACTIVE FLIGHT ATTENDANT: I'm sorry, we only do that in First
  Class.

 * Poof *

Next time,  remind me not to layover at Chez Paree before going to the
airport.

It can be very dangerous.

I met Eva.

If I'm going to Hell for going to strip clubs,  Eva is probably the
Gatekeeper.

If I'm going to die in a strip club, I want Eva on my lap.

Alexandra, who wall danced me, is probably Beelzebub in drag.

I'm starting to write like Bob Smyth now.

Guess that's because I saw Bob Smyth when I walked in Monday night
around 6:30.

Seeing a guy in a pajama top and shorts, who introduced himself as 
Bob, I knew immediately I had stepped further into the furnace that is

the former ex-Vatican of ASS-C.

Bob appeared stunned upon meeting me.  He said he remembered my posts
from junior high school. I felt dumbfounded, until I realized I twice
have gone to strip clubs in Utah with an ancient, now vanished poster
known as Earandil (Half-Elven).  One of those times I even spent time
with a guy known as AtomicD0g. I remember watching a girl paint 
herself fluorescent green and yellow and then step under a roaring 
shower head to splash the whole front row surrounding the stage.

I helped Bob Smyth send his posts from the official CP workstation.
Windows 95 was not very nice to him. I told him how to exit a program
that was locking up his computer. I remembered that the three-
fingered-salute from my childhood.  I felt empowered when I realized I

was helping a computer software specialist. I felt so empowered that 
the tone of my voice magically lowered itself to phone-sex mode.

That is when Eva sat down next to me. She told me I had a very nice
Low voice. I told her no one has told me that in years.  Actually it
was four years ago, during the period in which I was having consentual
phone sex with women I met in AOL chat rooms.  Even from the way I
typed, she knew I had a low phone-sex voice. Don't ask me how or why.

Eva was surprised when I told her I was not from around San Francisco,
but an alien from a place known as Virginia, where even air dances are
forbidden and softball-uniform-clad men eat steak or munch on 
sandwiches while watching pastie-clad girls spin around on stages 
barely larger than the freezing tubes on the Starship Enterprise.

Eva has shoulder length blonde hair, small but well-defined breasts,
very very long legs and an adorable ass. Her face is beautiful, oval,
blue-eyed.  She asked me if I enjoyed traveling across the US and to
Eastern Europe and exotic places like that.  I said I liked the unique
places. Like the seat on the sofa next to her svelte, soft, beautiful,
sweet-smelling form.

Eva let me massage her back while she told me about all the places she
lived, with corresponded to many places I have traveled to. Like South
Carolina. She didn't like South Carolina. Neither did I. I suppose I
would have liked it more if I had met her there and we had both
expressed our dislike for South Carolina. Then we could have run off
together. (Sorry, I'm entering Bob mode again.)

I told her my wife was now married to my cat.

She responded by first grimacing then with a look blending sympathy
and desire. She then asked me if I would like a lap dance.

Would I like a lap dance with the Hell's own Gatekeeper?  Do airplanes
fly? Does water flow downhill?

She would take me to a dark room at the far end of the hall behind the
main room, with a sofa. I sat down, provided $40 on a table next to
me, and saw her do a slow dive between my legs. She was at once demure

and evil , warm and cool, talkative and whispery, giggly and moaning.

She was somewhat sensitive about my running my hands over her bare
breasts, so I moved them to her butt and squeezed gently.  Both of us 
appeared to be pleased.  She would wiggle it just so.

An upbeat Nina Simone song began.  Sensing a void in my wallet, I let
her do a simple clothed $20 lap dance just to see what she would do
during the song. She did some jerky movements and proceeded to sit on
my lap and bounce gracefully on the erection that began way back on 
the sofa when I was sitting between her and Bob Smyth.

I would recharge my wallet at the ATM. Eva would lean behind me and
proceed to let me drain my wallet again. Very dangerous woman.  Like I
said, Hell's own Gatekeeper.  This time, it was $60 in a dark room
with a simple chair and she was totally nude. She was at her happiest
bouncing and smooching and cuddling and grinding me as we talked 
softly and she cooed like a bird, happy to be on my lap and dancing 
and being petite without her 5-inch heels.

We smooched extensively after the song was over. I was glad we wrapped
right there, otherwise my brain would have fled my body, money would
have electronically fled my checking account and the rest of me would
be wall-dancing Eva until sunrise.

I recovered, strutted out, and returned to the Office feeling very
goofy. Bob looking at me quizically.  Somehow his willpower had kept
him from the seduction of Eva's phenomenal beauty and eternal 
cuteness.  He took off for the Hilton (apparently to use their much 
cleaner restroom), and bid me farewell since I was ready to leave (or 
so I thought).  I checked my Email and the NG through the AOL program 
conveniently placed on the CP workstation.

Alexandra, who claimed to have seen me on IRC ( an increasingly rare
occurrence) sat next to me. She was wearing some flimsy red satin
thing that was trying desperately to remove itself from her body. The 
sweet and friendly blonde Alexandra, nicely endowed and leggy, took me

back for a wall dance and let me remove the flimsy red satin thing.

What can I say about wall dancing? Particularly with Alexandra? This
Was my first time and I found it a far more natural "full body" 
experience as opposed to ordinary lap dances (and profound sadness to 
those who can only find air dance parlors in their own neck of the 
woods). Alexandra had me imprisoned in a wall of boobs, hands, legs, 
butt and sweet smelling perfume.  Heaven could never be that good.

Too bad I had no one sitting next to me on the plane later (or perhaps
just as well, given the orientation of many of the passengers).

Wall dancing at CP is certainly recommended for the price of laps ($20
clothed, $40 topless, $60 nekkid) Eva and Alexandra appear to be
willing accomplices should you decide to empty your wallet. They also 
appear to be more than willing to accept the blame should you miss 
your next plane due to your extended lapover, I mean layover.   (I 
guess we ASSCers settle for less.)

ENGNR1