As many of us Merb characters drive up to Montreal from New England, I thought I would share a recent sojourn to Providence, RI– the only place in the US (other than Nevada) where Sp laws are about the same as in Montreal. So as long as one is not engaged in "street action," you are pretty safe from the law. Needless to say, as providence is significantly closer for me than Montreal, I decided to give it a try.
Now, I have been going to Providence for strip clubs for many years. It has always had better clubs, and much better service than other states in the region. I particularly like The Cadillac Lounge. A friend and I go there at least one per month. And have met several great girls there; it's a lot like Cleo's. A real range of girls, not all barbie-doll types, and you can get to know them better. It's fun.
Anyway, I went recently and met a tiny little spinner type. She's only 19 but already has two kids, so her life is a bit messy, but I thought she was pretty hot in the dimmed club light of the Cadillac, so I got her number (easy), and we set up an incall visit for later in the week.
So here I found myself in my first non-Montreal SP situation. What would it be like? Had I found a new, equally good situation, right in my own backyard? This could be fantastic, no?
Alas, don't get your hopes up. I drove down and was finally given the actual destination as I approached. In retrospect, it seemed odd that she wouldn't give me an address when I was still an hour away, but it didn't matter, my GPS got me right there quickly. I parked in the tiny lot adjacent to a two story building with a pizza parlor and tanning salon on the ground floor. I called her again to confirm that I was there, and she agreed to come down and meet me. We went up a dingy staircase, and entered the skank-iest trailer-trash two room apartment that I had been inside of in 25 years. The single living/bedroom had fluorescent lights in the ceiling (very romantic), and a single bed on one wall, with two infant beds (one in a cinderella motif, and the other a Spiderman) on the other. As we entered, I was asked to place my $250 (for one hour) on the TV (there was only a TV and a cheap stereo unit; no other furniture). I did, and the woman I had seen as an angel only a day or two earlier was now before me, unceremoniously removing her hip huggers. She stripped down, and so did I. I embraced her and tried to kiss her, but quickly realized that was not on the menu. Indeed, hardly anything was on the menu. We settled on the tiny bed, and she immediately brought out a condom for a CBJ. No kissing, no DATY, no touching of anything.
We then spent 20 awkward minutes trying to get this old one even remotely excited enough for activity, meanwhile she stopped three times to answer three different cell phones. Whatever hopes I may have had for enjoying this blue-lit, trashy dump, with no contact and lots of interruptions soon faded. I had spent $260 actually (a stupidly generous touch, I am), and was clearly going to receive nothing.
By the way, in addition to the less than stellar ambiance, I noticed, just adjacent to the Cinderella bed, a thick, sharp steak knife lying on the floor. Maybe it was for packing (was she moving?) or maybe it was for defense. I don't know. I do know that Montreal has nothing to worry about, and that I regret my brief thought that it might.
I apologize, Montreal, for being unfaithful. Can you forgive me?
Now, I have been going to Providence for strip clubs for many years. It has always had better clubs, and much better service than other states in the region. I particularly like The Cadillac Lounge. A friend and I go there at least one per month. And have met several great girls there; it's a lot like Cleo's. A real range of girls, not all barbie-doll types, and you can get to know them better. It's fun.
Anyway, I went recently and met a tiny little spinner type. She's only 19 but already has two kids, so her life is a bit messy, but I thought she was pretty hot in the dimmed club light of the Cadillac, so I got her number (easy), and we set up an incall visit for later in the week.
So here I found myself in my first non-Montreal SP situation. What would it be like? Had I found a new, equally good situation, right in my own backyard? This could be fantastic, no?
Alas, don't get your hopes up. I drove down and was finally given the actual destination as I approached. In retrospect, it seemed odd that she wouldn't give me an address when I was still an hour away, but it didn't matter, my GPS got me right there quickly. I parked in the tiny lot adjacent to a two story building with a pizza parlor and tanning salon on the ground floor. I called her again to confirm that I was there, and she agreed to come down and meet me. We went up a dingy staircase, and entered the skank-iest trailer-trash two room apartment that I had been inside of in 25 years. The single living/bedroom had fluorescent lights in the ceiling (very romantic), and a single bed on one wall, with two infant beds (one in a cinderella motif, and the other a Spiderman) on the other. As we entered, I was asked to place my $250 (for one hour) on the TV (there was only a TV and a cheap stereo unit; no other furniture). I did, and the woman I had seen as an angel only a day or two earlier was now before me, unceremoniously removing her hip huggers. She stripped down, and so did I. I embraced her and tried to kiss her, but quickly realized that was not on the menu. Indeed, hardly anything was on the menu. We settled on the tiny bed, and she immediately brought out a condom for a CBJ. No kissing, no DATY, no touching of anything.
We then spent 20 awkward minutes trying to get this old one even remotely excited enough for activity, meanwhile she stopped three times to answer three different cell phones. Whatever hopes I may have had for enjoying this blue-lit, trashy dump, with no contact and lots of interruptions soon faded. I had spent $260 actually (a stupidly generous touch, I am), and was clearly going to receive nothing.
By the way, in addition to the less than stellar ambiance, I noticed, just adjacent to the Cinderella bed, a thick, sharp steak knife lying on the floor. Maybe it was for packing (was she moving?) or maybe it was for defense. I don't know. I do know that Montreal has nothing to worry about, and that I regret my brief thought that it might.
I apologize, Montreal, for being unfaithful. Can you forgive me?
