Thursday, March 10

3:45 am
Hope its my Room

Goddamn Sambora.... not again.

Fucking VIP's.  Too fucking dangerous.

Why?

Why why why why why why why why why do I let him talk me into this shit?

Baby I'm sorry.  Sure there's some reason.  Maybe I'll remember tomorrow.

WHOA.

Slow room down.


7:40 pm
Home

Anxiously waiting for Cate to get home from work.  Anxious because I missed her and because I'm not sure if I'll need to duck and cover when she gets here.

Picked up a big bunch of flowers on the way home, ordered in dinner from her favorite bistro, ready to pop open her favorite wine.

And ready to grovel and kiss her ass if necessary.

I did something last night I haven't done in a long time.  A couple things I haven't done in a long time, in fact.  Despite Sambora's repeated best efforts to lead me into Temptation, I have managed to stay (somewhat) on the straight and narrow since I met Cate.  Last night I was tested, though.  Holy Shit, was I tested.  

Let's just say it's a good thing Hughie was around to keep an eye on me, because Richie and Davey were no Goddamned help whatsoever.  Once again the BassMan was the voice of reason.  It's never the Drummer, ha ha.  Or in our case the Guitar Player or the Keys Player.  It's NEVER the Keys Player.

So after last night's show we had to do the requisite painful afterparty for all the hangers-on.  I plastered a smile on my face and glad-handed, but couldn't wait to get the fuck outta there.  I just wanted to get back to my room and go to sleep.  Maybe play a little PacMan on my DS first.  Damned addictive little machine.

But as I was gritting my teeth and pretending to be happy to meet all those record company/promoter friends of friends of friends Davey came over and shoved a drink in my hand.  Not a glass of wine -- Scotch.  Really Good Scotch.  Neat.

The first one went down way too easy.  I savored the second one a little bit, and by the time I finished the third one I was all warm and happy and not tired at all.

That's when Richie called the car, whipped out the black credit card, and dragged us all down to VIP's.  To yet another private room in one of his favorite Gentleman's Clubs.  And of course we brought the bottles with us.  Can't let good whiskey go to waste, leaving it to be consumed by a bunch of stuffed shirts.

So we all strolled into the Club's private entrance, flopped down in those big red leather chairs, poured another round, and watched the show.  And Richie sat there with his Coca-Cola and laughed at us as we proceeded to get Shitfaced.

The girls were fucking gorgeous.  And aside from a pair of blondes with huge knockers, they were all natural. Yep, all those tits were real, and they were spectacular.  That club had the best stable of dancers this side of Down Under, ha ha.  What's that they say about Midwestern Girls?  Whatever it is, they have great racks.

So I remember thoroughly enjoying the show, and doing a little (loud I'm sure) wink-wink-nudge-nudge with Richie and Davey as the blondes did their tandem thing, then out struts this stunning green-eyed brunette.  Wearing nothing but some kinda spangly eyepatch across her cooch.  And of course she came right up to me, leaned over me, and tried to smother me with her tits.

I didn't mind one bit.  Being the Gentleman and entertainer I am, I let her do her job -- entertain me.  That was all well and good, I just grinned and watched and sipped my whiskey and felt my pants get tighter and tighter.  Until she leaned down and whispered in my ear to follow her, then took my hand.

And God help me, I did what I was told.

So Elektra (how's that for a great fucking Superhero Stripper name?) led me back into another little private-room-off-the-private-room and got me all comfortable, then shimmied out of her little eyepatch and started her little bare-ass naked groove.  Which eventually ended up on my lap.  And I'd had enough whiskey by that point that I was basically incapable of doing a damned thing to stop her.  Or myself.

She had me unbuttoned and unzipped and was kneeling between my feet when into our little den stumbled Richie and Davey.  But instead of rescuing me they laughed like hyenas and settled against the wall to watch.  Bastards.  At least Richie didn't have his phone out.  I'm pretty sure he wouldn't go THAT far, to text a picture to my Wife of me with a naked chick between my thighs.

But he didn't try to stop her, either.  Pervert.

So Elektra grinned and welcomed them to the show, then grabbed my cock, which by that point was very grabbable.  I remember letting out a kinda whiny-ass little moan, like "Nooooooo....."

That's when Hughie came in and rescued me.  In his very cool, very laid-back way he somehow extracted Evil Elektra from my cock and the room, then scolded the other two assholes for not taking care of me.  I just sat there and felt my dick throbbing, realizing I desperately needed somebody to do something about that, but I sure as hell wasn't gonna do a damned thing with all those assholes standing around watching.

So I gutted it out, stuffed Superman back in his phone booth and laid my head back against the chair back and closed my eyes.

BIG mistake.  The room started spinning and next thing I know I'm thinking all the whiskey's coming back up.  Apparently I sounded the alert somehow, because Richie and Hughie got me up and out of there to the men's room where they splashed some water on my face and helped me pull it together.  Proud to say I didn't hurl, though.  Not then, anyway.

Then we went back out and Richie ordered me a cup of coffee.  I sat at the bar in the back of the room, FAR away from Evil Elektra and her Minions, and sipped my coffee.  That's also when I for some unfathomable reason decided it would be a good idea to text my Wife.  Repeatedly.

Goddamn Richie -- if he's gonna drag me to places like that he needs to take my fucking phone away first.  Seriously.

So for the next hour the guys all got lap dances, I kept evading Elektra who was dead-set on dragging me back into that little room and sucking or fucking me stupid, and I kept texting Cate.  She was asleep so she didn't get the texts or answer me back, so I guess I thought it was a good idea to keep going.

Great judgment I have.  I gave her almost the full the play-by-play of my strip club experience. She got to wake up to a very interesting read, I'm sure.

I guess I would have confessed everything the second I saw her anyway.  She can break me in a second.

Shit.

Anyway, we finally got the Hell out of there and went back to the hotel.  I was reasonably lucid by that point since I stopped drinking after I almost tossed my cookies in the john.  I went back to my room -- fully clothed and wearing my shoes this time -- and laid down on the bed.  That was stupid.  The room started spinning and I realized that was NOT good, so I stumbled into the bathroom for a couple rounds of genuflection before the Porcelain God.

I haven't puked in years.  Not even when I was sick.  So much for that streak.

So I finally got all the poison out of my stomach and crawled into bed and passed out/slept until the wake-up call for the flight home.  On the plane I realized how fucking stupid I was and called Cate.  She was at work and said yes, she got the text messages but couldn't talk at the moment.  I must have sounded like a whiny-ass baby, asking her over and over "Are you mad?"  She said she wasn't, that it was all fine and we'd talk about it later.

And now it's later.  Great.

So anyway, we got in, I went over to Dorothea's to see how Jakey's doing and give him his Cubs jersey, then I came back here.  And I've been waiting for Cate ever since.

Wonder if I should just move my shit into the guest room?