Jenna Jameson
Sunday, May 25, 2008:
I had seen her in the print advertisements and in the website for the area’s premier strip club.
She was the perfect American girl with shoulder length, highlighted blond hair, big blue eyes, and a smile that electrified. Her body was slender and curvy, sculpted by a perfection of genetics. Her grooming was impeccable, down to her French-manicured nails.
She was, and is, simply perfect.
I assumed she in fact worked for the club, as stripper girls are indeed sometimes that perfect. Not having seen her at the club, I assumed she was in one of the Champagne Rooms in the back doing private dances or off work that night. It did occur to me that she might be a professional model.
But she wasn’t!
She was a stripper girl!
Driving home from visiting Adriana on a Sunday afternoon, Roxanne calls and asks me to redirect the car to the expensive McCormick & Schmick’s Seafood Restaurant in Schaumburg to meet her and a girlfriend for dinner. I like to think that I was invited because of my overwhelming masculine charms. The jaded may say that I was invited to pick up the tab for a couple of youngsters gone wild ordering things they could not afford.
I check that my credit card is with me and has availability, note that I have a half-tank of gas, put on my sunglasses, and tell the car to head for the girls.
Roxanne danced at the same club as the stripper featured in the print ads. I am stunned to find whom her girlfriend at dinner is.
She’s the one in the print ads and on the website.
Her name is Becky.
Jenna Jameson
In person, Becky is hotter than her photos, if that is possible. An animated pretty girl is always better than her photos, and Becky is stunning.
She seems to be a genetic abnormality, as every part of her is beyond perfection.
Her white dress stops just a couple of inches from the knees of her very expensive legs. Her dress covers her neckline except for a slit exposing just a little of large, firm breasts. The tone of her calf muscle is just right, exercised yet feminine. At age 28, she is in her prime!
Roxanne, age 26, is also gorgeous. I look at these two American girls, laughing, talking, and drinking with the confidence and fun attitude of dancers, and I am in awe.
But maybe not!
Becky is surprised at Adriana’s reluctance to kiss new acquaintances, and Becky says:
“I’ve given a ton of bj’s, and I’ve never gotten anything in my mouth!”
I note three things. First, her bj’s are given away freely, thus terribly devaluing them. Second, her adding “in my mouth” to this careful listener implies that she has had sexually transmitted diseases in other parts of her body. Third, in spite of her overwhelming beauty, I don’t want her phone number.
For years now, I’ve been with these women of extraordinary beauty who have been corrupted to their core by drugs, alcohol, and monstrous childhood abuse. I can take it no longer.
I think of how careful Adriana is with her body. I think of the impact on me of Adriana simply lifting her gaze to meet mine. I think of the softness of her eyes, and I know that these moments with Adriana are infinitely more treasured that any sexual treat that can be delivered by Becky.
What Adriana, and women like Adriana, deliver is much more valuable and satisfying!
As perfect as Becky is looks-wise, her speech isn’t. It’s rough and full of foul language learned by talking to lust-crazed men over a number of years.
The clubs do seem to damage women, for no one can handle long-term exposure to the sometimes worst of men at their worst behavior.
They get me excited over the supposedly perfect women who will inhabit the new Pink Monkey strip club, and we make plans to go Friday. On the way home, I cancel, totally tired of that life and the women in it.
Roxanne lives nearby, and Becky wants to go to Roxanne’s place for a make-out session. I am not invited, as I have served my purpose of picking up the monstrous tab, fueled by two plates of sampler oysters and exotic drinks. Roxanne is embarrassed, and pretends Becky is kidding about the make-out session. The two do head to Roxanne’s place, Roxanne’s interest in men having been long ago destroyed by exposure to men in strip clubs.
Although Becky is wonderful to look at, there is little else of interest. Real women who take care of themselves, who value their bodies, and who are struggling for a real life are so much more attractive.
Just the touch of Adriana’s hand is everything to me.
But much more valuable than the touch of Adriana’s hand is what goes on inside of her. I sometimes see her look away, thinking, thinking about her life, thinking about how to treat me properly, thinking about her career and her schooling. She tells me of her passions, sometimes her sexual passions, and tells me her feelings. She lets me connect with her very core.
I’ve never had a connection like this before. I wonder how it would be to go through life connected to a woman like this. That must be what marriage is about.
Will I ever find a connection like this again?
