[DruulEmpire]

Actually, Hoogle makes a fair point.  With Heidi and Elwell vanishing any week now -- Heidi for her native Europe, Elwell to seek her fortune (and a presumably abuse-free personal life) in California -- my already post-Murder career down there will probably get slashed even further.  I may in a pinch visit Columbia or Lourdes from time to time, or even Paige or Yolanda -- or I may even go on a new reconaissance mission, seeking a new selection now that a new batch of girls is showing up.  For the most part, though, I anticipate scaling my clubbing even further back.  So I'll try to have a nice big blowout for my 50th birthday round about New Year's Eve -- and after that, I may oblige with a retrospective.  But I have to tell you now, I've never banged a woman (since 2005, anyway) outside of that address, least of all a feature entertainer.  Elwell has been my sole skin diving expedition -- I suppose I'm weirdly monogamous that way.  Please believe me, the idea of whisking Shyla Stylez away somewhere and banging her brains out is a fine one, but nothing like that ever developed.  I couldn't even get Elwell into the Omni William Penn!

I've been slow to report on Wednesday the 1st, when I went down there seeking a supreme trifecta: Heidi (about to leave), Elwell (celebrating a birthday and also about to leave) and good old Columbia.  I got it, too.  I walked in and Heidi smiled grandly and noticed me immediately.  She claimed to have some psychic sense that Murdock was coming -- well, good for her.  We got caught up a bit and then I took her up for half an hour.  I keep bugging her -- nicely -- for pictures, and since we're communicating so well online now she promises she'll e-mail some for Christmas, so we'll see what comes of that.  It was a standard but good session: the hugging, the breasts, the culture shock.  She murmurs about being 37 and I explain the term "milf" to her.

I go back down, and truth to tell my briefcase is hiding various items: a simply shiny blue polyester robe I picked up a long time ago, some admittedly rather basic champagne, a couple of cards, and as promised from the last time, a pack of condoms -- plus some custom-orderd jewelry.  So there I am with that briefcase, and I sit alone for a few minutes at my own table, sipping my Sam Adams ...    

[DruulEmpire]

I always try to catch an Elwell movie -- even if "Sorority Row" makes me think the "ority" should have been left out of the title -- so I saw "Love and Other Drugs" with that community college English teacher friend of mine (bizarre that precisely such a Pittsburgh teacher should be the Russell Crowe character in "The Next Three Days"), and I'm more than happy to report to her that "Drugs" sucked with her clearly cut out of it -- but more on that in a bit.

So there I am in the corner, wonder how long it will take to wait for her, and it's dark, and this girl with this cute short haircut comes up behind me, and I turn and ask "Who are you?"  It's her!  Somehow the darkness plus the new cut throws me for a second.  The cut is very cute, I think fitting with the overall proportionality of her petite body very nicely.  So we sit and talk a bit.  It's clear to us that 99% that of a week's worth of shooting the "pajama party" scene (really more of a "lingerie orgy") in "Drugs" has been cut altogether -- makes one suspicious that films are started in the full knowledge that a lot of cool footage will be left lying around, maybe even to generate that footage.  No Josh Gad scene, nothing intersecting Jake Gyllenhaal, ah well.  She only counts as "gigs" her speaking roles, so there's a non-gig.

She's delighted to be taken up for ninety minutes, allowing us to blow the first twenty minutes or so on catch-up.  It's true, she's off to California soon, the upside of this that no longer do I have to sneak and hide my e-correspondence from her crazy boyfriend.  It was truly nuts -- here he was a millionaire, but because of trouble with the IRS (or so she reports) he's broke and in fact has been relying on her income.  She clears $100,000 or more a year and she's been a lifeline to this guy who ages ago splurged two fur coats on her but hasn't been able to spring for her since.  "You're too nice," I sum up for her -- not wanting to reflect too hard on how that may also be working for myself.

We order champagne, though she insists on shots, and at one point she treats me to some strong mediciny stuff lying between peppermint and vodka.  (Is this what they call schnapps?)  I show her a card and she notices I also have out a little shiny blue polyester robe I bough a long time ago for her -- very practical, for it hides her ass from the camera they have set up and masks our sex.  I'm stunned by her delight in it.  Wild that this girl rawks a simple polyester robe so cheerfully -- anyway, it's hers, if only because I'll probably never buy another one, at least for not so petite a house girl, ever again.


I tell her I had myself checked, as she asked me to, and she insists on not believing me, although at least she's playful about it.  (If I stop to think about it, I guess I can't blame her cynicism.)  But it's true, I had a battery of tests, both basic ones for various cholesterols and my thyroid and such, and several for potential STDs, and I'm clean.  She has no medical proof, but pronounces herself clean as well.  It's moot anyway, because I sneak out a couple of condoms.

Oh, but it's always good to get back in there.  I tell her my cock is in love with her.  When we get to talking about freed-up e-mail, she tells me she'll take e-mails from my cock as well as from me.  I've already left her one from "him," and a couple from me.  Will she ever get around to replying?  As of yet, still unknown.  Anyway, she warns me she may be **111** -- but pshaw, I've been doing it in spite of **110** since my first girlfriend in the Seventies.

So we get a nice gallop going -- we have to slow down from time to time, to make sure I'm not getting my cock sprained (like Natalya did to me -- see far above) or that we're fitting all right, and yet again  I wonder what a petite Haitian babe just turning 25 sees in a tall heavy bearded white guy turning 50.  Is it possible, especially with my knowledge or diction or simply my taking her seriously, that I am even half as exotic to her as she is to me?

We are America -- we are so different, and yet we fit together so nicely.

Strangely, we're a little too selfless when it comes to the sex.  She appears to get off, and then declares "That was nice."  I'm concerned for her neurology.  I've been able to make women yell their lungs out before, and I'd like that back -- of course, doing it seated on a couch with the threat of zipper teeth riding up against your erection puts a damper on it.  So now she's intent on making me cum, so I confess to her that if she tells me I'm -- it's -- "he's" big (sad to say, it's only standard caliber), maybe that'll do it.  But I don't, even though I'd like to, and she'd like it too -- but it's still a sweet session, and so we break up and she freshens up.

During the remainder of our time, I give her the brithday gift that's also a going away present.  It's a silver and red paua shell version of the bracelet for the Witchblade from that silly live-action TV show on TNT ten years ago.  I give her a card telling the legend of the Witchblade, that it has lived thousands of years, that it attaches itself to women because they're more elemental, more attuned to the earth, and perhaps Joan of Arc wielded it.  It deflects bullets (I know, I know, Wonder Woman's bracelets did that first) and deals with enemies.  I tell he it means that she doesn't have to take anyone's crap.  After what she's been through with the last boyfriend, it seems fitting.

She's very sweet, and urges me to write -- not just her, but for myself.  We get out of there and that may be the last time, at least for a long whiole, I see her again -- she may pop back in a couiple of months, or maybe she's lost to Cali for good, it's hard to say.  And that was just about my whole visit -- except for Columbia, and a couple other girls ...

[DruulEmpire]

I'm going to keep Hoogle at bay till mid-February, by which time I may semi-retire from this scene.

What do you do, when you're embarking upon a whole new decade of your life, and the most wonderful day of all may be the very first day? In my case it was the fourth, but you get the idea.  My early December visit, circa Elwell's 25th birthday, got rounded out at the end by my getting hit up by an aggressive blonde, let's call her Holly, but that was about it.  Afterwards I started plotting via e-mail with Brandi Morgan.

What I decided was this: in honor of the 50th birthday, five girls, one for each decade.  I would have Elwell all to myself on the side, leaving four: Brandi, Columbia, Yolanda, and one more.  However, while Brandi and I could occasionally reach Columbia via e-mail, it turned out that at the last minute she scored tickets to the Winter Classic that New Year's Day, so she would not be available.  (You would think the Penguins could have bothered to win just for her, but oh well.)  So I decided Columbia was there in spirit, and promised I'd set aside a fund of money I would have spent on her to be used booth dances throughout the new year.  So I considered her there in spirit, and was prepared for four.

In a supreme stroke of luck, I walked in and bam, Elwell was on stage naked and she grinned and stopped dancing and crouched by me while I greeted her and gave her some idea what was what -- basically, I wanted to save her for last, which was cool by her.  I almost immediately spotted Yolanda, wearing some cute fur-trimmed gold lame around her ass, and got her attention, telling her I'd be calling on her shortly.  Overall mission pretty well accomplished, I then went out into the hotel lobby with my good old Sam Adams (as a kind of bar ID) and asked that the desk call Brandi, for she had asked I do just that.  They were of split minds, though; some new guy named Mike couldn't get this past the protocol in his cerebral computer.

Luckily, another guy at the desk bothered to make the call.  I'll call him Todd, because the shape of his face and the cut of his hair and beard reminds me a little of MSNBC political analyst Chuck Todd.  Todd asked if I was Murdock, and he confirmed that Brandi would come down to me.  Going up and down was a little awkward that day, as the main elevator was out and you could either go up and down stairs or use the (even more) cramped freight elevator.  In due course Brandi came down, complete with some special Playboy Vixens magazines which she appears in, and I told her my master plan was to snag one more girl.  I told her we seem to have the same taste in women, and she agreed, so I wondered if we could scout the girls in club and spontaneuously pick one out.  She went one further, and said she would make sure that the girl was also to Yolanda's liking, that way all three of them would be sure to get along.  Brandi was VERY gracious that evening, a full trouper, for not only was she handing out free magazines and pulling a private little event right between official shows for the club, but she even took my little pencil flashlight and went into the club alone to fetch the new girl.  And she did well, too ...

[DruulEmpire]

(I must wrap this up, if only because I'll be checking out a newly-returned-to-America Heidi this Saturday. )

Brandi waded out into the busy bar and picked out a rather new girl, let's call her Margaret.  She's very petite, dark-haired, no breasts to speak of, but she has a vaguely Katy Perry prettiness about her and a huge elaborately artistic tattoo draped all across her back and she exudes positive energy, so it was a good call.  Brandi got me back in and it turned out Margaret was finishing off her stage dance.  So Brandi and I chatted with her while she was still on stage and then we brought Yolanda over to us.  Minor revelation: get Yolanda with a girl or two and this Russian can TALK, just on and on, even about particularly bad drive-in-style sci-fi movies that the rest of civilization has already forgotten -- which, come to think of it, I just made sound far more fascinating than it actually was.  Anyhow, Margaret joined us, and Yolanda did indeed like her, so after waiting a couple of minutes for Yolanda to quit gabbing we left as one throng, and we got to use the extra-cramped ( ) freight elevator.

We ordered some Korbel champagne, and then I explained my story idea, having to advise Yolanda to put her top back on (yes, I'm TRULY perverse).  The idea was: I was juggling the girls, each had special qualities -- Brandi was all-American beauty, Yolanda was an exotic James Bond fantasy girl, Margaret was just plain wild (you could just tell she really was, too) -- and suddenly they were all aware of each other and were vying to be #1.  This story ended instantly, as they decided Brandi was inviting two friends of hers.  Okay, so that worked too -- but it did leave me feeling from time to time like someone spying on the ultimate sorority, as they checked each other out and murmured "Women are so beautiful."  Brandi splayed her fingertips over the small of Margaret's tattoed back and said "Women know how to touch each other."  Yolanda was mysterious, continuing to gab, but breaking to either speak Russian (untranslated, argh) at length into my ear or poke fun at porn, choosing a slightly nasal thin high register as she faux-dry-humped me and declared "Oh, baby, it's so good!"  Evidently they weren't that impressed by the earlier visiting feature (offhand I'm not even sure who she was -- Jenna Haze?)  But they all took turns alternately smothering me (Margaret, eh, not so much) and dry-humping me, and all in all it was a good hour.

That left Elwell -- which was a bit involved, in part because my throng was probably noticed as it left, and now I was back I was getting hit on extra hard and heavy by the remaining club girls ...

[DruulEmpire]

You never know when you're going to make a new friend.  Take Louise.  Who's Louise?  Well, Elwell was down at the bar, but she was talking at length with some young sharp fellow and not budging, so I was left vulnerable to come-ons, and one came from a nice-enough-looking blonde named Louise.  Turned out I was able to chat at fair length with Luise, even about the distinct differences between the movie Blade Runner and the actual novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?  My mind was fairly blown, as I happened to discover possibly the most sci-fi-literate girl in my career there.  She still didn't do much for me aesthetically, but I'll have to get her in a booth for a dance or two someday just to honor her body of knowledge.

I got to putting on my coat and gloves, and Elwell finally got away from the guy.  She said he was involved in baseball, though I pressed her for a name and she said something like Gary Mitchell.  Gary Mitchell?  Any Star Trek buff will tell you that Gary Mitchell was the Gary Lockwood character in an early episode, an old friend of Kirk's who gets godlike powers at the energy barrier at the edge of our galaxy.  So somehow I suspect she got the name wrong.  But she was apologetic and got me upstairs ... and the funny thing is, as we finished off, she said "Tell no one."  In one sense it's awfully late to honor that in this thread, but I'll try it anyway.  We got along as we have in the past, and that was plenty, that was everything.  Turns out she's still headed for Cali but will be just a little while longer yet.  Near the end I mentioned I had turned fifty and that seemed to catch her by surprise, so she held my face and fussed and said she couldn't believe it.  In a subsequent e-mail she repeated she couldn't believe it and told me it was a great time.

And thus the next decade of my life begins.  It was quite a night and would be hard to top -- but I am determined to do so, if not with girls and champagne, then achievement and success.  I went there seeking diversion and met the eighth woman in my life, and now I dare believe the ninth or tenth may yet be out there in the world.  It makes for one hell of a prescription against depression.

[DruulEmpire]

To someone reading out there this thread may seem like it turned into The Elwell Show, but I paid a quick two-hour visit last night when Elwell wasn't there, and I'm going to tell this non-chronologically, since the first thing to happen was the best, but the rest wasn't bad either.

So anyhow, it was the night of that Steelers-Ravens game and a big TV was on, but the club itself remained highly active.  (Wonder if they would have bothered with Miss America?  Didn't stick around for that -- wild that Nebraska won, I think that's the first time in history.)  Shyla Stylez was doing late shows, I'd caught her once before (somewhere way up this thread must be a report on that), but I didn't much care.  I was waiting around for Columbia, who I'd missed for my 50th birthday blowout two weeks before (see directly above) and was vulnerable to come-ons and got approached by this rather solidly built and awfully sweet Asian (somehow Inuit-seeming) girl with mostly blonde hair, let's call her Toffee.  Weird, the success I've had lately daring to broach science fiction (must be my undying Keisha Evans fandom), because I confessed I was trying to write and that led to her confessing to loving fantasy and Stephen King.  She asked if I believed in life on other planets and seemed relieved when I said that sheer arithmetic says there has to be -- in fact, it looks like there's respiration going on in the Martian atmosphere.  Well, it's kind of a personal code of mine that any stripper who understands the Drake equation is probably good for a dance, so I got her in a booth and she alternated between a headstand and nibbling on and breathing into my ear, like I said she was rather solidly built but clearly limber.

That was fun, and then I noticed Yolanda from two weeks ago -- but it's funny, there's never been any serious spark between us.  DAMN, but she loves wrapping that fur-trimmed gold lame around her ass, third time now I've caught her in that, a stripper usally rotates more.  But she can get away with it.  Round about then I also noticed Margaret, also from two weeks ago, in a clingy pink slip, and she got all cheery and round-eyed when she recognized me.  So we had some nice booth time, a little extra debriefing from New Year's Day, and you have to admire a girl with no breasts to speak of who still tries to smother you anyway.  So that too was fun.

One "pimp" pointed Columbia out to me, she had just come in and was still in street clothes, watching the game.  At that point the Steelers got a field goal and finally tied with the Ravens, having played catch-up all night.  As the third quarter ran out of time we slipped back and got in some dance.  I was a little concerned for her, she had a bit of a cough, but the woman is indefatigable, always up, always glam, always athletic.  Later I flung singles at her while she was on stage and trying to surreptitiously glance back at the TV in mid-dance.  What can I say, in Pittsburgh it's so easy for a woman to be a bigger sports fan than I am.  (She's not that into baseball, though.)  We stood together as the Steelers got their great final touchdown and nothing really gelled for the Ravens thereafter.  What can I tell you -- nevermore, Ravens, nevermore.

So that was my evening -- but wait, now what happened first of all.  I caught sight of Heidi almost immediately, she was momentarily TV-**101** but she gave me the biggest smile and hug and we pretty directly went upstairs.  Not much dancing, more of a nude conversation with fondling, but it was unusual conversation.  She appealed to my inner geographer as she told me how her extended family hailed from Azerbaijan and Turkmenistan and she was ultimately Circassian.  This blew my mind, as to this day I recall a Merriam-Webster dictionary whose definition states as a bald fact that Circassians are beautiful.  Ever see that famous National Geographic cover photo of the slightly swarthy handsome-featured girl with the startling green eyes?  That's what we're talking about (even though Heidi is dark-eyed).  Anyhow, the club patronage continues to mysteriously and cruelly undervalue her, but she got a gig as a classy hostess of a charity pool tournament sponsored by no less than the Duquesne Club.  This is a pretty big deal.  I remember when one local cartoonist, Tim Menees, would show some rich old farts sitting around in Ye Olde Steele Clubbe -- well, of course that's got to be the Duquesne Club.  To live in Pittsburgh is to live in the shadow of Old Money, the names Carnegie and Mellon and Frick and Hillman all over the place, and in some places it's a bit more than just a shadow.  So anyhow, they got Heidi in a low-cut high-slit blue cocktail dress, racking the balls ( ! ) and all that, and an obsessive photographer took a ton of pictures of her -- which she says she'll send me sometime soon, so win all around.  But when we broke up, she thanked me for being a friend and told me "You are better than Duquesne Club."

Wow.  Damn.  "You are better than Duquesne Club."  Now those are words to keep a Pittsburgher's heart warm during the winter -- especially from the lips of a latter-day Uschi Digard.

2011 ... you may now proceed.      

[DruulEmpire]

Uh-oh, views-to-posts has exceeded 239, plutonium level, time to knock it back down lol.  Still haven't received photos from Heidi, ah well.

Put in a couple of evenings as a kind of belated Valentine trip.  The first was primarily to see my Red Queen Columbia, hoped to also catch Fortune from my "murder" of April 2008 (see way above) but she was flitting about with other guys and we never connected.  Lourdes had been scheduled but she never showed.  So I got to meet others along the way.  A lean hard-bodied athlete of a dancer, let's call her Kay, was truly exotic, having tattoos all over her body from all over the world (or so the story goes).  She lived in Japan awhile (she's Caucasian herself) and is rather steeped in the culture.  As with Louise from a few visits ago, not that much of a sexual spark but someone good to hang and converse with.  Another dancer, black and cute in a vaguely Holly Robinson Peete way, turned up, let's call her Christian (no irony of any sort intended), and I was taken with the neatly tailored floweriness of her dress and even the cute black-and-white tailoring of her underwear.  Our booth dance heated up very nicely, enough to consider taking her upstairs sometime, she bunny-hopped atop me quite savagely.

After that, Columbia is usually my "cool-down" girl, but it felt different that night.  She strode in and perked up and cheered to see me, she didn't need any drinks, so to the booth we went.  She's been opening up more, evidently she's a landlord in the process of getting sued by her soon-to-be-ex-husband  -- yikes!  And she's been needing a massage, I tried gamely at that but am no expert.  How does she bear up?  She says she's simply a happy person, it's as if her DNA wires her that way.  It was strange, we had our usual slow cool session, but I wanted her worse than ever before and I told her so.  Afterwards we hugged and talked and I wished her the best, and that rounded out an evening that did not shape up at all as I had hoped but was still very nice.

The next evening I came for Elwell, and surprisingly enough it only took 100 minutes this time for her to arrive at her shift, and in the meantime I met others.  I bumped into Christian again, who in a light and sassy way made no bones about how I ought to be spending on her, and she challenged me while she was dancing in the side cage.  I'm only your number three girl tonight, huh?  So who are the other two?  I said #2 was Yolanda -- she was there in some car-racing-themed bodysuit, I was tempted to try her but never got to her.  #1 of course was Elwell.  Christian happily conceded to both women, my answer got me off the hook.  A little later, Fortune flitted by once more, she was happy to recognize me but she was already running half an hour late to leave and get home.  Fortune was not with me, hawr hawr.

But I did well by three others ...

[DruulEmpire]

I had the weirdest feeling I'd met Angie before, a short curly brunette with just a wisp of Kate Beckinsale prettiness, but I've been up and down this thread and nothing has sparked a memory, so Angie she now is.  Very accessible, very fun, a bit talkative, certainly more than the downright near-silent OTHER curly brunette of that evening who I'll call Navajo because she was, that's right, a Navajo.  Then I reunited with Margaret, the petite blackhaired girl picked out for me by Brandi Morgan for my 50th birthdays bash (directly above), and that was very sweet, she looked into my eyes very mischievously a lot of times as we got it on in the booth.

I love it when a girl just sort of grins and goes crazy and rushes over to you.  Columbia did that a little the previous night, and as Elwell was on stage and noticed me she grinned and rushed over and we talked and conspired in mid-show.  It''s always a cool feeling to get that.

When I got her upstairs, there was some catching up to do.  Seems she'll be a girl of two cities, still stationed in Pittsburgh but heading out Santa Barbara way a lot.  (She's due at the Playboy mansion in March, I hope she knows about the water lol.)  I also know she now has a serious boyfriend, the kind of guy who cries at being separated from her.  She's a determinedly not-so-romantic person but I have to say, I know where that guy is coming from.  Yet here we still are, if she ever wanted to quit the secret sex thing I'd be cool with that, but damn it, we seem to have this persistent mutual magnetism, we each seem to need it in our own mysterious way.  If my code of honor was worth a damn I'd insist she be true to this guy, but my code cracks apart as we collide.  It's brutal but true that betrayal is a turn-on, the fact she's keeping me secret from the main man in her life makes me feel like quite the catnip.  At least this new kid is fun and can hang with her and treats her right, I haven't even met him and already I think I like him.  She admits to feeling odd about our sessions -- in fact I thought this time would be the big break.  Yet that's how this thing is, it's never very intimate because she leaves a lot of e-mails unanswered, she's more into Twitter, and yet it never breaks either, she's never definitively off to Cali or definitively faithful, it just keeps squeaking by like this, and I know someday I should trade her in, find a ninth woman who could really share my life, barring the miracle that Elwell could ever become that.  But the ninth woman is Penelope, and Elewell is Calypso on Ogygia, and Odysseus while away one hell of a long time there, and had Calypso been anything like Elwell, could I have blamed him?

The Odyssey is very much on my mind, as TCM will show "2001" any minute lol, upcoming Oscars and all that.  But I sent her a silly note and she wrote back that she found it beautiful.  It's a strange friendship, a kind of micro-marriage, all the boredom and disillsusionment sliced away leaving just the happiness and touching.  It can't hold, yet I can't break it.  I so wanted this installment to be definitive, but this is going to drag on a little more yet.

[Hoogleboogle]

Hi, Druul.

This Friday, A stunningly beautiful and busty porn star, Audrey Bitoni, will be a featured dancer at a club in your city (Cheerleaders.)

She's a favorite of mine -- I just sent an email to the clubs in my area which book features suggesting they bring her in. I'd love to meet her, but if I can't I'd be especially interested to read about you meeting her.

[DruulEmpire]

Hoog (may I call you Hoog?), thank you for your patience overall.  It so happens I'm hitting Blush this very evening (rare that I try to squeeze in something before a work night) for what may be my last rendezvous with what I consider the exotic latter-day Germano-Turkish Uschi Digard that is "Heidi" (code name not to be confused with any actual dancers named Heidi), who promises to at long last bring photos of herself.  Two weeks from now I'll try to combine a reunion with a fave of mine, Brandi Morgan, with a belated celebration of three years of a crazy friendship with Elwell, who right now is in Miami.

It's funny, but the feature dancers barely register on me anymore.  Right now Blush has a reasonably busty gal named Jaded Dawn, but I'm going to pass on her.  I've been aware of Ms. Bitoni but I'm going to pass on her too.  Only time anyone talked me into checking a feature out, that was when fellow Pittsburgher motivated me to see Teri Weigel, and she looked nice and was dedicated to trying to handjob me, but somehow that was not a make-or-break experience.  Weirdly enough, the time Lisa Lipps simply held my face and stared into my eyes, or the one time Sofia Staks stopped by, are the kind of **29** moments I've come to treasure, and that era is pretty well past, at least for Blush.

Best way to get me to Cheerleaders is hitch me with a local ride.  Berkovw and I once chatted about once making an outing together but that never came through; he had to take a long hiatus from here but I think he may be lurking once more.  Shimmerin's a Pittsburgher but I haven't seen him around in an age.  (Zorro used to hail from around here but I think he has pretty much had it with Pittsburgh and this area.    Besides, he sounds like he has enough to worry about lately.    )

But who knows, if you keep track of Cheerleaders maybe someone will show up over there who will convince me to finally try it.  (So far, Blush has been able to hang on to Shyla Stylez.    )  I correspond with someone who works for Blush but frequents Cheerleaders, maybe he could help me with that.  However, beyond finding a woman who seriously does it for me, or finding me a Pittsburgh partner in crime ... the only way left to motivate me?  Send cash.    

[DruulEmpire]

Some boring computer news is a necessary preamble to this update.  I was clobbered a week ago by a really huge stupid malware calling itself WindowsRepair, which instead of just sneaking in and using you dominates your screen and makes your computer useless.  A computer-savvy friend kicked it out, but my computer has been feeling weirdly crippled ever since.  If I simply click Google search options, for example, I get bushwhacked by shopping sites; to see a Google option I actually have to retype the line of code shown.  Nor can I check the club website now, because it relies on Adobe Flash Player 10,2, which I've reloaded but it still does not recognize.

So I was flying blind, with no sense of the dancer schedule (and no idea how I'll ever get it back) -- but not too blind, for I was able to swap e-messages with Columbia, as well as this week's feature dancer, veteran favorite Brandi Morgan.  Also, the club is finally, finally, beginning to acknowledge the usefulness of my existence -- I now receive invitations from it, and the other night I was slipped a free admission pass good through June.  Anyhow, I was informed that Brandi would have a show at 11 Tuesday night, and I have some days off from my crazy overnight job, so I figured, go for it.

It is tempting, sorely tempting, to blow money some time on more "reconnaissance" trips, like I did years ago.  The "stable" of girls is changing all the time, and some of them even look good and intriguing.  Anyhow, I check the listing at the door, I see Elwell was scheduled for the noon-to-seven shift -- but then she waves to me from the bar.  Turns out she's working that whole day.  So she takes care of a couple of guys while I deal out singles at the stage, the dancers slowly improving in look as the songs go by.  Before I know it it's just ten minutes to 11 and Elwell is finally free, so I figure, catch Brandi another time (I'm planning on Friday, that's tomorrow) and do the Elwell thing tonight.

Tonight I finally glimpse what a savage this girl is.  Sorry, not in a sexual way -- well, not mostly.  All this time I've been wondering: does she want to be true to this new guy in her life?  It was beginning to sound like that last time.  It's wild, that this hot girl strips naked and eagerly gives me a lotion handjob while talking with a straight face about her boyfriend feeling insecure.  Gee, you think?  It's finally dawning on me that none of my old definitions of anything truly apply to her.  She tells me "I love making you happy" -- this is sexy coming from the voice of any date, but from her, oh my God.  So my brain begins to wonder, Jesus, Druul, why aren't you hustling to seriously get this woman into your life?  So I ask her "Would you ever marry?"  But it's out of the question for her, because she enjoys being single, unable to choose one guy and stick with him.  Fidelity may simply not be in her, and that would be a factor for any prospective groom to seriously consider.  But she goes on to say that she would marry her dog.  No, no **15**, nothing like that -- it's just that she's so high on all the unconditional affection.  And maybe there's an insight at long last into how and why she ever picked me in the first place -- because I'm the kind of man who comes pre-trained, the one housebroken enough to try to be discreet, and from me too comes the unconditional affection.  But for her, issues like literal puppy love or fidelity or marriage are all hazy and unmapped, overlapping and interchangeable.  Add to that an attention span shot to shit by our Twitter age and I simply have to take the past three years as its own proof of any sense of loyalty.  Although she never said "I love making you happy" before.  So it goes on being both sweet and tough.

I confess I passed up Brandi Morgan for her, so she tells one of the security to pass the word to Brandi that Murdock wants to see her after the show -- and sure enough, less than half an hour after 11, Brandi Morgan walks in on us in a furry leopard print bikini, which I always appreciate.  Now at this point you may be wondering "Brandi AND Elwell -- THEN what!?!?", and they did discuss that a bit, but it would have cost a fortune, and Brandi was sweet enough to figure that out and explain it to Elwell.  (Something else for any Mr. Elwell to worry about -- has she any grasp of frugality?)  But we all sat and gabbed awhile, the two girls really dig each other (they don't really really REALLY dig each other but you can't have everything) and then Brandi went, I e-mailed her later, and Elwell and I wrapped up our hour.

People may be starting to suspect that we've had whookita-whookita-whookita.  One (earlier) time a man came in and told Elwell the room smelled like sex, and I think Brandi caught on this time as well.  Elwell recommends I seek out a Gucci fragrance.  Eh, I'll check it.  So long as I never quite become Emil Janning to her Marlene Dietrich, I find her worth listening to.

Still to come: Brandi Morgan performs, and perhaps more of Columbia.  

[DruulEmpire]

It's wild, how easy it is to forget some of this.  I did get to see Brandi dance for the "businessman's lunch" shift, but that was about that.

The three main temptations down there have been Columbia, Heidi and Elwell -- more on them in a bit.  Yet there have come new temptations, though none of Elwell intensity.  I got Margaret in a booth and I joked that I liked being taken advantage of and the next thing I knew she was French kissing me.  Somewhat similarly I met a sweet curly brunette, let's call her Sweetie, and I wouldn't mind getting a full half-hour from her.  So some are intriguing that way.  One, I'll call her Eden, looked great, a glamorous blonde wearing a nice sort of bustier, but I swiftly found her not nearly as chesty as her costuming suggested, and her body just a little too bony, but most of all she didn't seem that into the whole thing.  So there's scenery, and some true seductresses amidst the scenery, and the talent marches on.

Now, Columbia and I have a very remote, cool, yet groovy relationship with.  But after all this angst?  And all this promising of photos?  It finally, finally happened for Heidi.  Yes, you thought it might be just a perpetual running gag, but she finally gave up on America to reside permanently in Europe.  Her family is there, and her heart is there, and she's really into this Czech summer camp for kids.  So I got to see her on her very last day at Blush, which meant something to her.  She was very quiet about it, not wanting to alarm the management or anyone -- but I got to see her off AND SHE GAVE ME SOME PICTURES, believe it or not.  They were from a time when she was down in Miami in a very short-lived marriage.  Back then she kept her hair blonde.  She's on the beach, in a conservatively (by today's standards anyway) black bikini strongly resembling lingerie, and she shows off her bod and at one point hoists her rack.  What's wild is that she gained some weight since the pictures, and it all seemed to go in the right places, making her bosom fuller, rounder, softer, more pendulous.  The pictures are nice but I think the stark sunlight cancels out the some of the beautiful shape of her face, and I hope she'll be able to send another picture with more shading.  Anyhow, I keep saying it and I stand by it: she's my Uschi Digard.  I plan to send her an e-note at least once a month, taking a pulse of Europe.

So Heidi's out.  And Elwell?  As of this writing, I went down just the other day and wham, she was right there in a wonderful red dress strapped diagonally all across her body.  So, OF COURSE, because I instantly met with Elwell and she made me promise to wait for her while she vanished to make a phone call, Margaret hit on me, and Sweetie hit on me, and even Yolanda hit on me.  Now that's wild -- Yolanda is such a self-assured man-eater that she usually doesn't bother with me, but she was probably having a slow patch for all of ten minutes, so she decided to hit on me -- and I wanted her back later but could never have her, natch.  Anyhow, I turned girls down, and then Elwell came back for me and we had another hour.

I will never understand this relationship.  For some perverse impossible reason we simply dig the hell out of each other.  She has her main squeeze, and she has her little career (she's excited about a company of hers making clothes for dogs, which is all very entrepreneurial and everything but eesh, I keep my true feelings silent), and then there's me.  She's in a bad way that day, having lived on little more than water and vegetables and a lot of margaritas, so she ducks into the bathroom for some dry retching -- there's nothing left in her to come out -- and she's having her period besides, yet I can't see any of that fazing her, magnificent in her long curly hair, and I am in fact happy to be a sixty-plus-minute break for her while she takes it easy and begins to feel better.

We talk -- and I think we've exhausted the territory we can talk about.  We'll always be happy to play Magnet and Steel, but here's the thing: I've already made my impression on her, in all the simple mindless ways.  I've done the non-haggling, the bracelet, the unconditional adoration, the e-poetry, all that.  But if I am to be ever more than simply an accessory in her life, I must achieve.  I've got to lose thirty pounds, and /or complete a damn manuscript, and/or finally get my website up.  I tell her the site will feature poems to Lady 8, that being her.

This of course begs the concept of a Lady 9.  It would be too much work, too much square peg and round hole (so to speak) to make us a working couple.  I worry that if we ever met for more than two hours we would drive each other crazy, and not in the good way.  So there's got to be a Lady 9, I've got to make that happen.  But if I find her, I owe so much to my Lady 8, for her miraculously rescuing me from eleven years of sexlessness, for enhancing my sense of self-worth severalfold.  I've got to work to be worthy of Lady 8, and Lady 9.

So I may not be back down till October -- and that will be plenty of time to cool off, sit back, and oblige Hoog with a retrospective.  But first, my place in the Addventure to secure, and the rest of my crazy Atlas Shrank thread.  I love shoving my irons into various fires.

PS: there's an interesting extra detail to this.  After our hour, I still wanted more time with Elwell, so I got her in a booth and showed her what I had forgotten to show her before: a bottle of Gucci by Gucci "pour hommes."  Rather awkwardly, this turned her on -- once our most intimate time was past us.  I asked for shpritzing advice, and she said: (arm)pits, chest, back of the neck.  Back of the neck?  Hey, I'll take her word for it.  I'm indebted to Michael Crichton for first introducing me to the term "rhinencephalon," literally "nose-head," that core of the brain inherited from a time when sight and hearing were not as strong a sense as smell.  Seriously, men, I kid you not: take care of your woman's rhinencephalon.  It's obscenely expensive, but for the tiny bit you need to shpritz you'll get a big reaction, it's long-term cost-effective.

[DruulEmpire]

Right now it's all burning out, the Elwell thing and with it the Blush thing.  She got into trouble with a new bouncer and has been -- suspended?  Or fired outright?  Suddenly she has to make an "honest" living.  Meanwhile it sounds like Yolanda got into trouble of her own -- which is shocking, because Yolanda brings so much business she deserves a percentage.  Now she's at Cheerleaders, and perhaps can give Elwell an entree there.  Everything sounds very up in the air -- her calendar, going back to dancing or not.  I telephoned her just now, and she sounds like a sniffling hungover shadow of her better self.  I'm finding this in general in my life -- no one close to me seems to have a really strong grasp of life, we're all just scrambling.  It's sillier in Elwell's case because she has blown through so much money like it's nothing, money which could be making her life a little easier right now.

At this point all she really needs me for is my money.  Which is a laugh, because I continue to be just a working class schlub.  She needs to use me and yet gives back less and less.  She's under constraints, like the jealous boyfriend who doesn't want her to dance, but even so I'm just not feeling as valuable to her anymore.

There's a corny old song: "I wouldn't have missed it for the world."  I still wouldn't have.  But I think I've about had it, especially with all my favorite girls except Columbia gone and my checking in on Heidi out in the Czech Republic once every month or so.  It was a good run.  Was it worth it?  Ultimately, yes.  I'll see if I can get a half hour upstairs with Columbia tomorrow before work, I've taken her upstairs only once before.  And then -- that may well be it.  It's all up to Elwell.

For a while now I've known I'll have to look for a woman beyond Elwell, and have even wondered "How will I top her?"  Today, she seems toppable.  This misadventure has very nearly run its course, and I dare to believe that the ninth woman in my life may yet be truly extraordinary.    

[DruulEmpire]

On Wednesday evening before work I squeezed in thirty minutes with Columbia.  I've taken her upstairs only once before, ages ago, and I've been skipping her from months out of an obsession with Elwell, and it was such a relief to be with her.  I was catching her just as her divorce was finally being concluded, and it sounds like she has the world's best tenant.  A man breathes easier around her, and I like to think she's closer to my Lady 9, whoever that may be, than my current Lady 8.

And now I get to hijack this thread, and perhaps the very tone of this website, and talk about a peeve of mine.  I have a heavy heart. I have always had a heavy heart.  But only just now did I bother to look up the phrase.  Turns out a heavy heart is considered nothing but a mood or an affliction.  In that one sense, Aldous Huxley's Brave New World has already arrived.  "Why the heavy heart?"  Health is considered to be lightheartedness.  The trouble being, Elwell is lighthearted, and frankly that can suck.  Columbia is a naturally happy person, and smart besides, items she volunteered to the conversation ranged from Amerigo Vespucci to triglycerides, so she can get away with lightheartedness, that's the way to do it, she's the closest thing I have to Holly Golightly.  But the heart relies a lot on the mind, and Elwell would rather blast her mind on margaritas.  She's not dumb, but I worry about how smoothly unwrinkled her brain may be as it resists any depth of learning.  She can read and write, and yet is sometimes functionally illiterate by virtue of her simply hating and resenting and flinging aside the very act of reading (anything longer than Twitter) or writing (anything longer than some long joke she once heard).  This Jobsian age pampers and trumpets the superficial more than it has ever been pampered and trumpeted before.  A man with a heavy heart can find no home with Elwell, there is no there there.

I will go on having a heavy heart, for the simple reason that this century may well make or break our species.  Certainly the last century could have, as the Cuban missile crisis demonstrated, but this time the crisis may be even bigger and more inescapable.  From my standpoint, I am heavyhearted because there are too fucking many people placing such a sacred imperative upon being lighthearted.  Have you earned your lightheartedness?  I would be lighthearted myself, if only I knew that more of you out there were doing your share of the heavy lifting.  But it's gossip this and sports that and gambling this and drugs that and midlife crisis this and middle class aspirations that -- oh, for fucking out loud, people!  This may well be the most magnificent planet to be found for at least a hundred light-years around -- and I didn't pull that number out of a hat either, I've dedicated my whole life to trying to pin down precisely such speculative statistics -- so please, enough about our little selves.  Fuck yeah, I have a heavy heart -- and I will go on having a heavy heart, because I am resolved to remain strong enough to lift it.  In a perverse way, Beshine or Chelsea Charms symbolize this.  (Finally got your attention back, huh?)  It takes a proper attitude, an inner strength as well as obvious outer strength, to carry all that with wit and grace and business savvy.  One need only consider cases ranging from Lolo Ferrari to Sheyla Hershey to appreciate the alternative.  So this place has provided a perverse metaphor for a much deeper and more universal condition, which happens to be my own.

This is the century of the heavy heart.  We need more uplifting women.

Addendum: thank you very much, bignats.  (I like thinking of you as bignats, sounds like Ignatz, the German form of Ignatius.)  Honestly, I would love to AVERT an apocalypse.  But I'm glad you're "getting" this thread.  

[bignatslover]

I love reading this thread.  Tales of lust, philosophy and the apocalypse.